imagine being the on-base barista crushing on ghost
He rarely ever took notice to you when he ordered his coffee, your figure just in his peripheral as you caught up on orders. But you always fixed your shrimp posture when you saw him walking inside, welcoming him in louder than you would for anyone else. While your coworker put his order in the system, you were already halfway through making it. Sometimes you’d make it early just before he came in at his usual time and have it on the pick up counter with a little skull drawing since you could never quite catch his name over the sounds of the cafe.
Other times you’d hand it to him yourself, making sure to brush his fingers with yours. Not that he ever noticed. Except one time he did and made eye contact with you. You ended up blanking out and wouldn’t let go of the cup until he looked down and peeled your fingers off of it himself. The rest of the day you kept looking at your hand like it was something sacred.
You never saw more than his eyes which sucked but at the same time you were thankful for because if you were a mess with just that, you’d be a complete fool if you saw the rest of him. Plus, it didn’t help that he always smelled good. A warm mix of gun powder and some sort of smoke. You only ever smelled it one other time.
The night you decided to hook up with some guy you met at a pub. He was good looking, sweet talked you so much you thought he’d give you diabetes. Half sleeve on his left arm and a slightly crooked nose if you looked hard enough. Told you his name was Simon. He felt strangely familiar but new enough that you didn’t think twice about bringing him home.
He fucked you like he owed you something. Or maybe like you owed him something, you weren’t sure. The kisses on your neck made your knees weak and he would chuckle, asking what had you so worked up? They were just kisses. His hands kneaded your thighs and calves as he ate you out, breathing heavily every time you would grind against his face. And his dick was massive. Not enough to hurt but you definitely needed him to talk you through it as you tried to take all of him.
“Just breathe f’me love, I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’d never hurt ya, sweet girl.”
He fucked you slow, deep. Kissing you sloppily as he thrust into your wetness, obscene sounds coaxed out of the both of you from how tight you were and how well he filled you up. He spent the night, having the decency to wake you and let you know he was leaving before the sun even rose.
You tried to forget him, focus on work. At least that oddly sexy Lieutenant would come in sometime soon. And of course he did, ordering the same thing he always did. Except this time when you handed him the cup, your eyes caught a hint of familiar ink below his sleeve. You look up and he was already looking down at you.
“No fucking way,” you mutter, mouth going dry as he looks you up and down from behind the mask before peeling your fingers off the cup (again) and leaving without a word.
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