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bonkybuchananbarnes · 13 days ago

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The Campaign

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x personal assistant/PR!manager Reader

Synopsis: Hired as Barnes’ personal assistant and PR!manager, he was constantly pushing your buttons when it came to maintaining his public image and managing his day-to-day routines. But as much as he stresses you out, you find yourself falling head over heels over your boss.

Content warnings: fluffy and crack, small angst, swearing, mentions of smoke and drinking, a little steamy but not smutty, no use of y/n, you are so tired of his bs but he loves you, pining, boss x employee relationship, friends to lovers situation

a/n: this might be my favourite piece I have written for Bucky. I also tried to keep it gender-neutral. I also apologize if I get stuff wrong about how voting and congress works, I am not American lol. also i did not proof read this sorry!

word count: 5k (whew)

It was only 7:30 am and you could use a glass of Bourbon and a cigarette.

You ought to just go radio silent one of these days. Clearly, you were not paid enough to be James Buchanan Barnes’ glorified babysitter. Everyday, there was something new going on with the former Winter Soldier and today was the worst one yet. An early morning call from Sam Wilson always meant bad news, but whatever he had to say gave you a raging migraine and it hasn’t reached 9 am yet.

‘You’re kidding me. What got released to the public?’ you screeched over the phone.

This is how you found yourself marching into your boss’s apartment with a bedhead you barely cared to fix, and a poorly done business causal outfit, with a hefty pile of files bound together with several manila binders under your arm.

‘James, you open this door right now!’ you hollered, accompanying your anger with an booming knock on his door.

An exasperated sigh was heard through the thin walls. You were soon met with a tired Bucky Barnes who was wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. ‘Y’know, it’s really unprofessional to address your boss by their first name.’

Shoving the mental image of his delectable half-naked figure in the back of your head, you shoved the man out of the way and stomped into his kitchen island. You were too mad to ogle your boss that you unfortunately found very attractive.

‘You got a Scotch? I could really use a glass right now.’ you murmured, grabbing the nearest glass and scattering the files onto his marbled counter.

Bucky checked his watch on his wrist. ‘The fuck do you need a glass of Scotch for? Sweetheart, it’s only 7:50am!’

You resorted to a cold glass of milk, since there was no liquor to be found. ‘Look at the files I dropped and you tell me, James.’

The super soldier shuffled his way toward the pile of paperwork. As he quickly scanned around, a growing smirk grew on his lips. Noticing this, you groaned, rubbing your fingers over the deepening crease on your brows.

‘Do you know what I woke up with, James? I woke up with Captain America panicking over the phone because someone decided to leak the information I worked so hard to bury!’ you fumed. Swirling your glass of milk like it was hard liquor, you gulped it down, trying to calm your steaming head.

Bucky’s vibranium, fingers grazed over the paper and picked it up. It read ‘POTENTIAL CONGRESSMAN JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ASSASSINATION OF JFK?’

He inquisitive tilted his head in confusion. ‘I thought everyone knew this?’

A nice smooth roll of tobacco sounded so good right now.

‘Are you KIDDING me?! What part of ‘I worked so hard to bury the information’ don’t you understand?!’ you bellowed, startling the man in front of you. Slapping both of your palms on the marbled counter, Bucky could see you heaving and seething from anger.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips. He carefully made his way towards your side and wrapped you with a side hug. His fleshed fingers slowly rubbed your arms up and down in an attempt to soothe your anger. ‘Alright, alright. I guess I slipped up that one interview where I jokingly said ‘the president better watch his back.’ Someone probably took that to heart and found out that I might’ve assassinated JFK.’

You turned your head and squinted. ‘You need to learn how to keep your mouth shut.’

‘Maybe you can shut it for me, sweetheart.’ Bucky teased.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, fighting the growing blush on your cheeks. It was safe to say that your relationship with Bucky has gone past strictly business professional. The two of you grew close for the past year, and you felt that there was something more. But, for the sake of the job nature and your sanity, you couldn’t act upon it.

A gentle smack on his chest caused him to let go of you. ‘Alright you smooth talker. That might've worked during the 40s, but you’re asking to get smacked by women if you say that.’

‘But Sam taught me that last week.’ Bucky shrugged.

‘That’s it. I don’t care if he’s Captain America, I’m limiting his visitation hours with you, Mr. Barnes.’ you scoffed. Grabbing the glass that was sitting on the counter, you reached for the milk carton to pour another.

The super soldier gave you a knowing look. ‘Honestly? I’ll be glad if you did. He talks too much sometimes.’

A grin donned your features as you downed another glass of milk. ‘Didn’t expect you to agree to that. Go get dressed Barnes, I called for another press conference at 10am and you better explain yourself.’

‘Yes ma’am.’ he saluted. As he made his way to his room, he paused, and looked back at you. Pursing your lips in anticipation, you expected him to throw a snarky comment at you. And that’s exactly what he did.

‘Y’know, this information coming to the public isn’t that bad. I heard the Gen Z were into that kind of thing.’ Bucky teasingly quipped.

He was met with a flying salt shaker to his head.

✪✪✪

Your ‘Days Bucky doesn’t tarnish his public image’ counter reset to 0 two days later.

A few hours ago, Bucky appeared at a charity gala that was hosted by Stark Industries. It surprised you, knowing the history between his time as the Winter Soldier and him being responsible for the murder of Howard and Maria Stark. Alas, you learned a long time ago that politics was a messy, dirty game, and you were just a personal assistant to yet another political candidate.

Yet, Bucky wasn’t just another politician you assisted, he was basically a dashing 110-year-old dashing man who always found himself leaving a mess wherever he went.

And tonight was one of those nights. It was going so well during the gala, all he had to do was sit pretty and make mindless talk with the other important figures. You knew that he didn’t want to go in the first place, so you made a deal with him; if he went and did not make a commotion, you would treat him to your favourite Shawarma spot in New York. He complied, and was doing so well.

Until you found yourself catering to his wounds back in his apartment.

The super soldier grunted in pain as your fingers pressed antibiotics into his open scratch on his forehead.

‘Hey, are you trying to hurt me more?’ he whined.

Paying no mind to his complaint, you continued to apply more, digging into the wound even further.

‘Jesus, sweetheart! At this point you’re hurting me more than trying to patch my wounds!’ Bucky moaned, wincing as you finally put a gauze on the wounded area.

‘Yeah right.’ you finally shot back. ‘You have super soldier serum running through your veins Barnes. You’re a big boy, you can deal with it.’

Looking away from the man, you rummaged through the first aid kit on lap as you searched for more gauze. As your eyes raised up to face him again, Bucky gave you an apologetic stare, like a whimpering puppy.

‘Save it James.’ you huffed, continuing to patch the wound on his flesh arm. ‘You broke your promise, so you’re not getting Shawarma with me tonight.’

‘Aww, come on! I really didn’t mean to!’ he pouted. James Buchanan Barnes. Pouting at his personal assistant. If only the world could see that.

‘Oh really?’ your voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘You didn’t mean to uppercut John Walker in the face in a public event?’

‘Listen sweetheart, he started it!’

‘I find that hard to believe Barnes.’

Bucky pleaded to you with his sky blue eyes. ‘You have to believe me. There’s a reason why I did it.’

A sarcastic laugh escaped your lungs. ‘Do you really live to annoy and stress me out all the time James?’ You bit the medical tape, ripping a piece and placing it on top of the gauze that was placed on his arm.

Silence filled Bucky’s living room before he finally confessed. ‘I didn’t like the way he spoke about you.’

Your eyes widened with his revelation, and halted your actions. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you stared at the super soldier in disbelief. ‘What?’

Bucky pursed his lips before he continued. ‘I know, I know. He was taunting me. Walker came to me wanting to make small talk and I guess he was getting cocky and started to talk smack about you. Degrading you and your abilities. Called you names, diminished your accomplishments. I couldn’t stand there and let him do that to you sweetheart.’

It was like Bucky squeezed your heart with his mechanical arm. Blood started to rush towards your ears, with your neck heating up. Your boss cared enough to defend you, even when you were absent.

His eyes gazed down to your hands as he took it with his fleshed ones. ‘I know it seems that I make your life a hundred times harder. Always cleaning up my messes, always making sure that I can win my campaign. It’s the least I can do for you while you do so much for me.’

You continued to stare at him. His confession knocked your breath away. All this time he genuinely cared for you.

He looked up once more and gazed upon your eyes. ‘I’ll fix this myself sweetheart. Go get rest tonight.’

He quietly searched your eyes for some sort of answer, while you continued to sit in silence.

After what seemed an eternity, he was met with your answer.

‘Bucky, you absolute idiot.’ you whispered, with tears pricking your eyes. ‘Thank you. You’re a good friend.’

The word friend stung his heart, but it was for the best. Wanting to pursue a relationship beyond friendship would be selfish on his part. He always wanted to, since he harboured a little crush on you ever since you first entered his life. But Bucky knew, he should know, that he can’t have everything in life. It would be too selfish. After all, he didn’t deserve it.

‘Yeah.’ he croaked. ‘So, am I off the hook now? Can we get some shawarma?’

A shaky sigh escaped your lips. Resuming your task to patch him up, a small smile adorned your lips as you shook your head.

‘After this, change to something casual. By the way, you’re paying.’ you jested.

A low chuckle escaped Bucky’s lungs, and you laughed with him in response. Although you wished for something more, you were content with the way things were right now.

✪✪✪

Tonight was the big day. It was election day. The results of your hard work will determine if it was enough for Bucky to be elected as a congressman. After today, you could finally rest easy, and possibly continue working for him as an assistant to a congressman. After all, you found yourself attached to him after a year of working with him.

However, as soon as you walked into his apartment, you wished that you worked for someone else.

‘Alright Barnes, are you ready to go? The car is waiting-’ your voice faded as your eyes landed on the frazzled super soldier.

His medium cut hair was a mess, with strands sticking up in every direction. His navy blue blazer was scattered on the floor. The white long sleeve dress shirt he wore was unbuttoned, unironed and stained with red sauce. However, the white wife beater he wore underneath was miraculously unstained. The notebook, which had the speech you wrote, was lying on the counter, smothered with pizza sauce. Most of all, his other arm was missing.

Bucky froze midway from biting a pizza slice as you barged in. His wide eyes stared at you in shock, with the pizza bending down and dripping onto his white garment. He looked down with his mouth hanging open once he realized that he messed up his outfit of the night.

Your feet felt like they were stuck on the ground as you stared at your boss incredulously.

‘James Buchanan Barnes, are you shitting me?! The election gala is in one hour!’ you scolded him.

Slamming the front door shut, you angrily sauntered into the kitchen area, picking up his fallen blazer and draping it on your arm.

‘Hey sweetheart.’ Bucky said casually, continuing to munch on his pizza as he glazed over the notebook once more. You look stunning.’

‘Sweet talk isn’t going to get me less angry Barnes! I literally got that dress shirt last week, and you stained it!’ you fumed, walking to his side and grabbing the shirt by the collar, forcing him to shed it off of his body, leaving him with just his navy blue dress pants and wife beater. ‘Please don’t tell me this isn’t the only dress shirt you have!’

‘Well, can I wear my black one?’ he innocently asked, gobbling up the last piece into his mouth. Bucky looked at your form, and stepped back as he saw you vibrating with anger.

It was your turn to stare at Bucky Barnes. This man was supposed to be all ready to go for his campaign night. Instead, you were looking at the feared ex-assassin stuffing his cheeks like a chipmunk in his apartment complex. If it wasn’t for the given circumstance, you would’ve laughed and snuck a photo of him.

You let out a loud groan in response, and dialed for a cleaner to expedite an urgent laundry order. Once you finished with the call, Bucky made his way towards you, and stuck out the notebook you made for him.

‘This speech is too long.’ he declared.

‘You had a week to learn it James. Not my fault you were procrastinating.’ Tilting your body to the side, you eyed the area where his vibranium arm should be. ‘Also, where is your arm?’

Bucky nervously pursed his lips shut as your eyes squinted at him. Thinking about where he could’ve placed it, your eyes wandered to the dishwasher behind, seeing it was running a cycle. Putting two and two together in your head, your eyes slowly glanced back at the man in front of you.

‘James-’

‘Listen sweetheart’ he started. His fleshed hand nervously rubbed against the back of his neck.

‘James Buchanan Barnes, did you put your fucking Wakandan-made vibranium arm in your dishwasher?!’ you sputtered in disbelief.

‘Hear me out! I couldn’t put it in the washing machine, it would tumble around and break it! The dishwasher cleans it very well!’

‘So you casually put Wakandan tech that’s probably millions of dollars in a machine that’s meant for washing dishes?’ A growing headache was creeping up. Good thing you brought Tylenol.

‘I got it for free.’ he mumbled.

Scoffing in disbelief, you raised your arms in frustration and stomped towards the front door. ‘Whatever! It feels like I’m arguing with a child. You’re a grown man for Pete’s sake!’

‘Technically, I’m 110 years old-’

‘Right. You’re the perfect age to be running for congress.’ you snarked back. It was Bucky's turn to stare at you incredulously.

The man huffed with exhaustion. You had enough, you were going to leave him be and wait for him in the car. But before you could turn the doorknob, he spoke up. ‘Sweetheart, listen! I’m nervous as hell for tonight. Everything that I worked for, everything you worked for is happening right now, and I don’t want to fuck this up.’

Upon hearing his confession, your hand paused midway from grabbing the knob. A deep sigh left your lips while you looked down, before facing him once more. The worried expression in his beautiful bright blue eyes was enough for you to cave in.

Sighing once more, you gently smiled at him. ‘Oh, Bucky. What would you do without me?’ you breathed, walking towards him.

A breathy chuckle came out of his lips as you made your way in front of him. Gently fingers combed his greasy hair, and he glanced down at you, looking at you with unspoken endearment. ‘Not much, I’m afraid. You’re basically the glue holding me together.’

A mischievous glint shone in your irises. ‘I hope you’re not referring to me as your mother figure James.’

Bucky raised his eyebrows. Lowering his head towards your ear, he lightly blew air, causing you to shiver. ‘Oh sweetheart, you’re much much much more than a caretaker for me.’

His words caused a squeezing sensation in your abdomen. Refusing to fall for his lacy words as you had to keep a professional boundary between the two of you (which was blurring by the second), your palms gently pushed him off.

You had to draw the line between you and your boss. ‘Save your sultry words for the event tonight Barnes. Pretty sure there’s some beautiful women who’s willing to throw themselves at you.’

Bucky paused, and you saw a storm of emotions brewing in his expressive eyes before he answered. ‘I don’t need that-’ he started, before he cut you off.

‘Tick tock, Barnes! We have to get going here, you’re lucky that the laundromat is willing to do an express order for you!’ you blurted out, trying to extinguish the awkward atmosphere. ‘I’ll head there right now. In the meantime, get dressed, fix your hair, and for God’s sake James, get your fucking arm out of the dishwasher.’

Bucky licked his lips and huffed out of frustration. Shoving his hand in his pocket, he obeyed your command and silently cleaned up the kitchen area. He threw a knowing look towards you, as he watched your figure promptly leave his flat.

The super soldier made a mental note that tonight was the night he was going to finally make a move, if he won the election.

On the other side of the door, your sweaty palm clenched the fabric of your dress that was covering your chest. Too close, it was too close. You wanted to keep this job, to keep being close to your friend and crush without compromising the ethicality of it. It hurt, but with the given situation, it was the best you could do. You were content with being with him, even if you were just the personal assistant-pr manager-and glorified babysitter of Bucky Barnes.

Shaking your head out of your thoughts, you slapped both your cheeks together, then made your way towards the elevator at the end of the hall.

You deserved a smooth glass of Bourbon tonight.

✪✪✪

He won.

He actually won. A little part of you didn’t believe it, but Bucky won a seat at the congress. The former Winter Soldier who probably assassinated a dozen American politicians and presidents, was now a politician himself. Now that you thought about it, it was ironic, but nevertheless the way American politics worked.

You were also sure that Gen Z voters were solely responsible for his win. After all, no one could resist a handsome and buff super soldier running for congress. It was like offering the best piece of candy to a child.

But now that your task was complete, you weren’t sure whether you would continue your job as his personal assistant and PR manager. With all things considered, you were the perfect person for the job. You knew his routine and schedule with the back of his hand. Sure, there were moments that caused you to rip your hair out from stress, but in the end, you genuinely enjoyed being by Bucky’s side.

With your cheek on your palm as it rested on the window of the car, you zoned out as your eyes followed the streetlights. You were so deep in thought that you failed to notice that Bucky was grazing his real hand over yours, which was resting on the leather seat. He glanced at you, with eyes wavering with concern.

‘You alright sweetheart?’ Bucky murmured, gently caressing your hand.

‘Hn? Yeah, just tired.’ you answered listlessly, still not noticing his touch.

The rest of the car ride back to his apartment complex was silent. Once the two of you made it inside, Bucky carefully closed the front door shut as you shrugged off your coat and plopped yourself on his couch. You stretched your neck back and looked up to the ceiling and sighed with exhaustion.

The super soldier let out a chuckle at this sight of you. He had never seen you this exhausted, and honestly found it cute.

‘Long day?’ he quipped, sitting beside you.

You felt the couch dip to your left. ‘Tell me about it.’ you sighed.

Blinking your eyes open, you turned your head to face your boss. Gazing softly into his eyes, you smiled. ‘Congratulation on your win Bucky. You deserved it.’

Bucky’s eyes crinkled with a smile. ‘It was all thanks to you sweetheart. Couldn’t have done it without you.’

The two of you laughed, then sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company.

You looked down at your lap and nervously rubbed your fingers. Pursing your lips, you gained the courage to let him know that you wanted to continue your work as his assistant.

While you were lost in your head trying to figure out the words, Bucky was in his own personal debate. It was either tonight or never. He had to let you know how he felt.

After a lingering silence, you spoke up first.

‘James, I want-’

‘You’re fired.’ he said bluntly.

The words faded from your lips, slowly reeling in the words he had said. Your eyes widened in shock, with the corner of your eyes prickling with tears.

‘Fired?’ you echoed back. ‘You’re firing me?’

Your worst fear came true. He didn’t want you anymore. You trembled with anxiety, taking in the sinking feeling that you weren’t needed anymore.

Realizing that his words were coming out wrong, Bucky tried to explain himself. ‘Wait! Sweetheart let me explain-!’

Rage filled your being as the usually endearing nickname rolled off his tongue. ‘You have the balls to call me sweetheart when you’re firing me?! After all I have done for you Barnes! The sleepless nights, the anxiety I endured for your stupid campaign! You’re just going to throw me aside now that you’ve won?! I can’t believe-’ you exploded as you got up from the couch and started pacing around the living room.

Bucky growled your name in frustration, causing your rambling to stop. Walking up to you, he placed a firm hold on your shoulders as he directed you to come face to face. His pupils wavered as you bore his eyes straight into yours, with tears starting to prick in the bottom of his eyelids.

‘I’m firing you because I’m in love with you.’ Bucky quietly professed.

A tidal wave of emotions washed over you upon hearing his words. The angry expression that you wore immediately melted into confusion, mixed with hope.

‘You’re firing me because you’re in love with me?’ you slowly drawled.

An exasperated airless chuckle left his lungs. ‘I know how stupid it sounds. God, sweetheart, you make me so stupid with love.’ A gently warm hand cupped your cheek carefully.

Bucky’s eyes stared into yours with a longing expression. ‘This past year, all you’ve done is take care of me. You fixed my fuck ups. Made sure I was well rested and prepared. I would be lying if I said I would’ve gone through this gruelling campaign without you. Because my love, you held me together, even when I wanted to fall apart.’

Your lips slowly parted, with your eyes glossy with tears. ‘Bucky-’ you muttered, before he cut you off.

Bucky rested his forehead into yours as he shut his eyes. You could feel his hot breath nervously wavering as he continued his confession. ‘Sweetheart, you took care of me this whole time, even when I didn’t deserve it. Now it’s my turn to take care of you, and the only way to do that is to fire you.’

His eyes opened once more, revealing his sky blue eyes that were now glossy. When you didn’t answer him back, he heaved a heavy sigh, his pupils wavering even more as he tried to look for your answer in your eyes.. ‘Please say something.’ he begged.

Finally convinced that you weren’t daydreaming, you gave Bucky an answer.

Leaning your head close to his, your lips gently grazed over his plush ones, sweetly pressing your lips on him. He slowly returned your kiss, lips parting slightly to capture his over your bottom lip. Your hands wandered to his blazer, grabbing the collar as you brought him close to your body. His vibranium arm cradled the back of your head, inhaling deeply as you parted your own lips to kiss him once more.

Bucky tilted his head and partially opened his lips, urging you to open your mouth as he poked his tongue through, licking your teeth in the process. A low moan escaped his throat as he messily massaged his tongue against yours.

Maybe you did deserve this after dealing with his bullshit for a year.

However, while the two of you were busy inhaling one another, his pressing weight was causing you to lose your balance. Once you realized however, it was too late. You and Bucky broke the kiss as you tumbled onto the carpeted floor, with him falling on top of you.

‘Woah!’ you yelped, expecting your head to hit the ground. Your eyes squeezed shut, expecting an impact, but was met with Bucky’s warm hand cradling the back of your head, absorbing the fall.

He may have cushioned your fall, but his body landed on yours, knocking the wind from your lung in the process. Bucky’s chest rumbled with laughter as you squeaked in discomfort. ‘You’re heavy, James.’

‘Sorry.’ he hummed amusingly. The super soldier brought himself off of you, lifting his body inches away from yours as his elbows rested on your sides.

If you told your past self that a year from now, that your boss confessed to you the night he won his election campaign, they would’ve slapped you silly, telling you that you’re delusional. But here you were, gazing into his eyes lovingly while he stroked your head endearingly.

‘So.’ you started.

‘So.’ he mimed back.

‘Now that I’m unemployed thanks to you, you’re going to help me find a new job.’

Bucky pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. ‘Already done and taken care of.’

Your eyebrow shot up. ‘What did you do now, James?’

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. ‘I cashed in a favour from Sam. You’re going to be his PR manager now.’

Your face twisted into frustration. ‘Oh god. Working for him might be slightly worse than working for you.’

‘Excuse me!’ he scoffed out of offence. ‘Working with me is a pleasure!’

You sniffed in sarcasm as you pushed him off to sit up. Bucky took it as an opportunity to tackle you into the floor once more.

‘Bucky stop it!’ you shrieked as he poked his fingers to your sides.

‘Nope.’ he said, popping the ‘P’ on his tongue.

The super soldier found himself facing you once more, and peppered your face with kisses. His stubbled beard tickled you.

‘You know Bucky, there were several times where I wanted to quit working for you because you were unbearable.’ you joked as he continued to smother you.

‘Well,’ he started between kisses. ‘Now that I fired you and promoted you to my partner, you’re stuck with me. I’ll be taking care of you now.’

A bright smile appeared on your lips. Bucky took notice and mirrored the same smile as he dipped down to kiss your lips once more.

What was thought to be the most stressful night of your life ended up with you sprawled out on the floor with your ex-boss-turned boyfriend.

Not that you could complain. For once in your life you were glad that you got fired from your job. The average working person would never say that.

But then again, your boss was far from average. He was an unbearable and incredibly sassy 110 year old super soldier turned politician who consistently pushed your buttons when it came to setting him straight for the sake of his political career.

With all things considered, it was no wonder that you fell in love with him. And you couldn't have had it any other way.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #the avengers #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes x you #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x y/n #thunderbolts bucky

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mariasont · 10 months ago

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GOOD LUCK CHARM - A.H

a/n: this came to me yesterday and i sat my ass down and WROTE

that should be me fr

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: reader is gone for the morning and leaves hotch a couple sticky notes

warnings: just my babies being so infatuated with each other it literally hurts, hotch is a pining fool, i love him, i need him, i want to kidnap him to my basement

wc: 0.8k

Hotch was having a rough day. He had never put much stock in the idea of luck, favoring the belief that a path was carved from the choices made. However, if he were to entertain the notion of luck, he would concede that today, he seemed to be rather out of it.

A lot had gone wrong. For starters, he had stained his favorite white dress shirt with coffee this morning. This undoubtedly set the precedent for the day, he was sure.

As soon as he arrived at his office, he was greeted not by the familiar click of the lock but by a stubborn door that refused to budge, his key sitting on the side table in his apartment. This then led to him reaching out to the custodian for a spare, only to be intercepted by Chief Strauss, who, in her usual fashion, had a litany of critiques ready for the BAU.

The day had been steadily unraveling, and the realization that you wouldn't be in until lunch because of a doctor's appointment was the tipping point. Normally, all these minor irritations could be overlooked, but in your absence, he could truly grasp just how much he relied on you.

You handled a lot on his plate, if not everything. You planned out his schedule, answered his phone calls, you double-checked his paperwork. You consistently shouldered more than he ever asked, despite his repeated warnings about overloading yourself--warnings that he, admittedly, never listened to.

Time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace. He found himself unwittingly watching the door, anticipating the bright burst of pink and the shimmer that accompanied you, but unfortunately that did not happen. Lunch couldn't come quick enough.

His vision began to waver, the words on the page melting into an indecipherable stew as he pressed a long finger into his temples. The lamp at the edge of the desk flickered capriciously. A mental note to replace it was quickly overshadowed by the more pressing need for an aspirin, prompting him to reach for the left drawer.

His eyes widened imperceptibly, fingers reaching into the space as he pulled the flimsy object from the drawer. It was a hot pink sticky note, its surface alive with glittery ink, smiley faces, and hearts. The corners of his mouth lifted, the tension in his back easing just a hair.

Aspirin isn't in this drawer silly! First one to your right! And don't take more than 2, okay? Between that and your scotch drinking habits your liver is screaming!!!!

He couldn't suppress the laughter that rumbled through him as he pressed the note to his desk. He turned to the drawer on his right, pulling it open to find, much to his satisfaction, the aspirin. Attached to it was yet another sticky note.

You found it!! So proud!! Hope your day is going amazingly! Don't miss me too much! :)

His heart thumped louder in his chest, a wave of heat blossoming across his neck as he carefully folded the sticky notes, tucking them into the pocket of his suit jacket.

When you finally came ambling into the office--your ponytail swaying, a pink ribbon securing it in place--he felt an instant lift in his mood. His jaw relaxed, fingers instinctively straightening his tie--a needless act but one that gave him a moment to admire you. You looked beautiful. You always did, but as he fingered the note in his pocket, he could feel his chest constrict just looking at you.

"Hi there, Mr. Boss Man," you sang out, voice as sweet as syrup as you glided towards him with an ease that defied that height of your heels. "The office didn't burn down without me, did it?"

"It came close."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," you giggled, the bracelets on your arms tinkling like wind chimes as you wrapped them around your notebook. "You look stressed. Are you stressed?"

"I'm fine, just a headache." He paused, his hand absentmindedly reaching again for the sticky note. "How was your doctor's appointment?"

"Squeaky clean bill of health." You beamed at him, shifting your weight to your toes. "Did you see my note?"

"I did. Thank you." A grin was vying for control of his features while his hand found its way to his neck, pressing lightly in a vain effort to steady his racing pulse.

"You're so very welcome," you chimed, sending him a smile that nearly made the air evaporate from his lungs. "Also, I fixed a couple issues in your calendar, and I ordered you a new lamp, I noticed yours was broken. I hope that's okay."

More than okay. You were perfect. If he were a man who believed in luck, he would be inclined to think you might be his good luck charm.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #hotchner #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x fem reader

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wholoveseggs · 3 months ago

Note

I looooved Stains! Thank you so much for that and all you do for our mental health in these turbulent times.

Here's another request for your very long list of requests :) Reader and the Mikaelson family are very close friends. She used to have a little fling with Klaus maybe, best friends with Rebekah and so on. Elijah is always shy and Rebekah and Reader are trying to set him up after realizing he's been a monk since his last relationship ended. Elijah is failing hard at all the set-up attempts because he is madly in love with Reader. Eventually, smut ensues :)

Inevitable

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A playful night of banter leads to Elijah's siblings setting him up on a dating app, but the only match he wants is you...

♡♡ Ahhh!!! Thank you so much, @originals23, for this amazing request! I’ve been stuck in a bit of a writing slump lately (I even scrapped my New Year’s fic... I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t happy with it). But your ideas always light a spark of inspiration for me! Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this! ♡♡

6.9k words - Warnings: smutt, dating apps, drinking, mutual pining, Elijah in a vesttt (hot & underrated), teasing, kissing, oral (m!receiving), super sappy and romantic, mild jealousy, Kol being such a little shit, Klaus being Klaus, Rebekah always trying her best, Elijah being shy and sweet, && some good old-fashioned Mikaelson bullying...

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@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

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@sleepmusicland @chaoticfanpeach @prettyinpinkandblack @brunettebri @aerangi

From the moment Kol walked in with a giant bottle of scotch, you knew that tonight was going to be a late one. Rebekah had called you, inviting you over for a drink and some girl time. But Kol and Klaus decided to insert themselves into the mix. You weren’t complaining; the company was good. The Mikaelsons were your closest friends, having met them years ago. Klaus had been a brief fling, but the friendship was what truly stuck.

The playful atmosphere was infectious as you all sat around the living room, laughter bubbling at some joke Klaus made. Kol poured drinks with dramatic flair, teasing Klaus about his awkward blunders with his crush, Camille. Klaus’s glare didn’t faze his younger brother in the slightest.

"I hardly think you have any room to speak. What is the state of your love life? It seems quite nonexistent," Klaus shot back, his tone laced with mock indignation.

Kol, unfazed, chuckled and took a long swig of his drink, shaking his head. "I'd like to think it is quite thriving, thank you very much," he retorted, settling onto the couch. He leaned back smugly before adding, "In fact, I had a date yesterday."

The rest of you murmured in surprise, exchanging knowing looks.

"With who?" you asked, curiosity getting the better of you as you sat next to Rebekah. She arched an eyebrow at you, clearly already anticipating Kol’s response.

"This pretty little-" Kol began with a grin, only to be cut off by his sister’s wicked smirk.

"Witch," Rebekah finished for him, and Kol’s laugh was one of agreement rather than embarrassment.

"I suppose I have a type," he admitted with an exaggerated shrug, unbothered by the teasing. His gaze flicked to you, eyes gleaming mischievously. "What about you, love?"

The sudden attention caught you mid-sip, and you glanced at him with a raised brow. "What about me?" you asked, setting your glass down and wiping the excess liquid off your lips.

Kol’s wicked grin widened. "We all know Niklaus has thoroughly disappointed you, so I’m sure you’ve found someone more worthy to keep your bed warm."

Klaus scoffed loudly before you could respond. "Hardly disappointing. We had a grand time," he insisted, smirking at you with a glint of pride.

This time, your playful grin faltered for just a second. The memory of your fleeting fling with Klaus still lingered, though it was far behind you. While the chemistry between you and Klaus had fizzled into camaraderie, you couldn’t help the pang of something unspoken when your thoughts drifted elsewhere…toward another Mikaelson.

You shrugged, masking your thoughts with a casual smile. "Nik did just fine. Better than most of the men I find myself with," you quipped, winking at Klaus. His dimples deepened in a smug grin, clearly satisfied with your answer.

Kol, never one to let a moment slide, laughed heartily. "Those dating apps not doing you any favors, darling?" he taunted, causing you and Rebekah to share a knowing chuckle.

"Here, Kol, see for yourself," you replied, tossing him your phone with a grin that was a mix of challenge and resignation. Kol’s eyes lit up with delight as he caught it effortlessly.

He immediately began swiping through your dating app, his expression shifting between mock horror and glee. Rebekah leaned over his shoulder, giggling at the profiles and messages he unearthed.

"Men these days," Kol lamented dramatically, "back in my day, we wrote poems and courted properly. This is far too impersonal."

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist. "Is that how you charm all the young witches? With poetry?"

Kol grinned, unabashed. "Oh, I hardly need to do any charming. They fall over themselves for me. It’s quite endearing."

"You are such a womanizer," Rebekah pointed out, shaking her head at Kol. Klaus, surprisingly, nodded in agreement, raising his glass to emphasize the point.

"You know who isn’t?" Kol mused, still swiping through the dating app on your phone. "Elijah."

The mention of Elijah caught your attention, and your curiosity piqued. "When was the last time he was in a relationship?" you asked, genuinely intrigued. You tried to recall, but nothing serious came to mind. Elijah had always seemed… reserved in that regard.

Before Kol or Rebekah could answer, they glanced behind you, their faces lighting up with amusement. You followed their gaze and felt your stomach do a little flip. Elijah had appeared, clad in a crisp white button-down and a tailored vest that seemed to fit him too perfectly for your peace of mind.

He greeted everyone with a polite smile before effortlessly slipping into the seat beside you. As he leaned over and stole your glass, his proximity made your pulse quicken. He took a sip, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the taste, and then turned his attention to you.

"It has been a while," he replied smoothly, finally answering your question. "Why do you ask?"

For a moment, you were distracted. Not just by his words, but by the way his shirt hugged his frame and the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms. You realized he was waiting for an answer, and heat rushed to your cheeks.

"I-I… we were wondering when you were going to get back out there," you stammered, your usual composure faltering under his steady gaze. Elijah had a way of doing that, making you nervous in the most exhilarating way.

"It has been a while," he admitted, his voice calm and measured as he shrugged. His siblings, however, were far less composed, their expressions brimming with mischief. "What?" Elijah asked, his tone tinged with suspicion.

"How long? Weeks? Months?" Kol asked, his grin widening. Then, raising his eyebrows with mock disbelief, he added, "Years?"

"None of your business," Elijah replied, a small but unmistakable smile tugging at his lips. His usual composure didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of exasperated fondness in his tone.

"Oh, it's definitely years," Klaus exclaimed with a bark of laughter. "That is quite a long time. I am shocked you have not gone mad." He took a long sip of his drink, smirking over the rim of his glass.

Elijah rolled his eyes, brushing off their jabs with practiced ease. "It hasn’t been that long," he insisted, though his siblings’ skepticism was palpable.

"Sure, sure," Rebekah teased, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Kol. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at their antics. The Mikaelson siblings were relentless when it came to teasing each other.

"I have an idea," Rebekah said suddenly, a devilish glint in her eye. "Let’s make you a dating profile." Before Elijah could protest, she was already reaching for his phone.

"You are not putting me on a dating website," Elijah said firmly, his brow furrowing as he attempted to grab his phone back. Rebekah, ever the quick one, held it just out of his reach, sticking her tongue out like a mischievous child.

"I think it’s a great idea," Klaus chimed in with a smirk. "You could use the release. Perhaps it will even help dislodge the stick in your ass." His laugh echoed through the room as Elijah retaliated by tossing a throw pillow at him.

Rebekah ignored the commotion and began typing on Elijah’s phone. "Let’s see… what should your bio say?" she mused aloud. Kol leaned over her shoulder, already snickering as he threw out suggestions.

"How about, 'Hi, my name is Elijah Mikaelson: your next regret. I specialize in brooding, being a bore, and eating pus-'" Kol’s suggestion was abruptly cut off by Rebekah’s sharp interruption.

"Too far, Kol!" she scolded, though she could barely suppress her own laughter.

Elijah shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance.

Klaus, having recovered from his own laughter, chimed in, "You forgot, 'Hi, I’m Elijah. Chivalry isn’t dead because I refuse to let it die. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for anyone who crosses my family.'"

For a moment, Elijah gave him the sternest of looks, but then his lips betrayed him, curving into a reluctant smile. You caught the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and it made your heart skip a beat.

"I do just fine without any of this nonsense," he said, gesturing to the phones.

Kol was quick to retort, "Well, clearly that’s not the case if it’s been years since you’ve been laid," his cheeky grin earning a round of laughter from everyone except Elijah.

"Let’s see here," Kol continued, unabashed. "What are you into?"

"You know the answer to that, Kol. It'll be something boring like books and classical music," Rebekah quipped, not even glancing up from the phone as she continued crafting Elijah’s profile.

"Those things aren't boring," you interjected, your tone firmer than you intended. You glanced at Elijah, catching the way his gaze softened in response. He offered you a small, grateful smile, the kind that made your stomach flutter despite yourself.

"Okay, I'm almost done," Rebekah announced, clearly pleased with herself as her fingers danced over the screen. A triumphant grin spread across her face. "There we go! Your profile is all set," she said, tossing his phone back to him.

Elijah caught it effortlessly, letting out a resigned sigh. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, though he dutifully swiped through the profiles, his brows furrowing slightly as he took in the absurdity of it all.

You leaned over his shoulder, your curiosity getting the better of you. His proximity sent a wave of warmth coursing through you, but you focused on the screen. "Look, you’ve got a message already!" you exclaimed, pointing out the flashing notification.

"Oh, please no," he said with a weary shake of his head, clearly dreading whatever awaited him.

"Read it aloud," Rebekah urged, pouring herself another generous glass of scotch, her eyes alight with amusement.

"What’s the point? He’s going to turn them down anyway," Klaus drawled, swirling his drink lazily.

"I’m curious as to what she’s going to say," Kol added, his grin positively wicked as he leaned in for a better look.

"She’s really pretty," you observed, noting the woman’s profile picture. Your tone was meant to sound detached, but a trace of something else…envy?..slipped through. Elijah let out a heavy sigh, his finger hovering over the message before finally opening it.

His cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he read the text, his usually composed expression betraying a flicker of embarrassment. "You can’t be serious," he murmured, his voice low as he kept his eyes fixed on the screen.

From your angle, you caught enough of the message to know it was... bold. The woman wasn’t shy about what she wanted, and she was eager to meet him later that night. Your chest tightened, an unwelcome pang of jealousy sparking before you quickly brushed it aside.

"Oh, I’m dying to know what it says," Rebekah pressed, leaning closer in her attempt to sneak a look. "What’s her name?"

"Amanda," Elijah muttered, still scrolling through the message as if hoping it would suddenly become more tasteful.

"I bet it’s kinky," Kol teased, his voice dripping with mischief. His grin only widened when Elijah shot him a sharp glare.

"I will not dignify that with a response," Elijah said, slipping his phone back into his pocket with a firm finality. "Besides, I have no desire to go out tonight," he added, finishing his drink in a single, graceful motion.

"Oh, come on," you found yourself saying, nudging him lightly. "She’s gorgeous and looks like a lot of fun. Just meet up with her."

The words felt foreign as they left your lips, like they belonged to someone else entirely. Why were you encouraging him? Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding your judgment, or maybe it was a feeble attempt to appear unaffected. But deep down, the idea of him spending the night with another woman gnawed at you.

"As much as I appreciate the effort, I have no interest," Elijah said, his tone firm but calm. He poured himself another glass of scotch, his movements graceful and unhurried. "Besides, I've never been one for one-night stands."

"Why not? You should live a little," Rebekah mused, her gaze flickering between you two as if sensing the unspoken tension.

"It's not that I don’t enjoy life," Elijah countered, his voice steady. "I simply choose not to act on every impulse."

"So, you've never had a fling? Just for the hell of it?" you asked, genuinely surprised. The thought of someone as composed as Elijah letting go of his control intrigued you.

"I highly recommend it," Klaus interjected, a smirk tugging at his lips as he gave you a knowing look.

You quickly averted your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. You didn’t want Klaus to think his past fling with you still lingered in your mind. Clearing your throat, you forced a casual tone. "Well, it’s just not healthy to go without some kind of release. That’s all I’m saying."

Elijah’s lips curved upward, his expression almost teasing. "I’ve been alive for centuries. I think I’ll manage," he replied, taking a deliberate sip of his drink.

"Alright, alright, well, we tried," Rebekah said with a laugh, effectively steering the conversation elsewhere. Yet, as the banter continued around you, you found it impossible to focus.

Your mind was spinning, refusing to let go of the idea of Elijah… with someone else. You tried to dismiss the thought, but instead, it spiraled into something entirely different. Unbidden, an image of him shirtless, his composure unraveling, flooded your thoughts. The heat that crept up your cheeks was undeniable now.

You attempted to shake it off, but every glance in his direction seemed to pull you deeper. The way his tongue flicked to catch the remnants of scotch on his lips, the slow bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the way his sleeves were rolled just high enough to reveal strong, lean forearms. It was all maddeningly distracting.

But what captivated you most was his smile. Those faint creases around his eyes when he smiled. That smile that was both rare and disarming…made him impossibly handsome. It wasn’t just the smile itself; it was the way it softened his otherwise sharp, controlled features. Those creases hinted at warmth beneath his stoic exterior, and every time you saw them, your heart fluttered.

"(Y/N)?" Rebekah’s voice jolted you out of your thoughts.

"Huh? What?" you asked, blinking rapidly as you looked around the room.

"You’re flushed. Are you alright?" Rebekah asked, concern furrowing her brow.

"I think I’ve had a bit too much," you said quickly, forcing a nervous laugh.

You reached for your phone, desperate for a distraction. Scrolling through your notifications, you tried to focus on something, anything, that wasn’t Elijah. But when you opened the dating app, you froze.

There it was: Elijah’s profile. Rebekah had chosen a group photo for him, zooming in on his face, because the man had never taken a single selfie in his life. He looked effortlessly perfect, dressed in a three-piece suit, his hair slicked back, dimples on display, and his eyes warm yet piercing. Without thinking, your thumb swiped right.

The realization hit you like a freight train when Elijah’s phone buzzed almost immediately. He ignored it at first, leaving it face down on the table as he continued chatting with his siblings. Panic bubbled in your chest. Had you really just… matched with him? With him sitting right next to you?

Your hands were clammy, your heart racing as another buzz sounded. Elijah reached for his phone casually, swiping it open. His brows furrowed slightly as he read the notification, his expression shifting from confusion to stillness. Then, as if in slow motion, a small smile crept across his face. Those familiar creases at the corners of his eyes deepened, and your breath caught in your throat.

"Well, what does it say?" Kol asked, clearly reveling in the suspense.

Elijah didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he slid his phone into his pocket. His eyes met yours, and that small smile widened into something warmer, something that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken. "Looks like I might have some fun after all," he murmured, his voice low and velvety.

Your heart skipped a beat, and a rush of heat coursed through you. Despite yourself, you couldn’t hide the grin that tugged at your lips. What had you done? And why did his reaction make you feel so… giddy?

"What? Who messaged you?" Rebekah asked.

"It’s nothing," he said dismissively, finishing his drink with a calmness that belied the electricity sparking between you.

"Oh, come on, just tell us!" Klaus pressed, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "Did you receive some nudes?"

Kol chuckled, leaning forward eagerly. "Please say yes."

Elijah rolled his eyes, his expression a mix of exasperation and fond amusement. "No, I did not," he replied, his tone calm but laced with dry humor. The corner of his mouth curved upward ever so slightly.

"You are impossible," Rebekah huffed, crossing her arms. Her annoyance at being left in the dark was clear.

Elijah straightened, adjusting his sleeves with characteristic precision. "This has been fun, but I have to go. Some of us actually have work to do tomorrow," he said smoothly, rising to his feet.

Rebekah rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath as he moved to leave.

"Goodnight," Elijah called, his voice steady as he glanced at each of his siblings. When his gaze finally settled on you, the rest of the room seemed to fade into the background. That magical smile returned, his features softening as his eyes lingered on yours. Your stomach flipped, a warmth spreading through your chest.

"Goodnight," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a tightness in your chest, an anticipation that left you breathless. He lingered a moment longer, his eyes holding yours as if trying to convey something unspoken. Then, with a faint smile and a slight tilt of his head, he turned and disappeared upstairs.

One by one, the remaining Mikaelson siblings retired to their rooms until only you and Klaus were left. The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the occasional clink of glasses as you both sipped on scotch.

"So," Klaus began, his voice soft as he broke the silence. "Want to go up to my room?" His tone was casual, but there was something thoughtful in his gaze as he regarded you.

You couldn’t deny the pull of his charm or the familiarity between you. It would have been so easy. To let yourself fall into old patterns, to escape into the comfort of his arms and forget everything else. But tonight, something was different.

"Not tonight," you replied with a sad smile, brushing the back of his hand affectionately. "Cami wouldn’t be very happy with you," you teased gently, hoping to lighten the moment.

"Fair enough," he relented, though a flicker of disappointment crossed his features. After a pause, his lips curved into a wry grin. "I guess Elijah wouldn’t approve either."

You blinked, startled by the mention. Before you could respond, Klaus continued, his voice quieter this time. "If there was ever anyone worthy of my brother, it’s you. You two deserve each other," he mused, his tone tinged with an unreadable emotion.

The sincerity in his words left you momentarily stunned. "Thanks," you murmured, your voice soft, unsure of what else to say.

Klaus chuckled, draining the last of his drink. "Now, get out of here," he said, his tone turning playful. "And tell my brother I said hello."

His wink was mischievous, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Just as you stood to leave, your phone buzzed in your hand. Glancing down, you saw a message from Elijah. Your breath caught.

Klaus leaned over with unabashed curiosity, catching a glimpse of the screen. His brows lifted, a smirk spreading across his face. "He’s not wasting any time," he quipped, earning an eye roll and a glare from you.

"Shut up," you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. As you turned to leave, a wave of nervous anticipation washed over you. You had no idea what awaited you upstairs, but the thought of seeing Elijah in private sent a shiver of excitement through your body.

"Goodnight," you called over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

"Good luck," Klaus called back, his laughter following you as you ascended the staircase.

The walk to Elijah’s room was a blur. Your pulse quickened with every step, your mind racing with possibilities. When you finally reached his door, your knuckles felt shaky as you knocked. The moments that followed felt endless until the door opened, revealing him.

Elijah stood there, his hair slightly disheveled, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked less composed than usual but no less striking. His gaze flickered over you, a faint smile curving his lips.

"Hey," you managed, your voice catching in your throat.

"Hey," he replied, his voice low and warm. His eyes roamed over you, his appreciation evident, and for a moment, the space between you seemed to disappear.

"So," he began, his voice steady, his eyes searching yours. "Did you get my message?"

Your heart fluttered, each beat reverberating in your chest. "Yes," you murmured, suddenly breathless under the weight of his gaze.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "And?" he prompted, his tone soft but teasing.

"And... I'm here," you said, your voice trembling, the words escaping more unsteadily than you intended.

That smile deepened, his eyes twinkling with amusement and something far more intense. "Would you like to come in?" he asked, gesturing inside.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your pulse hammering in your ears. He stepped aside, his gaze still locked on yours as you crossed the threshold. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, the air between you felt heavier, charged. The tension was almost tangible, a magnetic pull keeping you rooted to the spot as he moved closer.

The silence stretched, the tingling warmth of his presence washing over you. For a moment, you were paralyzed by indecision. Should you kiss him? Was he about to kiss you?

Then, as if reading your thoughts, his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, his hands coming up to cradle your face with a tenderness that made your knees weak. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to close the gap between you.

He broke the kiss first, his breathing uneven, his dark eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "I have to admit, I’m surprised," he murmured, his voice low.

You blinked, trying to focus despite the lingering sensation of his lips on yours. "About what?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You. This. Everything," he said, his expression softening, though his gaze remained searching. "I thought you only had eyes for Niklaus," he teased gently, though there was something deeper in his tone, as if he was testing the waters.

You hesitated, hyper-aware of how close you were standing. The heat radiating off his body, the faint scent of his cologne, the brush of his breath against your skin. "It wasn’t anything serious," you said quietly, your words tentative but honest.

His thumb brushed along your jawline, the gesture achingly tender. "So, you're single then," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, the sound a mix of relief and desire.

"Yes," you breathed, the word barely audible.

"Good," he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. "Because I have no intention of sharing you."

The possessive edge in his tone sent a thrill down your spine, igniting something deep within you. Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, this time with more urgency. The kiss was deeper, hungrier, his tongue parting your lips and exploring, tasting you in a way that made your knees buckle.

You groaned softly, the sound muffled by his mouth, and began fumbling with the buttons on his vest, desperate to remove the barriers between you. He smiled against your lips, his hands sliding down your back to cup your ass, pulling you against him with a boldness that surprised you.

You had expected his gentlemanly demeanor to carry over, but his touch was insistent, his movements deliberate and confident. His grip tightened, and before you knew it, he had lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

Your heart pounded as he carried you to the bed, the world narrowing to the feel of his body pressed against yours and the heat building between you. When he laid you down gently, his weight above you, the realization hit. You wanted this. Every moment, every touch, every kiss.

This was happening.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he trailed kisses along your jawline and down the sensitive column of your neck. You continued to fumble with the buttons on his vest, the task made more difficult by his mouth, which was now exploring the sensitive skin below your ear.

"Impatient, aren't we?" he whispered, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, the sound making your skin tingle.

"Maybe a little," you gasped, arching your hips into his as he bit down gently, his tongue soothing the mark immediately after.

You felt his weight shift as he shrugged off his vest, the sound of fabric falling to the floor making your heart race even faster. His hands were everywhere, firm yet gentle. As though he couldn’t decide whether to savor or devour you.

His hands slid down your sides, tracing the curve of your waist and settling on your hips. His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped you at the contact. Every move, every touch seemed to stoke the fire between you, the heat building to an unbearable intensity.

You tugged at the collar of his shirt, urging him to remove it, the need for his bare skin against yours overwhelming. With a low chuckle, he pulled away long enough to comply, discarding the shirt onto the growing pile of clothing.

You had always suspected he was hiding an impressive physique underneath his suit, but the sight of him still managed to catch you off guard. Toned muscles, smooth skin, those broad shoulders… and those arms. God, his arms.

You traced the outline of his bicep appreciatively, your fingers moving upward to follow the lines of his collarbone. He watched you explore, the way your eyes moved over his chest, following the faint trail of dark hair leading to his abdomen. A hint of a smirk pulled at his lips, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you.

You felt your cheeks go warm, and you reached down and pulled your dress up and over your head in one fluid motion. It was his turn to blush, the look on his face shifting from amusement to unmistakable desire. His gaze trailed over you, taking in the sight of your newly exposed skin, his eyes darkening with need.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, dipping his head to plant kisses along your collarbone, his lips brushing against the tops of your breasts.

He shifted his weight, rolling you both onto your sides. His hand lifting your thigh and hooking your leg around his hip, and his fingertips grazed the soft skin on the inside. Your eyes met his, and the heat pooling between your legs was impossible to ignore.

His fingers gently grazed the edge of your panties, the fabric already soaked through with need. He let out a soft groan at the discovery, his thumb moving steadily over the little nub of nerves through the thin cotton.

A sharp intake of breath was all you could manage as his deft fingers continued their torture. He was drawing patterns against the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body with every stroke. Your hips rocked against him, your hands pressed into his chest, nails digging into his skin.

He hummed softly, a hint of amusement in the sound. He was enjoying this. Seeing you squirm beneath him, reduced to a mess of desire. Your eyes met his, and his gaze was filled with a mix of fondness and lust.

"Don't tease," you managed, your voice hoarse with need.

"As you wish," he murmured, slipping his hand inside your panties.

He was nothing like Klaus, who was rough and urgent, taking what he wanted and giving just enough to leave you wanting more. No, Elijah was a different beast entirely.

You felt his fingers trace your entrance, slick and ready for him, before finally easing inside. He groaned, a sound so low and primal it made your toes curl. You arched into his hand, the feeling of his thick fingers filling you completely.

"'Lijah," you gasped, your words trailing off into a breathless moan as he began moving inside you with deep, slow strokes.

He continued his unhurried pace, smiling as he watched you squirm and pant beside him. His thumb returned to circle your clit, the combination exquisite. He seemed to know exactly how you liked it. How much pressure to apply, when to quicken the pace, when to slow down. All you could do was cling to him, your head spinning as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

You felt the familiar pressure building, and you closed your eyes, lost in the sensation. His free hand cupped your cheek, tilting your chin up. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, dark and intense.

"Eyes on me," he whispered, his voice commanding but tender.

You couldn't look away, caught in his spell, as your release began to crest. You felt him increase the pressure, the rhythmic stroking of his fingers pushing you over the edge. A sharp cry left your lips as the tension snapped, ripples of pleasure spreading through your body.

Your fingers curled into his skin, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his shoulder. He looked down at the marks, a small, satisfied smile curving his lips.

You kissed him slowly, lazily, your body still humming with pleasure. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, his erection pressing against your thigh, a silent plea.

You reached between you, cupping his length through his pants, he let out a soft hiss, watching you through hooded eyes, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks flushed.

"Let me take care of you now," you whispered, palming his length.

He nodded, his lips parting in anticipation as you reached for his belt. You made quick work of it, freeing his erection from its confines.

You hummed appreciatively, admiring the way he filled your palm, so hard and smooth. With your other hand you pushed on his chest, guiding him to lie flat, his head on the pillow.

Your heart thudded as you positioned yourself over him, taking in the sight of him, laid out before you. His eyes were filled with anticipation and need, his expression almost boyish. He looked almost... innocent? Nervous? It was hard to read.

With a wicked grin, you bent down and wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently. A guttural moan tore from his throat, his hands finding their way into your hair. He didn't push, but held on as if his life depended on it.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, teasing and tasting. You took him further, relaxing your throat to accommodate his length. You moaned around him, the vibration eliciting a gasp from him.

You pressed a hand into his hips, keeping him steady, as your head bobbed up and down. Your other hand stroked the base of his shaft, coaxing him further, deeper. His hips jerked, trying to gain leverage, but your grip was firm.

His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in short bursts. You had never seen him so disheveled, so undone. It was a heady feeling. Knowing that you were responsible for making the most refined man you had ever known fall apart.

You continued working him, using every trick you knew, drawing him closer and closer to the edge. He was murmuring things, his words tumbling out in a string of barely coherent compliments.

You hummed, enjoying his incoherence, the way his fingers tugged at your hair. The pressure was building, his breath becoming shorter and shallower. He was so close, you could taste it. You pulled back slightly, your tongue swirling around the tip once more.

He let out a low groan, his hips stilling as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed him greedily, savoring the taste of him, the sounds he made.

You looked up at him, taking in the sight of his parted lips, the sheen of sweat covering his forehead. He looked beautiful. Wild and untamed. And completely yours.

The realization washed over you, sending a jolt of something unfamiliar through your body. Before you could examine it, he was pulling you underneath him, taking back control. His lips found yours, kissing you deeply, his hands sliding under your hips, pressing you closer.

The two of you just kissed for awhile, unhurried, enjoying the feel of each other. Your fingers explored his body, learning every dip and curve, committing him to memory.

"I must confess, it actually has been years," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His words were spoken into the crook of your neck, his voice slightly muffled.

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, his confession so unexpected.

"It's alright, I won't tell anyone," you teased, carding your fingers through his hair.

He leaned back, his eyes shining with amusement. "That would be preferable," he agreed, planting a kiss on the underside of your jaw.

"The wait was worth it," he whispered, his voice low and full of promise.

You couldn't stop the blush that crept up your neck, his words sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. He had that effect on you. Making you feel things you had never experienced before. He was so commanding yet tender. So confident, yet vulnerable.

You tugged him closer, wanting to be engulfed by his scent, his warmth. He obliged, slowly parting your legs with his knee, his erection pressing into the apex of your thighs.

He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath warm against your cheek. "Is this okay?" he whispered, his question genuine.

You nodded, not used to the way he was taking his time. You had never had someone take such care, treating your body like something delicate, precious. It was an odd feeling, and you found yourself craving it, eager to see what he would do next.

He brushed his nose against yours, a tender gesture, his hands lifting your thighs, pressing them against your stomach. You could feel his hard length against you, but he remained still, his gaze searching yours.

You realized he was waiting for an invitation. "Please," you breathed, unable to say more, your mind too focused on the feel of him, the heat building inside you.

His fingers gripped the back of your thighs, the pressure enough to bruise, as he eased into you slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, his thickness stretching you, filling you completely. You moaned, your fingers digging into his biceps.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He set a perfect rhythm, his hips rolling against yours in a way that left you breathless.

Your hips rose to meet his, colliding in perfect harmony, his breath warm against your cheek. He murmured words of encouragement, his voice hoarse and low. Your name escaped his lips in a breathless gasp, the sound almost a prayer.

You could feel his love, his admiration, in every touch, every kiss, every stroke. It wasn't just sex. It was Elijah pouring every ounce of his devotion into you. You understood why he wasn't a man for one-night stands. He couldn't separate the act from the emotion. And for some reason, you couldn't either. Not with him.

His hands slid to your hips, steadying your movements as he slowed his thrusts, savoring the way you fit together. "Perfect," he breathed, his lips grazing the side of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

"Elijah," you whimpered, his name escaping in a gasp.

He was unraveling you, piece by piece, every thrust bringing you closer to the edge. You could feel the pressure building, the familiar heat pooling deep inside you. You closed your eyes, your fingers curling into his skin as the first waves of your orgasm washed over you.

"That’s it," Elijah whispered, his voice like velvet against your ear, low and intimate.

Your body trembled, a moan escaping your lips as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body tensing, then relaxing. He rode you through it, his own release following yours, he groaned, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, the world around you faded away, your thoughts only of him. You breathed each other in, the two of you still joined, hearts racing.

When the fog cleared, and reality came rushing back, all you could think about was the way his skin felt against yours. His body, warm and solid above you. You had never had sex like that before. It was intense, almost spiritual. You couldn't explain it, but there was something different about him. Something you had never experienced with anyone else.

"Well, that was..." you trailed off, looking up at him through your lashes.

He met your gaze, a hint of amusement in his expression. "Indeed," he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You let out a soft giggle, your cheeks warming under the weight of his stare. You snuggled into his chest, his strong arm wrapping around you, holding you close.

You stayed like that for a while, enjoying the feel of his bare skin against yours. Your fingers absently traced patterns along his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong. You had never felt more content, more at ease.

"You're welcome to stay," he whispered, his lips brushing against the top of your head.

You hummed in agreement, letting him pull the blankets around you. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt so comfortable. So safe.

The soft buzzing of his phone pulled you both back to reality, a reminder that the world outside still existed. Elijah sighed, the sound half-amused, half-irritated.

"Who is it?" you asked, the question partially muffled by his chest.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

You lifted your head, looking at the screen, and noticed all the messages notifications from the dating app. You chuckled.

"Someone is popular," you said, teasing him lightly.

He shrugged, a sheepish look on his face. You reached out and opened a message from one of his many suitors, a blonde woman who was unafraid to get right to the point.

‘My place? ;)’, the message read, along with a very provocative picture.

"I don't understand why people think sending a photo like that is appropriate," Elijah mused, his tone indignant.

You burst out laughing, the thought of Elijah, in all his old-fashioned glory, unable to comprehend the dating app culture, was too much.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you didn't expect this," you teased, poking him gently in the ribs.

He caught your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the gesture so intimate, you could feel your cheeks flush.

"I'm aware of what dating apps are for, I'm just not interested in the kind of attention she's offering," he replied, his eyes meeting yours, the warmth in his gaze making your heart race.

"It's not all bad, you know," you said, a hint of mischief in your voice. "It worked for us," you pointed out.

He arched an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. "I suppose you're right," he conceded, his lips curving into a small smile. "But we would have ended up here regardless," he added, his confidence unwavering.

"Is that so?" you replied, trying to hide the way your heart was hammering against your chest.

"Yes," he said simply, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for doubt.

"And why is that?" you pressed, enjoying the way he was looking at you, his gaze full of adoration.

“This,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “was always meant to happen. You and I… we’re inevitable.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “Inevitable,” you repeated, the word tasting like a promise on your tongue. Whatever doubts or fears you had melted away in the warmth of his gaze, the quiet certainty that seemed to anchor you to this moment. As his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, you realized that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Wrapped in his embrace, your future unfolding one shared heartbeat at a time.

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peachetteprice · 9 months ago

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How it Should Be | Captain John Price

John, your husband of nine years - coming up on the big decade - who still grows pink in the face when you tap his arse and call him handsome.

He just can't quite believe it.

He knows he must be somewhat attractive because he landed you - and by God that was not an easy feat, concealing how ardently he pined for you in that dimly-lit Spoons in the centre of Hereford - despite how your brother, who joined you every time because it was the only way you could ever see John, and vice versa - had been his friend since John was twenty-five and your brother, twenty-two; he worked at the classic car garage in Leominster that John frequented to keep mint his Ford Cortina - but regardless of all of the strife he underwent to secure you as his beloved wife, he still finds himself biting back a form of childish embarrassment that forces his bottom lip between his teeth as you profess over a glass of wine just how gorgeous he is, right now, in his underwear, sipping that pitcher of beer because he ran out of Scotch.

In every other respect, he's the most stoic man you've ever met. But if you ever catch him in the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, even outside in the garden and coo extravagantly about how stunning he looks, whether he be elbow-deep in grease doing the dishes, fixing his belt around his jeans early in the morning, grooming his beard before the mirror or de-weeding the patio outside, he will undoubtedly become bashful to the extent of personal ridicule, rolling his eyes or slamming his palm on the sink to exclaim that he is not, in fact, as 'beautiful' as you seem to think he is.

It's only partly a joke, but the majority of one of those parts leans towards the serious truth, which is most disconcerting, and half the reason why you spend so much of your precious time trying to convince him that he is, in fact, the most beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, handsome man you've ever laid eyes upon.

And, yes, you may be biased, because you get this one all to yourself, and no other woman can say they frequently bed a man who puts as much effort into pistoning his cock deep within you or tongueing you until you're bone-dry in thirty-Celsius weather as he does - even if the sweat on the bedsheets is beginning to pool at an alarming rate - simply because he wants you to feel loved, irreverent of his own comfort.

Oftentimes, as he is, said, knee-deep within you, you'll take him by the scalp and guide him to your neck, urging him to press his weight against you - exactly as you know he loves - just so you have him in lock and key, knowing he's unable to go anywhere until he cums, and you can - finally - whine into his neck about how handsome he is, and watch as he can do nothing but soak it in, too busy panting, grunting and blushing to respond. His face, his body, his voice, his personality, his tact, his pubic hair rutting against your clit - his everything. It's all perfect. And you'd sooner die than live in a world where he doesn't believe so.

It's why you've since taken your dedication to greater heights, explicitly professing your love for your husband in front of his boys whenever they come around, so John (and them) can see it isn't just an elaborate plot to ensure he puts his empty cereal bowl away in the dishwasher as soon as he finishes his breakfast in the morning, or to get him to wipe the crumbs from the toaster when the crumb tray gets too full, or clean the cigar ash from the ashtray on the dining room table - that he says he'll 'get round to' after he finishes his mountain of paperwork, which you know is false because it would take him weeks to climb.

It's really to make way for a kiss and a ruffle of his hair here, a hug and a grope of his butt there - just enough to let him know that, regardless of company, you think he's the most irresistible hunk of man in the room.

And, sure, the first few times are a little awkward for all of you, the boys included, as they feel they've encroached on something that best be left behind closed doors, but Kyle and Johnny - never Simon - swiftly come around to the notion that you showing your affection openly to John is a wondrous thing (Kyle truly thought, prior to then, that there might have been marrital troubles; he'd never even seen you two so much as kiss) and Johnny goes so far, himself, as to 'awh', whenever you peck John's lips, pinch his beard and call him 'cute', even if Johnny does get a sturdy bollocking from your husband back at base - it's oh-so worth it to see his Captain still madly in love after nine (almost ten) years of marriage!

And it feels like you've carried to full-term and subsequently birthed a healthy baby when you wake up to the sound of gushing water from the bathroom, to see John pat beard oil into his facial hair, stop, assess himself in the mirror, then mutter 'yeah, not bad', because Christ, it'd finally paid off.

| Masterlist |

#captain john price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price #john price x reader #price x reader #jonathan price #call of duty #cod #call of duty fanfic #price fanfiction #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty fandom #callofduty #captain jonathan price #john price cod #john price #john price x you #captain john price fanfiction

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baronessvonglitter · 9 days ago

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Just a Ride

dbf!Dave York x f!Reader | wc: 3.6K

Summary: When a date goes bad you call your dad's best friend Dave to come to the rescue.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Dave is your dad's best friend. Mention of his daughter but none of Carol - what happened to her? Is she dead? Did she leave him? Don't know don't care, but she doesn't exist because for once I didn't want to write an adulterous Dave. Age gap (reader is 20s Dave is in his 40s). Bad, handsy date. Reader wears a dress and makeup but is otherwise not described much. Protective!Dave. Mention of drinking alcohol. Mutual pining. Pet names (princess). Fingering. Car sex. Unprotected p in v. (Dave can hit it raw with me anytime). Wistful/sad ending. No use of y/n. Never beta'd because fuck it we ball.

a/n: Hi, my name is Adriana and when I was a kid I had two pet baby turtles named Michaelangelo and Raphael (I was planning on getting two more to be Donatello and Leonardo) but they "ran away" (parent-speak for they died) and I think about them every day.

So this is the fic that won out. It was 97% done and I just needed to fill a couple holes (hehe). I don't think I've ever read a dbf!Dave fic before, though I highly doubt mine's the first. I'd gladly accept recommendations below if you know any! Please enjoy 🖤❤️

dividers by @thecutestgrotto 👑

DAVE YORK MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

Dave sits at the bar, pretending to find his Scotch very interesting, doing his best to stay unnoticed. He's dressed casually in jeans, a black tee and a leather jacket, blending in. Now and again he checks his watch or his phone, but he's secretly got you in his sights.

In his peripheral vision he sees you at your table with your date. You're talking, laughing, charming each other. Seemingly having a good time. But he's good at reading people. That smile on your face doesn't quite reach your eyes, and when you laugh at one of your date's lame jokes the sound is hollow, not how you usually peal out in laughter.

He knows a lot about you, having known you nearly your whole life as your dad's closest friend. He knows the date isn't going great and that you deserve better than the jackass who's sitting across from you, leaning in a little too close to you, fixing the shoulder strap of your red dress and using that as an excuse to touch you without your permission. Dave's blood starts to boil.

He waits for your signal, ready to pounce though he looks to all the world like he's relaxing with a drink.

Suddenly his phone lights up with a call from you. He briefly glances your way, seeing you trying to be discreet about your call while hiding your phone in your lap as your date is seemingly in the dark. When your gazes meet you give a small, nervous smile and an almost imperceptible nod. Dave immediately jumps into action.

He's jammed up by a couple of wait staff with loaded trays, and he manages to dodge them, but by the time he gets to your table you're struggling with your date, his hand around your arm in a vise grip.

"Hey!" He shouts. "Let her go. Now." He stands protectively at your side, giving this idiot a chance to do the right thing and walk away. His stance is intimidating to the much younger man, and he watches with a calm air of authority as your date slowly releases your arm.

"You need to leave, now. And don't even think about coming near her again," he growls.

Defeated, and not wanting to cause a further scene, your date puts his hands up and leaves, muttering under his breath. Dave makes sure he's gone from the restaurant before turning his attention to you. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm okay," you tell him, wiping a little tear away. "Thank you for that.."

His expression softens, his temper melting and giving way to concern. "Don't mention it. I told you I'd have your back." His hand is on your arm now, gently soothing where your date had grabbed you just moments before.

"Would you.." you softly hiccup through your tears. "Would you take me home? He was my ride."

"Of course," he says, glad to be able to escort you safely back home. "Let's get you home."

You settle into the passenger side of Dave's SUV, the same one that not many years ago he'd driven you to volleyball practice in when your parents were too busy to do so. It still smelled of leather and coffee and Dave's own special scent, the one you'd only ever gotten whiffs of during a rare hug.

You were close with his daughters until the three of you went your separate ways after high school. You're the only one who stayed behind, preferring to be closer to home.

Maybe a part of you stayed because you have a crush on your father's best friend.

Not that he'd ever notice you that way. He'd always maintained a polite, never-overly-friendly persona with you. It had changed when you'd started dating, and he and your father became a pair of ultimate authority figures when it came time for your date to pick you up. When you were younger and yearning for your freedom, you hated how they questioned your dates, asked for photo IDs, wrote down license plate numbers "just in case".

Now, having known what the dating pool was like, you appreciate Dave's overprotectiveness. It was actually you who'd reached out and asked him to be your emergency getaway if you'd needed it. You never had until tonight.

He starts the engine, looking over to you to make sure you're buckled in. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, of course.. but what happened?"

"He was really insistent on going back to his place after dinner.. even after I said no," you mumble,

His fingers grip the steering wheel too tightly as he maneuvers the SUV out into the late Saturday traffic. "I see. I don't like the sound of that. Good thing you called me when you did. You never know what could have happened."

"Yeah," you agree, shivering when you think of the look in your date's eyes when you'd rejected him. "I'm just glad I called you."

"You know you can always count on me to be there for you, no matter what."

"Thank you." You place your hand lightly on his knee, a touch meant, at first, to be of the friendly sort, but in the dark of this vehicle you feel the spark of something more.

"You don't have to thank me," Dave deflects. "I would do anything to keep you safe." True, he'd felt a jolt of electricity at your unexpected touch, and his heart rate speeds up momentarily. His mind races with a mixture of unexpected feelings.

"You always look out for everyone, Dave.. who looks out for you?" You watch him as he drives, see his handsome silhouette in the city lights. He's chuckling now, caught off guard by your question. The truth is, he's so used to being the protector that he often neglects his own needs and feelings. He gives you a sidelong glance, contemplating your question.

"Nobody, I suppose.. not really. I'm usually the one doing the looking out."

"Must be lonely," you say, your hand still resting on his knee.

His thick fingers tap against the steering wheel as he considers your comment. It stings a bit to hear it, to have his own loneliness acknowledged, like a mini-autopsy of his middle age. But he knows you, and that you're asking from a place of pure empathy.

"Maybe a bit, yeah. But it's a role I'm used to. Besides, you're here now, aren't you? That keeps the loneliness at bay, for a little while at least."

A smile grows over your lips, heat filling your cheeks at the compliment. "I like that.."

Dave's usual stoicism melts away under your soft demeanor and youthfulness. You're young and haven't yet had the weight of the world on your shoulders.

The ride passes in quiet comfort, even as with each moment he can't help feeling your hand on his knee, knowing it's not going to be easy to just drop you off and go back home to what is a less exciting life than you might think. He pulls up to your house and into the driveway he's parked in hundreds of times before to visit your dad.. and lately, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of you.

"Thanks again.. for everything," you tell him, not making any move to leave.

"Anytime," he says quickly. "It's what I'm here for. And hey.. if you ever need anything or just want someone to talk to, don't hesitate to call, okay?"

A smile graces your lips, forced because everything he's said is exactly what you'd expect him to say. And if the charge between you tells you anything, it's that there's unexplored business between you.

His gaze roams over your face, seeing you for your own person rather than just the product of your parents. Your lips are plump and glossy, and he has a feeling he knows just how they'd taste if he were to kiss you.

He shouldn't be thinking like that.

If he were a real gentleman he'd hop out and open the door for you, walk you up to your parents' house and bid you good night, maybe step in and have a beer with your dad and say hi to your mom. You could go your separate ways and that'd be that.

But you're here, and you're not making any motion to leave, not the feeblest attempt. In fact you're looking at him so expectantly that it pulls at his heart, floods his dick with need so that he's already getting hard.

You shouldn't be looking at him like that.

Without a word he reaches out and touches your cheek lightly, his fingertips running delicately over your jaw. Your breath catches in your throat, which makes his own pulse miss a beat. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, slightly sticky now with your gloss but he doesn't care. He's wound up tight, watching your eyes flit to his own lips and remain there, likely imagining the very thing he's imagining.

Unable to resist any longer, his hand cups your chin and gently tilts your face up, his dark brooding eyes studing yours for a moment before he leans in. The gap between you disappears as he presses his lips against yours, the kiss gentle yet possessive. The electricity between you could light up a small town, and both of you give into the feeling.

His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, exploring your mouth with an urgency fueled by desire. The heat builds between you, the air filled with the heady mixture of forbidden lust.

Your hand cups the back of his neck while you kiss, fingers combing through the short strands of his hair. It sets a shiver through him, knowing he's in your parents' driveway, kissing their only daughter like he's some twenty-something idiot thinking with his dick.

You don't push him away, you encourage him further, letting him pull you forward by the small of your back as he tries to erase any vestige of space remaining between you two. The kiss grows rougher, hungrier, the pent-up tension between you finally reaching its breaking point as you press together, seeking each other's heat.

Like-minded, you pull him down on top of you in the passenger seat as he presses you down, neither of you thinking of anything except what comes next, the desperate need to get as close as possible. Your hands slip under his jacket before he removes it, growling softly in pleasure that you want this too, as he settles between your thighs.

He kisses down your jaw, nipping at your skin, exploring the soft flesh of your neck. Your whispers of encouragement as you rake your fingers through his hair only goads him on, responding diligently, his kisses growing more fervent and urgent with each passing moment as he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses and soft bites.

He watches you as he starts to unbutton your dress. "Is this okay?" he whispers. The straps of your dress are already slipping down your shoulders, revealing their softness.

You whisper "yes," and he gently pulls the top down until your satin bra is revealed. He's transfixed by the sight, your bra doing nothing to hide the rise and fall of your chest. His eyes darken with desire, his gaze heavy-lidded. He's torn between wanting to devour you and wanting to savor this moment, though who knows how much time you have?

"We really shouldn't be doing this," he murmurs, pressing hot kisses to the tops of your breasts and smiling when you arch up into his touch. "We could get caught."

"I don't care," you tell him, and he believes it.

"You want this?" he asks, nuzzling your soft skin, knowing he'll be devastated if you say no.

"Dave," you say in a soft and sweet chuckle. "I've wanted this for a long time.."

He lifts the hem of your dress, pressing wet kisses along your skin as he works his way down your torso, his fingers curling into the edge of your underwear waistband. Red satin to match your bra and your dress. You were expecting to get fucked tonight and he's going to see to it that you are.

You pull him down and he settles on top of you, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, his stiff cock trapped in his jeans as he rubs against you.

Lifting your hips to his, you grind on him, making a wet spot on his crotch through the dark denim. Dave groans softly, his mouth millimeters from yours. "That's it, princess. Use me," he says with a gruff edge to his voice. Your hands grip his shoulders as he starts to rub against you, the friction growing hotter by the second. "You like using me, huh?" he whispers, his hips moving in time with yours.

"Yes," you eke out, your panties already soaked through. Dave feels it, your heat radiating through the sheer material. Your intoxicating scent is all around him and he breathes it in.

"You're making a mess of me, you know that?" His voice is rough, thick with need as his hands slide under your panties, his fingers seeking out the wetness that has already begun to pool between your legs. Your back arches at the deliciously forbidden glide of two of his fingers easing in, filling you up and stretching you. "Tell me what you want."

"I want- I want to come," you gasp, unable to concentrate on much else besides the feel of his fingers inside you.

Dave's already hard cock is painfully erect, but he's focused on your pleasure first. His fingers glide in and his mouth waters at how tight, hot, and wet you are for him. He leans down and gives a gentle bite to your bare shoulder. "You want to come for me? I'm giving it to you, you've got to take it."

Your body grows taut under his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. He can see you teetering on the edge, balancing on the precipice of bliss. "Come for me, princess. Let me hear you," he commands. His fingers curl inside you as the pad of his thumb rubs your clit and he smiles when you start to come for him. Your hips lift up and your thighs threaten to close around his wrist. Colors dance behind your eyes as pure exhilaration warms you from head to toe. He keeps rubbing you in soft circles, coaxing you through your orgasm and his other hand gently cradles your cheek as he leans in for a kiss, swallowing up your sweet moans as you melt on his fingers. He doesn't stop until he feels your body relax, and then he removes his hand from between your legs and sucks your sweetness of them. He lets out a soft hum, his dark orbs never leaving yours. "You taste like heaven," he says, and you pull him down for another kiss, tasting yourself in his mouth.

Your hands fly to his belt, undoing it and pulling down his pants with it. He dares a quick glance at the front of the house but all is still. You're so eager there's no way he'd even want to stop. Even if your dad were to come out with a shotgun aimed at him-

All other thought flies out the window as he feels your hand grasp him through his boxer briefs. "Big," you say with a gasp. His hips buck involuntarily against your hand. "Yeah? You like that?"

Nodding, you whisper, "I want it," and reach your hand inside to start stroking him. He's already too turned on for any further teasing. His only thought is to get inside you.

He pulls his boxer briefs down and positions himself between your legs, his body covering yours in the passenger seat, his hips aligned with yours. "Ready, princess?" He nibbles at your ear.

"Yes," you reply breathily, the ache growing inside you. You've been waiting for this for years and now, as the thick tip of his cock presses into you, he starts to open you up, sinking into your channel, slowing to let you adapt to him inch by blessed inch.

God, you've never felt so full, no one has ever made you feel like this. Dave bottoms out, careful not to hurt you, though his hips twitch when you mewl with pleasure. "You feel so good, so wet," he says, holding you in place as he starts shallow thrusts.

"So do you.." Your legs are hooked over his arms as he controls the pacing, leaning in to brush a small kiss to your cheeks, forehead, lips and nose.

"You like the way I'm filling you up? No one's ever been this deep inside you, I can tell. You're so fucking tight."

"You're so big," you sigh, melting around him as he starts slow. "I think I can feel you in my stomach."

"You're taking it so well though." He withdraws slowly, savoring the way you feel around him, before plunging back in with a little more force, watching your breasts and belly jiggle with the movement.

"Fuck!" you gasp as he drives in again, your cunt squeezing around him as if to keep him there. But he starts a slow and sensual pace, his hips rolling against yours smoothly, your body moving with his as if in a dance, as if there's no hurry to finish this. His gaze is locked on you, watching as you writhe beneath him. "You feel amazing," he groans. Every sound you make feeds into his pleasure and so he moves a little faster, checking in with you to see if that's okay, noticing that hitch in your breath when he presses in deep, hitting that hot spot deep inside that makes you see stars. He increases just slightly, just enough to send you right to the edge before he slows down again.

"You're teasing me," you whine as he slows, your heart rate picking up speed as your pleasure ebbs.

"And what if I am?" Dave smirks, his thumb brushing your clit again.

"Dave," your body tenses as he adds the pressure, crying out in delight. He loves the way you lose control and he's desperate to make you moan over and over again, he needs to hear his name flow from your lips that way.

"Come for me," he rumbles, so close to the edge himself. He needs you to come first, needs to feel you quake and clench around him before he even thinks about coming.

Your legs encircle his hips, and he thinks there's nothing better than to be housed between your sweet thighs. He slows his thrusts, moving inside you until you demand more, your nails on his shoulders leaving crescent shaped marks under his shirt.

He watches as you come, memorizing the beauty of how you look, completely undone in this moment, keeping himself moving even as you squeeze and shudder around his cock.

"Good girl," he says. "Tell me where you want it." His breathing is getting heavier and his cock is starting to swell, starting to pulse and there's not much time.

"Inside," you tell him, and he's thankful for that. He's not sure he'd be able to pull out anyway, the way your sweet pussy is gripping him like it owns him.

That's all it takes to send him over the edge. Dave lets out a guttural groan, his body shuddering as his hips stutter then still while he comes, painting your walls with his spend.

The car windows are fogged up, the two of you still trying to catch your breath. The scent of sex and your perfume are in the air. Dave shifts a little, lifting himself enough to look down at you, his eyes dark and hooded. He can't help but push the loose strands away from your face, his touch gentle and almost reverent. His eyes soften and his lips brush your forehead.

"I sure didn't think that would happen," you giggle a little, coming down from your high.

"Life is full of surprises, princess," he responds, his eyes glittering with playfulness.

The lights above the garage come on and you remember that you're parked in your parents' driveway. Both of you scramble to get your clothes on, not wanting to get caught in such a compromising position.

"I guess I should go," you tell Dave once you're both decent. Though the last thing you want to do is leave him. Especially when you can still feel him inside you, his stickiness, the imprint of himself left behind.

"Yeah," he nods, his visage returning to that of the protective family friend.

"Do you want to come in?"

He chuckles darkly at that. Your dad would know. He'd know and Dave would be in a world of shit. "That's not a good idea right now."

Instead he watches as you walk to the door, your key fumbling in the lock until your dad comes and opens it. He's in his night robe, hair mussed, probably just awoken from his sleep. When he spots Dave's car in the driveway he raises his hand in acknowledgement and Dave does the same.

But he doesn't drive off. He waits.

The light comes on in your bedroom, and you appear at the window. You blow him a kiss and he hesitates before deciding not to catch it. He knows you'll understand why. So he nods, giving a smile and wishing you could feel the lurch of his heart as he turns on the engine and drives home.

tagging those interested: @sunshinehaze1 @letsgobarbs

@iamladyp @milla-frenchy @probablyreadinsmut @604to647

@inept-the-magnificent @sexydeadgirlxxx @teddybonkers1960

@dugiioh @everybodylovedcontractors @cuppajoel

@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @myhusband2cool

@joelmillerisapunk @itwasntimethatdidit40

#dave york #dave york x reader #soft dave #dbf!dave #protective dave #dave york x you #dave york smut #dave york fic #dave york fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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ohsolovingsouls · 10 months ago

Note

"Hey- don't start runnin' that mouth about Washington."

"I ah- I mean why would I, I'm fit as a fiddle. I ain't stupid though Sor- and I did get tested a while back for all the big ones. Haven't needed to since because it was only me, myself and I."

"Yes, because Washington state is known for their sex education program."

"You're 55 Huck, besides Joe, have you had any doctors look at you head to toe? Package in included."

#translated: I got tested and then I was too busy pining over you #honestly disasters the pair of them #can see them burning down a house and just being like.... what even happened #agent-scotch #agent scotch #agentscotch

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aerynwrites · 4 months ago

Text

The Love You Want

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

A/N: based on this request. Hope you all enjoy! Word Count: 4.8k Tags/Warnings: Fluff, so much fluff y'all, mutual pining, not actually unrequited love, Simon being emotionally constipated as usual, first kiss (b/w couple), confessions, make out sesh. Summary: Ghost finds himself falling hard for the witty, takes-no-shit bartender at the hole in the wall bar he stumbled upon a few years back. Little does he know that you feel the same way and you're not about to let him think he doesn't deserve nice things.

The bar is bustling tonight, typical of a Friday night past seven o’clock. most of the bodies beneath the dingy bar lights are familiar ones, the same faces you see each week, sometimes multiple times a week. They get their usual pints or cocktails or scotch neat. But there are always a handful of newcomers too. University students stumbling in on their weekly bar crawl or tourists looking for a local hideout, as they liked to call it. They are all fine - you prefer the regulars over the strangers of course - but the newbies pad your pockets and give you plenty of entertainment.

They give your favorite regular entertainment too.

Well…maybe regular was a strong word. He didn’t come in every week the dame day, sometimes you wouldn’t see him for weeks or months on end. The outline of the dog tags you spotted beneath his too tight shirt one night being explanation enough of his long stints away. Yet, when he was here and not god knows where doing god knows what - he was a regular. He came in every other day, same time, wearing almost the same thing - and he was always here on Fridays.

You spotted him the moment he walked in, having developed a sense for his presence now after almost two years of him coming here. At first he was like a wraith - a ghost, fittingly enough - entering and sliding into a bar stool without a single sound. You distinctly remember the first time he’d come in.

You’d been laughing at some joke Gerry, one of your regulars, had told you, filling up his pint from the tap before sliding it over to him across the chipped bar top. The bar was pretty empty - it being earlier in the afternoon and not many of the evening crowds filing in yet. You noticed Gerry’s companion’s cup was low and moved to preemptively get him a new drink. The glass was cool in your hand, the condensation slick beneath your fingertips. When you turned to the other set of taps behind you, a shriek - much to your dismay - slipped past your lips at the unexpected presence at the bar.

You barely had time to take in his imposing figure. A fucking giant of a man clad in all black and with a skull balaclava to boot - you would’ve been worried he was there to rob you had it not been for the money pressed between his hand and the bar. But you didn’t get time to dwell on on any of that as the glass tumbled from your hands. You tried feebly to catch it, the object bouncing from your hands once. Twice. Three times before eventually plummeting to the ground and shattering on impact.

“Oh, fuck-” you mutter, glancing from the mess at your feet to the stranger at the bar, brows furrowing in frustration.

“Has anyone ever told you it’s not polite to sneak up on someone?” You chastise lightly, stepping over the mess to reach for the broom at the other end of the bar.

You missed it in favor of getting the broom, but Ghost had almost balked at your nonchalant manner of speaking to him. Usually people stuttered at his appearance, shied away from him, gave him odd looks, but you-

You just looked inconvenienced that he’d startled you enough to make a mess.

And you didn’t know it yet - but that’s the moment Ghost started down the slippery slope of enjoying your presence.

This time he doesn’t scare you - this time you notice his entrance the moment the little bell above the door tingles. You feel like pavlov’s dog - eyes flitting to the door the moment the bell goes off, heart racing, palms getting slightly clammy.

He moves through the space much easier than most would expect for a man his size, but the mass of people part like the Red Sea as he moves through and straight to his usual spot. You ignore the calls of patrons at the end of the bar in favor of waiting for him to approach, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling as he finally arrives. It takes him no time at all, his dark brown eyes falling to the little slip of paper neatly folded on the bar top in front of his usual stool.

You swear you hear him let out a huff of laughter, but can’t be too sure over the din of chatter in the open space. He plucks up the paper, his large hands dwarfing the small object as he turns it around to face you, the word reserved written neatly in your own script scrawled across the front.

“What’s this then?” He asks, the all too familiar gruff baritone making you break your facade as a smile over take your features.

You shrug, moving to grab a glass and the bottle of bourbon he always prefers. Top-shelf, of course.

The amber liquid pools in the glass smoothly, and Ghost accepts it with a small nod as he finally slides into the stool and you finally answer him.

“Couldn’t have some newcomer taking my best customers seat,” you say.

You watch as his eyes roll behind the mask as he lifts it up, bringing the glass up to his lips.

“ ‘ardly a regular,” he mutters, “only in ‘ere a few months outta the year.”

You tilt your head to the side, “Yeah well. You’re still my favorite.”

Your words make Ghost pause, glass tilted up to his lips but the liquid not quite there yet. However, before he has time to dwell on your words, a whistle from the end of the bar breaks the tension. Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes as you turn to face the source of the sound.

“Hold your horses Randy, I’m coming!”

You turn, smiling at Ghost as you tap the bar. “Don’t leave without saying bye, yeah?”

And then you’re gone, unable to hear the small hum of agreement he let out.

———

Simon wasn’t one to open up to people. Hell, he wasn’t one to generally like people if he’s being completely bloody honest. He likes his team, he tolerates most of them. But other than Johnny there aren’t many people on this side of the dirt that he cares about.

Until he met you.

He didn’t intend on ever coming back to this bar - it was far away from base, not too close to his small apartment either. He just happened to pass it driving from work to home after a mission gone terrible and stopped in for a drink to help him forget. He was expecting cigar smoke and shitty music and liquor that burned.

He wasn’t expecting to startle the barkeep. And he definitely wasn’t expecting the snark you gave him either. Gave everyone for that matter.

That’s part of what kept him coming back.

After you poured his drink and cleaned up the glass you dropped, his eyes hadn’t strayed far from your form. the absence of fear or anxiety from you in his presence intrigued him, and as he silently listened and watched your interactions with other patrons - he found his lips quirking up at the corners more often than not.

You took no shit. Not from anyone. Not from your regulars and most definitely not from tourists or newcomers.

Even now he watched and listened as you went about your work, pouring drinks happily for the regulars, tucking tips into the jar beneath the bar, smiling that dazzling smile that Simon can never get enough of. But more than anything he watches the way your eyes roll at another shitty pickup line from some wanker a few seats down from him.

It’s cliche, and it makes even Simon cringe internally, biting back the groan with a swig of bourbon.

“So,” the lad began, leaning heavily against the bar as you pour his pint form the tap. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Simon watches as you have to physically hold back the cruel laughter you no doubt want to let out. But he can’t stop the smile beneath his mask as you send him a look as if to say ‘Can you believe this guy?’

You roll your eyes, pushing the tap closed when the glass is full before pushing it towards the guy with a hand out expectantly.

“Yeah it did,” you say, eyes rolling yet again. “Because now I have to listen to shit like that every night - that’s six quid.”

Simon can’t stop the sick sense of satisfaction that bubbles up in his chest as the man grumbles before fishing the notes out of his wallet. Yet despite the harsh rejection of his flirtations, Simon notices the man still leaves you a generous tip, his mind wandering back to another memory from a few months ago.

“Careful, love,” he says after you reject yet another customers advances. “Tips’ll be shit if you keep that up.”

All you do is smile wickedly, glancing around to make sure no one is looking before you pull up the large tip jar from beneath the bar. It’s filled to the damn brim, notes and coins bursting from the top as you just add more to it, shoving the contents down to make room.

“Tips are just fine, thank you,” you say triumphantly before leaning over the bar to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “To be honest, I think they tip better when I turn them away. Makes them think a bigger tips gets a bigger reward.”

Simon leans back when you do, relishing in the michevious glint in your eyes.

“Does it work?” He asks, taking a sip from his glass.

He continues when the only answer he gets is a confused quirk of your brow.

“The reward? Do they ever get it?” He clarifies, trying and failing to ignore the way his gut churns at your possible answer.

You send him a scathing look before devolving into a fit of laughter, wiping the faux tears from your eyes.

“Of course not, you bloody jerk,” you swipe your bar towel at him, a movement he easily deflects as he grabs the cloth and tugs it, pulling you closer over the bar once more.

“Besides,” you continue, eyes flicking from his eyes down to where his mouth is hidden beneath the mask. “There’s only one person who deserves it. They just don’t see it yet.”

Simon had felt a pit open in his belly at your words that night. He might not be the most versed in the realm of intrapersonal relationships but Simon Riley isn’t stupid. and that may just be part of the problem. He sees it, he sees everything - he’s trained to. So, he sees the way you look at him when you think he’s not looking. He sees the way your eyes light up when he walks in. He sees the way you leave a few drinks off his tab at the end of the night or how you usher out the last stragglers of the night so he’s the last one in the bar and can walk you to your car.

He sees it.

And he does it too.

He always makes sure to touch your hand or graze his finger against your own when you hand him his glass. He always sets his bar mat just a little too far away from your side of the bar so you have to lean over to set his glass down. In moments where you have down time he finds himself reaching up to tug the wayward shoulder of your sweater back into place or tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. And despite his early as fuck mornings he always finds himself staying until you lock the doors and lingers even longer at your car, just talking about anything and nothing.

He does all of this despite knowing he shouldn’t.

He dreams of pulling you to him, feeling your body against his, pulling his mask up to taste your lips and swallow the pretty sounds he just knows you’ll make.

He - foolishly - dreams of more.

Of coming home to you. of the smell of fresh tea brewing in the morning or breakfast cooking. Dreams of falling asleep warm and…happy with you in his arms and waking up the same way. He dreams…and sometimes they’ve become worse than the nightmares because he can’t fucking have any of it.

At least the nightmares are based in reality.

A reality that sinks in all too quickly when he catches yet another poor bastard try his luck with you. He’s older, not so old it’s creepy, but older in a silver fox kind of way. And for a moment, Simon wonders if you’ll bite this time. He notices the way you lean in a little further, laughing at something the man said. Watches the way you pull your lip between your teeth and look at him through you lashes.

Simon tried to fight down the beast raging inside him, but you beat him to it as the man utters a lame-

“Love, where have you been all my life?” His lips pulled back into a sensual smile.

You just smile that earth shattering smile, lean over and pluck the note he has held in his hand to pay for his drink before taking a step away from the bar top.

“Probably hiding from you.”

And then you turn away, back towards Simon with a playful wink as the mans friends erupt in teasing hoots and hollers.

Simon finishes his glass in one fell swoop, the glass colliding hard with the bar top as he slams it down, having to adjust himself in his seat slightly.

Bloody fucking hell.

——

Ghost doesn’t drink anything else the rest of the night - he orders another drink after downing his last but you, with your keen eye, notice he doesn’t actually drink it. In fact, you notice he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention at all, eyes zeroed in on the wall of liquor behind the bar or on the bar top or occasionally looking at his phone.

It’s odd.

Which in itself is odd, because the man is a walking enigma. You shouldn’t know him as well as you do. But you feel like you know him better than anyone. Despite not knowing his name, his real name or what exactly he does for work…you know him.

You know something’s happened to him to make him afraid or paranoid enough to keep his mask on at all times - other than when he flips the bottom up to take sips of his drink. You know he doesn’t talk much about his parents or family other than mentioning his little brother in passing and always in the past tense. You know he has a coworker Johnny who seems like more of a brother than just another acquaintance or friend. He loathes coffee but will pretty much kill someone for a good cup of tea - two sugars and just a little splash of cream (you make it perfect apparently but you’ve changed the amount of sugar and cream each time and he still says it’s perfect). He won’t admit it, but he’s a dog person - you always catch him sneaking out to the patio to pet Marty’s doberman he brings when it’s warm enough out, you even think you’ve seen him sneak the dog a few biscuits when Marty isn’t looking. He’s jumpy - always looking at the exits and windows and jerking at loud sounds. He wants people to think he’s scary and unapproachable and mean and ugly but he’s….he’s just not.

He’s jumped up and reach across the bar to steady you one too many times when you slip on a wet spot. You’ve seen him from the corner of your eye ready to pounce on a patron that won’t take your initial ‘no’ as an answer. Hell, he stays with you to the wee hours of the night so you don’t walk to your car alone and he…he’s gentle. His eyes are kind when he’s near you - warm with laughter you know he’s hiding behind the mask. Hands light as he touches you or takes his drinks from your hands.

God....you’re fucking in love with him.

It’s a thought you’ve tried hard, time and time again to ignore. And you had done it successfully for months until a quiet moment last week turned it all upside down. He’d just come home from wherever he was, he never tells you, and you noticed he’d been finishing his drink’s quicker than usual. By the end of the night his inhibitions were much lower than usual - he wasn’t drunk - no where close to that line, but the alcohol had loosened his lips a little.

You were grateful it was a slow night, you still had two hours until you closed and it was just you and Simon in the building, talking about how you’ve been since he was last here and how he’s been and everything in between. It was only when a short lull in the conversation occurred that the words slipped from your mouth before you could really stop them.

You reached up to the man sitting across the bar from you, fingertips grazing the cloth adoring his cheek. He didn’t flinch at the contact, but you noticed the way his breath hitched slightly as your fingers trailed over the seam of the mask just beneath his eyes and over his nose.

“Why the mask?” You ask, the question you’ve had since you first met a few years ago finally coming to the surface.

Ghost let out a quiet scoff, reaching up to wrap a hand around your wrist - not ungently - and pulled it away from his face. He rested it on the bar top, his hand never leaving your wrist as his thumb starts to rub back and forth over the delicate skin.

“I think you’ve ‘eld out the longest in askin’ me that,” he says, voice slightly teasing.

You shrug, not quite in the joking mood anymore, sensing it’s just his way of deflecting.

“It was never my place to ask.”

He hums noncommittally, withdrawing his hand from your own to wrap back around his almost empty glass.

“Let’s jus’ say i’m ugly under all this an’ call it a mercy, yeah?”

You do smile at that, but shake your head as a disapproving laugh leaves your lips.

“Ghost,” you chastise, “I’ve seen some of your face when you drink. Your jaw could cut fucking glass - I doubt you’re ugly.”

You watch as Ghost shakes his head, flipping up the bottom of said mask to finish his drink in one gulp, his lips turning harshly downwards before he pulls the fabric back in place again as he huffs a laugh devoid of all humor. His eyes go empty for a minute, void of that warmth you’ve become so used to seeing.

“Wasn’ talking about my face, love-” he all but whispers, before tapping his glass against the counter gently. “But I’ll agree t’ disagree on tha’ too.”

His words had made your heart clench, chest aching for him. You know what it’s like to feel like that. Unlovable, disgusting, ugly…sometimes you still do. But it hurts worse to hear when you’re right here willing to love all of him, no matter his flaws or his past or his…anything.

You’re just too scared to do anything about it. Afraid that if you voice how you feel that you’ll drive him further away and then you won’t have anything.

You’re worried when he stops drinking tonight that he’s going to leave. But he stays. He stays until the very last patron is ushered out the door, and he stays as you clean up behind the bar before moving to the main area to clean tables and put the chairs up. He even helps you with the chairs like he usually does, but he’s quiet. And you don’t push him.

You do however have to call out to him as you grab your things from the back, noticing he’s staring off once again and missed the fact that you walked past him to the front door, keys in hand. You shrug into your jacket, waiting for him to hear the jingle of keys in your hand or the bell above the door as you open it to leave, but he doesn’t.

“Ghost?”

He snaps to attention then, turning from where he was looking behind the bar and fiddling with one of the old bar mats to look at you instead. he realizes his mistake and ducks his head in an adorable way you’ve only seen once before, and it makes you smile as he makes his way over to you. Once he’s out of the door you turn and pull it closed behind you, locking it an checking it before turning to make your way down the street. You take the two steps down to street level, giving Ghost a smile before gesturing towards your car, and walking that way, expecting him to follow. But his voice stops you in your tracks.

“It’s Simon.”

You turn then, to realize that he had followed you and was much closer than you anticipated. You almost have to take a step back so you don’t collide with him as you turn around. You look up, brows furrowing at his words before it clicks.

His name. He’s giving you is name.

You can’t stop the smile that splits your lips, cheeks hurting from how hard you smile.

“Simon…” you test it out on your tongue and find that it fits perfectly with the man you’ve come to know. “It suits you.”

Simon just lets out a quiet huff that you choose to interpret as a laugh, and moves in the direction of your car. You parked closer this time, so barely a few moments pass before you’re there, and once again you find yourself speaking before you can really think better of it.

“Why now?” You ask, turning to face Simon again as he comes to stand in front of you. “I thought…why tell me your name now?”

Simon doesn’t reply right away, but you don’t push him. You just watch as he seems to war with himself, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides before he takes a few steps toward you forcing you back until your back meets the cool metal of your car. If this were anyone else you’d have tried to shove them away, called for help, ducked beneath their arms in an attempt to get away. But this is…this is Simon. Not ghost, not the mysterious man who’d walked into the bar all that time ago. No. You stay, heart racing as he looks down at you, radiating heat you can feel through the front of your sweater, waiting patiently for him to say whatever has been churning in his head all night.

Finally he moves, reaching a hand up to brace himself against your car beside your head as he looks down at you with a heat you’ve never seen behind his eyes.

“Because I’m a selfish man,” he finally whispers, voice like cut glass. “I’m selfish and I want things tha’ I shouldn’t ‘ave and one of them is my name on your lips.”

His other hand comes up then, cradling your cheek in his calloused, warm palm - his thumb moving to trace featherlight over your bottom lip.

“What…what else do you want?” You dare to ask, tongue darting out to wet your lips and brushing the pad of his thumb in the process, savoring the salty tang of his skin.

His hand slides back, still holding you but now his fingers card through your hair, and you can feel the restraint in him as he tugs ever so gently.

“So many things,” he breathes, and you can feel it ghost over your lips as he leans closer still. “Too much. Things I don’t deserve, things I can’t ‘ave-”

You reach up then, covering his hand with your own as you lean into his touch, heart aching.

“But you can have them, Simon,” you urge, clutching him so tightly as if you’re afraid he’ll leave you standing here in the cold. “All you have to do is ask. Ask and it’s…” you swallow thickly. “It’s yours…I promise.”

The groan he lets out is restrained and sinful, as he bows his head for all but a moment before looking up at you again, resolve clear in his eyes beneath a touch of hesitance.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words are uttered so softly that you never would have heard them if he wasn’t mere inches from your face. But you do hear them, and they steal the breath from your lungs so all you’re able to give him is a nod.

But that’s enough.

Because quicker than you can even comprehend, Simon reaches up and flips the bottom of his mask up above his nose, and his lips are crashing against yours. His lips are slightly chapped but warm..inviting, and he tastes like the bourbon he was drinking. Smokey and slightly sweet. He cradles your head in his hands, fingers pressing into the base of your skull as he tilts your head back ever so slightly to kiss you better, deeper, his tongue brushing against the seam of your lips.

You open to him without question, whimpering as his tongue slides against your own. Your hands come up to fist in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him impossible closer, realizing in the press of his body into yours, the weight of him intoxicating.

He only pulls away to move his attention elsewhere, his lips trailing across your jaw and down to the delicate skin of your neck as you bare your throat to him. Your hands slide up to wrap around his neck, pulling him to you again as his name slips past your lips in a heady whisper.

“Simon…”

He stops then, pulling away from you only to rest his forehead against yours, your breathes mingling in gentle puffs of mist in the cold night air.

“Come home with me,” you say, voice small but pleading.

Simon’s hand falls down to your hip, squeezing firmly at your request.

“I shouldn’t-”

You lean forward, nuzzling his cheek softly. “Do you want to?”

He lets out another groan, this one going straight to your core.

“Fuck…More than you can imagine, love.”

You kiss him again, quick and reassuring before pulling back to look at him once more.

“Then come home with me, Simon,” you urge him, begging him to give in. “You…you deserve this. You do. You’re not ugly or too damaged or too broken to deserve nice things-” you pause, unsure of your next words before eventually deciding to just let them out.

“I care about you. So, just…please.”

It takes a moment, but you can see the way the world seems to fall of his shoulders, as if the internal war within himself is finally over and he’s won. He captures you in another breathtaking kiss before releasing you one final time before plucking the keys from your hands and tugging his mask back into place.

“Okay,” he relents, voice uncharacteristically soft. “But I’m driving.”

Ah…there he is.

You can’t stop the giggle that slips from your lips, rolling your eyes as he rounds the car to the drivers seat. “Why does that not surprise me? You probably never let anyone else drive.”

He scoffs as he enters the car and you follow suit, closing the door as he starts the ignition.

“You’re bloody right,” he confirms. “I like to make it to my destination alive.”

“You’ve never even seen me drive!”

“Doesn’t matter, I know I’m better-”

You smack his shoulder, laughter bubbling from your chest that causes him to pause and look at you once more. His gaze causes you to pause, your laughter fading away as he reaches up to cup your cheek once more, his eyes going soft as he looks at you.

“I care about you too, ya’ know. More ‘an I probably should,” he finally admits.

You smile, heart fluttering in your chest so rapidly you think it might burst as you lean forward to press a kiss to his covered cheek, opting to say nothing as his words wash over you like a warm blanket. He lets you type your address into his phone, before he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the dark streets.

And once you’re finally on you way, the bar disappearing in the rearview mirror, you feel warm fingers intertwine with your own as Simon gives your hand a small squeeze. You return it, a silent reassurance that this is good.

And he deserves good things too.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

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