servicpop - Tumblr blog

servicpop · 8 days ago

Text

flowers for a little someone ♡ valentines special callahan ( detective oc ) x bttm m reader

NSFW⠀ⓘ⠀you're on house arrest but in his house , alastair (oc) mention , choking , degradation , phone call interruption , i wanted to make this freaky for valentines . . . so slightly cringey

Walking into his office on Valentines day was like if a mortuary celebrated Halloween; completely out of place for what they did. Red banners were haphazardly thrown over the walls and windows. The decorations had little to no cohesion, just oddly placed in the hopes it represented Valentines enough for people to notice and move on.

Callahan pushed through and ducked underneath ribbons and lace dangling from the ceiling to get to his office. It was a reserved space just for him—previously a small library room—in an attempt to persuade him to stay with the agency.

Sinking down on his slightly worn office chair, Callahan sighed, circling his temples with his index finger as he tried to soothe the oncoming headache. Seeing all the hearts and blindingly vibrant decorations made his head reel more than it already was. Red was a harsh, headache-inducing color, though he didn't particularly mind the soft pink elements of the cupid posters and occasional lace.

Before he could get up to brew himself a morning cup of black coffee, three sharp knocks were delivered to the door of his office. Callahan didn't even move and the man was already walking inside.

“Flowers for you sir,” A man with platinum dyed hair with a dark undercut and silver rimmed glasses chimed in with a bundle of roses in his right arm. He pushed his glasses up his nose bridge before striding over to Callahan's table and placing them down on the wood.

“From who...?” Callahan eyed the officer with a narrowed look.

“Not sure. A blonde lady if I saw correctly,” Alastair shrugged, reaching over to flip the card attached to the bouquet towards Callahan's prying eyes. It had a woman he's never heard the name of before neatly scribbled on it.

“Right,” Callahan curtly nodded, glaring down at the bunch of roses carefully placed together by a commissioned florist. The petals had a sultry red color, encased with black paper to deepen the natural tint of the flower. Tulips would've been better, or perhaps peonies in a gentle pastel.

“It's fitting,” Alastair smiles, “It's all dark and brooding—just like you.” He's waving his hands around like he's physically picturing and comparing Callahan with the roses. When he doesn't reply, Alastair flashes a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck as he speaks up for the silence, “No? Too much? Okay.” He backs up to the door and slips out without further conversation.

Callahan stares back down at the flowers; he had no use for it, though one thought stopped him from chucking the roses out into the trash.

Walking out of his office, he spotted Alastair again, casually chatting with a co-worker of his with a cup of milky coffee in his palms. With everyone in the building, Alastair was the one man who would drop his work in a futile attempt to impress his superior. And Callahan planned to use that.

“I'm taking my break early today, if anyone needs me, don't call; I won't pick up.”

Callahan had to brace himself for a second, pushing the door of his home open before scanning the open area for any signs of the little thief he had locked down in house arrest. He found you calmly nestled within the fortress of the pillows and blankets you'd pulled from his closets, on the couch with a cheesy 2000's Valentines movie playing.

He had to suppress the urge to call out 'I'm home,' since it was instinct to do so when someone else was home. You weren't meant to be his roommate let alone a friend. You were a criminal he'd swore to keep his eyes on.

His footsteps were heavy—a sign that he had come home if you couldn't hear the door unlock—as he loomed over the back of the couch, staring down at the crown of your head.

“Enjoy.” He tossed the bouquet of roses onto your blanketed lap carelessly, watching as you bring it up into your hands to get a better look at it. There's a strange feeling in his gut seeing you appreciate something he's brought home, like a cat hauling a dead rat onto its owner's porch. He'd only play it off as accomplishment to giving something a better use. Nothing more than that.

“It's pretty.” He can hear the smile in your voice and it pushes him to roll his eyes. “Thought you didn't like red roses though.” You tilt your head back to look at him, but you're met with narrowed eyes and a slight scowl to his face.

“I don't. That's why I gave them to you,” he scoffed, circling the couch before taking a seat a few pillows away from you.

“Why'd you come home so early?” You turn your attention away from the movie to him, gauging his reaction.

The question struck him like lightning, and his whole body tensed up. There was no other reason why he came home early than to give you the flowers, to see your facial expression change from the most insignificant gesture—in his eyes.

“You ask too many questions, brat,” He sighed, relaxing his body into the comfort of the couch as he spread his arms across the back, just shy of reaching you. His gaze is fixed straight before a slight rustling catches his attention.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see you look up at him, then back down to the roses, then back up again to flutter your eyelashes. His eyebrows knit together as he tries to decipher your looks before it dawns on him.

“Fuck, fine, I'll let it slide just 'cause its Valentines day.” He groans as he snatches the bouquet from your hands and treads toward his bedroom door, expecting you to follow him.

Callahan's got you laying flat on your stomach while he's standing on the edge of the bed between your parted legs. Both of your clothes discarded onto the floor, rumpled from the rough handling. He leans over your body to reach over the neglected bouquet to the side of you on his bed.

Callahan's fingers hook under the perfectly tied ribbon, undoing it with a simple movement. The flowers fall apart on his bed, scattering as the ribbon holding them together comes undone.

His palm slides under your chin, lifting your head up as he folds the red satin over your nape and around to the front column of your throat. His hands are surprisingly experienced with tying a bow, securing it just above your Adam's apple.

“This romantic enough for you?” He bites out, fingers curling along the ribbon at the back of your neck before he tugs at it. It strains against your neck, forcing your head to tilt back.

“You've got rose petals, a nice house to stay in, a pretty ribbon around your neck, and a fucking great guy to take care of you.” It's a sarcastic jab at himself, knowing how he's defying all his moral codes just for you—and it doesn't feel wrong at all.

He holds you there, observing how you just take it with no complaints, and that scarily turns him on more than he'd want to admit.

Callahan finally releases you, letting you catch your breath for about one good second before he's stuffing himself into you, sliding his thick ridge past that tight ring of muscle. He groans like he's restraining himself from liking it as his hand instinctively grips the ribbon—not pulling it yet.

He's holding you like he's gripping a saddle, and he plans to ride out his high for tonight.

He leans over your back just slightly to drag himself—even if just a centimetre more—deeper as he pushes until his own body slaps against yours. Callahan can feel you fluttering around him, stretching and adapting to his girth as he gently rocks himself forward to speed up the process.

When he assumes you've adapted enough, Callahan pulls out just enough that his tip is still keeping your hole stretched and open for him. He leans back to get a good view of your body connecting with his, gripping and groping the plush flesh of the back of your thighs before he spits on his dick and shoves it back into you.

The sudden intrusion has you yelping into the pillow, nails clawing at his pure white sheets, threatening to rake scratch marks all over them.

He pounds into you, the slick sound of lube and his spit mixing together while he's fucking an imprint into your walls. You feel every thick vein pulsing with need and it makes your legs tremble with each thrust.

“Don't act like you haven't been sleeping around like this before I caught you,” he grunted, giving you a sharp tug to the band around your neck. “But shit if those bastards aren't lucky,” you can't pick up what he's muttering under his breath from the obscene sound of wet slapping and creaking.

You'd protest if you're teeth weren't clamped down around the fluff of Callahan's pillow. The constant slide of his girth dragging along your walls makes you squirm like its ticklish.

Your neck is lightly throbbing from the pressure of the ribbon, but it's in a way that's sickly enjoyable. Not to mention your own cock is rubbing against Callahan's sheets, adding to the mind-numbing stimulation.

“You're quiet today. Where's that mouthy boy I know?” He says it as if he's gently cooing to a dog or a pet, but to you, its a sardonic mock. Callahan grips the satin like a rein, jerking your head up to let all those filthy noises spill from your lips.

His balls draw heavy with the burden of pleasure seeing you arched so much alike to a cat. One hand grips the spot where your waist meets you hips, and he digs his fingers deep enough for crescents to form. With the way you're whining out in esctasy, it tells him that he's found your prostate, and he's actively bumping it every time he thrusts.

There's a sharp vibrating sound that comes from Callahan's phone on the night stand and his screen lights up blue with the words 'Glasses police officer' on it. Callahan mentally curses out that son of a bitch, especially since he was explicit when asking him not to call.

“What?” He growls out into the phone, slotting it between his ear and a hiked up shoulder as he continues to roll his hips back and forth into you. He hears your whine and how you're turning your head to look back at him but he just pushes your face back down, not wanting to deal with your dejected look because he's diverting the tiniest bit of attention away from you.

“When are you coming back to work? You've got a few important paperwork you need to fill out,” Alastair's voice was like nails on a chalkboard right now, especially when that static sound coming from his phone was drowning out your cute moans.

“Do you think doing this will make me want to come back?”

“No... But sir I—”

Callahan's mind is pulled away from the phone call for a minute as he discries the small trembling of your torso, and how eagerly you're pushing back against him like you're trying to encourage him deeper.

“He's about to cum,” He voices his thoughts shamelessly to the officer on the other line, “I'm not coming back 'till tomorrow.”

There's an air of silence from Alastair's part before he speaks up with a flustered and almost out of breath voice, “He's– Who? What—?”

Before anymore questions were thrown at Callahan, he hangs up and tosses his phone to a random corner of the bed, turning his full attention to you. More so to the slight jolting movements you're doing and the breathless and elonged moan you're sobbing into the pillow.

“Jesus christ,” He draws out; the sharp shock of his orgasm comes without warning from watching you lose yourself, and he's overbrimming you with his pleasure. No matter how hard you're squirming or twitching, Callahan holds you down with his hands, pushing down at your neck and the base of your spine, keeping you still as he pumps his generation into you.

Callahan pushes his hair back as he lets out a content sigh—as content as he could physically make himself sound.

“Who was that?” Your voice was so small and hoarse it almost made Callahan feel bad for making you scream your lungs out. Almost.

“Just go to sleep, I don't need your jealous whining,” he huffed, carefully taking off the ribbon from your neck and absent-mindedly rubbing your neck to soothe the pain he inflicted out of instinct.

You held your tongue just so he wouldn't notice he was doing it.

a / n ; hopefully this wasn't too freaky . . . m'not good at hard-core stuff T T , divider credits –> @/roseraris

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #bottom male reader #male reader #oc x male reader #sub male reader #mlm #x bottom male reader #mlm nsft #uke male reader #amab reader #x male reader smut #x male reader

768 notes · View notes