#so of course I INSTANTLY recognised this one

[minastras]

him, revisited (how much i believed in the future) // jake

You didn’t realise your ex-boyfriend Jake Sim was still your emergency contact. Or that he’d show up when you needed him.

at a glance: exes to lovers, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader, jake best boy

words: 2.6k

warnings: hospital setting, y/n has an unspecified medical condition, mentions of iv drips and blood (very mild), swearing

@k-films

——————————

The light above you is too white, too sharp, a blinding fluorescent harshness that forces your eyelids shut the second you open them. A steady beep in the background. The sharp smell of antiseptic. A sting in the back of your hand.

You open your eyes again, slower this time, and feel around you. Your palm glides across the thin, crinkly surface of a hospital bed, only to be pulled back by something attached to your hand. An IV drip, tangled in a mass of wires and cords you can just barely make out through your blurred vision.

“You’re awake.”

Even from deep within your haze, you recognise his voice immediately.

“Jake?”

Out of focus, a figure makes its way to the side of your bed.

“Hey,” he says softly, as if afraid his breath will knock you over. “How do you feel?”

You push yourself up on shaky elbows and a bolt of pain instantly shoots up your spine, sending you falling back down onto the bed.

Jake catches you, his hands on your back to cushion your fall. “Careful.”

In his strong grip, your weak form seems to turn to clay. He gently sits you upright and inclines your bed with the crank of a handle and props your pillows up for you to lean against.

It takes a few seconds for your vision to stop spinning, for the pain in your head to ease slightly, before your eyes focus enough for you to actually see him.

“Jake? Why are you… what’s going on?”

He looks the same as when you last saw him — six months ago, in his kitchen, breaking up with you. When he told you he couldn’t be what you needed, couldn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved. Even though he was the only man you’ve ever wanted to follow to the end of the world, to the peak of a mountain, anywhere he wished.

“I don’t know. They called me,” Jake says, adjusting one of your pillows. “I came as fast as I could.”

A throbbing ache sits just behind your eye sockets, making it supremely difficult to register anything he says. And the constant beeping of your heart monitor only makes it worse. You glance around the room, at him, at the chair beside your bed with his black bomber jacket thrown over the back of it. The one he used to wrap around your shoulders on cold nights.

How long has he been waiting for you to wake up?

“They called you?” you ask, your mind still lagging about ten steps behind his.

Jake breathes in slowly, like he doesn’t want to give you an answer, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I was your emergency contact,” he says. “Or I still am, to be exact.”

“…Oh, I’m sorry. That’s embarrassing,” you mumble. Another lash of pain radiates up the back of your neck, a tongue of fire searing your vertebrae.

Six months. Six whole months have gone by, and you haven’t changed your emergency contact.

Noticing you wince from craning your neck to look up at him, Jake pulls the chair closer and sits down right beside your bed, fingers curling around the metal bed rail.

“No, it’s not,” he says. Kind, quiet.

It’s a strange feeling, seeing him again after half a year — this person who’d been the centre of your world for so long before vanishing into the ether all at once — and learning you still remember every contour of his face. The angles of his brows, his nose, his chin, the warm brown hue of his eyes that crackle like firewood, the delicate slant of the corners of his lips.

“You could’ve just called Siah,” you say, face flushed, “but thank you for coming.”

Jake smiles. “Of course. It’s good to see you.”

You pull at your scratchy hospital gown and attempt in vain to tidy your hair, wondering which mythical forest gremlin you look like the most. “It’s good to see you, too.”

You probably weren’t ready back then for that serious a relationship, too eager to throw yourself head first into the lake that was Jake Sim. And neither was he. He seemed almost frustratingly well-adjusted compared to you, maybe everyone did — but you needed him and he needed to feel needed. You like to think you’re more sensible now. More self-sufficient. Less difficult to love.

“So…” Jake begins, scratching the back of his neck, “are you okay?”

The IV in your hand shifts, stings, makes you flinch. Beneath the clear adhesive dressing holding it in place, your skin prickles. You lift your hand and squint to see swelling around the site and a small amount of blood flowing back up into the line.

“I think so. I don’t remember what happened,” you admit, scratching around the edges of the dressing. “This thing is so fucking itchy.”

Jake pushes your other hand away and presses the call button by your bed. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” you insist, but your voice is weak. “I just…”

His hand circles gently around your left wrist, holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. His touch is grounding, soothing, in a way only he can manage.

“Let me help you,” he whispers, and it sounds more like a plea than an offer.

Your love for him has faded somewhat. It’s become a sort of dull ache that sweeps across your heart whenever you think of him, which is often, and whenever you miss him, which is always. But the ache is bearable. You’re used to it, the scars of first love.

Except maybe it isn’t bearable, because as you watch him examining your IV site, eyes brimming with worry, gentle fingertips brushing across the back of your hand, the ache returns — stronger than you remembered.

“It’s swollen. And a little red,” he says, calm. Forever the steady anchor to your chaotic ship. “Do you think it’s the same thing that happened last summer? When you fainted and got all that bloodwork done, and that heart tracing.”

“…You remembered,” you breathe. He’s still holding your hand.

“Of course I remembered.”

It’s such a soft phrase that you almost can’t tolerate it. What are you meant to do with it, with the knowledge that someone has carved out a space in their heart just to hold on to the things you’d said and done and gone through?

That summer, Jake spent many a date carrying you home on his back when you were too weak to walk, staying awake with you when you were curled up in bed with excruciating migraines and stroking your hair, singing quietly to you when waves of nausea struck you down and incapacitated you.

If you were Jake, you might have broken up with yourself much earlier. Not because you were sick, but because you were a mess — neglecting your health and throwing yourself head first into your work to (pathetically try to) convince everyone you were fine. Insecure and utterly incapable of believing him when he told you he loved you.

Jake brushes his thumb over your knuckles, a sickeningly familiar action that makes you look up at him in a flash. There had to be a last time he did that, just like there was a last time he held you in his arms and a last time he tied your shoelaces. Before you became strangers, strangers who knew everything about each other. He always brushed his thumb over your knuckles when he had your hand in his, to soothe you when you were nervous or remind you he was right by your side.

Catching you staring, he bites his lip and lets go of your hand as a nurse walks through the door.

“Hello, dear, you’re awake,” she greets with a smile. She’s neither old nor young, perhaps slightly older than your parents, with kind eyes and a soft voice.

“Hi,” you say, your mouth dry.

“I think there’s something wrong with their IV,” Jake says. Protective, worried, because he knows you won’t say it yourself. The thought almost makes you want to pull away from how sweet it is.

The nurse looks at your hand. “It’s just a little bit of inflammation in your vein and some backflow,” she tells you, clearly unconcerned. “I’ll flush the line for you now. You’re booked in for a CT scan, so I’ll hook you back up after.”

She detaches the IV port from the line and pushes a syringe of isotonic saline into your vein, the pressure of the cold fluid under your skin making you wince. Jake takes your hand in his again, runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it comforts you anyway. You remember this feeling; your skin does, a return to form of sorts.

“How long have you been married?” the nurse asks casually, a clear attempt to distract you from the pain.

“Oh, we’re not-”

“I’m their boyfriend,” Jake answers with a sweet smile, cutting you off. He squeezes your hand gently, like it’s easy. Like he does this all the time. Like your hand belongs in his. It had, once.

And with three words he brings it all rushing back. Boyfriend. A title he held with great pride — until he didn’t.

“Don’t ever let this sweetheart go, dear. You should’ve seen him when he came. I’ve never met someone more worried,” the nurse says.

She doesn’t notice the confused glance you cast in Jake’s direction, or the way he looks back at you with nothing but cautious lovelights in his eyes.

“I’ll come back in a minute to take you up to CT.” The nurse begins to leave, turning back only briefly to tell Jake, “You can wait here.”

Jake nods. “Sure, thanks.”

As the door to your room slides shut, slow enough to be just slightly awkward, you prod at the back of your hand.

“Jake…” you trail off, his name leaving your lips before you even know what you want to say next. “You don’t have to stay.”

“But I want to.”

It’s a simple statement, one you instinctively feel compelled to assume is a lie — even though it almost certainly isn’t. He still has those big brown doe eyes, blinking at you from beside your bed. And they still work on you.

Jake, who dropped everything to race to the hospital when they called. Jake, who knew you needed him to be there for you because you wouldn’t let anyone else be. Jake, who reaches over the side rail of your bed to work out the knots in your hair.

Loving, reassuring, dependable Jake. The perfect complement to your neuroses, your high-strung nature, your impatience.

The room is quiet now — the nurse gone, the door closed, your IV line disconnected and no longer beeping every ten seconds. You shift around in the bed, trying to sit up straighter, look more presentable. For him.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Jake asks. A question braced with uncertainty, hope, even.

Your heart races, which is embarrassingly displayed right onto the giant heart monitor screen right beside you.

Which one of these stupid sticker things is doing that? Maybe the- it probably isn’t wise to start pulling random wires and electrodes off your skin and/or out of your body, so you stop.

“No,” you reply, embarrassed, knowing he’s far too polite to point out the spike in your heart rate. But he surely notices it. “Are you?”

“No,” he answers, instantly. He pauses. Waits. Pushes his fingers through his shiny, magazine-ready hair. When your eyes meet his, he looks away. “I- uh- haven’t gotten over you, I guess.”

“You broke up with me,” you say, the pointed reminder flowing out of you before you even have a chance to process what he’s revealed.

That’s the reason Jake has always been too good for you. You’re petty, you hold grudges, you assume the worst of people. He forgives and forgives and forgives.

Jake coughs, touches his hair again; it’s a habit of his. “Yeah, I know. It’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

His voice is gentle and quiet, one of those voices without a single sharp edge, sounding like warm honey even on the exceedingly rare occasions he raises it. But it’s even softer and quieter now, almost confessorial in its vulnerability. It disarms you, completely.

Once it becomes clear your silence has dragged on for far too long, reducing the poor Jake to staring straight down at the floor like his shoes have just transformed into the most interesting things in the world, you tap the back of his hand.

“Can you come here?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to the foot of your bed, trying to ignore the fluttering in your heart when he looks at you. “My neck hurts turning to see you.”

An invitation. Your way of telling him it’s okay. That you’re reaching for him, too, in your own guarded manner.

Jake smiles, only slightly — but it’s so often the nuance that matters with him — and sits down at the end of your bed. He folds one leg under him, shifting as best he can to face you. His lip is red from biting it.

“So, yeah. The door’s still open, if you feel the same way. You-” he hesitates, adjusting your sheets to occupy his restless hands, “You haven’t let my mind since we broke up. Since we met, actually.”

His gaze is trained on you, oddly intimate. You sit up straighter in your hospital bed, eyes glinting. “Neither have you.”

“You don’t have to answer me right away,” he adds, carefully laying his hand on the expanse of your bed between you and him. If you want to hold it, you can, he seems to imply. He smiles again. “I know you have bigger things to worry about. Your health. How itchy your hand is.”

“It’s quite pressing, that itchiness,” you say, trying to sound funny, not painfully earnest. “Once I get out of here…”

And when I look less ugly, you think. Dressed in your Sunday best, not in a hospital gown. With colour returned to your lifeless lips and cheeks. Sallowness gone from the dark crescents under your eyes.

“I’ll take you out,” Jake finishes. It’s effortless, the way you fall back in sync. “It’ll be our second first date.”

He took you ice-skating on your actual first date. He brought an extra pair of gloves for you to protect your fingers from the cold, an extra pair of thick socks to protect your feet from blistering in your rented skates. You laughed at him every time he fell, gave him a kiss on the cheek when he pouted. Kissed him for real when he walked you home.

“I’d like that,” you say, giddy as a fool.

Jake smiles, the same familiar, soft smile he used to give you when you were younger and dumber and wildly in love.

Had either of you actually fallen out of love? The way he looks at you, with his entire heart in his eyes, suggests the answer is no. And all your favourite things about him are still there — and he’s still the only person you’ve ever loved.

You don’t believe in soulmates, divine intervention, destiny. You despise the notion of being a cosmic plaything, your fate all set out in the stars for you to execute. No, whatever you do, you do it deliberately. You fall in love deliberately. You choose deliberately. You would’ve found your way back to Jake eventually.

——————————

thanks for reading!

-minastras <3

[sunarots]

bed chem ━━━ iwaizumi hajime

24. freak accident ♡

Though you try to follow Hajime’s position on the rink, you find yourself spending more time actually looking for him. You’ll lose sight of him amongst his teammates until he’s skating towards the goal with the puck.

Sendai is leading by two points and there’s not much time left, so things are looking good for the team — you think. If you’re being honest, everything Akaashi’s been teaching you has gone in one ear and out the other. You called one of the fights a scrimmage, before he pointed out that the game was a scrimmage.

“Are you enjoying it?” Oikawa leans towards you, shouting over the noise of the crowd. “I can’t tell by your face.”

“I am, actually. I do like hockey, but I never had the time to learn anything about it.” You cross one leg over the other and turn to Oikawa, having lost Hajime on the rink again. “It’s violent, but I kind of like it.”

“I like when they slam someone into the glass right in front of me,” he announces, turning his focus back to the game. “Sometimes you can see their nose start bleeding.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Says the guy who acted like he was dying when he dislocated his shoulder.”

“Hey, I also had a broken…” Oikawa turns his focus back to the rink, leaning forward towards the glass. “Oh, shit! Someone’s down!”

“Where!?” You copy his actions, following his gaze over to the crowd on the far side of the rink. “Ouch, what happened?”

Oikawa shrugs his shoulders. “Probably a fake. That happens, sometimes. Mainly when they’re losing.”

“It’s our uniform.” Akaashi hovers above the bench, trying to get a better look. “I think the puck got him. Maybe a stick?”

The crowd separates so the injured player can get past, helmet discarded and a hand covering his face. Bokuto skates beside him (of course you can recognise his striking white hair), scanning the crowd before spotting the three of you.

“It’s Iwa-chan!”

You can feel your heart skip a beat when you realise, instantly jumping to your feet and grabbing your bag from the floor. Not bothering to excuse yourself, you squeeze past the people trying to get a better look at the action so you can reach the gate before them.

“Can you take him to the nurse? We need as many as possible. Let me know how it goes! Wait, no… Never mind!” Bokuto gives you no time to react; he’s already skating back to his team.

As if sensing your worries, Hajime pats your back lightly with his clean hand. “It’s just a little blood, I’ll be fine.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bench and uses his free hand to untie his laces. “Can you-“

You’re already crouching to help him take them off, picking them up and flashing him an attempt of a smile. “Come on, sweet cheeks. Let’s get you checked out.”

He laughs as he follows after you. “Who’s doing the checking?”

“The nurse, obviously.”

With a sigh, Hajime presses the tissue harder against his nose. He takes in a sharp breath at the pressure, making a weak attempt at scrunching his face. “It’s just disappointment after disappointment today.”

masterlist. previous | next

summary. when an unfortunate incident kicks you out of your university and risks your reputation as one of the top figures skater in the country, you find your place in sendai. but when you discover they only have one rink, designated to their a-league hockey team, your chance at a comeback slips from your grasp. your only in is with the captain of the hockey team. the issue with that? he couldn’t care less who you are.

taglist (CLOSED). @standcom @thoughtswithbbg @aboutkiyoomi @angtopia @yunavx @celestialm1nd @surfeitstar @xiaoquanquans @istann @aldebrana @mdmraz @softpia @wakashudou @mo072806 @90s-belladonna @rrosiitas @suuunarin @chaotic-neutral-ig @nanasrkives @hrithi11 @itsdragonius @sexylexy12 @0rangej0e @wordsofelie @p4lli @a-sorrowful-tune @iluv-ace @matt444nixi @charleslec-airlines @meikstv @amterasuu @rabbitcola @sickpatientt @sophiahearttss @himec @torkorpse @nscuit @labsbedamned @iloveiwaizumihajime @snoowply @followingmysunsposts @navymacaroons @lover-no-lover61 @shozuken @sunaispretty @luvvcho @idexmids @luckybibucky @h3xi2g0n3 @soy-garbage @cloudtato

[dribs-and-drabbles]

The Thai Communal Wardrobe item #124

Bad Buddy ep 7:

Wandee Goodday ep 7:

[shrimpybbq]

you gotta believe me, baby

synopsis: when a stray bag of coke is found in rafe’s drawer, rafe’s fiancée grapples with its implications

The young woman trifled through Rafe’s desk, the pen he requested lost deep amongst his amalgamation of items. Frustratingly, she kept searching until her gaze landed on a small item strewn under a notebook, the clear bag reflecting in the light. Her heart felt as if it stopped beating. The small bag and its contents were instantly recognisable to the woman, her having seen her fiancé with it many a time. Except instead of keeping it hidden under a book, he would have the white powder diced and sorted into hefty lines on a table, a rolled up $50 set aside ready to help him snort it.

She remained still for a moment before tentatively reaching for the bag, as if it would suddenly change its contents if she waited long enough. And yet, as she picked the bag up it felt like a long forgotten truth was slapping her in the face. Of course it was coke. The woman pondered the situation for a moment for she was sure Rafe was clean - but then again, he had been under an increasing amount of stress lately. Cameron Development had been taking up all of his time, as had the move, so would it really be that far-fetched for him to start using again?

Soon, she began pacing around the room, her mind beginning to catastrophise the situation. It had been so hard to get through each day when Rafe was high, his constantly shifting mood and irritable personality making him intolerable to be around. Her mind flashed to the moments alone, trying to soothe a colicky baby that cried and cried alone in the guest room while Rafe spent his evenings getting high with Barry. She'd never felt so alone and isolated. She had no-one: Her parent's were a no-go, Ward and Rose could only help so much, and Sarah was busy being a teenager. Sometimes, it was as if Wheezie was her only friend, always loving to play with her nephew even if only for a moment. In those moments, she had wondered if any of it was worth it - maybe everyone would be better off if she left to the mainland to live with her aunt, removing her presence from Kildare completely. Rafe hadn’t wanted Charlie in the beginning, not really, and as she cried alone in tandem with her son, she felt it.

Rafe had called out his fiancée’s name three times by now, only to receive nothing in response. Initially assuming she had been sidetracked, it was only once he finally ambled over to his study did he realise the true cause of her silence. Rafe froze at the sight of the bag of white powder flung haphazardly atop his papers, his heart racing as a chill spread across his body. Shit shit shit.

Rafe’s panicked gaze met hers suddenly, each expressing a multitude of worries. Rafe watched as his sweet girl looked at him, so defeated and dejected, her shoulders slumped as she faced him. Initial words began to leave her mouth, only to be swiftly cut off by her partner,

“Baby, please, you gotta let me explain, ok?” Rafe was pleading with her, a tone he rarely utilised unless in the most dire of situations, “it’s not mine.”

Her eyes, once shifted towards the window, snapped back to his frame. “It’s in your desk Rafe! Whose else would it be?”

“Fuck, uh- fuck ok, well it is mine, but it’s not like I bought it last week. Shit, that sounds bad, I didn’t-” Rafe sputtered, his logical explanation getting muddled up as his anxiety grew. He could tell his fiancée didn’t believe it if the tears beginning to escape were any indication.

“Rafe, please, just tell me the truth. You owe me that much,” she pleaded. Rafe felt his heart shatter at the desperation she could not hold back.

“I had this desk moved from my dad’s office, ok? Whenever he used to catch me doing coke, he would lock my supply up in his desk in his attempt to get me clean - not that that ever fuckin’ worked,” he began to explain, “I never even properly cleaned out his desk, baby. I figured he would have something written down that would provide some of his infinite wisdom bullshit that would help me in the future, so I just didn’t touch anything.”

The young woman stared at the Cameron opposite her, feeling rooted to her spot as he answered her questions. Truthfully, she remembered Rafe’s occasional complaining about his dad’s attempts to control his drug habit. She could never truly comfort him properly when she silently thanked Ward, but his statement rang true in her mind. It was plausible that Rafe really hadn’t touched his dad’s things.

“Come on baby, you have to believe me! You really think I would throw all of this,” Rafe gestured, arms outstretched, “us, our family - away for a few fuckin’ ounces of coke? I got better and that’s because of you, because of you being there for me and the kids and - baby please, I’m telling the truth.”

As Rafe begged and pleaded, he had made his way to stand in front of her, taking her hands in his as his fingers gripped hers tightly. She looked up at him, tears still spilling down her cheeks. He had gotten better - ever since they arrived in Guadeloupe, she hadn’t seen him touch cocaine. Alcohol, sure, but even Topper offering him coke at a party had seemingly rolled off his back.

“You’re not lying to me? You swear it? On the kids lives?” She begged, needing to hear him say it again. She wanted to believe him so badly.

“I promise baby, I swear to god. I swear that I haven’t touched that shit in a year. Please, I’m telling the truth baby.”

With his final plea, she felt her heartbeat begin to slow, its return to normal allowing her to breathe properly once more. A large exhale left her body before she flung herself against Rafe, her arms wrapping around his torso. His arms immediately returned the gesture, comfortingly rubbing up and down her back.

“I can’t do that shit again, Rafe. Ok?” She muttered, her voice muffled against his shirt. He leaned down to gently stroke her hair before placing a tender kiss in her hair.

“You don’t need to worry about that anymore. I’m different now, for you and for our family. You can rely on me, ok? I’m always gonna be here for you,” Rafe stated firmly, his words filled with conviction. He felt a small smile tug at his lips as his fiancée nodded into his chest, her arms tightening around him further.

“I love you, Rafe. More than anything.”

“I love you too, baby. It’s you and me ‘till the end.”

As the pair stood in their embrace for a moment longer, they felt the tension seep away slowly and be replaced with tenderness. For such a rocky start to a relationship, the pair had watched each other grow and mature. Neither of them were perfect, but they would never give up on each other. Rafe didn’t believe in soulmates, but if he did, he was certain that the woman in his arms was his.

[baeshijima]

hmmm.... thoughts about composer!reader, whose pieces are always created for and featured in mr reca's films/projects.

people aren't sure when it first started, but in the release of one of his prior films was an ost. of course, it's not unusual to have music in such projects, but that one had felt... different, somehow — in the way its composition struck the chords of many, with billions across the cosmos instantly scouring for who made that piece.

it, of course, didn't take all that long when your name was featured in the credits. however there was barely any information aside from your name and credentials. (seriously, how could there not even be a single photo?!) no one knew what you looked like for quite a long time, only ever recognising your name and your music; even despite the numerous interviews, mr reca had never disclosed anything about you other than your talents. it came to a point where everyone believed they would never see your appearance.

well, until all hell broke loose during the annual intergalactic film awards, that is.

everyone already knew the drill — if mr reca had directed a film that year, it would undoubtedly win the adapted/original screenplay, cinematography, directing, production design, sound, music (original score and song), and film of the year awards, which also led to you winning both the music awards. usually, the composers would be the ones to collect said awards. however, the masses have become used to mr reca being the one to collect them on your behalf with thank you's also on your behalf.

that's how it's been ever since you made your mark in the universe, and so it really is understandable the uproar created by those in and out of attendance when the one who went collect the two awards wasn't the esteemed director, but a completely unfamiliar person; you.

you are definitely younger than they originally thought, having believed it must have been someone of a senior status of sorts to have consistently created such masterpieces. all eyes are trained on you as you step on stage and into the limelight for the first time, the light enhancing your features and formal attire when approaching the mic with a small flashcard in hand. your mouth opens, and the audience leans in with baited breaths as they await your first words.

...only for nothing to come out.

everyone watches a little dumbfounded as you try to talk once more but, aside from gaping like a fish, your efforts remain futile. it doesn't take long for you to clamp your mouth and eyes shut, even raising the awards in front of you in an attempt to shield your face from the crowd.

you... you were just really shy. or maybe a little...socially awkward, perhaps...? if this was the reason you never showed yourself, then they're beginning to understand why...

it passes in a blur — quite literally in that of brown. one moment you are alone on the stage, the next you have the presence of the renown director standing slightly in front of you, as though acting as a shield from the many prying eyes.

"apologies," he begins, his usual smile on display, "but my dearest composer has been suffering with a sore throat these past few days. on their behalf, we thank you all kindly for your support in our work."

and then he swiftly leaves with you tucked under and shielded by his coat, murmuring unreadable words to you as you both disappear backstage and leave everyone in a state of frenzy; to both those inside the ceremonial hall, and to those watching live elsewhere.

(it was only discovered after the awards ceremony concluded what the director had said to you, with the uploader being dubbed as a holy saint for their contributions to society. while the visual aspects of the video itself were not the clearest, barely anyone had it within themselves to complain when the audio was clear as crystal:

"and here i thought you were going to be brave and face your stage fright after all that pep-talk you gave yourself on the way here."

"i'm sorry... i really thought i could do it this time..."

"now, now, i'm merely teasing. you made a big step just making an appearance here today. i know how much courage this took for you, and i'm proud of you for facing it."

"really...?"

"but of course. i'm always proud of you, [name]. there is not a moment where i haven't been.")

(it also was not long until the cosmos was taken by storm when various pictures snapped during the awards ceremony spread. the millions of candids featuring you were one of the most liked and shared, with the top spot joined by the sequence of pictures taken of mr reca's soft expression when watching you onstage, into his realisation of your predicament, into him running onstage and shielding you from the cameras when making your way backstage.)

(...the drastic influx of fan accounts dedicated to both you alone and to you and reca should really be a studied phenomenon.)

[polaris-daydreams]

think i need someone older

pairing : charlie reid x reader

warnings : SMUT ❗❗ daddy kink, brat taming, blowjob, rough facefucking, spit swallowing, cum swallowing, masturbating, dirty talk, imbalance of power due to difference in rank and age. pet names used : sweetheart, kid, my little girl, good girl, reid refers to himself as daddy. DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18 ❗❗

summary : you don't like the deputy chief, making it loud and clear. that only leaves reid one option, to brat tame you. 

w/c : 2.4k

a/n : for my bb @flofaiiry <3 bcs yes my moots are powerful enough to make me watch all 8 episodes of chicago pd where shawn hatosy appears, just to write about charlie reid. i'm reading her charlie reid work after i post this which means you should too okay !! this takes place before s12 ep21 where the big confrontation happens, but after torres’s relationship is known to reid ! gif credits: @ozarkthedog. divider credits: @cafekitsune. as always, likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated. enjoy and go crazy over this man muaks <3

You’re a stellar officer by all accounts.

Clean record. Scholarship to the academy. 100% success rate on all your cases thus far. Past partners, members of Hank’s team and even local residents sing you praises.

A goody two shoes officer wasn't really on his radar, Reid thinks to himself. Even if you were on Hank’s team. Nothing to use, to manipulate to get his way. Too clean. Too pure. 

Yet you're the furthest thing from sunshine when you're with him.

Furrowed eyebrows. Snarky remarks. Crossed arms. You’ve made your dislike of the Deputy Chief quite clear. Despite the reprimands from your Sargeant and advice from your team members to pull back on it. Make it less obvious so you don’t incur his wrath. It all falls on deaf ears. 

Reid even caught wind of your complaining once.

“Does he think we’re his playthings? We have bigger criminals to catch than a carjacking one.” You had whispered to your Sargeant.

“Hank! You got a second?” Reid called out while leisurely strutting up to the two of you.

You didn't even try to hide your grimace at his (frequent) sudden appearances.

“Yes sir. Need an update?” Voight had become accustomed to his hovering.

“Nah. Just wanted to make sure you guys were on the right track and following the lead on this case. Don’t want my favorites to get complacent. Makes me feel like I bet on the wrong horse.” Reid answered.

You rolled your eyes.

This fucking brat.

Oh, what Reid would give to see you doing that in a different context.

“We got it handled sir.” Voight assured before leading the way to the car again.

Your eyes lingered on Reid’s as you walked backwards, before spinning and walking normally. Reid’s gaze stayed on your frame, even as you got in the car. Eyes locking when Hank starts the car. You squint at him. As if Reid’s beneath you. He’ll show you how you got it backwards a few days later.

You drag your feet back up the stairs. Losing a bet with the team meant you were left to deal with the neverending paperwork while they all went on their merry way. Of course Ruzek would rope you into their antics. The stack in your arms getting heavier by the second.

The space is dark, all desk lamps are off. Or at least, that's what you expected. Sarge’s office light is still on. A figure peeking through the window blinds. 

An outline you instantly recognise, disdain already bubbling up in your chest.

You don’t announce yourself as you enter Voight’s office, placing the stack of reports down before turning to Reid and leaning against the desk.

Your eye twitches when you take him in. Reid has his feet propped up on the table, as if he owns the place. One arm on the back of the couch, the other resting on the side. Fingers drumming as if he was waiting for you to show up. He’s dressed in a dark-coloured button up, glasses adorning his face. A different look from all the vests and uniforms. One might even say a little domestic.

What?

You stamp down that thought in your head, busying yourself with one of the files as you question him.

“The hell are you doing here?” You demand while not looking up.

So you don’t notice him stopping his movement. Don’t notice pushing his tongue into his cheek at your attitude. 

“I like to make it a point to know all my officers. So I know all about your clean record. Top of your class. Volunteering work and engaging with the community. You’re a real pleasure to work with, based on … well everybody.” Reid huffs a tiny laugh at that.

You clench your jaw. Annoyed at whatever little mind game he’s playing.

“And? What, you want a lollipop for that? It’s basic information. Anybody could’ve read my files.” You deadpan.

Reid smirks. Lollipop? Oh, he’ll give you something to suck alright.

“Mm. That’s true, but … they wouldn't think to dig a little deeper. Read along the lines as I did.” He responds while leaning back, taking his glasses off to place them atop his head.

“You don’t just follow orders from your superiors, you like being told what to do, being guided. You don’t just enjoy engaging with the community, you enjoy hearing them praise you, notice your efforts. You don’t just go along with the teasing from your team members, you look forward to the different pet names they come up with.” Reid’s voice is lower, as he takes his feet off the table.

Choosing to manspread on the couch instead.

He tilts his head.

“Why don’t you want those with me?” Genuine confusion shows in his face, as if he asked something totally innocent.

“If you’re shy, I’ll have you know I’m more than willing to be sweet on you kid. Just gotta stop being such a fuckin’ brat.”

You grip the file tighter. Bring your crossed arms closer to your chest.

All it does is make Reid’s eyes drop, before dragging them slowly up your body again.

“I think we’re done here Chie-” You push away from the desk, getting two long strides in before he interupts.

“Sit down.”

You stop in your tracks from the domineering tone he uses.

A quick glance to Reid reveals his carefree posture. Leaned back, legs spread wide. The hand that was draped on the back of the sofa is now curled on his mouth, barely covering a smirk. Like he knew the effect that kind of tone and command would have on you.

“I said. Sit. Down, kid.” Reid emphasises his point by tapping his foot once, twice.

You know what he’s really asking you to do.

What’s gonna happen if you decide to sit on the floor between his legs.

You also realise that Reid’s still giving you an out.

Unmoving from his position on the couch, the door is wide open in front of you. Reid wouldn’t stop you if you did cross over. If you chose to remain pure, untainted by his corrupted hands.

So he is slightly surprised when you go up to the door. Not to walk out, but to close and lock it. You slowly make your way to Reid. Standing between his spread knees. Not quite listening to Reid’s instructions, but that’s alright. He’ll make you obey him soon enough.

Reid runs his hands up and down your thighs covered by your black stockings. The warmth makes you shudder. He notices. He always notices.

“Been thinking of you day and night, sweetheart.”

“About ripping your tights and bending you over the desk whenever you had an attitude.” He unzips your skirt, letting it fall to the floor.

“Or fucking your throat whenever you got mouthy with me.” He tugs down your stockings, eyes darkening when he sees your panties.

“Awh, those just for me kid? S’cute, might have to steal them.” He coos while kneading your thighs.

You roll your eyes before quickly getting on your knees. Not out of submission, but out of annoyance.

“Just shut the fuck up and-” You’re cut off by Reid yanking you by the roots of your hair.

“Oh sweetheart, you kiss your Daddy bye-bye with that dirty mouth? He never teach you any manners?” Reid unbuckles his belt with his free hand.

“S’okay, I’ll do it for you, yeah?” Freeing his hard cock, pumping it a few times.

“I’ll be your Daddy tonight, kid.”

That’s the only warning you get before he thrusts hard into your mouth. You barely manage to hold down a gag at the feeling of him completely filling you up, when he takes it back out and slams into you again. The tip of his cock is kissing the back of your throat as Reid keeps up his brutal pace.

“This what you wanted? Needed, hm?” 

Drool escapes down your chin. Garbled moans and wet sounds fill the small office.

“Just needed Daddy to discipline you? My little girl just wants her Daddy to be mean and rough?”

Tears are welling up in your eyes. You can’t keep up with the snapping of his hips combined with the size of him.

“Well, what kind of Daddy would I be if I didn't give her what she wants, hm?”

Reid pulls his cock out of your mouth completely. A string of saliva connects from the tip of his cock to your swollen lips, before you sputter out a cough or two.

“Want to hear you say it, kid.”

He swipes a thumb over your chin, collecting your saliva.

“Tell Daddy how much you need him. Then I’ll give you whatever you want sweetheart.”

Reid brings his thumb past his lips, groaning as he tastes your saliva.

Your teary eyes are on him, vision slightly blurred. Yet you can still make out that cocky expression as he looks down at you.

His hand goes down to your face again. Gentle brushes of his knuckles on your cheekbones. The tight grip on the back of your hair has loosened up, stroking the hair softly instead.

A soft moment of reprieve. Just to get you to listen to him.

“Come on. Just let Daddy know that you need his big cock to fuck your throat. Let’s learn to be polite and ask for things we want, okay kid?” He has that condescending melodic tone, the one that makes your brain get all fuzzy.

You clench the fists on your thighs. Swallowing down your pride.

“Want … want Daddy to fuck my throat. Need him to cum down it, please?”

The smile Reid gives you is downright evil.

“Yeah? My little girl needs Daddy’s cock? Just needs Daddy’s cum, huh?”

His hand stops caressing your face, joining the one at the back of your head.

“Alright kid. Three taps to stop, okay?” 

You think the corners of his eyes soften just a little. 

But it's hard to focus when Reid uses both his hands to shove your mouth down the full length of his cock.

Even harder when he bucks his hips up, reaching even deeper into the warmth of your throat.

“Fuck, kid. You don’t know how many times I’ve fantasised about this. About you.”

The glasses have fallen back onto his face from the movement, a hand leaving you to quickly right them before resuming the position behind your head.

“Whenever you get bratty with me, I come home to fuck my fist to the memory of you. Make a mess on my sheets because of you, kid.”

Reid’s panting now, chest moving up and down. His focused eyes darkened from lust.

“Remember that time you said if I viewed your team as my playthings? Fuck, that made me so hard, I had to jerk off in the office bathroom. Made me think about you as my plaything. Mine to bounce on my cock whenever I wanted, suck my cock wherever I wanted.”

Tears are falling freely down your face. Slick sounds of your saliva mixed with his precum, against the thrusting motions are echoing in the room. You’re grinding against nothing, the feeling of him just too good to stop your hips. You hope Reid doesn't notice. He does. Gives you a little nod to let you slip your hand down your panties.

“M’ sure your team wouldn't mind if they saw. They already covered up Torres’s relationship, what’s another one huh? Nobody’s stupid enough to stand up to me as Deputy Chief anyways.” He lets out a dark chuckle, seeing you hump your fingers while sucking him off.

“So what do you say kid? Wanna be Daddy’s little plaything? I’ll fuck you good, you know that. Fill you up with my cum always. Send you out on cases with my cum dripping out of you, would you like that sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, moaning around his cock pistoning in and out of your mouth. The pleasure of you fingering yourself along with him fucking your throat has you completely pliable.

Reid hisses as your moans send vibrations to his cock. He coos at the sight of you, absolutely cock-drunk. Just the way he likes it.

“Yeah? You would huh. Want you to make a mess all over your fingers and cute panties. Make a mess for Daddy, and he’ll give you what you need kid. I’ll fuck you before briefings, let my cum leak out of you while you listen obediantly. I’ll make you take me under the desk, keep me warm while I write reports.”

Your sweet whimpers are music to Reid’s ears. The view of you desperately humping your fingers, mindlessly chasing after pleasure, goes straight to his ego.

“Maybe, I’ll even fuck you over Hank’s desk. Let your team hear how good Daddy makes you feel. Let them know that I own them. That I own you.”

Your eyes roll back as your body convulses beneath him. Hips stuttering as you cum from his sinful words. The feel of him bruising your throat. Your fingers deep inside you.

It all pushes Reid to the edge. Cursing and shoving his cock completely as he spills himself into the warmth of your throat. His head is tilted back as you milk him dry, muscles tensing from the aftershocks.

Panting. Still riding that high, Reid looks back down at you as he slowly takes out his cock. He grips your jaw shut.

“Swallow.”

The command manages to get through your fucked-out state of mind. A mind that now only has him, him, him.

You gulp it down. Feeling it go down your throat and settling in your stomach.

Reid follows the movement of your throat. Tongue darting out quickly. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, flicking it down slightly.

“Stick out your tongue and show Daddy.”

You listen. No snarky remarks. No rolling of your eyes. Reid smirks triumphantly at your newfound obedience for him.

“Good fucking girl.”

The next morning when Kim comes in, she makes a comment about you getting in early even after staying late. You don’t tell her you never left. Or about how your cum soaked panties are with the Deputy Chief. Or how despite changing into different clothes, your new panties are still soaked. With Reid’s cum dripping out of you.

a/n : need that corrupt cop. also i broke my glasses while watching so i had my foldable laptop up to my face seeing shawn hatosy in all his glory. pretty pleasee like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed. come be feral over yet another shawn hatosy character with me !!

no pressure tags for beloved moots : @flofaiiry @erwinsvow @callsign-fangirl @superhoeva @mangonom @flamingdisputes @likedovesinthewnd @loveslide @twentytoo22 @ultr4vjolence

[evansbby]

you get a request from a mysterious viewer for a private chat…

❃▹or ❃▹

sugar daddy ari meets cute camgirl!reader and she doesn’t know how to act around him.

{18+, dd/lg overtones, daddy kink,minors dni}

A. Levinson has requested a private chat.

The message pops up on your screen the moment you’re about to shut your laptop and call it a night. It’s already past midnight and you’ve just ended a particularly wild livestream. Tonight, you’d done the whole innocent girl act that your subscribers loved so much. You’d asked them to suggest on the live chat all the different ways you could touch yourself. As expected, it had gone over a treat, and you’d done your highest numbers yet thanks to your loving fans.

Speaking of which, your laptop beeps again with another notification:

A. Levinson donated $500.

You recognise the name immediately. Of course, you have no clue what he looks like or who he is. But he’s a new regular on your livestreams. Thousands of people watch you but you recognise the names of those who donate frequently. A. Levinson is one of those people – and his donations are hefty, too. Oh, should you accept? You didn’t really do private chats…

The buzz of another notification snaps you out of your thoughts. Another five hundred dollars. And this time, there’s a message attached.

A. Levinson: I really enjoyed your show tonight. Could I possibly take up your time for just a little bit longer? You can name your price.

Well… he didn’t sound creepy. He was most likely an older gentleman, probably lonely with a bunch of wealth and nobody to spend it on – aka, your favourite type of customer. You hover over his name quickly – no profile picture, forty-two years old (practically double your age!), new profile. Yep, it all checked out. You’d been planning on calling it an early night tonight but perhaps you could stretch it out a little longer and give this lonely old soul a bit of an extra show… For the extra cash, of course.

You fix your hair and adjust the lingerie you’ve still got on. You hadn’t stripped nude on tonight’s livestream, and most of your viewers had been too enraptured watching you make yourself cum over and over again to really even notice. Plus, you always chose the best lingerie to wear for your cam-shows. Tonight, you had on a pretty lacy set in the softest, cutest shade of baby pink, with creamy white ribbons and detailing completing the look along with your signature pink pumps. This A. Levinson guy would be in for a treat and a half. You quickly accept his request for a private chat, easily slipping back into the character you play in your shows.

“Hello there,” you feign shyness and smile into the camera how you always do. “What’s your name?”

“Ari,” the stranger responds, his voice sounding like liquid chocolate pouring straight out of your laptop. Damn. He didn’t have his camera on but that was unsurprising – most of your fans were very shy. “I have to admit, I didn’t know if you’d accept my private chat request.”

“Well, how could I not?” You adjust the straps of your bra slowly, “I love my fans, you know.”

He chuckles, “And they sure do love you.” A pause. “You looked breathtaking tonight.”

You’re used to compliments from your fans. Comments ranging from: “you’re gorgeous” to fuck ur so hot xx” to “I wish my girlfriend looked like you” to “you made me cum so hard in my pants baby.” But the way this Ari guy says it��� the way he says the word “breathtaking” – all soft, and slow and melodious and confident. Instantly, your heart thrums, leaving you feeling a tad embarrassed.

“Oh… why thank you! That’s super sweet of you to say.” You recover quickly, slipping back into your “innocent girl” character as you smile softly and avert your gaze and do that thing where you rub your arm and pretend to be all shy. It goes over great with all your other fans.

But this fan only chuckles, “You can call me Ari for now, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?!?

You clear your throat, “Were you feeling lonely tonight, Ari?”

“You could say that. I try to tune in to your show whenever I have the time. You were beautiful tonight, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so sweet.” Oh, there was that liquid chocolate voice again – all velvety and smooth and deep! You vaguely wonder what he looks like…

“Thank you, Ari. What was your favourite part?”

And okay, so maybe you’re being a bit boring right now. Usually, on the rare occasion you did agree to a private chat, you’d be a lot more flirtatious. But this man’s voice was almost putting you in a trance, making you have to think your next words so you don’t stumble over them. Gosh, none of your other fans sounded like he did! All calm and self-assured, and…

“I really enjoyed the part when you were using your fingers. You had that lost look in your eye, as though you were on another planet. I thought it was really cute.”

You giggle, shuffling closer to your webcam so he has a good view of your cleavage. The ring-light behind your camera casts a flattering, bright hue over your body, accentuating the way your breasts spill out of your bra and bounce slightly as you move closer. You think you hear a rumble escape his throat, but you can’t be too sure. Either way, you lean into the camera, “You like it when I touch myself?”

“Honey, I don’t think there’s a man in this world who wouldn’t like that.”

Another spark flutters down your spine, and you wonder why his words are making you react like this. You’ve been on the receiving end of a bunch of different compliments from your fans day after day. So… why now? Why tonight? Why him? Why was it different now?

The buzz of your laptop knocks you out of your reverie.

A. Levinson donated $600.

“Do you think you could touch yourself for me again?” He asks, his voice all velvety smooth yet rugged at the same time. And it’s a request that he doesn’t even bother to veil as a question, and for some reason, you feel a jolt down there at his expectant tone. “I would really love to see that pretty look on your face again.”

You giggle nervously before remembering to put on your innocent girl act for the camera. “Touch myself? I dunno… It’s getting kind of late, sir.”

A. Levinson donated $800.

“I told you, please call me Ari for now.”

You don’t know whether you clench from the sheer amount of money he seems to be throwing at you as if it’s nothing, or the delicious hint of authority in his tone. None of your fans were like that – they all acted like you were very much the one on charge, the one with all the power, the one who could log out and end the chat and leave them hanging at any moment. Which you could – so then why was Ari acting like he was the one who held all the power?

And why did you not hate it at all?

Slowly, you slip your hand down your body, making sure to look demure and seductive in front of the camera.

“Play with your lingerie,” he commands, “Play with those cute little white ribbons.”

“Yeah, o-okay,” you breathe, inwardly wondering why the hell you’re not taking control of your own show like how you usually do. Why you’re so okay with letting him take the lead. Nevertheless, you twirl the ribbons of your panties around your fingers, stroking the satin softly as your core begins to pulse in need. But instead of going down to touch your pussy, you keep playing with your lingerie instead, imagining that your hands are not yours, but rather… someone else’s. Someone who’s rough, tough, masculine and rugged… And hell bent on teasing you.

“Use your other hand too,” Ari says, “Squeeze your pretty tits, baby girl. They look so pretty in that pink bra.”

“Th-Thank you, da–” You bite down on your tongue just in time, mortified that you almost let that word slip out. And you think you hear a smirk on the other end of the call, but you’re too preoccupied with listening to Ari to really pay any heed. With one hand still playing with your panties, you squeeze your breast with your other. Your nipple feels hard against your palm, and your eyes momentarily flutter shut as you knead your soft flesh at his orders.

“That’s so good, pretty girl. You look so pretty and cute like that.” Ari compliments. “In fact, your choice of lingerie is one of my favourite parts of your shows. You’re always wearing something cute and girly. It’s very charming, sweetheart.”

Oh, how was he being so calm right now? Usually, your fans got themselves worked up within the first few minutes of your private chats. It didn’t take much to get them to blow their loads and their money too, and the chat would be over in about five minutes. But right now? Right now, it seems you’re the one who’s getting worked up. Quickly, you clear your throat.

“Thanks. This set is one of my favourites.”

“Is that so? Well, you have to promise me you’ll buy yourself a few more sets as adorable as this one.” Ari responds, “Cute and pink and pretty, just like a princess. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you agree, cringing at how dumb you sound. He seems unperturbed, however, and you soon grow preoccupied with touching yourself again. Squeezing your other breast while you make direct eye contact with your camera.

“Good girl. Why don’t you touch your little pussy now? I’m sure she’s starting to feel a bit neglected.” He chuckles, and you marvel at how in control he sounds, how easily the words slip past his tongue. “After all, she’s the star of the show, isn’t she?”

“She is,” you agree softly, blinking at the camera, “She’s very wet.”

“Mm, I’m sure she is, baby girl. Push your panties aside and spread your legs so her daddy can take a look at her.”

You gasp when you hear him refer to himself as that, but he seems so damned unperturbed that you feel you have to act the same. Oh gosh, when had this all taken such a turn? Never before had you taken orders from a fan in a private chat, but it’s like he’s somehow programmed you to listen to him through that velvety voice of his.

You spread your legs like how you’d do on a regular livestream, angling the webcam to get the perfect shot. Your panties are soaked when you push them aside, and you bite your lip as you use two of your fingers to spread your folds. They glisten under the lighting, your wetness trailing down your thighs and staining the rug under you.

“Such a good girl,” Ari rewards you with a compliment. “Such a good little girl with a cute little baby pussy. You should be so proud, princess.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Now, do you want daddy to turn his camera on? And don’t worry, it’s alright if you’re too shy and you don’t want me to. You’re just a little girl after all, and I wouldn’t want to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Your heart lurches. Ari? Turn his camera on? Oh, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit curious to see what he looked like! To see the face that matched that insanely chocolatey voice… A nervous thrill ripples through you, but you try your hardest to remain cool.

“Y-Yes,” you manage to get out, hating how you stutter. You never stutter on your own livestreams and chats. Never. You clear your throat, “Yes. Yes, you can turn your camera on.”

A moment later you find yourself staring at a set of deep blue eyes. You blink several times. Now, you see a handsome face. A very handsome face. Bronzed skin, a thick beard. Striking eyes, high cheekbones. A gorgeous, sloped nose. Long brown hair that brushes over his eyes before he pushes it back and out of his face. Oh, he was hot! And fully dressed, too. In an expensive-looking suit with his tie loosened around his neck.

“Oh… wow, Ari… I–” You’re at a loss for words, but thankfully Ari takes the reins.

“Keep touching yourself, sweetheart. Yeah, just like that.” He licks his lips, long lashes fluttering across his cheekbones as he blinks, “And call me daddy, baby. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, daddy, that’s fine.”

“I thought so. Now, why don’t you tell daddy your favourite way of keeping your baby pussy happy.” He murmurs softly, slowly, hypnotically.

You watch as his own hand slips down, and it thrills you to think of what he’s doing, what his camera isn’t showing. Oh, none of your other fans were as handsome as him! Or as put together or as in control! No, Ari’s energy is completely different. So softly dominant that it sends chills up and down your spine as you clamber to obey him.

Suddenly, you remember he’d asked a question.

“My stuffie, I guess.” You answer hypnotically, staring into his blue eyes that look to be so deep, so soulful. Like he was a man who’d seen everyone and everything this world had to offer. A man who’d lived an entire lifetime, a man who was, well, a man in the purest sense of the word. So virile, so mature – someone you could look up to, follow, listen to.

“Your stuffie.” Ari repeats, savouring the word on his tongue, “You stuffie keeps your pussy happy, huh? I think I remember watching one of your livestreams where you did something like that. But I’d like you to show me again, baby. Will you do that for me?”

Luckily, your stuffed teddy bear is only a foot away from you, and you quickly grab it. And it was true, sometimes you’d ride your stuffies during your livestreams. Your fans loved to watch you writhe and moan and lose yourself in the moment, watch you go from cuddling your stuffed toys to humping them and making yourself cum. Clearly, Ari had been a fan of this routine too.

You get into position, placing your teddy bear between your legs, watching how its fur goes damp as soon as it makes contact with your soaking pussy. Biting your lip, you waste no time as you start rocking back and forth tentatively. Ari lets out a rumble of approval, and you see his arm flex as he leans forward.

“That’s so good, baby girl. You like using your little friend to make you feel good?”

“Y-Yeah, it’s one of my most viewed livestreams.”

He smirks, “But you’ll put on a better show for me right now, won’t you?”

“Yeah, daddy…”

Your breathing slowly goes shallow, mind clear of any thoughts except how sexy and manly Ari sounded on this call right now. And it feels so delicious already, your teddy’s fur catching on your throbbing clit, incensing you to grind down harder.

“You have a wishlist, babygirl?”

The question is posed so casually that it somehow almost winds you. Your hips slow down and you look up at your webcam. But Ari narrows his eyes, nodding his head as if commanding you to continue, which you do. God, it was so hot how nonchalant he was being — and yet he sounded so attentive too!

“A wishlist?” You squeak, voice going high-pitched as your hips pick up pace, and you wish it was Ari’s thigh you were grinding on instead of this stuffie. Your body’s doing that thing where it feels empty, craving something bigger, more substantial…

“Yes, sweetie. A wishlist. A list of things you want. Clothes or makeup or anything like that.” He’s pumping his dick now, you can tell with how his hand’s moving. But the rest of him looks so unperturbed and unbothered, as if he’s having a normal conversation and not jacking off with a camgirl while he watches her masturbate with a stuffed teddy.

“I—um—yeah, I do…” you somehow manage to get the words out, but you’re mostly focused on cumming now. Your mind conjures up images of you naked on top of a fully dressed Ari. Him big and powerful, guiding your hips with just one hand, dragging you back and forth on his muscular thigh. Or maybe picking you up and placing you on his bulge, letting you rub your soaking cunt on it while he calls you a good girl in that deep, sexy voice of his…

“Sweetheart? You with me?”

“I, yeah, sorry!” You pant, feeling so close and yet a part of you knows you have to answer him. “I d-do — I have a list but—”

“You’re going to send it to daddy after you cum,” he tells you. “A pretty little girl like you needs her daddy to reward her after she humps her pretty little princess cunt and gets off so nicely just like how I asked you to.”

Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere. And it’s his words that tip you over the edge. So dirty, yet he talks in such a sweet way! Oh, a man’s never spoken to you like that! So casually talked you through your orgasm, praising you so sweetly and telling you he’d buy you everything on your wish list?! Who was this man??

“Send it to me. Now.”

You’re weak and spent, legs shaking from cumming so hard. But you quickly send him your wish list on private chat. You doubted he’d buy everything on it — all the expensive jewellery, designer clothes, shoes — especially since he’d already showered you with so many cash donations. But you send it to him anyways, and he hums in approval.

“That’s such a good girl. I really enjoyed our chat, baby.”

Your heart sinks. Was this it?

“Why don’t you show daddy your pussy again, baby girl? I want to see how messy it is now.”

Again, you obey. Angling your webcam and opening your legs for him. A part of you imagines him doing it for you, gripping your soft thighs with his calloused, manly hands so he could inspect to his heart’s content. God, he just exuded dominant energy and it was making you lightheaded. Quickly, you spread your sopping folds with your fingers, letting him see everything.

“Fuck, you’re so messy, aren’t you?” Ari murmurs, and you watch him brush his long hair out of his face. His tanned skin glistens slightly, his lips pink and plump and you find yourself just staring at him in awe.

“I-I’m messy…” you repeat, feeling dumb and spaced out after your orgasm.

“Bet you need your daddy to clean up that baby pussy, don’t you?” He licks his lips, pumping himself faster. That’s when his camera lowers slightly, and your breath hitches at the sight of the angry red tip of his dick.

“I… I don’t know… I—”

He chuckles kind of breathlessly, “You’re all dumbed out, huh? That’s alright, sweet girl. Daddy understands.” Again, he runs a hand through his hair, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at you. “I understand that little girls like you get tired easily, especially after playing with your toy so naughtily like how you were just now. That’s why you need your daddy.”

“D-Daddy…” you whimper, incapable of saying anything else except repeating what he’s saying, but you’re able to press your thighs weakly together, as if his words are just too much and you need to get off again despite being so weak.

“You need me, don’t you? To hold you in my lap, clean you up, take care of you, think for you, buy you whatever you want. Lap at your little baby cunt till you cum in my mouth. Am I right?”

Ohfuck. You feel newfound thrill ripple down to your pussy, making you clench at his words.

“I… I don’t.. I just— daddy, I. —“

Ari chuckles breathlessly, and a lock of his hair falls over his forehead, but apart from that he still looks pristine. The complete opposite of fucked out, messy little you.

“You can’t even speak straight, can you, Princess? That’s alright, little girls like you aren’t meant to think or talk anyways. That’s your daddy’s job, that’s why I’m here. All you have to do is look cute and play with your little toy on my lap while daddy does all the thinking for you. Would you like that?”

“Yes!” You cry, feeling needy and vulnerable and still a little bit confused as to how this virtual stranger has reduced you to such a blubbering mess.

“Fuck. Say it, then. Tell me how badly you need me.”

“N-Need daddy,” you blubber, vaguely wondering what your viewers would think if they saw you now. Often, you acted all spaced out and whimpery in your livestreams. But this… oh, this wasn’t acting at all. Ari had well and truly reduced you to a whimpering mess — and you didn’t even know the guy!

“I know you need me,” he croons, “Little girls like you always need their daddy. And I want to take care of you too, sweet baby.”

“Please do!” You cry, “Need you to take care of me so bad! Can’t think, can’t… I can’t…”

You press your thighs together and cum again. And it’s a shock to you, you hadn’t expected to orgasm again so quickly. But you hear Ari groan, and a moment later you watch enraptured as he blows his load, spurts of his thick cum landing on his palm. And you wish so bad you were there in person to clean him up too.

“Both of you are quiet for a minute or so after that. All you can hear is his breathing - rapid at first before it goes steady. You, on the other hand, are beside yourself. Whimpering, crying, breathing hard. You just want him to hold you - and it’s crazy because you don’t even know who he is! Not really, anyways. But he looks so big and strong even on the laptop screen, and you really feel so small in front of his eyes, but in a good way… He had a way with words, so soft and dominant that it made you want him to take care of you, and-

"Thank you, baby girl,” Ari chuckles after a while, “thank you for indulging me.”

You clear your throat, “I…uh… I… okay.”

“You still dumbed out, honey?”

You lower your eyes and nod, feeling all kinds of shy now that you’ve cum twice and your senses are all coming back. Had you really gotten that submissive and vulnerable with a viewer on private chat? Oh gosh…

“Do you need daddy to tell you what to do next?”

You nod, embarrassed at how helpless you feel. Your legs are still shaking from the remnants of your orgasm, ears still buzzing from that smooth, gravelly voice of his as he’d coaxed you through those two orgasms.

“First, I want you to send me that wishlist of yours. Then, I want you to go and take a nice, hot bath to calm yourself down, alright?”

“O-Okay, daddy,” you agree quietly.

“Mm, that’s my good girl. Then, I want you to put on something comfy and tuck yourself into bed. I know little girls like you need your daddy to do that, but for now I need you to do it for yourself. Got that?”

You nod dumbly.

“Daddy needs you to use your words, sweet girl.”

“Yes, I - uh - I’ll take a bath and tuck myself in, daddy.”

“Good girl. But I’ll need you to take pictures as proof you’ve followed my instructions.”

“I will, I will!” You blurt out, wanting to make this virtual stranger proud. Oh, you didn’t even recognise yourself anymore but you didn’t care. Not in the least.

“Thank you, baby. And one last thing.”

“Y-Yes?”

“Would you like to talk to daddy again tomorrow night?”

“Yes! Please, yes!”

“I thought so. Why don’t you give me your number, sweetheart, and I’ll be sure to make that happen.”

THE END.

Honestly wrote this super quickly so it’s probably paced like shit and not that good but YOLO. also i tried something different with the layout heheehehe LMK WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THE FIC PLSSS LOVE YOU GUYS

[koenigami]

not sure if you allow it, but how does wriothesly react when the reader uses their safe word during an intense session?

tags : fem!reader, smut, crying, use of safeword, aftercare, comfort, +18

It's hot in the room, the constant gurgling of the pipes reminding you that WRIOTHESLEY must have turned up the heating higher than usual. Then why is your body shivering, with goosebumps all over your skin? You can't see him, can't hear him because he has barely talked to you ever since he's returned from his office. Yet you feel his large, intimidating form loom over your body from behind. You can't speak, can barely breathe with his constricting hand around your throat that somehow seems to get tighter by every passing second.

He's immune to your whimpers, to the tears rolling down your cheeks. With each forceful thrust of his, you hear the bed creak and feel your knees get weaker, your body loosing strength until you're nothing but a limp toy for him. You want to get up, push him away, but the grip his other hand has on your wrists while holding them behind your back- He's just too strong.

That's when even the last ounce of pleasure leaves your body and you're left with nothing but dread and panic. "Red, p-please." you barely recognise your own voice, hoarse and frightened. "No more, please, red."

The pressure on your windpipes is gone instantly. You realise it, not by the oxygen that is easier entering your airways, no, because you still feel like you're suffocating. You realise it because his warmth is as well gone in an instant. W-Where did he go?

Rough hands are all over your body, yet they treat you with so much care, helping you turn and lie on your back, soothing down your thighs. One of them at last settles on your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing it and wiping the tears away. "Y/n? Sweetheart, you with me?"

You sniffle and press the heels of your palms against your eyes, your chest shaking with more sobs that won't stop racking your body. "I'm sorry, 'm so sorry. I-I don't even know-"

"No, no, don't apologise. There's nothing to be sorry for." Your brain still feels foggy as you finally look over at Wriothesley who's crouching beside the bed, giving you enough space to breathe yet still having his hands all over you, not wanting to let you go. Nonetheless, you're able to notice the tension in his posture, in his facial expressions. "Just try to relax, alright? You're okay now." his hand shifts to your hair, fingers combing through the messy strands until they settle on your scalp, soothingly massaging you there. "You did good. It was too much, wasn't it?"

"Couldn't breathe." you whisper and realise that you feel so small in his presence, but not in an inferior way. Wriothesley may look all brutish and intimidating with a strength that could crush any allegedly impenetrable door in the fortress, but you're well aware that he would never use that strength against people that he cares about. "And, uhm-"

Piercing blue eyes watch as you nervously fiddle with the blanket that he has covered you with. But the little peck he gives you on your shoulder tells you that he wants to let you have a breather and take as much time as you need to sort your thoughts. "You seemed a-angry. You were so quiet and, I don't know. It was..."

"Scary?" he finishes for you, a gentle and reassuring smile plastered on his face that alleviates the pressure on your chest.

"Yeah."

Silence invades the bedroom for a short moment, making you forget that you're miles beneath the water surface, that the room which you share with him belongs to a prison, that a few moments prior your body has been in a fight-or-flight mode. The silence reminds you that you're safe and that all of this, all of him, is home. "Will you come back to bed? And hold me?"

Wriothesley's eyes soften at your request and the timid sound of your voice. "Of course, my love." His knees pop when he eventually gets up, pressing a fleeting kiss on your temple before he picks his pants up from the floor and puts them on. Despite the previous events, you can't help but feel a light heat creep up your neck when you get a sight of his naked buttocks.

"Careful with those wandering eyes. I might think you want to continue where we left off." Wriothesley chuckles when you pull the blanket over your head, a futile attempt to hide your embarrassed expression.

"Come here." the mattress dips beside you and you let him tug the blanket off your head. The warmth and smell of his make you sigh in contentment once he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. "I'm the one who should apologise. I was not aware of how much I was hurting you."

The teasing smirk and brief leisurely attitude are gone, replaced by a seriousness that you usually only get to see when he's handling work related matters. He kisses your face again and again, further silent apologies that he hopes will lessen the pain inside your chest. And his. "I was a little irritated, yes, but that had nothing to do with you. Some inmates got their hands on a few bottles of wine." he explains. "Those drunkards started spewing lots of nonsense when I confronted them about it."

What did they say?" you inquire quietly, your eyes slowly but surely feeling heavier. With a palm against his naked chest, you notice the rapid heartbeat but decide to not give it any mind, since Wriothesley's tender strokes along your back are truly not making it easy for you to stay awake and think straight.

He stops his movements for a short moment, clenching and unclenching his fist as his eyes trail over the red, irritated skin of his knuckles.

"Your grace has turned quite soft." "Your little mouse must be doing a great job in bed, huh?" "Why don't you lend her to us? I'm sure we could teach her a thing or two?"

"Nothing you should worry your head about." his voice is merely a whisper as his lips move against your forehead before he buries his nose in your hair and resumes to trace more soothing shapes on your lower back.

a/n : thank you for your patience, dear anon! hope you'll see this since your request has been sitting for a while in my inbox-

[kismetlotts]

cw: stepcest, reader works at a strip club, Simon is obsessed with his step sister, mentions of male masturbation, harsh words, use of the name "Slut", use of the name "Whore", Simon is desperate, dubious consent although nothing graphically sexual happens, mentions of voyerism, pervy Simon Riley

Three seconds felt like three minutes as you walked into the private room. Those fleshy-red walls you knew all too well paired with an ice bucket full of beer bottles but the atmosphere already just wasn't the same. Stomach tied in an uneasy knot and you knew something was wrong- something different which made the hairs on your body rise.

There was no music, no sick welcome-laugh from a guy old enough to be your father. The hair on his head grey while his dirty, blue jeans sat unzipped, ready to watch you rip your lingerie off and dance for him. No, instead there was silence, the room dimly lit and you took notice of the two muscular legs spread out wide against the large sofa.

His face covered from the darkness but you recognised his scent instantly. The cologne your mother had brought him for his birthday a month prior; it abused your nostrils, your lungs and you turned towards the door grabbing the handle. Almost as quick as your mind comprehended who was sat in the seat but even then you were too slow- too delayed.

His large palm hitting just above your head, keeping the door shut with his body weight. Sick, sick fuck.

"Where you going?" Your throat ached dry, salvia feeling cold in comparison to the burning hatred you felt deep inside your chest. What the hell was he doing here? At your work- requesting you? Your pupils glaring back into his smug brown ones as you clenched your jaw tightly.

"You can't be fucking serious- you're absolutely disgusting." The tremble in your voice sent ice down his spine, Simons smirk widening into a laugh as your hands instinctively reached to cover your breasts in the tight bra. Flicking his head back with a cocky grin- if only you had something sharp to slit his throat with.

"Of course I'm serious, I paid good money for you." You felt your veins pulse with anger, voice raging out as you took a cautious step back from him. A step back from the perverted psycho you had grown up with.

"I'm your sister-"

"Step-sister. And you know I couldn't give less of a fuck." His gaze flickered down to your jaded, whore-dressed body while your gaze stuck on him. Watching as he admired you, the way his fingers fidgeted in the pocket of his trousers- his breath hitching impatiently as his eyes fell lower. He took a step forward, his hand tenderly brushing your hair from your shoulder, fingertips tracing lines down the skin of your arms- losing himself in the way your skin felt.

He deserved it, days of peeking at you while you showered at home. The steam of the glass, the wetness of the water- barging into the bathroom once you were finished to fuck himself needless into the towel you'd just used. Months of hearing you whimper at night when everyone else in the house was sleeping. Pressing his ear to his wall and slipping a hand into his boxers, getting off to your devious whines. Your whines and no one else's.

His palms ached with each look you gave him, mouth watering at each sight. And when he had finally caught notice of your secret little strip-job you had at this club, what was he supposed to do? Restrain himself from the only thing he had dreamt of?

The skin of his hand was warm beneath yours as you pushed him away from you with force, bile rising in your mouth as he tried to touch you. Your parents were married- you lived under the same roof- it was so wrong and you hated the fact you saw it coming. Knew that he would catch you here one day, but still trying to save up enough money to flee from his creepy glances; his desperate gestures and the ones you made back.

Assuring yourself each day that it was only temporary- that if you played up for him he wouldn't ruin the family you had and needed. Keeping him sweet, wearing tiny shorts and adverting your eyes as he fisted himself behind a cushion on the couch. Keeping him hooked- practically sucking on your spoon as you locked eyes with him across the table. Everything about you screaming 'fuck me' and of course he relished in it, he probably was touching himself then too.

You were just as bad, there was nothing you could even say in your defence however, you never thought he would actually waste money for an hour with you. That he would break the unspoken barrier between both of you for sixty minutes of fun-time and a life of wreckage and deceit. It was impossible to believe he would stoop so low but here you both were. One of you feeling superior and the other stupid.

"Simon please- its wrong, think about what our parents would think.." He rolled his eyes with a long sigh of boredom. All of your whining and nagging getting under his skin and ruining the moment between you two. Why couldn't you just give in? Be all over him, on top of him, skin against skin and rot there like you did in his dreams ever day?

You saw how much he wanted you so why couldn't you show him mercy- free him from his sick fantasies and for once just let go of yourself? He would stay quiet, no one would know. It would be your dirty little secret.

"For god sake, you're literally a slut. Its your job- shut your eyes if you want but I paid my money. Spare me the hysterics, it's a massive turn off." The cap off his beer bottle rattled as it hit the floor and he took a swig. Growling in delight as the cold liquid hit the back of his throat before fishing around in the bucket for another bottle. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt as he offered it to you, who stood frozen and far away.

Simon bit back his complaint, fighting the urge to huff and ask if you give this treatment to every VIP customer who pays for you. But the little sniffle and your teary eyes broke his heart. You were his little girl, he had protected you and watched over you for years and here you were crying over him- no this wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to see your pussy, your tits and your mouth gagging on his cock- not this.

He shut his eyes, turning around, placing his drink on the table beside him before looking up at you sympathetically. Sucking on his teeth as he grit out.

"Look, I know it must be weird for you but please. I'm literally begging you at this point and you know how much I hate begging people. I'd do anything to see you that way- I wont even touch you if that's what you want. I will be as good as I can but, please." His eyes pleading you to pity him and give him a show worth his money, the desperation in his tone thick but you would be foolish believe he wouldn't touch you. If you gave in, there would be nothing stopping him from grabbing your ass, your pussy- fucking you, defiling you and you just couldn't.

He scanned you over once more, seeing the weakness in your stance before he took a seat again. His desperate attitude from a moment ago dissipating instantly as a grunt fell from his chapped lips, fingers rubbing over the stubble on his chin; eyes darkening. He was losing his fucking patience with you. Practically spitting at you every time he opened his mouth.

"Pop a tit or something at least, for fuck sake."

[sttoru]

dad!Toji losing megumi on his sight in a grocery store.

⟣ tags. dad!toji x female reader. fluff.

“where the hell did that brat go. . .” toji sighs in frustration as he makes his third trip around the numerous aisles, peeking through each gap between to see where his son could’ve possibly hid.

you had been gone for one minute to grab something you had forgotten in the car, leaving your husband and son alone at the grocery store. you thought toji would be more than capable of keeping an eye on megumi during the time you left.

he did succeed for a couple seconds, but then somehow lost sight of the little boy. it happened out of the blue—even for someone as quick as toji, his child seemed to have disappeared into thin air, without him noticing at all.

“tsk, just wait ‘til i catch ya..” toji scoffs and makes quick strides. the other customers seemed to scurry off to the sides as the dark-haired man passes them—the reason for this being his bulky and tall body and that cold yet pissed off expression on his face whilst walking forwards.

of course, toji was still secretly worried for megumi. he didn’t want to think of the worst case scenario at all. he needs to stay calm and collected in such situations. panicking will do him no good.

toji passes by a pit of plushies, paying it no mind until he hears a soft, muffled giggle from that same area. he stops in his tracks and turns his head to the right. that voice was one he could recognise from miles away.

“oh, y’re so done.” the dark-haired man mutters under his breath and digs through the many plushies, hands looking for the source of that giggle. there were a couple strands of dark blue hair sticking out from between the big stuffed animals and toji wasted no time, “c’mere, brat.”

he uses a bit of his strength and fishes out a child from under the pile of softness—his child.

“papa!” megumi squeals and was holding onto a plushie: a cute black dog one. it seems like he had waddled off and climbed onto the box to grab that specific plushie, but couldn’t get out afterwards, “papa, waf! waf!”

toji sighs and holds megumi up by the back of his shirt, walking back to your shopping cart. he gains some stares due to the obscure way he was carrying his son around, though megumi himself couldn’t care any less as he cuddles up to the plushie in his tiny arms.

toji puts the little boy in the baby seat and grabs onto the stuffed animal, tugging at it; “gimme that. ya can’t have it ‘cause ya ran off without tellin’ me.”

megumi whines and pulls the toy back in his arms, giving toji a pleading look. his lips formed a desperate pout and his eyes were starting to glisten with tears that appeared on his waterlines.

“yeah, stare at me all you want with those big bug eyes—y’re not gonna get that.” your husband shakes his head and grabs the plushie again, taking it away from his son to put it back.

megumi reacts to this by curling his chubby hand around toji’s index finger—still with that cute pout on his lips whilst trying to prevent his dad from stepping away. it’s specifically those shiny blue orbs that seem to mellow toji’s heart to the point he almost gives in.

“…”

you come back after five minutes and spot your family back in the candy aisle. the duo didn’t appear to have seen you yet since they were busy picking out some sweets for later.

“hi, my angels.” you creep up behind toji and tap his back. he instantly steps aside and your (surprisingly) super excited son comes into view.

megumi was smiling widely and that’s when your eyes land on something in his arms.

“oh, you got ‘gumi a dog plushie!” you gasp and seem to get excited for your child—megumi giggling right alongside you, “how nice!”

toji rolls his eyes, though wasn’t about to admit that he eventually did give in to megumi’s adorable tactics. he gently flicks the little boy’s forehead and looks back at you;

“didn’t get it for him out of my own free will.” your husband grumbles and then continues to squish megumi’s cheeks together using one hand, “this little brat threatened me.”

“i’m sure he did.” you chuckle and nudge toji’s side with your elbow. you knew just how much of a softie really is for his son.

“i’m not lyin’,” toji replies with a sigh and pushes the cart ahead, you following next to him with a smile, “he threatened me with those big eyes of his. i’m tellin’ ya, that stuff is dangerous.” —for my heart, he adds in his head.

you couldn’t contain your laughter as you hear your lover’s words. your gaze then lands on megumi, who was contentedly staring up at both his parents, cuddled up to the big stuffed animal.

“good job.” you gave megumi a thumbs up and ruffle his hair as a reward. the kid sticks his tongue out and almost looks proud of the fact that he got his way in the end.

toji really was just a big softie for his son. and for his wife as well, of course.

[p0orbaby]

Remember Cuddles in the Kitchen

summary: you go to your first game as the owner of The Arsenal

warnings: the teeniest start of some angst but that’s it

a/n: i wrote this in an hour, don’t judge, or do

word count: 1.3k

-

You arrive at the stadium in the kind of vehicle that hardly counts as a car anymore—a blacked-out Range Rover with plush leather seats, which are supposed to help with lumbar support or jet lag or something. It glides through the crowd outside the stadium as if it were water parting, leaving you in a surreal, weightless state as you stare out the tinted windows. People line up along the barriers, some of them with jerseys, scarves, others in crisply tailored suits, all of them fixated on the car as if it’s carrying royalty. In a way, you suppose, it is—at least, that’s what the club PR team likes to tell you.

The driver, whose name you can never remember despite his impeccable service, opens your door with precision timing, as if there were some imaginary stopwatch counting down the seconds it should take for you to step out. You have a fleeting memory of insisting to the board that you didn’t need this kind of attention, but that was waved away—of course you did, they’d insisted, it was all part of the club’s image. So here you are, stepping out into the sharp autumn air, the sound of fans and stadium chatter rising and folding around you.

People see you instantly, recognise you. A ripple of whispers, the odd “there she is!” or “our owner, that’s her!” float up from the throng. A camera flashes. It’s a bizarre mix of adoration and fascination, directed at someone who hasn’t even kicked a ball. They think they know you, these people, with their wide eyes and hopeful looks. They don’t, of course, but there’s no room for reality here, not in a world built on perception and spectacle.

You make your way through the stadium corridors, led by an assistant with a headset who murmurs into it like a stockbroker, keeping you insulated from the crush of ordinary fans. She’s brisk, polite, making small talk as you walk past murals of past players, glossy and smiling and set in that specific historical lighting that makes them look both heroic and outdated.

Eventually, you reach the suite. Inside, it’s the pinnacle of curated, near-stale luxury. Charcoal-grey walls, marble-topped counters, a buffet laden with food that looks more sculptural than edible—truffle-scented hors d’oeuvres and exotic fruits. You can’t remember the last time you ate at one of these spreads; it always feels wrong, somehow, to snack on pâté while everyone else is crammed into the stands, scarfing down chips and Bovril.

You glance at the screen on the far wall, where Leah’s name appears in the lineup. Your heart tugs, some deeply buried urge to be out there with her, watching from the stands, shouting with the fans instead of gliding through this marble-and-silver version of a stadium experience. You scan the field, your eyes finding her immediately. She’s focused, her whole body coiled with that easy confidence you’ve always envied, jogging alongside her teammates, every move smooth and efficient.

The fans in the lower section spot you from their seats, and a fresh wave of whispers and nods starts. A couple of people even clap when you’re shown on the stadium’s big screen for a brief second, a polite nod to their reclusive, mysterious owner. You smile, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment, and settle back in your chair.

The match is a whirlwind, a blur of chants and shouts and, every now and then, Leah’s fierce concentration catching you off guard. She’s different out there, almost unrecognisable from the woman who drinks tea in your kitchen wearing mismatched socks. She’s something more primal, almost statuesque, moving with a determination that feels slightly otherworldly.

When it’s over, you wait in the suite, alone, watching as the champagne is removed, the food whisked away, and the staff disappear with their final, obligatory nods. The door opens, and Leah steps in, looking somewhat shy in her own space. Her hair is still damp from the post-game shower, and her cheeks are flushed from the effort, a hint of colour that feels more honest than the varnished elegance of the suite. She’s got that look—that bright-eyed, smug expression of someone who knows they played well but is too modest to admit it.

She stops, taking in the setup with a flicker of something you can’t quite place. A slight furrow of her brow, a narrowing of her eyes, as if she’s both impressed and vaguely amused by it all. She crosses her arms, eyeing you with a smirk.

“Bit much, don’t you think?” she says, her tone light but with an edge of something darker.

“Not my choice,” you reply, gesturing at the array of imported cheeses and miniature quiches. “Apparently, truffle-infused food is non-negotiable”

She snorts, but her arms stay crossed, her body language closed off. She looks around, her gaze lingering on the sterile decor, the impersonal luxury, and something in her expression tightens, like she’s uncomfortable here. “Feels like a mausoleum in here. Where’s the celebration? The noise?”

You shrug, glancing away, feeling an odd prick of defensiveness. “Apparently, being a good host involves keeping everything as quiet as possible”

She doesn’t smile, just watches you with that steady look. There’s a tension between you that wasn’t there before, something unspoken but heavy, and it catches you off guard.

“Is this what it’s like for you now?” she asks, her voice soft but pointed. “All this… pageantry?”

You hesitate, then nod. “This is what they want. The ‘owner’ experience”

She studies you for a moment, her gaze uncomfortably sharp. “And what do you want?”

The question sits between you, raw and unanswered. You don’t have a quick response, and that unsettles you. Because truthfully, you’re not sure. The distance between her world and yours, between the pitch and this hermetically-sealed suite, feels enormous, almost insurmountable.

Leah sighs, uncrossing her arms and taking a step closer. “I just… I don’t know. I thought it would be different. I thought… I’d come off the pitch, see you there, and it would feel like… like home, you know?”

There’s a pause, a heavy silence as her words settle over you. And it hits you, then—this isn’t just about the suite, the champagne, the hushed voices. It’s about the way this world has started to reshape you, molding you into something polished and distant, something that doesn’t quite fit with the person she fell in love with.

Without thinking, you reach for her hand, pulling her close. “Leah, I don’t care about any of this. I’d be out there in the stands with everyone else if I could”

She looks at you, her expression softening a little, but there’s still a hint of wariness, like she’s not entirely convinced. “Then why are you here?”

“Because that’s what they expect,” you say quietly, the words feeling oddly vulnerable. “It’s all theatre. None of it matters. The only thing that matters to me is… well, it’s you”

The tension in her shoulders eases, and she lets out a breath, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know this version of you. Like I’m just… watching from the outside”

Her honesty cuts through you, but there’s a strange relief in it too, as if naming the problem has made it more real, more manageable. “Then tell me what you need,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me how to make this work”

She looks at you, her expression softening, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “How about we start with a drink that doesn’t taste like money?”

You laugh, a genuine, unrestrained sound that feels like a release. “That, I can arrange”

You signal to the server, and within minutes, a couple of beers appear—actual beers, not the artisanal, locally-sourced nonsense. You crack open the bottles, handing one to Leah, and she raises it in a mock toast, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“To the queen of the royal box,” she teases, and you roll your eyes, clinking your bottle against hers.

“Long may she reign”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Guppy's Halloween

Arsenal Women x Child!Reader

Summary: The eighth of my Halloween-centric fics

"Don't," Leah warns," Kyra, don't you dare."

"I didn't say anything," Kyra snickers.

"You were going to."

"I mean..." Kyra grins. "Should we stop calling you Lord Farquaad, Mophead?"

Leah knew something like this would happen this morning. Hell, she'd known something like this would happen when Lia came to her with this idea.

Usually, she'd refuse but you'd been there too, looking up at her with wide, eager eyes.

She'd be heartless if she didn't say yes, which brings her to this moment with Kyra.

Leah is dressed as a mop, embarrassed beyond all belief but still holding strong.

"Oi," She snaps," Just because you're going mainstream with your costume! I mean, a vampire Kyra? Really?"

"Hey! Vampires are a classic1"

"Vampires are boring," Leah deadpans," You're just jealous Guppy didn't want to partner with you for a costume."

"So she got you too, huh?"

Leah turns, eyes wide.

Kyra howls with laughter, nearly going to ground as she wheezes, pointing between Leah and the newly arrived Codi.

"Really on theme," Leah notes," Did Guppy choose that out too?"

"I think so. Lia sent me the link though."

Codi stands in the middle of the gym and Leah isn't quite sure which one of them is wearing the most embarrassing costume.

Leah and her mop costume or Codi and her wet floor sign costume.

By this point, Kyra has actually fallen on the floor, clutching at her stomach as she nearly cries from laughter.

It only gets worse when Mariona comes in...dressed as a broom. Not like a witch with a broomstick. Just a generic broom that anyone would find scattered around the house.

The three of them look down at Kyra, who's on the floor roaring with laughter and wonder briefly if she's ever going to be able to get back up again.

Kyra manages to quieten her giggles for barely a moment before Lia, dressed as a bottle of kitchen cleaner, comes in and suddenly Kyra just can't manage it.

She's back on the floor again and, unlike everyone else, Lia doesn't seem to be embarrassed at all.

Then again, Lia's got experience in this after you and her dressed up last year as tea towels.

"Kyra," Lia says, looking down at her not exactly in judgement but with that mum look that everyone recognises," Stop laughing. Guppy's coming in a moment and you're not going to make her feel bad by laughing."

Kyra sobers up quickly.

The last time she'd upset you was when she'd messed up all your organised equipment boxes. She'd never seen you cry so hard, stressed beyond all belief and she'd had to avoid Lia for the whole rest of the day because of how angry she'd been.

"You will be nice," Lia says," And happy. And you will tell Guppy that you think her costume is so cool and you're so jealous, got it?"

Kyra swallows thickly. "Got it."

Lia smiles. "Good. Guppy, everyone's ready! You can come in now!"

Leah's used to your style of costumes. She's only seen you wear something 'normal' once and that was when you were still a baby and didn't have your own opinions.

Lia had dressed you up as a little werewolf but that was the only time.

All the others had been something so quintessentially you that Leah wonders how you can even have new ideas.

But then you come in and Leah's reminded that yes, of course you can have new ideas.

"I'm Henry Hoover!" You announce," Mummy helped make my costume!"

"Oh, wow, Guppy!" Leah says instantly," You look great!"

You grin, turning around so everyone can get a good look.

"We took the nose tube from our old Henry Hoover," You explain to Codi and Mariona," Our old one broke but we didn't throw it away because we can still use bits of it! Like for my costume. Do you like it?"

"It looks so good," Codi nods," You look so cool."

"Mario?"

Mariona grins, dotting kisses all over your face as you giggle. "You and Lia did a great job."

"Your costumes look good too!" You say, still laughing as Mariona's kisses tickle your face.

The assembled girls fawn and coo over you until you feel all happy and floaty, moving away to finally to look at Kyra with a face full of sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Kyra," You say," Did the store not have any other costumes?"

Kyra looks down at her vampire costume complete with a fancy Dracula cape. "Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?"

You make a face, like you're trying not to be rude. "It's just...It's a bit boring, isn't it?"

Leah's face lights up. "I told you!"

[sinsxo]

the way he loves. —itoshi sae

synopsis. he never says “i love you.” but he shows it — in quiet gestures, soft glances, and words left unsaid. because this is the way he loves: not loud, not obvious, but constant.

cw. headcanons, boyfriend!sae x fem!reader, fluff

wc. 981 words, not proofread.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you because “i love you” isn't enough to explain the way he loves.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but makes time for you, even when he says he’s “too busy.” he’ll groan about his training schedule or an upcoming match in spain, but you’ll always find him calling at 2am when he’s overseas. not because he wants to talk, he just wants to hear your voice before he sleeps.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but answers your calls with “what?” his tone always sounds bored or flat, but he always picks up. even if he’s on a bus, at training, or in a different time zone. funny, because he never lets it ring twice.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but lets you wear his jerseys and doesn’t ask for them back. even if you stretch them out or sleep in them, he just shrugs. “whatever. looks better on you.” or “wear it to my game tomorrow.” whenever you tag along.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but silently checks your phone battery or your water bottle. he’ll hand you his jacket before you say you're cold. he doesn’t tell you to take care of yourself — he just plugs in your charger when you're not looking, refills your bottle mid-conversation in the kitchen or wraps his jacket around you while he’s explaining something. and he acts like it’s nothing.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but remembers the little things. like the movie you said you wanted to watch two weeks ago. or how you don’t like certain textures in your food. he acts aloof, but nothing you say goes unnoticed.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but lets you win arguments. he’ll pretend to brush you off or make it look like he doesn’t care, but he’ll silently go fix whatever you were upset about.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but watches you when you’re not looking like you’re the only thing that makes sense in his life. he won’t say “i love you.” but in those seconds, with the faintest of smiles and the way he gazes at you — it’s so obvious that he does.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but lets you sleep on him even if his arm goes numb. he won’t shift a muscle. you could be drooling on his hoodie, and he’ll just stay still, scrolling with one hand and pretending it’s whatever — even if his whole arm falls asleep.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but keeps the photos of you tucked in random places like in a random pocket of his bags, his wallet, pockets of his formal wear, etc. and the photos are not the ones you’d expect — a funny candid picture of yours, a screenshot of your video call, a blurry picture you sent of your dinner or a photo of your feet sticking out from under a blanket. whatever it is, just know that his camera roll is full of them, though he’d die before showing you.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but glares at anyone who flirts with you like they just committed a crime. he might not say anything, but the death stare he gives across the room is enough to make people back off instantly. and when you tease him about it? he just says, “what? i know you’re beautiful, but you’re mine.” in the most nonchalant way possible.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but lets you mess with his hair. not in public, of course. but when you’re alone, watching tv or lying in bed, and your fingers tangle into his hair, he closes his eyes and lets you. he doesn't say a word.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but softens only for you. he’s the same cold, unreadable sae itoshi to everyone else. but with you? his voice drops a little lower, his gaze lingers a little longer, his sarcasm loses its edge. if they saw him with you, no one would recognise him.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but his voice always softens when he says your name. even when he's annoyed or tired. no one else gets that side of him except you and it’s not love in words, but it’s love in tone. he could be mad about something, yet talk to you about it so softly like he was the one at fault.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but he lets you in when he’s at his worst. he hates being vulnerable — hates feeling like he’s not in control. but when it’s you, he doesn’t shut you out. he won’t say “i need you.” but he lets you stay. and that’s enough.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you but his eyes tell it all. when you’re rambling about something you're passionate about, when you laugh with your whole body, when you wait for him, even when he’s late. he doesn’t say it, but it fills every glance he gives you.

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you, doesn’t post you or brag about you to others. but in every interview, he says things like: “there’s someone i want to be better for.” or “i’m playing for more than just myself now.” and even “motivation comes from places people wouldn’t expect.” sometimes he makes it so obvious like, “somebody’s counting on me, and that’s more important than any trophy.”

boyfriend!sae who doesn’t say i love you because what he feels for you runs deeper than what language can carry. he hopes you hear it anyway — in the way he remembers, stays, chooses, and holds on. because this is the way he loves.

and it’s not loud.

but it never goes unheard.

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[frostedfragments]

could you do prompt 19 with caleb? :D

caleb x reader

19. getting turned on by their partner's new uniform for work and then roleplaying a bit

cw: inappropriate use of evol, handcuffs note: first time writing for caleb !! i'll admit i've been putting off writing for him bc aahh he's such a hard character for me to figure out for some reason, i cant seem to get into his head as well as i can with others! but i hope i've done him justice for the caleb enjoyers!

When you walk into your apartment after work one night, you expect to find Caleb draped across some piece of furniture, watching tv maybe. It's pretty common for him to come over, especially when he's home for the short time he has from the Farspace Fleet.

What you don't expect, however, is to walk in to find the room bathed in the warm glow of candle light. The flickering light illuminating a single, dark figure standing beside a chair in the centre of your apartment. For a few brief moments, you're almost tempted to call the police - because, what the fuck - but soon you recognise the broad cut of figure's shoulders, the outline of the peaked cap he wears with his uniform.

Instantly you relax, and then your gut pulls tight with anticipation, curiosity lacing your words as you step further into the apartment, closing the door behind you.

"Caleb?"

"You'll address me as Colonel, and nothing else," He steps forward, voice hard and authoritative, brandishing something silver that gleams even in the low light, "hold out your hands. I need to ask you some questions, and it will be better for you if you are restrained,"

Oh, you think, so this is what we're doing. "Yes, Colonel," is your reply, excitement bubbling deep in your gut, warmth dusting your cheeks. You should have known Caleb would do something like this as soon as you told him how sexy you found him in his new uniform.

Holding out your hands as told, Caleb clips one of the cuffs onto your wrist, leaving the other free before dragging you over to the waiting chair behind him. He tugs you, roughly, into the chair before moving around to your back and cuffing your hands. You're mostly immobile, except for your legs of course, and you're attached to the chair thanks to the cuffs. It's a concept that would probably frighten some people - being restricted in such a way - but for you, it only manages to fan the flames flickering to life in your stomach, the warmth travelling between your legs and through your thighs.

When Caleb steps back to the spot in front of you, he kicks your feet so your knees part for him. He gazes down at you, though thanks to the low lighting in the room, you can't see much of his face under his cap. Just the slight tilt of his lips, a smirk that seems to mock you in your submissive state.

You're sweating.

Bending at the waist, he lifts a hand to cup your face, squeezing your cheeks in the leather claps of his gloves. His eyes are dark, heated as he trails a look over your face before moving lower, lingering on the way your thighs are draped either side of him. You can already feel how wet you are, underwear clinging uncomfortably to the skin between your legs, but you play along.

"Colonel, I don't understand -"

Caleb's hand shifts slightly, his thumb pressing against your lips to keep them closed, "I don't remember saying you could talk," his eyes drift from yours to land on your parted lips beneath his thumb. He watches closely as he slowly parts your lips further, forcing his thumb into your mouth. You gasp, the taste of the leather hitting your tongue as Caleb caresses it, pushing further, just enough to have you on the edge of gagging.

"Are you going to be obedient?" He asks, his fingers digging into your face just a little more as he removes his thumb from your mouth, smearing your lipstick with your own saliva. You nod, eyes bleary as your thighs shift around Caleb's legs, itching to press together and soothe the ache between them. He watches the whole thing, scoffing quietly before moving away and waving his hand. Instantly, his evol parts your thighs again, holding them open, almost uncomfortably so. Your skirt rides up, and you know by now your underwear is probably exposed to his wandering eyes.

Caleb moves away for a moment, his evol still gripping you tight, keeping your legs parted despite your attempts to shift. Sweat begins to mist your skin as your gut squeezes like a fist, pulling down and down. Your clit throbs, begging for mercy, a touch to sooth the persistent ache.

When Caleb turns back to face you again, he's holding his baton. The long, thin weapon is usually closed up, hanging from his belt, but he has opened it to its full span, holding the object out and pressing under your chin. He lifts your face to greet his own, his body bending so he can kiss you sloppily, his tongue licking heat into your mouth. You gasp into the kiss, already eager for this torture to end and for Caleb to fuck you already.

He shows no signs of giving into such demands yet, however, as he pulls away, leaving your lips wet and shiny in the low light of the room. His violet eyes appear almost black as he watches you beneath heavy lids. Instead, he steps forward, hand dropping to your shirt as he begins to undo each button deftly with nimble fingers, even in the thick leather gloves. Soon, your bra is bared to him, breasts heaving to escape the confines of the black lace.

"You think I haven't noticed how you act when I am wearing this?" He murmurs, bringing the baton up until its resting on your lower lip, "Suck. Get it wet,"

You oblige only too eagerly, wishing it was him instead, allowing your eyes to meet so Caleb can imagine you suckling just as greedily and messily on his cock. His jaw clenches, eyes hazy for a second as if the idea might be enough to tempt him into giving up this whole charade, but the expression fades just as quick as it appeared. He drags the baton from your lips, the wet tip of it tracing a path down between your breasts, over your stomach. It stops briefly at your skirt, and Caleb's lips twitch at the way your hips shift slightly.

"Cale- Colonel, please," You whine, and Caleb tilts his head, "please touch me. Please do something,"

"Watch your mouth," He replies, voice lethally soft, "I never said you could speak," he tuts gently, lifting the baton and bringing it down quickly against your thigh. Pain flashes hot against your skin, melting into something liquid, something addictive. You moan softly.

"So disobedient," Caleb murmurs. He drops the baton, kneeling at your feet, quite unlike the cold colonel. His leather-clad hands find your thighs in a rough grip, hard enough to leave marks, and you hope they do. Caleb lifts your skirt, giving him a clear view of your black underwear, the lace so damp now that he can see the wet spot on the seat below, "Messy too,"

You try not to beg him, trying to keep silent and stay obedient so that he might touch you. His lips grow wet as he drags his tongue over them, staring intently at your parted thighs like he might wish to lick you clean himself, though he doesn't move. His hand makes its way up your thigh, over the reddened mark where he'd smacked you with the baton. The skin, sensitive now, hums under his tough as he runs a thumb over it, a soothing gesture cutting through his act.

"You've thought about this a lot," He says, voice softer now, "I have noticed every time your eyes watch me when I leave. Whenever I wear this uniform your eyes seem to glaze over like you're in the middle of a daydream," his hand moves further towards your clothed pussy, the leather soft and cool on your heated skin, "Is this what you were thinking about?"

You nod eagerly, unsure if he will stop if you were to speak. He smiles, almost looking like the Caleb you know again, though the grin soon sharpens with an edge as his fingers meet their mark. He presses hard against your clit, rubbing the wet lace against your skin in a slow, taunting circle. He does this twice, taking his touch away and observing the shiny wetness on his gloves. He pauses, like he might bring the fingers to his own lips for a taste, but instead he lifts them to your own mouth, pushing them past the seam of your lips.

"Taste it," He speaks, gruffer than a moment ago, "Taste the mess you've made,"

You moan around his gloved fingers, the familiar bitter taste of the leather soothed slightly by the salty tang of your own arousal. You lick every drop, sucking hard until your cheeks hollow, and Caleb's lips part to accommodate a low, quiet moan. When he pulls his fingers out, he returns them in a swift movement, rubbing your clit again and again.

"Come," He grits out, watching your face hungrily, the cool, calm pretence from earlier vanishing with each second, "Fuck, come nice and quick for me and I'll reward you with my cock,"

Your thighs tremble against the hold his evol still has on you, hips barely managing to chase his fingers, though you seem to crash into your climax unexpectedly. The force of it takes the air from your lungs leaving your lips parted on a silent moan before you drag in a broken gasp, "Oh- oh god, fuck, Caleb -"

"Good," He says, dazed, "So good, you did so good for me,"

His evol vanishes, your thighs clamping around his hand as he continues to rub and rub and rub until you're leaning forward, biting into the material of his jacket to quell the scream building in your throat. When you come a second time, Caleb seems to moan with you, so attuned to your body that he can feel your pleasure for himself.

He stands as you begin to gather yourself, panting in the chair and watching his movements with teary eyes. He doesn't bother removing his uniform, pulling out his cock through the slit in his trousers. It's hard, almost angrily red and shiny - your mouth waters with the need to taste, and thankfully, Caleb doesn't keep you waiting. He parts your lips with the head, gripping your hair in one hand while the other braces on the back of the chair you're sitting on.

"Oh fuck, oh god -" He's throbbing in your mouth already, hips stuttering as he shallowly fucks into your mouth, "Gonna come, oh fuck, gonna come. Yeah, yeah -" you suck hard, hollowing out your cheeks in order to bring about his release quicker. He comes with a broken groan of your name, chair creaking in his vice-like grip, and he uses the hold on your hair to pull you up and down his cock slowly, dragging out every thick rope of come he has to give.

When you're both panting, Caleb braces himself on the kitchen counter, dragging in deep lungfuls of air before he walks over on shaky legs to uncuff you. When you're both feeling human again, he brushes your hair from your face and looks down at you with wide, glassy eyes.

"Did I do good?" He says, "Did you like it?"

You shake your head, laughing, "You did really good, believe me,"

Caleb nods, satisfied, his playful demeanour so at odds with his uniform that it makes you laugh. The two of you shower and spend the rest of the night watching movies, though you make it known that should he want to welcome you home like that in the future, you are more than willing to play along again.

[misstycloud]

Yandere cowboy had me sobbing, please please please do a part two

Maybe Y/n comes back to the town because one of her grandparents is ill and she needs to take care of them, and cowboy keeps being like "...pay attention to meee"

I AM DROOLING OVER THIS MANN

Scenario: if (Y/n) has to come back to the town in order to care for her ill grandparents.

If yandere cowboy chose not to go after you or if she came back before he had the chance to do so, it wouldn’t be long until the news of your arrival reached his ears.

It’d be a solid five minutes of him contemplating everything before he starts rushing to your grandparents house. Whoever is with him when that happens think he’s possessed, but when they learn the reason for his sudden departure they’re not surprised. After all, you’re the only thing he’s been able to talk about; ever since he met you till you left. It was the worst when you left. He’d barricaded himself inside his house the rest of the day and refused any visits form worried friends and family.

Oh, all the citizens in town noticed the drop in his mood. You’d be stupid not to see how much he was hurting. Yandere cowboy’s family heard him cry himself to sleep every night after your departure. He didn’t smile unless he was talking to someone(he didn’t want to put his heartbreak on display for people to witness) and his work lost the energy it once had. To sum it up, he was a husk of a man.

When he learns you’re back he initially believes you’ve changed your mind about your relationship. But when you open the door(annoyed at his constant knocking) and he tries to embrace you, you tell him the true reason why you came back and his smile instantly drops. He attempts to play it down with a laugh, well that’s definitely embarrassing.

You say to him that you don’t want him near you. You need to take care of your grandparents, there’s no time(and it would be inappropriate) to run around like hopeless lovers everyday. He can’t stand outside the house and pray for you to become something more. At first you try giving back or ignoring the various gifts he sends, but since the very obvious ‘no’ doesn’t go through his head, you decide to throw them away.

The cowboy doesn’t understand why his previous signs of affection doesn’t work anymore. You loved when he invited you to go swimming in the creek, the flowers he sent you(hand-picked of course!), and the cheesy pick-up lines he’d learned from the only movie his family had on vhs tape. Why aren’t you recognising his efforts?

He is literally on his knees for you, begging you to talk to him. It only gets worse after you reject his gifts, he comes to your grandparents house everyday and refuses to leave until you give him the time of day. You have to yell at him to go home or he’ll be there until sundown. Worst case scenario you have to chase him away with the shotgun your grandfather had locked in the living room cabinet. Sometimes that doesn’t work either, the cowboy knows you’re not really gonna shoot him. Honestly, you kind of want to prove him wrong at times. The rinse and repeat is getting quite tedious.

There doesn’t seem to be a way for you to get rid of this clingy cowboy.

[littlest-w01f]

Colonel

Caleb x reader

CALEB MASTERLIST

LADS MASTERLIST

Summary: Being called by the Colonel in the farspace fleet was never a good thing, perhaps for people who weren't you

Cw: Jealous Caleb, gravity evol use for thrusts, Smut 18+ MDNI

As soon as the holo-projector flickered to life, you felt your stomach drop. The stern face of Fleet Colonel Caleb looked back at you. "Lieutenant y/n," The voice was crisp, carrying an undercurrent of disapproval. "Report to my office immediately."

You gulped, your heart racing as you stood up straight, trying to compose yourself despite the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, he had never sounded like that with you, you could recognise something wrong instantly. You nodded briskly, "Yes, sir! Right away!" With that, you quickly made your way out of the briefing room, your boots clicking against the polished floor as you hurried towards the elevators.

As the doors slid open, you stepped inside, pressing the button for the upper levels. Your mind raced with possibilities - what could you have done wrong this time? Had your recent performance been less than stellar? Was there something more serious, like a breach of protocol or security?

The elevator lurched to a stop, and you took a deep breath before stepping out into the dimly lit corridor. You followed the signs to the commander's office, your steps echoing off the cold metal walls.

Reaching the door marked as his, you paused for a moment, smoothing down your uniform before knocking twice. The response was immediate, the door slid open, revealing Caleb standing imposingly in the threshold, he was fully decked out in his uniform, even the coat shrugged on as if he was just about to leave.

"Enter," He commanded gruffly, his piercing gaze scrutinizing you as you stepped inside, anything but friendly. The door hissed shut behind you, leaving you alone with him in the dimly lit space. A faint scent of leather hung in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of the command center beyond.

Caleb gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk, his hand slicing through the air with military precision. "Sit," He ordered, his tone brooking no argument. As you complied, your fingers nervously fidgeted with the hem of your uniform, awaiting the commander's verdict with bated breath.

Caleb circled around to perch on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, his intense gaze boring into yours, "Your record has always been spotless, Lieutenant… But appearances can be deceiving." His voice dropped to a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine as his evol tilted your chin up, your face feeling weightless forcing you to meet his piercing gaze. "I suggest you tell me the truth, now, before we delve deeper into this matter..."

Anyone else would've been pissing their pants terrified at the way he was looking at you, but you held his gaze, confused, "The truth about what, Colonel?"

Caleb's lips curled into a smirk, his evol still gently tilting your chin upwards, keeping your eyes locked onto his. "Don't play coy with me, Lieutenant," His voice was hard. "We both know exactly what I'm referring to. Tell me, is the rumor true? Were you out on a... Date..." He almost snarled the word, "With a higher officier?"

You blinked, then again, and once more, "Wait that's what-"

Caleb cut you off, glaring, "So it is true. You know, Lieutenant, you aren't allowed to be romantically envolved with any one of higher statures."

Caleb's expression darkened further, his jaw clenching. "That's a direct violation of regulations, Lieutenant. Do you understand the severity of your actions?"

"Caleb you can't put on your Colonel voice because you're... Jealous." You deduced, feeling his emotions through your evol, emotion manipulation, something you kept under wraps from being conidered unorthodox, illegal even in some places. "Wait, why are you jealous."

Caleb's eyes flashed with anger. "Do not read my emotions." He spat the words, leaning in closer until his face was mere inches from yours. "Jealous over you? Don't flatter yourself, Lieutenant."

Despite his harsh words, you could sense the lie, the jealousy seeping through his defenses, his pulse quickening as he loomed over you, the heat radiating off his body. Your own heartbeat accelerated in response.

"I think you do feel something, Caleb," You whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the ship's systems. A cheeky smile formed on your lips. "Admit it, you're attracted to me." The admission hung heavy in the air between you, charged with tension and unspoken desire.

Caleb's grip on the edge of the desk tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Attraction has nothing to do with this," He growled, but his eyes betrayed him, darting down to your lips before snapping back up to meet your gaze. "You're a lieutenant, and I'm your Colonel. And how can I know you're not manipulating me?"

"Hey, I only did it first when you were mean to me." You raised you hands in defence, you had made him take you from the N109 zone, twisting his emotions into feeling he needed you, to free yourself from the clutches of the prison. Then to make him a little nicer to you. "And I needed this."

Caleb's face contorted, a mix of frustration and something darker flashing across his features. "You manipulated me," He accused, his voice low and dangerous. "Used your... abilities on me without my consent."

He reached out, grabbing your wrist in a vice-like grip, pulling you to your feet. "You think you can toy with me, use me for your own amusement?" His other hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. "I am your superior, and you will show the proper respect."

"Calm down..." You whispered, trying to hold onto his anger to lessen it, but there was no anger, only red hot jealousy and desire, even admiration, "You confuse me. You're act mad I hurt you, but you don't feel it."

Caleb's grip on your wrist relaxed slightly, though his hand remained splayed across your chest, fingers splaying wide enough to cover your heart. "I'm not confused," He murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I know exactly how I feel about you, Lieutenant."

His other hand trailed down your side, coming to rest on your hip, fingers digging into the fabric of your uniform. "You may have manipulated me initially, but now... Now I crave the sensation of losing control with you." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "I want to fuck you so hard, you forget everyone else."

Caleb's confession sent a jolt of excitement through you, your body responding instinctively to his raw, carnal desire. You could feel the heat emanating from his large frame, the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh.

Without breaking eye contact, Caleb held you with his evol, pinning you against the wall. His hips ground against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. "Tell me to stop, make me stop." He growled, nipping at your earlobe. "Order me to end this, and I will. But know that every second I keep going, it's because you want me just as badly."

You felt his desire like it was your own, you could reduce it to nothing, turn him into a shell without emotions, you could make him stop but you didn't want you. You groaned as you felt the hardness of his aroual press against you through your uniforms and increased his arousal ten fold. "No. Don't stop."

With a guttural moan, Caleb claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to conquer every inch. His hands roamed your curves, gripping and kneading, as if trying to brand you as his.

Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. "Fuck, you taste divine," He rasped, his voice thick with lust. "I need to be inside you, now."

Caleb's fingers deftly worked at the fastenings of your uniform, tearing away fabric to expose your breasts to his hungry gaze. He palmed the soft mounds, thumbs circling the hardened nipples, drawing whimpers of pleasure from your throat.

"Come on..." Caleb's strong hands gripped your hips, guiding you to sit astride his lap as he reclined back in his chair. The sudden intimacy left you breathless, his hard cock pressing insistently against your core through the layers of clothing separating you.

In response, you rocked your hips against his, the friction sending electric shocks through your body. As you rode his lap, Caleb's hands slid beneath your skirt, his calloused palms gliding over the smooth skin of your thighs. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your lingrie, tugging them down to reveal your dripping core.

"Fuck, you're soaked," He groaned, his thumbs parting your slick folds to tease your clit. "So ready for me, aren't you, little liar?"

With a swift motion, Caleb yanked his pants open, freeing his throbbing cock. He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head nudging insistently against your opening. "Last chance to stop this, y/n. Once I'm inside you, there's no turning back."

"Last change for who to stop this? I want it was much as you." You whispered, hands underneath the shirt of his uniform to feel the muscles of his abdomen, rising to his chest. kissing the side of his neck.

A low, animalistic growl rumbled in Caleb's chest as he captured your lips in another searing kiss. Breaking away, he gazed intensely into your eyes, his own burning with primal hunger. "Then let me take you, Lieutenant," He commanded, voice rough with desire.

With a powerful thrust, Caleb sheathed himself fully inside you, stretching and filling you completely. You cried out, the sensation overwhelming yet exquisite. He set a relentless pace, grabbing your hips to make you go up and down, each stroke driving deeper, harder, his cock pulsing within your clenching walls.

Leaning forward, Caleb buried his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he pounded into you. "Mine," He snarled possessively.

Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves through your joined bodies, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the office. Caleb's grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he moved you with reckless abandon.

Caleb's hands roamed your back, nails scraping against your flesh as he pulled you down to meet his savage thrusts. Leaning forward, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your tender skin as he bit back a roar of ecstasy. "Too... Slow." He groaned, his hand held your hip, humming with energy as he used his evol to grab your hips, moving your body faster.

The enhanced strength of Caleb's evol allowed him to move you with brutal efficiency, his hips pistoning upward to meet each downward plunge. Your chests pressed together with the force of his movements, the hard points of your nipples dragging against his chest.

Panting heavily, Caleb's lips found yours again, the kiss ferocious and demanding. His tongue dominated your mouth, claiming you thoroughly as his cock plundered your depths. The relentless rhythm built towards a crescendo, each stroke driving you closer to the edge.

Caleb's dominance consumed you entirely, his body a force of nature ravaging yours with unrelenting intensity. His cock throbbed inside you, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust down, sending sparks of pleasure igniting throughout your being.

The pressure coiled tighter and tighter in your core until finally, with a scream muffled by Caleb's devouring kiss, you shattered. Your inner walls clenched around him, rippling with waves of intense orgasmic bliss.

As your climax crashed over you, Caleb continued his relentless assault, prolonging your peak. The feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock pushed him to the brink.

With a final, powerful thrust, Caleb hilted himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he found his release. Thick ropes of his seed painted your insides, marking you as his. A guttural moan tore from his throat, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

In the aftermath, Caleb held you close, both of you panting and slick with sweat. He peppered your face with soft kisses, a stark contrast to the brutal passion of moments before. "That was... Incredible," He murmured, nuzzling into your hair. "You're amazing, y/n."

Your eyes fluttered shut as a chuckle bubbled up your throat, "So you were jealous..."

Caleb's arms tightened around you, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Guilty as charged," He admitted, his lips brushing against your temple. "Seeing you with someone else, knowing they might touch you, taste you... It drove me insane with jealousy."

Caleb's confession hung heavy in the air between you, tinged with vulnerability despite the raw passion of your coupling. His thumb traced idle patterns on your lower back as he held you close, savouring the afterglow.

"I never wanted anyone else but you, y/n," He murmured, his voice low and sincere. "From the moment we met, you've had this effect on me, outside your evol. It scared me, the depth of my feelings. That's why I lashed out earlier - I couldn't bear the thought of losing you to someone else when I've never truly had you."

"It wasn't a date, Colonel," You smiled, resting your forehead against his, "It was just a formal dinner. No need to get your emotions up, I don't even like him."

Relief washed over Caleb's features at your words, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "A formal dinner, huh?" He repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, I suppose I owe you an apology then, for jumping to conclusions like that."

"The uncertainty killed me. The idea of you all dolled up, sharing a meal with someone else... It made me realize how deeply I care for you." He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss - a promise and an apology all at once.

His thumbs gently caressed your cheekbones as he held your gaze. "Tell me you feel it too, this connection between us. That I'm not alone in wanting this, wanting us." The vulnerability in his voice was palpable, the usually confident Colonel laid bare before you, hoping and praying for reciprocation.

"I feel it too, Caleb," You whispered, your voice thick with feeling. "This bond between us, it's unlike anything I've ever known. When I'm with you, I feel alive in a way I never have before. Like I can take on the world and win."

Your fingers threaded through his hair, holding him close as you sealed your declaration with a kiss. It started soft and sweet, but quickly deepened into something more passionate, pouring all of your pent-up emotions into the intimate contact.