#david harbour fanfiction

[cowboybeepboop]

Rescue

"Please, p-please, I want you to make me feel good."

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x f! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: Needy and whiny Bob, kind of a dom fem reader, oral m! recieving 

a/n: Sorry chat.. This is such a ramble, but I  LOVE BOB omg Lewis Pullman is on top!!! As always, send any requests you have my way! I will write for any fandom or character, but I would especially love some Lewis Pullman character requests 😛

Bob stood in the dimly lit room, a flickering fluorescent light casting eerie shadows across the sterile walls. His arms were shackled behind his back, held tightly in place by Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, a woman who radiated calculation and control.

He felt utterly isolated. No one was treating him with any kindness; he was merely an object to them, a tool to be used and discarded at their convenience. After his shift into Sentry and then the Void, she’s kept him locked up in this damn room. 

The room he was kept in was small and confined, barely large enough for him to move a few paces in any direction. The air was thick and stale, almost stifling. There was no comfort here, no human kindness. It was as if they wanted him to feel isolated and forgotten.

Bob looked around the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner. The only sound was the steady hum of the fluorescent light and the occasional clink of his shackles as he shifted his weight. He tried to take deep breaths, to keep his fear and anxiety at bay, but it was getting increasingly difficult.

While he could use his powers, he’s simply just too scared to bring out the void again. So instead, he spends his time pacing his tiny concrete room. The fluorescent light overhead flickered intermittently, casting strange shadows on the sterile walls. 

Every now and then, he would glance up to see if the light was about to go out completely. 

He was exhausted. 

Not just physically, but mentally as well. The constant fear and anxiety of being in this small space with no human contact was taking its toll on him. He could hear footsteps in the hallway outside, but no one came to visit him. 

They weren't even giving him any food.

After Valentina realized she couldn’t *use* him for what she wanted, she decided not to deal with him at all, assuming he would be too fearful to try and escape. Plus, if he did use his powers against her once again, she would just hit her kill switch. 

You'd been working with Bucky and the "Thunderbolts" to rescue Bob from Valentina's capture. This plan only works if everyone works together, which, for the most part, they've been doing pretty well, at least until you became involved. 

Creaking open the door, you hold your breath as you step into the small and dimly lit room, the sound of your footsteps on the cold concrete floor making the space feel even more claustrophobic. The room is barely illuminated by a single flickering fluorescent light above.

As you enter, you notice Bob pacing the length of the room, his arms shackled behind his back, looking exhausted and tense. He glances over at you, his eyes widening slightly as he realises that someone has entered.

"You're Bob?" Your voice is gentle while you creep over to him, eyes roaming over him, taking in his timid stance. 

Bob pauses in his pacing as you approach, his body tense and wary, but he nods slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yes, I’m Bob,” he says softly. He studies you warily, his eyes darting to the knife between your teeth before returning to your face.

"I'm Y/N, I'm gonna get you out of here, alright?" You slip the knife into your pocket, skillfully you begin to pick the locks on his shackles, which are surprisingly weak for being meant to hold someone with his powers. 

Bob looks at you with a mix of surprise and relief, his eyes widening slightly as you begin to pick the locks on his shackles. "You're...you're here to help me?" he whispers, his voice cracking slightly.

He watches you with a sense of awe as you work on the locks, clearly impressed by your skill. The locks seem to come undone surprisingly easily, given the fact that they're meant to hold someone as powerful as him.

"Of course, I'm here to help you." You smile sweetly at him, brushing your fingers against his shoulder, offering some comfort, waiting for Bucky's all clear signal. 

Your touch seems to momentarily surprise him, and he flinches away from it, before realising that you’re trying to help him. He gives you a small, hesitant smile back, clearly not used to any kind of human contact in this place.

As you wait for Bucky's signal, the tension in the room continues to build. Bob glances around the room, his eyes darting to the door, clearly anxious to get out of here as soon as possible.

Bucky lets you know that it's time to move, you carefully pull out your knife again, preparing for any necessary defense. "Come with me, Bob, stay close and hold onto this just in case." You hand him the blade, pulling out a small gun as both of you move toward the exit. 

Bob takes the blade from you, holding it tightly in his hand. He follows you closely as you move towards the exit, his footsteps quiet behind you. He’s clearly on edge, glancing around the room as if waiting for someone to come bursting through the door.

The gun in your hand is a reassuring presence for him, and he sticks close to your side, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of danger. As you reach the door, Bob places a hand on your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You'll p-protect me, right?" he whispers.

"I'll keep you safe," you respond gently, using your free hand to pat his hand that's resting on your shoulder before moving forward. Putting your focus back on getting him out. 

Bob nods at your reassurance, his hand remaining on your shoulder for just a moment longer before pulling away. He takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to steel his nerves as you move forward, your focus now fixed on getting him out of this place.

Together, you move through the building, keeping an eye out for any guards or obstacles in your path. Bob keeps close by your side, gripping the knife tightly as he follows you, his eyes darting around nervously.

With Bob safely in the back of the vehicle, you let out a ragged sigh of relief. The adrenaline that had been rushing through your veins starts to wear off, and you suddenly feel the overwhelming tiredness of the rescue mission catch up to you.

As soon as the vehicle starts moving, you look over at Bob, who is now sitting next to you, still clutching the knife in his hand. He seems just as exhausted as you are, if not more, his eyes tired and weary.

Brushing your fingers over his hand, you gently pull the knife away from his grasp. "You're safe now, Bob, I promise." The team knew that Val wouldn’t come after them, not with their hold over her, so it would be an easy trip back. 

Bob doesn't resist as you take the knife from him, his grip loosening as soon as your touch. He looks up at you, his eyes weary and tired, but there's a glimmer of trust there now, a hint of vulnerability that he couldn't have shown before.

"Thank you," he whispers softly, his voice hoarse. "Thank you for getting me out of there."

"Of course," you grin at him, scooting closer to his side so he can rest against your shoulder. "You should rest, close your eyes."

Bob looks at you with a tired expression, seeming hesitant for a moment. But then, as if too tired to resist, he starts to lean into your shoulder, his head heavy against your body.

He lets out a weary sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he begins to relax, finally feeling safe in your presence. "I...I haven't slept in days," he admits quietly, his words slurring slightly with exhaustion.

"You deserve some good rest, Bob." You run your fingers down his arm, attempting to lure him to sleep.

Bob's eyelids seem to grow heavier with every passing moment, his body sagging against yours as fatigue washes over him. With your gentle touch, he seems to relax further, his breathing beginning to even out as he drifts closer and closer to sleep.

He mumbles something, a single word that escapes his lips in a tired slur. "Safe," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

A few weeks have passed since you all successfully rescued Bob, and thankfully, Valentina never tried to take him back. You sigh as your training with The Winter Soldier ends in another defeat, lying against the exercise mat, you take a few steadying breaths.

Bucky stands above you, a smirk on his face as he regards your defeated form. He offers a hand to help you up from the mat, his grip firm as he pulls you to your feet.

"Not bad," he says, eyeing you up and down. "You're getting better." Despite your defeat, there's a hint of pride in his voice, as if he's impressed by your improvement.

You catch a glimpse of Bob outside the room, letting go of Buckys hand and ignoring his compliment, you practically skip over to him. "How are you doing this morning, Bob?"  

Bob looks up as you approach, a small, shy smile forming on his lips as he sees you. "M-morning," he manages, his voice soft and tentative. "I'm, uh, I'm alright," he says, running a hand through his messy blond hair. He glances down at the floor, then back up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before darting away.

"Wanna grab breakfast with me?" you grin sweetly, stretching and cracking your back. 

Bob nods shyly, a slight flush on his cheeks as he watches you stretch, his eyes darting away quickly when he realises that he was staring. He shoves his hands into his pockets, looking every bit the shy, awkward, but sweet man you're beginning to learn he is.

"Uh, yeah, that sounds nice," he replies, barely managing to meet your gaze. He's clearly trying to hide his nervousness, but failing miserably.

"Here, let's grab something from the kitchen, and then we can watch a movie in my room!" You're giddy at the thought of spending more time with him, you’ve been doing everything you can to get him more comfortable with you. 

Bob nods eagerly, his eyes lighting up at your suggestion. "Yeah, that sounds great," he says softly, a small smile on his lips. He follows you eagerly as you lead him toward the kitchen, his footsteps light behind you.

"Movie in your room?" he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. "J-just the two of us?"

"Yeah, why not?" You grab some cereal for both of you, focused on the small task at hand. 

"Uh, no reason," he says sheepishly, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks again. "I just, uh, didn’t expect it to be just the two of us." He fidgets nervously as he follows you back to your room, his hand occasionally clenching and unclenching at his side.

You open the door for him, gesturing for him to walk in. "Well, we can keep things purely PG," you tease as you shut the door behind you, which is more a less a goal of yours than anything else. 

You find him simply irresistible; his kind, sheepish demeanor gets you weak in the knees. The two of you have never been alone in a private space very long before, so this opens up the opportunity for more than just friendly interactions.

Bob's cheeks visibly redden at your playful comment, and he lets out a small, nervous chuckle as he steps into your room. He looks around, taking in the space with a sense of curiosity and wonder. It's clear that he's a bit out of his comfort zone.

"Purely PG," he repeats, his voice cracking slightly. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for you to lead the way.

"Come sit," you plop on the bed, patting the mattress beside you. "We can find something together," your heart races as you notice the flush of his cheeks. 

Bob hesitates for a moment before slowly walking over to the bed and sitting down next to you. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his body tense and stiff as if he's afraid to get too comfortable.

He glances at you, his cheeks flushed red, as he tries hard to avoid your gaze. "Uh, sure," he stutters, his eyes darting around the room. "What do you like to watch?" he fumbles with the sleeves of his shirt. 

"I like comedy, shit to take my mind off of... Well, all of this." You scoot closer to him, reaching over his lap for the remote on the other side of him. Your breasts slightly brushing over his thighs with your swift movements. 

Bob's eyes widen and his cheeks flush bright red at the unexpected contact, and he tries hard to keep his gaze averted.

He lets out a soft, strangled noise, something between a whimper and a gasp. There's a brief moment of tense silence as he tries to recover his composure, his body completely stiff under your touch.

"You can relax, y'know," you grin as you turn the TV on, enjoying his reaction to your subtle touches. "I don't bite, Bob."

Bob blushes even harder at your words, his body slowly starting to relax under your touch. He tries to laugh it off, though the sound comes out as more of a nervous cough. "I know, I know," he stutters, his eyes flickering over to you before darting away again.

You find a random movie, glancing over to him, you question, "Is this okay?" Bob nods, his body visibly relaxing a bit more as he hears your words. He risks a glance at you, a small, shy smile appearing on his lips.

"Yeah," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is...yeah, this is fine." He shifts a little closer to you, his thigh now lightly brushing against yours, as he focuses on the movie playing on the screen.

Butterflies fill your stomach as you notice the small gesture he makes; it's nothing crazy, but it's the first time he's really initiated anything between you since the day you met.  

Bob seems to realise what he's done, and he quickly stiffens up again, his cheeks reddening once more. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression a mix of nervousness and shyness.

"Uh, sorry, I, uh...sorry," he mumbles, his gaze darting back to the screen. 

"Hey, it’s okay! Don't worry about it at all." You both begin eating your breakfast, your eyes wandering to him every once in a while to admire his adorable features. 

Bob seems to relax a bit more with your reassurance, his body slowly unclenching as he starts to eat his cereal. He notices you glancing at him, and every time you do, he can't help but feel his cheeks heat up again.

He steals glances at you as well, his gaze darting over to you every now and then, his eyes lingering on your face for just a moment before darting back to the screen. There's a growing sense of comfortable intimacy between you two.

With a sigh, you push the empty bowl to the side, content with the feeling of fullness, you lean back on your arms with a small yawn. Bob finished eating his cereal as well, placing his bowl beside yours. He glances at you as you lean back on your arms, a slight smile on his lips as he hears your yawn.

He looks more relaxed now than he did when you both first walked into the room, his body no longer as stiff as before. "You tired?" he asks softly, tilting his head slightly to the side as he looks at you.

"Yeah, Bucky kicked my ass in there," you groan, thinking back to the morning training. "He always does." 

Glancing over to him, your lips curve into a small smile as you move to rest your head in his lap. "Is this alright with you, Bob?" You’re making some sneaky moves, which you know you shouldn’t, but fuck, the way he looks at you has your body aching. 

Bob blushes furiously as you rest your head in his lap, his body stiffening for a moment before relaxing again. He tentatively places a hand on your shoulder, his touch light and gentle.

"Yeah," he mumbles, sounding a little breathless. "I… I don't mind." He seems surprised that you're being so close to him, but there's a hint of pleasure in his eyes as he looks down at you.

"You're so cute," you give him a slight teasing response, nuzzling into his warmth as you relax, eyes slowly fluttering shut.

Bob blushes even harder at your words, a soft, startled noise escaping his lips. He's not used to being called cute, and your teasing comment has thrown him off slightly.

He feels a pleasant shiver run through his body as you nuzzle into his warmth, and he unconsciously starts to stroke your shoulder gently with his hand. "Y-you're the one who's cute," he mumbles, his words coming out a little indistinct.

It was your turn to be flustered now, his response catching you off guard. "Yeah? You think so?" You bite down on your lip, fingers tracing small shapes into his thigh mindlessly. 

Bob seems to realise that he's made you flustered this time, and he can't help but feel a small sense of pride in it. He looks down at you, a small smile on his lips as he notices your fingers tracing shapes on his thigh. 

He subconsciously moves his hand from your shoulder to your hair, his touch light and tentative as he starts to run his fingers through it. "Yeah," he says softly, his eyes flickering away from yours briefly before returning. "I...I really do think so."

Bob's breath hitches slightly as he feels your hand moving further up his thigh, your nails grazing him, sending a wave of tingling through his body. He tries to keep his composure, his eyes darting away from you for a moment as he struggles to control his reaction.

"S-stop that," he mumbles, his voice shaky and uneven. "You're teasing me," he practically whines the last part.

"Teasing?" you question, knowing exactly what you're doing, fingers getting achingly close to his crotch. 

Bob lets out a soft whimper as your fingers get ever closer to his crotch, his eyes widening as he looks down at your hand. His cheeks are flushed red, and his words come out as strangled stutters, "You know you're teasing me."

His body is tense under your touch, every muscle coiled taut as he tries to control his reaction to your actions.

"Is it okay?" You shift slightly, lips pressing gentle kisses onto his clothed thighs. "Can I touch you, *tease* you like this?" your fingers continue their wandering, slowly inching closer and closer to his cock. 

Bob's breath hitches at the feel of your kisses on his thighs, his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to control the sensations coursing through him. His hands clench and unclench, and he can't help but whine softly under his breath.

He nods, his head tilting back just a bit, and his voice comes out as a strangled whisper, "Yes, yes, it's okay. You can, uh, you can touch me like that."

You fumble with the waistband of his sweat pants, slowly exposing his lower half, eager to taste him, to take care of him. "I wanna make you feel good, Bob..." Your lips continue their torment, but this time against bare skin. 

Bob's breathing becomes more ragged as you start to expose his lower half, his body quivering under your touch. He lets out a soft gasp, his eyes wide and fixed on you as you begin to lay kisses on his bare skin.

"Oh, God," he manages to groan out, his thighs trembling with anticipation. He wants you just as badly, his words coming out in a breathless, needy whisper, "Please, p-please, I want you to make me feel good."

You push Bob's boxers down, revealing his hardened cock. Your eyes rake over the length of him, admiring his size and girth before you lean in closer, letting your warm breath tickle his skin. 

Bob's entire body jolts at the sensation, his cock twitching in anticipation of what's to come.

You wrap your soft, warm lips around the tip of his erection, your tongue swirling around the head as you gently suck. Bob's hands instinctively grab onto the bed sheets, knuckles turning white with the effort it takes not to touch you. 

You can hear his muffled gasps of pleasure as you slowly take more of him into your mouth, your teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin. Your hands come up to gently caress his thighs, the smoothness of your skin gliding against his. 

Increasing the pace, your tongue dances around his shaft as you take him deeper, your throat muscles tightening around him. You can feel him getting closer and closer to the edge with each stroke, his hips bucking slightly as he tries to keep still.

The wet sounds of your mouth working him fill the air, mingling with Bob's breathy moans. You're thorough in your ministrations, not wanting to leave any part of him untouched. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, pumping in rhythm with your mouth, your other hand gently cupping and playing with his balls.

Bob's breathing becomes more erratic, his moans growing louder as you work him closer to climax. His thighs quiver under your touch, and you know he's close. You look up at him, eyes locked with his, the intimacy of the moment almost too much to handle.

With one final, deep suck, you feel his cock pulse in your mouth, and with a strangled cry, he releases, his warm seed filling your mouth. You swallow it all, not missing a drop, the taste of him lingering on your tongue as you pull away, giving his sensitive tip one last lick before sitting back with a satisfied smile. 

Bob's body goes lax, his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to catch his breath, a blissful expression etched onto his face.

The room is filled with the sound of his heavy breathing, and the sight of his spent cock against his stomach is incredibly satisfying. You lean up to kiss him, sharing the taste of him on your lips, and whisper, "I told you I'd take good care of you."

Bob's mind is completely overwhelmed by pleasure, his body trembling beneath your touch. He can barely form coherent thoughts, his whole world reduced to the sensations you're bringing him. Your name escapes his lips in a breathy moan, and he clings to the bed sheets tightly, trying to anchor himself to reality. 

When you finally pull away, he pants heavily, his body flushed and spent. He looks up at you, his expression one of pure bliss, and he can barely manage to speak, his voice rough and low as he whispers, "You're...you're incredible."

Here’s part 2 😛

[deadclawshc]

do we think peter should randomally show up in thunderbolts tower fics like he did in avengers fics or are we still figuring that out because i feel like it’s a necessary pipe line

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT • MINORS DNI

Jim Hopper x Reader • oral (f receiving) • anal sex • friends with benefits • lil bit of degradation • reader isn’t sure about the situationship she’s entering with Hopper • reader gets off on the idea of being used • Hopper pursues reader till he gets what he wants

Goosebumps blossom over your arm in the wake of Hopper’s touch, a shiver rippling through you. This isn’t supposed to happen, you tell yourself. Girls like you don’t do this sort of thing…good girls, at least where appearances are concerned. To everyone in Hawkins, you’re the sweet new waitress just hired on at Benny’s. But to Chief Jim Hopper, you’re something else: prey…

You’d known it the first time he looked at you…the way his eyes had lifted from the newspaper in front of him and locked on yours. Jim Hopper wanted you. You’d never forget the way he looked your body up and down, his eyes glazing over you like he was more interested in having you for dinner than anything on the menu. And his voice…fuck, his voice. Hopper had said your name as soon as he saw the badge on your apron, and you realized that no one’s voice had ever made your body respond sexually before his.

He’d started offering that very night to walk you to your car after your shift ended. When you explained that your shift didn’t end for another hour, Hopper wasn’t deterred. It wasn’t any trouble, he said. He was off duty for the night anyway. When Hopper showed up again the following night, same time, same table, you began to realize a pattern was forming. He insisted on you being his waitress every night for the next week, and even after the weekend came and went, Hopper was right back at his now-usual table Monday evening and waiting for his now-usual waitress: you.

What had started as walking you to your car inevitably led to conversation and eventually, a kind of friendship between you both. When Hopper offered to pick you up at home and take you to work, in addition to driving you home each night, you knew something else was motivating his ‘politeness.’ Hopper wanted more from you than friendship. At the end of the day, he wanted the same thing as any other man: to get his dick wet. Granted, he was trying very hard to get you to like him, and it was kind of cute, almost as if he was courting you. But realistically, you knew Hopper’s efforts were simply made in pursuit of your body. And while you felt guilty for admitting it to yourself, you wanted the same thing from Hopper, too. Despite being older, divorced, and a dad to a teenager, you’d never found yourself more attracted to another man in your life. Something just felt inherently forbidden, and exciting about the possibility of fucking Jim Hopper, in the context of that kind of relationship…one where you were not just intimate as friends, but lovers as well.

Hopper’s face lit up like he’d just been handed the world when you eventually agreed to let him drive you to and from work. You found it slightly unnerving that Hopper already had your address; but being chief of police, of course he could easily find out where anyone in town lived. Tonight, Hopper offered to drive you home as usual after your shift at Benny’s ended. But unlike all the nights before, you find yourself with Hopper in the backseat of his Blazer, his broad shoulders casing you in like willing prey…

Hopper’s nose grazes the shell of your ear, his tongue prodding your lobe. You can’t stop the sharp whine that squeaks up your throat. Hopper grins at your ear in a way that tells you he sure as hell heard it. “C’mon,” he coaxes in that damned voice of his, thick and husky, the sound of masculinity itself. Hopper’s lips seal over your earlobe, tugging it gently. The sensation goes straight between your thighs, your clit aching to be sucked like that. His hand closes around your wrist, hard enough to remind you who’s in charge. Hopper pulls your hand between your bodies to his groin, rubbing his erection against it. The act is so brash, so crude, you’d find it offensive under other circumstances…if it was someone else, anyone else, other than Jim Hopper…

And that’s when you realize it’s stupid to ignore the truth any longer. You’ve wanted this for so long. You’ve gotten off playing this scenario out in your mind for weeks now, since meeting Hopper at the restaurant. Now you’re living it, the opportunity to feel Hopper in you and on you and everywhere. And you don’t want to waste another second. You tilt your face to Hopper’s, your lips ghosting against his. He lets you stay that way a moment, allowing you the illusion of control. “You feel it, don’t ya?” Hopper asks, and you know he’s not talking about his erection against your hand. The electricity between you is palpable…like a lit firework. Ready to explode. It’s been this way for awhile now, a tension so thick you’d swear you could choke on it. Right now, you’d prefer to choke on something else. Hopper abruptly gropes his free hand up your shirt, fingers slipping inside your bra. He isn’t gentle when he squeezes your breast, his palm bearing the callouses of a man who’s accustomed to handling a woman with the same tenderness he handles a gun. You pull in a sharp breath as Hopper rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger. “Jim-,” you begin, but he swallows your words in a kiss. It’s selfish, the kind of kiss you know isn’t for you. Hopper is getting off, and he’s using you to do it. You could just as easily be his right hand tonight, for all you’re worth to him. But still, there’s part of you that wants to mean more to Hopper than that.

He licks into your mouth, his tongue a force all its own. Now that’s he’s had a taste, Hopper wants to know how every inch of you tastes. He decides to start with your cunt. Hopper releases your wrist and shifts his body down yours. He removes his hand from under your shirt, wrapping both his hands around your ass and tugging you forward, pressing his face into your skirt. The only thing separating Hopper’s mouth from your cunt are your thin cotton panties. He can taste you through the fabric, your wet heat slick and warm on his tongue. You taste like caramel and musk, and it’s all Hopper can do to keep from busting inside his uniform at the flavor. It’s been so long since he’s had a woman’s cum in his mouth. Ever since taking El in as his own, Hopper’s sex life has completely evaporated. He needs this, after months of fucking his own fist in the shower every night, he needs your warm, willing body to use. And that’s exactly what he does.

Hopper traces a fingertip over the outline of your cunt through your panties, watching your puffy lips quiver under his touch. He swallows, hungry in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. You adjust yourself on the sticky backseat, shifting your cunt closer to Hopper’s face. He can’t resist the closeness of your scent, your slick cum begging to be eaten. Hopper presses his face against your pussy, nuzzling your labia through your soaked panties. His tongue darts out to collect your cum, pulling it between his lips with a satisfied groan. Your fingers find Hopper’s shoulders in the dark, clutching the fabric of his khaki shirt and holding on as he penetrates you slightly with the tip of his tongue. The panties are still in the way, and Hopper decides it’s well past time they disappear. He slips his index finger beneath the waistband and tugs them down, helping you out of them completely. Hopper wants to get a good look at your bare, glistening cunt, but he’s too impatient, too horny. Nothing is going to keep your cunt out of his mouth a second longer. He delves into you, his tongue breaching your entrance and spreading your walls as he licks them clean.

All of your previous hesitation has completely disappeared, your thighs trembling around Hopper’s head as you let yourself succumb to the pulsing throb of his tongue massaging you. He spreads your ass with his huge, rough hands, gliding a fingertip over your asshole, testing its tightness. Hopper then abruptly shoves two fingers inside your pussy, just long enough to collect some of your juices. He then removes his fingers and smears your cum onto your asshole, testing it again and when he’s satisfied it’s slick enough for him to penetrate you, Hopper does.

You moan loudly, unable to stay quiet. You’re parked out in the woods after dark, but still, the thought of someone hearing you has crossed your mind. What would the people of Hawkins think, if they found out the sweet little waitress that serves them their burgers was serving her cunt to the chief of police in the back of his squad car? The worry leaves your mind as soon as it begins. Because when Hopper starts twisting his finger inside your ass, there’s suddenly no space in your mind for anything besides how good he feels manipulating your guts. The ceiling of his Blazer flickers into view as you stare up at it, your eyes half-lidded in bliss while Hopper eats and fingers you. The whole car smells like sex, your cunt filling the vehicle with a scent Hopper hopes lasts forever. He’ll probably get hard immediately every time he gets in the car from now on…he’ll probably have to ‘take care of himself,’ on the way to the station each morning, smelling your cunt everywhere as he drives. But it’ll be worth it. Every single time.

Hopper pulls his finger from inside your ass and uses both hands to flip you over onto your stomach. He keeps your ass spread and licks a fat swipe up between your cheeks, spanking his palm against your skin till you whimper. He rubs away the red patch blooming on your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his rough palm. Hopper shifts to a kneeling position on the backseat. You can’t see him but you can hear Hopper panting above you, his breath spraying cum from his lips onto your back. The weighty, thick pressure of his cock between your cheeks pulls you from the trance you’ve succumbed to. Is he really about to fuck your ass in the backseat of his car?

“Hey,” Hopper breathes, his voice huskier than usual, the fat tip of his cock wedged between your asscheeks. “This alright with you?” It’s perhaps a crude way to ask for consent, but Hopper already has it, as far as you’re concerned. “Yeah,” you affirm over your shoulder. “I want it…I want to feel you everywhere…”

A thick glob of saliva lands between your cheeks as Hopper spits onto your hole, massaging the liquid into your tight bud with the head of his cock. Your hole puckers in anticipation, and a little in fear. You know Hopper’s big; you felt his size pressed against you earlier, and it’s obvious he’s bigger than average. When he sinks his tip inside you, it’s not without pain. Your hole clenches in protest, along with your fists. Hopper’s hot breath on your back relaxes you, reminding you of your purpose. You relax the muscles in your body, unclenching your asshole and letting Hopper use you. He presses another inch inside you, his girth stretching your ass to capacity already. “Doing s’good for me,” Hopper grunts against your back. “Takin’ me so good…never been able to fit inside a woman’s ass before…”

Again, crude, not the kind of language you’d expect from a man who’s fucking you for the first time ever. But it makes you feel even more used, and to your surprise, the idea of being little more than a pliant hole for Hopper to fill excites you.

He presses a hand flat against your back, bracing you to take what’s coming next. With an almost pained groan, Hopper presses his cock deeper inside your ass, pushing past the last bit of fight your hole was putting up against him. He knows he can’t stuff anymore of himself inside you without breaking you. The temptation is there, but Hopper resists. He draws back his hips, then thrusts forward as deep as you can take him without splitting you in half. You grunt into the backseat, a line of drool leaking from your parted lips. Hopper picks up the pace of his thrusts, bucking into you in earnest. He leans forward so his body is curved over yours, the hair on his chest and stomach rubbing against your back as he humps you. Every rough, sloppy rock of Hopper’s hips grinds your clit into the seat beneath you, edging you closer to a peak so intense, it hurts. Both of Hopper’s hands move to your shoulders, pinning you down as he takes you from behind. Your open mouth remains wide in a silent scream as a shattering orgasm bursts through you, both your holes clenching and releasing again and again as you convulse under the weight of Hopper’s body.

He can’t last any longer with your asshole contracting and squeezing around him like a vice. Hopper growls like an animal as he ejaculates, his cock pumping thick loads of semen into your ass. He all but collapses onto you, holding himself up by his elbows at your sides, his big body framing yours. Claiming you. His prey, the prize he’d worked to attain for weeks. The ass he’d watched walk away from his table at Benny’s is now full of his cum, oozing like a cream-filled dessert underneath him.

Hopper lifts his weight off of you and reaches for a towel from the front seat. He wipes his dick clean and then your ass, pulling the towel between your cheeks and absorbing as much of his cum as he can. He doesn’t want your asshole leaking semen all over your pretty work dress; that would just be inconsiderate, Hopper reasons. He checks your expression, to see how you’re handling this new, uncharted territory his dick just propelled you into. “You okay?” Hopper asks, relieved when you respond “yeah. How about you?”

Hopper chuckles at your question, tucking his softening cock back into his pants. His eyebrow lifts coyly. “Never better,” he replies. “I was just thinking, you want to stay over at my place tonight?” Hopper waves his hand to the window. “I mean, it’s not much further from here. S’nice little cabin in the middle of nowhere.” He leans in closer, his elbow rubbing yours. “What d’you say?”

You ponder his question a moment, wondering what the implications of spending the night at Hopper’s place could mean for your relationship. You’re familiar with the concept of friends that fuck around without being romantically involved, and maybe this is the kind of dynamic you can have with Hopper? “Okay,” you tell him. “But you’ve still got to drive me to work in the morning.” Hopper laughs, pushing open his door to head for the driver’s seat. “I just made you come all over the backseat of my car,” he teases, cocky as ever. “I think I can manage to get you to work on time, too.” ♥️

@mrshopper84

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober Day 9: Body Worship

DBF!Jim Hopper x Artist!Fem!Reader

Summary: Hopper becomes your muse.

Warnings: age gap (Hopper 40s, Reader 20s), unethical relationship, cheating, c*ck worship, cum eating, cumming untouched, facef*cking, body worship, hopper has a big one (i know it), dacryphilia

You’re sitting at your dining room table sketching away when you felt a heavy hand on your head, tussling your hair. You quickly place your arms over your work, looking back at the unexpected guest with an anxious smile.

Hopper gives you a warm genuine smile. He’d come over for dinner by your father’s invitation with his girlfriend, Joyce Byers. When you learned of his relationship status, you were quite disappointed to say the least. You want to be happy for him as he appears to be a lot healthier and happier but because he’s not with you, it doesn’t settle right. Because of this you ignored him the entire night.

“Hey, kid,” He says with a soft chuckle at your startled look. His eyes squint at the way you hid your sketchbook. “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” You sigh, trying to feign indifference. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“No, I’m really curious,” He insists, sitting in a chair to face you. “I always care for your art.”

You clutched the book to your chest before slowly releasing it for him to take. It’s erotica art. The male vampire lover similar-looking to Hopper feeding from the breast of a woman similar-looking to you.

“That’s pretty good stuff.” He says, much to your surprise.

“I-it is.”

“Yeah,” He laughs. “Is this why you were afraid to show me?”

Your eyes bug out of your head. Did he catch on that the drawing looks similar to him? It’s so obvious! Of course, he knows.

“Because of a little nudity?” He continues. So he didn’t catch on, after all.

“Well, yeah,” You follow through with his observation. “People tend to get a bit uncomfortable with nudity so I didn’t want to do that to you.”

“I don’t mind nudity especially when it comes to incredible art like yours. The human body’s a natural thing.”

“Exactly! That’s actually the concept I’m going for with my art. Natural bodies, sexualities, and kinks. It’s about what makes humans find beauty and attraction or lack thereof beyond the human flesh.”

“I think it’s brilliant. Maybe a little above my intelligence level but I know you’ve got it.”

“Actually, I think you might be the only one who understands around here,” You admit. “My parents…they just think this whole art thing’s unsustainable. But I think with this art installation project coming up, I can prove them wrong. Do you…do you think you can help me, Sheriff Hopper?”

“How could I help?” He asks.

“Be my muse, pretty please.”

And when he agreed he’d no clue what he’d signed himself up for. For you to be so bold to ask your father’s best friend to be your muse when it meant seeing him in the nude, he couldn’t fathom you asking such a thing. And yet now here he was in your small studio contemplating on whether he should go through with removing the remainder of his clothing.

You place your pencil down onto the canvas’s utensil holder, approaching his tall frame. “What’s wrong? Do you need help taking off your pants?”

He swallows convulsively. “When I said I’d be your muse, I thought you just needed me to hold a quick pose…fully clothed.”

“My art concept’s about natural bodies, Sheriff,” You grab unto the waist band of his jeans that had been slightly undone to reveal his white boxers. You drag his pants down a little to where his rather sizable member rests above the open fly. He’s growing hard. “You knew that though. It’s exactly why you agreed to becoming my muse—so I can worship you.”

You palm him through his underwear and he groans, taking your hand away to place them over his hairy chest.

“I knew you as a teenager.” He protests.

“I was 19.” You roll your eyes, using your free hand to hook into his underwear and pull him closer.

“Your father wouldn’t approve.” He argues, a moan bubbling in his throat when you begin to kiss on his chest and swirl a tongue around his nipple. He squeezes your hand a little, releasing as if it is an expression of his diminishing restraint.

You pull away with a wet pop, a line of saliva connecting as you stare up at him with doe eyes. “When have I ever cared what my father approves of?”

“I have a girlfriend.” He counters.

You move your lips to his ear, hotly whispering, “So do I.”

Your lips find each other’s in a sloppy make out session of tongues and clashing teeth. Your hands roam his body, caressing his belly then slipping down his underwear to jerk him off. Even though, you can’t see it, you can tell that it’s not only deathly thick and long but super veiny, too, with a wicked curve. No wonder Joyce had been limping all throughout dinner that day.

You break away from his lips, peppering wet kisses all over his stomach and dipping your tongue in his bellybutton. When you’re finally on your knees, you rub the base of him through the fabric. You bite your lip in anticipation as you finally take initiative and pull him out of his confines, mouth dropping open at the look of him. Just as veiny as you thought with heavy, sagging balls to match. You’re drooling, licking your lips and staring up at him one last time before focusing your eyes on the leaking tip and enclosing your mouth around him.

He cradles the back of your head with one hand while the other pounds a fist against your not-so-high ceilings, a loud growl escaping his clenched teeth.

You bob your head quickly, dramatically gagging on him and its loud and messy but neither of you care. Soon, he’s fucking your mouth both hands interlocked on the back of your head while you do a mix of massaging his clothed thick thighs or raking your sharp nails down his pudgy tummy. Tears prick your eyes as you struggle to take him but you’ll take whatever he gives you even if it kills you.

You don’t even need to touch yourself as the juices flow out of you, streaming down your inner thighs. You’re humping the air, core contracting around nothing as his whines are the only thing fueling you to near your end.

“Fuuuck, I’m cumming.” He hisses, rapid final thrusts of his wide cock into your mouth. He holds you down, your nose embedded in his pubic hair and you taste his hot spunk shoot down your throat. Just from that, you cum untouched, the act of being used so filthily making it possible.

You’re limited in breathing as you inhale through your nose and your jaw hurts but it’s all worth it as your eyes roll back and you quiver as much as your body could under his hold.

He finally releases your head, pulling his cock out of your wet mouth with webs of saliva to follow as you gasp for air.

“Was I inspiring enough for you?” He asks cockily.

Your throat itches as you let out a low giggle. “You’re perfect.”

[plussizefantasia]

CozyTober Day 5: Hot Chocolate or Tea

Jim Hopper x wife!reader

wc: 0.7k

warnings: literally just tooth-rotting fluff

a/n: Hopper has a special place in my heart and making him happy is the least I can do. Reblog if you enjoyed please, and I'll see you tomorrow for Day 6!

It’s no secret that Jim Hopper is not exactly a happy man. Sure he has his moments, usually when he is around his girls, but the majority of people you ask would say that the Chief of Police generally has the demeanor of a storm cloud. 

That ‘storm cloud’ is currently leaning against the sink in your shared kitchen, wearing a soft worn  New York Jets tee shirt, a pair of Levi's, and grey wool socks. He’s also sporting a comically large whipped cream mustache and pretending not to notice because it makes his daughters laugh. 

Jane’s giggles are hidden behind her own mug full to the top with hot chocolate, whipped cream, and coated with the leftover holiday sprinkles you found in the pantry from last year’s cookie-baking marathon. 

Your youngest, Emmie, though. Her laughter takes over her whole body. It comes straight from her tummy and spills out of her mouth as she throws her head back.

“Daddy!” She yells, “It’s right there!” She tries to point at his face but her shoulders are shaking far too much for her aim to be anywhere close to accurate,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about bug.” Jim takes another sip of his cocoa, making sure to really shove his face deep into the pillow of white floating on the top. 

She bursts out in new peels of laughter and he catches your gaze and winks.

Jane tries and fails to keep in a snort of her own and decides to join in on the fun. She takes a drink and comes up for air with her own, multicolored lip ornament. 

“Janie you have one too!” Emmie yells and her gaze quickly flashes between her father and her older sister. “Mommy look!” She turns to you.

“I don’t know lovebug, I don’t see anything different.” You tilt your head and look back at your little girl. 

“Mommy!” She shrieks and looks at you in disbelief. You have to use every ounce of willpower in your body to not burst out laughing at the look on her face. 

“Emmie, why don’t you show us what you mean?” Jim asks her, a faux look of innocence painting his features.

She looks down at her own Winnie the Pooh mug and steels herself, shoving her face into the whipped cream. She comes up for air a second later, with a whipped cream goatee instead of just a mustache and looks at the three of you before she starts to laugh again.

You quickly run to get the camera sitting on the entryway table next to the kitchen and hustle back. You make it just in time to snap a photo of your family, all sporting some pretty impressive cream facial hair. 

“Alright you three, maybe we drink our cocoa instead of shoving our faces into it.” You relent, grabbing a rag and wetting it in the sink next to Jim. You cross the small space to wipe off Emmie’s face before turning to Jane.

The teenager grumbles but lets you clean her off, and you quickly kiss the crown of her head as a thank you. 

Jim grabs you by your waist and hauls your back into his chest, quickly spinning you so that the two of you are chest to chest. He still has some whipped cream in his actual mustache and you use your thumb to wipe it away. Licking your thumb clean quickly after. 

Jim pulls you closer and into a soft kiss that lingers for a moment or two longer than it really should with children present.

“Mommy ew!” Emmie yells from her seat at the table. 

“Yeah guys, ew.” Jane agrees nodding in agreement at her little sister’s sentiment. 

You turn out of Jim holds and pick up your own mug from where it rested on the counter. You playfully stick your tongue out at the girls. Before taking the first sip of your drink.

Your cocoa is more warm than hot at this point but it’s still delicious. And if you make sure to tilt the mug just right so you come out with a cream ‘stache of your own that’s your own business.

“Mommy!” Emmie yells and her little giggling fit starts all over again. 

[anna-hawk]

The Eggnog Effect

Nicomund the Red | Santa Claus x F!Reader

Summary: You passed out on your friend's couch and wake up to find Santa Claus leaving a gift for your godchild.

WC: 6.2k // Explicit 🔞

Warnings: Christmas smut, bad jokes and cheesy wordplays

For @roguesandsaviors who's love for David Harbour triggered me into trying my hand at writing smut for someone else than Jon 😁

Also on AO3

You frowned as you slowly woke up, wondering about the small tinkling sound that got you out of your slumber in the first place. Cracking one eye open, you tried to make out your immediate surroundings, but your face was smushed into a pillow. A throw pillow, to be more precise. 

Ever since the birth of your godchild, your best friend and husband had started asking you to spend Christmas Eve with them. How could you say no to witnessing the kid’s eyes growing big with wonder after discovering the presents lying underneath the Christmas tree? 

Usually, though, you spent the night in the guest bedroom and not on the living room couch. You berated yourself for the sore neck you were likely getting from the sleeping position and grumbling internally about the long hours spent at work today that resulted in your exhaustion when you heard that noise again.  

Blinking and opening both eyes now, you glimpsed some movement to the side of the couch, where you knew the Christmas tree to be. As you twisted to your back, your eyes caught onto something red and large and… 

“Oh God, I really need to leave off the eggnog next time… I’m actually seeing Santa now,” you groaned and quickly rubbed over your tired eyes. 

Except that there was that tinkling again, more agitated, which made you open your eyes once more only to be met by the sight of a large man standing stock still just a few feet away from you. His wide eyes stared at you with a mix of panic and annoyance. 

“Oh shit,” you breathed as realization sank in, and you understood that your brain wasn’t playing tricks on you but that there was a stranger in the house and… You opened your mouth to scream, but the man was on you in a fraction of a second. A large palm covered the entire lower half of your face and stopped you from uttering any sound, while the other hand held the man up on the armrest under your head. 

“Shhh,” he hissed, his eyes lifting to the entrance of the living room to check if anyone was coming, before they bore into yours.

Oddly enough, and maybe it was still the eggnog talking, you didn’t try to fight, despite the way his large frame loomed over you. You didn’t move at all, actually, as you met his gaze. The only thought going through your mind was, oh, he’s got blue eyes. You stayed in the same position for several more seconds, his eyes never leaving yours as he assessed the situation. Realizing that you weren’t going to out him, the man slowly removed his hand from you and stood. You stayed where you were, observing him curiously; the white blond curly beard and hair under an askew red and white cap, the deep red leather coat lined with white fur spanning over a wide chest and shoulders, a pair of shiny, black boots. Everything about him screamed Santa Claus, but he was also nothing like the various men playing Santa in malls and other places. Those other Santas had also never elicited such a strong response from your body, either. 

“Who are you?” you breathed, mindful to keep your voice down, when really, the question should have been what are you doing here? Or, what do you want? 

“Who do you think I am?” he grumbled, while you watched him glare at a small bag and rummage around in it with a frustrated expression. 

Your eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets when the man thrust his whole arm into the bag, and it just vanished inside, which should have been impossible given how tiny the bag was compared to his arm. 

“Where the fuck is it?” 

“I didn’t know that Santa swears,” you snorted at the absolutely crazy sight in front of you. 

“He does when the presents aren’t where they’re fucking meant to be,” he muttered, before his face turned into a satisfied grin. “Aha.” His arm slowly came back out, followed by a large, neatly wrapped present. 

You blinked in rapid succession as you took in the size of the present and the size of the bag again. Yup, something was definitely up. A bicycle, for a five-year-old or not, would never fit in that bag if something… You snorted to yourself as the word magical ran through your mind. Don’t be ridiculous, you thought to yourself. But then the man pulled out an actual scroll of parchment, which started to glow as he pulled it apart. Sitting up, you stared at the man as he scanned the contents of the scroll with a thoughtful look. 

“What’s that? Your naughty and nice list?” you sniggered, while pulling your legs under you on the couch and letting your eyes drift over him appreciatively. 

“Mmhm,” he replied absently, seemingly looking for something in particular. 

Your eyebrows rose in surprise at his easy admittance, before you began laughing under your breath. 

“Tell me, Santa. Am I on your naughty list?” You leaned your head against your palm and rested your elbow on the armrest, smirking as you drawled the word naughty. 

“Nope,” he answered instantly, while your flirty expression went completely unseen since he still didn’t look at you.

You frowned curiously at his reply and tilted your head to one side before slowly getting up and approaching him. This, at least, seemed to catch his attention because his eyes snapped to you as soon as you moved. He watched you with a slight frown. Curious. 

“You sure?” you grinned. 

This was all absolutely crazy. There was a fucking stranger in your friends’ house, pretending to be Santa and looking damn fine in that role, yet here you were, flirting outrageously with him anyway, when flirting usually felt awkward to you. The eggnog definitely was at play here. 

He chuckled and said your name. Your full name, which had you stopping dead in your tracks as you stared at him with wide eyes. 

“You’ve never been on the naughty list once,” he finished with a shrug. 

“How… Who…” 

How could he know your name? If he were a burglar, he’d probably only know your friends’ names since they were on the mailbox. He could have looked them up and seen your name popup in your best friend’s feeds on social media, but to what end? He’d just left a goddamn bike for your godchild instead of taking something. And that bag? That wasn’t a trick. 

The man sighed deeply. “Adults,” he muttered, before thinking for a second. “Do you remember what you wished for on Christmas when you were eight?” 

Taken aback by the question, you frowned and thought for a second before memories hit you, and you nodded as you opened your mouth to reply. Except that he said the same thing as you did at the exact same time as you. You took in a sharp breath of surprise. How could he know that? It was far too specific to be a random guess. Only if… 

“So what are you going to do when you leave? Pull a Men In Black and wipe my memory or something?” You crossed your arms with a chuckle as your brain accepted the crazy truth.

He snorted and shrugged. “Trust me, the very few people who have actually seen me have never talked about me. And if they did,” he trailed off with another meaningful shrug that clearly said, who’s gonna believe them? 

You nodded faintly at his logic. He wasn’t wrong. 

“I’m curious, though… What’s your actual name? Santa? Kris? Nick?” You headed to where your godchild had left the cookies and milk and picked up the plate with the cookies. You chose one for yourself and offered one to… Santa. 

He took a cookie but didn’t look away from you, his head shaking in amusement a second later. 

“Really? Of all the things you could ask, that’s what you wanna know?” 

You shrugged and bit off a piece of cookie, the man doing the same before he glanced down at it with an appreciative sound and nod, then looked into your expectant face again. 

“You can call me whatever you want. The list is pretty long.”

“But none of them are correct,” you surmised, watching him reach for the milk glass and taking a large gulp. “How about… Daddy Christmas?” 

You had to hold back your loud laugh as he sprayed his mouthful all over his front at your words. He tried to cough as silently as he could and shot you a death glare as you stood there with a satisfied grin on your face. 

“Am I on the naughty list yet?” 

His nostrils flared as he wiped crumbs and milk off his beard and coat before he stalked over towards you until he was in your face. 

“You should be more careful with what you wish for, girl,” he growled, yet instead of feeling threatened, you felt more than turned on. 

“Oh? What are you gonna do? Give me your big lump of coal?” you breathed, loving how big and tall he was. 

Santa blinked at you once, twice, then burst into laughter, which had you smiling broadly. 

“Gotta admit, this was a new one.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but something chimed close by, which had him checking his watch. “Fuck!”

Picking up two other cookies, he headed towards the fireplace and lifted a finger to his nose, sparks firing as he did so, but then he looked back at you. 

“Nicomund,” he said softly, which had your eyes widen at the revelation of his name.

He smiled and pressed his gloved finger against his nose. 

“Merry Christmas.” 

He was gone in a swish of golden sparks a second later. 

One year later

Dressed in a festive pair of pajamas, you yawed widely as you looked at the clock sitting in the midst of Christmas decorations on the mantelpiece. You stretched your arms over your head and shook your head to try fending the sleepiness off. 

You were back at your friends’ house and sitting on the same couch as last year. Last year, when you’d met the actual Santa Claus. You’d spent weeks doing research on the origins of Christmas, yet none of the results had been conclusive in any form. You’d guessed that people truly didn’t usually see him like he’d told you. After a while, you almost wanted to believe that the whole thing had only been a dream, coming from too much eggnog and sleep-deprivation. Except that he’d given you his name. Nicomund. You couldn’t have dreamed that up. The name had actually given you some vague results as you’d given it in. Nicomund the Red, a former viking warrior. Who was supposed to have lived over a thousand years ago. Considering what you’d witnessed, you didn’t even think it that farfetched that they could be one and the same person. The way he’d talked had clearly hinted at the fact that he’d been doing this for a very long time. He knew who you were. Even as a child. Yet, he didn’t look older than his late forties or early fifties. 

As much as you enjoyed loosing yourself in fantasies in books and so on, you considered yourself as a pragmatic person in real life. You liked facts and magic, while a fun concept, had never seemed like something real. And yet… After what you’d seen… 

That’s why you wanted to stay awake on Christmas Eve. Prove that you hadn’t actually dreamed everything up. And you might have also wanted to see him again, just because. It was ridiculous. You hadn’t been able to go on a date the whole past year, Nicomund popping up in your head at random times. The way you’d felt attracted to him had left you reeling. He’d been in full Santa gear, yet all you’d been able to see were his blue eyes, his large frame and drawling deep voice, the combination lighting your entire body up. 

Your eyes drifted to the clock again, watching the time slowly approach one in the morning. Resting your head against the couch, you closed your eyes and sighed. A very comfortable bed was waiting for you just down the hall, and your body wanted nothing more than to sink into it and sleep after the long day you’d had again. But what if you missed him? Your fingers curled around a folded up piece of paper resting on your lap. Just in case, you’d written him a note, requesting him to wake you up if you were to fall asleep. With your eyes still closed, you smirked to yourself at the few lines you’d written. Maybe you could tell him yourself later. You would open your eyes in a second. You were just resting them a bit. 

Weren’t you supposed to be asleep for Santa to show up? 

The next thing you heard was a loud and excited scream coming from close by, having you jerk awake in your bed… Bed? Sitting up quickly, you realized that you were lying in the guest bedroom. When had you moved there? The last thing you remembered was that you’d been sitting on the couch and fiddling with the note. The thought of the note had you looking all around yourself and the floor, yet there was nothing there. Quickly getting up and slipping into a pair of warm slippers, you almost ran to the living room to look for the note. The only thing you found was your godchild gushing about the presents sitting under the tree, your friends standing around him with broad smiles. 

“Merry Christmas,” they called at nearly the same time as they saw you walk in. 

Tearing your eyes away from the couch and the floor, you schooled your features into a bright smile and replied in kind, hugging the couple and then kneeling to do the same to their kid. You helped rip into the wrappings and forced yourself to focus on what was going on around you. 

As the day went on, you never found the note, but you were still absolutely certain that Nicomund had been the one to get you into bed. You might have been exhausted, but you would have remembered it if you’d gotten up to go to bed on your own. Disappointment shot through you at the realization that you wouldn’t get the chance to see him again until the next year. If at all.  

Later that same day, you had dinner with your family, which served to take your mind off things for several hours. It wasn’t until later that night and once you’d returned to your place well after midnight and gotten ready for bed, that you sighed dejectedly again. In your pajamas and leaning against the counter of the open kitchen that looked into the living room, you slowly sipped water from a glass when your fireplace made a sputtering noise. Frowning, you put the glass down behind you and walked into the living room, only to yelp in surprise when golden sparks appeared and formed into the shape of a man a few feet away from you. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered, eyes wide and heart racing. 

Nicomund met your gaze and smirked at your gobsmacked expression. 

“Merry Christmas,” he rumbled. 

Your mouth moved silently as your eyes slowly took in his appearance. Gone were the red coat and hat, instead he was wearing a loose, off-white colored shirt and had his hair pulled up in a messy bun, showing off more of his handsome face. The V in the shirt’s neckline revealed the beginning of circular tattoos with what appeared to be runes. All the air rushed out of your lungs at the whole sight. He definitely wasn’t Santa right now, meaning that it really wasn’t the outfit that did it for you, since you were getting even more turned on than the previous year. 

“What are you doing here?” you croaked, your mind having a hard time realizing that he was standing in your living room. “Christmas is over.”

“It is, yeah… I thought you wanted to see me.” He put his bare hands into the pockets of his red pants and tilted his head at you. 

Your eyebrows lifted at that. “Why didn’t you wake me up then?” you muttered, pursing your lips slightly. 

“Not enough time,” he answered easily, eyeing you slowly.

“For what?” you breathed, swallowing at the way he was staring at you. The way he'd said it hinted at more than just him running behind schedule. 

“I got your note,” he said instead, and pulled the neatly folded paper out of one of his pockets, scanning it lazily after unfolding it. “You got real creative.” He lifted his gaze to yours briefly, the eye contact and implications of his words having heat rushing to your face. 

Biting over your bottom lip and taking strength in the knowledge that he came to find you once he’d been done with delivering presents, you grinned at him cheekily. 

“You said that I was never on your naughty list, so I figured that I could get a reward for having been such a good girl over the years.” 

You took a step closer to him, seeing him watching you attentively, expression unreadable. 

“And that’s what you had in mind?” His eyes went back to your note. “Dear Santa, I’ve been particularly good this year. Please let me play with your Christmas ornaments and suck on your candy cane. And while Santa Claus is coming to town, I’ll be sure to show how good I can go to town on Santa Claus. And please don’t forget to stuff my Christmas stockings with your big present. Hoe, hoe, hoe, Merry Christmas.”

Hearing him read the note out loud in that husky drawl had all the heat from your face rushing down your body. You couldn’t even feel the slightest bit of embarrassment at your silly wordplay, especially when you could see the corner of his mouth pulling up as he read, while his voice deepened by the end. His eyes lifted to yours once he was done, before he let them travel over your body. Slowly, taking all of you in, his blue eyes dark in the half light cast by the living room lamp. Your lips parted as soft pants left your mouth, your heart rate picking up at his intense perusal. 

“May I have my Christmas present now?” you breathed after taking a step closer and leaving you only a few inches away from him. 

He huffed out an amused laugh, but you didn’t miss the way he lightly leaned towards you, his large chest moving up and down faster. 

“Show me how good you can be,” he rumbled, as he let go of the note, which fluttered to the floor. 

As you reached for his face with one of your hands, you caught his surprised expression when your fingers gently ran along his bearded jaw and towards the back of his head to pull him towards your mouth. Considering the low sound he made as your lips met, he had nothing against kissing, he seemed more surprised by your gentle touch, that you wanted more than just something frenzied and fast. But you did want. Corny and over the top sexual Christmas wordplay aside, you really wanted the man. All of him. 

Slipping your tongue along his while slightly pulling at his hair, Nicomund growled and pushed into you, his hands moving into action as they travelled around your waist and down to your ass. His beard tickled deliciously around your mouth as he kissed you back fiercely. The first physical proof of his arousal pressed against you, making your breath catch at the size you could feel. Taking a step back away from him, you quickly found his eyes as you sunk to your knees before him. Nicomund’s breath came in short pants as his dark eyes watched you lifting your hands to the fastenings of his red pants. You took your time pulling the golden buttons from their respective holes, while you could see his erection straining the fabric just below. After you were done, you tugged the pants and underwear down enough to reveal his length. Unable to keep your eyes away, you finally looked at his gorgeous cock, proudly standing away from his body, the head red and shiny with pre-come. 

“As red as Rudolf’s nose,” you muttered lightly, almost to yourself, except that Nicomund heard every word. 

“Fuck, you’re terrible. Don’t make me change my mind,” he grumbled, sounding between amused and exasperated.

Slipping out of the top half of your pajamas to reveal your breasts, you glanced up at him with a smirk. 

“You really wanna stop, Daddy Christmas?” you teased, right before leaning forward to lick up a long stripe from the base to the top of his cock. 

His body went rigid at the touch, while he groaned. Suddenly, one of his hands was in your hair, the fingers sliding against your scalp and moving your head up, so you had no choice but to look at him. A long moan slipped free from you at the treatment, which had Nicomund grinning in satisfaction. 

“You’re not really being a good girl right now, y’know. Bein’ a lil tease and all. Thought you wanted to show me how good you can be.” His voice was low and washed over you in a delicious wave, stoking your lust further. 

Nodding instead of replying verbally, you let your mouth fall open and your tongue peek out in invitation. Nicomund hummed, pleased, and guided you towards his cock. 

“There we go,” he rasped, as he slowly slid over your tongue, stretching your lips with his girth. 

Once he was as far as you could manage without gagging, he stopped moving. His hand remained in your hair, but he neither pushed nor pulled, waiting for you to decide what to do next. You kept him like this for as long as was comfortable before you slowly drew back and gently suckled over the head, while you wrapped your fingers around him. Nicomund groaned as you angled his cock up for you to tongue and suck under the head, teasing the sensitive nerves. You took your time sucking all over him, savoring the sounds you could get out of him, your body heating whenever he cursed under his breath when you did something he particularly enjoyed. 

Listening to his breaths picking up speed and feeling his hips jerking as he got closer to release, you were surprised when he gently removed you off him with the same hand as before. Lifting your head since you had expected – wanted – him to come in your mouth, you gazed at him in confusion. He reached for one of your arms and pulled you to your feet before he was kissing you hungrily. Which you didn’t mind in the slightest, as you folded your arms around his chest to answer in kind, your nipples hardening as they rubbed against the material of his shirt. 

“Wanna be inside you,” he admitted roughly, talking against your mouth. 

You keened in the back of your throat and nodded fervently. How could you not want that? 

“Yes,” you hissed, kissing him deeply. 

“Bed?” he rasped, and it took your brain a second to get your body to move. 

“Yeah, okay.” You took his hand and pulled him out of the living room and towards your bedroom. 

Inside the room, Nicomund drew you back to him for a quick kiss before he bent over to pull down your pajama pants and get them off you. You clutched at his shoulders as he divested you of the clothes. 

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he ordered, having your move instantly. 

You observed him through hooded eyes and pressed your legs together at the tingle of anticipation running through your core as you watched him undress. You would have loved to do it for him, but this gave you the opportunity to let your eyes feast on him as he revealed his tattooed body, the shirt falling to the floor. He was large and strong, but with a softness around his belly that had your fingers prickling with the desire to touch. His hair was a mess of curls, in and out of the hairband holding it back. You expected him to remove the rest of his clothes and stared into his face questioningly when he didn’t, only to realize that he was already watching you. Stepping towards you and making you spread your legs for him to stand between them, Nicomund towered over you as he gazed down at you with a playful glint in his eyes. 

“Thought you might want me to keep them on. So you don’t forget who exactly is fucking you.”

Your whole body heated with lust and embarrassment alike. You wanted to open your mouth to explain that you didn’t have a Santa kink, that you’d never thought of Santa in that way, but after the jokes you’d made, you couldn’t fault him for teasing you about it. Only, you didn’t care who he was. You’d have wanted him the same way had he been the Sandman, or just a normal man as well. And to be honest, having him almost fully clothed while you were naked was also turning you on. 

“Is it time for your big present, then?” You bit over your bottom lip as you stared up at him with a hopeful expression. 

Chuckling, Nicomund leaned down to your eye level. 

“Not yet,” he hedged, and knelt between your legs. “First I gotta get a taste of your…” He thought for a second. “Cookie.” 

Your eyes widened at the unexpected wordplay and what it meant. He didn’t give you the time to further react as he grabbed your hips to pull them halfway over the edge of the bed and sink between your legs. You barely had the time to catch yourself with your hands behind you on the bed at the first swipe of his tongue over your wet folds. Crying out at the hotness of his tongue combined with the soft scratching of his beard on your sensitive skin, you fought to keep your eyes open to watch him. Heat ran through you at the way he so clearly took pleasure in eating you out. He took his time doing it too, at first only giving you broad licks that didn’t hold that much strength and mostly served to wind you slowly up as his tongue became more precise. Your eyes fluttered, and you panted once he began using the tip of his tongue to run maddening circles around your exposed clit. As you were getting louder and louder the stronger the pressure of his tongue became, Nicomund suddenly stopped and, instead, focused his attention on your inner thighs, kissing and teasing his beard across your skin. Your legs quivered from the change of pace, and you wanted nothing more than to bring his head back to where it had been. He seemed content to keep torturing you, however, and you knew in that moment that you would be dealing with beard burn the next day. 

“Nicomund… please?” you breathed on a whimper, gazing down at him and catching his eye as he looked up at you without stopping his ministrations. 

Your expression seemed to trigger something in him because his mouth and tongue were back on your clit in the next second. You had to throw your head back at the explosive pleasure shooting through you as his lips surrounded that little bundle of nerves, and he sucked on it enthusiastically. You screamed in bliss and tangled your fingers in his hair, silently begging him to stay right there. From the way he growled, he had no intention of going anywhere anyway. He pressed his thumbs into your thighs, pushing your legs further open and pulling your folds apart as his mouth ripped more and more delirious sounds from you. As two of his fingers slowly sank into you and curled up to start fucking you, your whole body wrapped over his head, your orgasm hitting you with such intensity that your legs locked against Nicomund’s shoulders. 

While you were slowly coming back to yourself, Nicomund kissed his way up your mound, hip and belly, his soft touches making your body shake with more than just the aftershocks, your entire body feeling sensitized. When he reached your stomach, you cupped his head with your hands and leaned down to kiss him deeply. His beard was damp, while his lips still tasted like you, having a new shiver of desire going through you. Nicomund grunted into your mouth as he knelt up, curling one arm around your waist while the other held him up behind your back. Without ever breaking the kiss, he got to his feet and leaned over you until you were almost lying on the bed. You moved up the bed with his help, just enough for him to get his knees on the mattress and pull your legs over his thighs properly. Meanwhile, your hands took their time exploring his body, running all over his back and sides, reveling in his size and comforting weight on top of you. Your fingers encountered a few scares as they went, bringing the reminder of your research back to mind. Only fights and battles could explain the size and placements of some of them. And then there were the tattoos. Santa Claus was an ancient Viking warrior. The concept was absolutely wild, but you put the wayward thought to the side in favor of focusing on the whole man on top of you. 

Nicomund lifted his head a few inches and held himself over you to look into your face. He was breathing hard, sweat starting to form at his temples, his eyes traveling between your lips and eyes. You looked at him dazedly and smiled before lifting your head, keeping your eyes open, to press your mouth against his. You repeated the action a few more times, seeing his chest rise and fall faster each time. 

“Are you going to make me beg again?” you whispered, your lips grazing his. 

He chuckled and stroked a thick thumb over your jaw. 

“Please, Santa, pour your milk all over my-”

His mouth crashed into yours, effectively shutting you up, but unable to stop you from giggling. 

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he growled, shifting on top of you. 

“But cookies always need – oh fuck!” 

This time, his method was more convincing, as he used your momentarily distraction while you teased him to line up with your entrance and push inside you in one long and powerful slide. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and threw your head back as he had you crying out with each snap of his hips, his length making you feel as full as you’d wished for. Nicomund mouthed around your jawline, grunting into your skin as he thrust into you repeatedly. Leaning your head forward again, you drew his mouth in for an open-mouthed kiss, sucking and biting his bottom lip, trying to give back as much as you could in your position. It seemed to be enough for him, since he slammed into you harder, groaning as you moaned even louder while your inner walls pulsed around him. 

“Feel so good,” you moaned, your voice breathy and high-pitched, your legs curling over his thighs as extreme pleasure unfurled inside you again. 

“Fuck,” he gritted out roughly, staring down at you with burning eyes. “You gonna come for me again?” 

You nodded. “Please? Nicomund… Please!” 

You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of this man on top of you, making you feel needy like never before. With his large frame, glistening with sweat and strong arms holding him up at your sides as his hips drove you higher and higher, piercing blue eyes roving over your face. 

“Yeah, come on, go ahead. Been such a good girl for me. Such a good-”

His words cut off as you exploded around him at the praise, a long wail of ecstasy coming through your mouth, before you pulled his mouth back onto yours for a desperate kiss. After several more thrusts, Nicomund groaned as one of his hands shifted to your hair and formed a fist in it. He tugged at it to expose your jaw to breathe against it as he fucked in and out of you at a fast pace. Still overwhelmed by your second orgasm, you let him move you the way he needed and only linked your arms tightly around his shoulders, small, pleasured whimpers leaving you. When he came, his whole body shuddered over yours, his hips jerking repeatedly as he emptied himself inside you with a long groan. 

Neither of you moved as you simply rested for a few minutes, savoring the afterglow while you gently combed your fingers through his hair. 

“Mmh… this was definitely worth waiting a whole year for,” you mumbled sleepily, the long day catching up to you at last. 

Nicomund chuckled warmly and raised his head from where it had been resting against your shoulder.  You grinned up at him and stroked your fingers along his beard before letting them trail down his shoulders, your eyes following their path, as he moved further up. 

“Nicomund the Red,” you muttered quietly, swirling an index over a circular tattoo on his chest. They were all gorgeous and reached down to both of his arms. 

You felt him go still under your hands and met his stunned gaze. You smiled softly, keeping up your exploration. 

“I like research,” you explained with a small shrug. “Didn’t find much, really, but I couldn’t…” You looked away from his face. 

“Couldn’t what?” he asked in a quiet rumble. 

“You read the note, Nicomund… I didn’t start thinking about writing it only yesterday,” you hedged. 

This was as much as you wanted to reveal about how often you’d thought about him this past year. Sure, you’d been attracted to him from the get go and had fun with all the wordplay, but you’d also been genuinely intrigued by him. 

Nicomund didn’t say anything for a beat, but then shifted your bodies until he was slipping out of you and rolling you to your side to face him. 

He cleared his throat. “Well… I was kinda wondering if you’d be at your friends’ again.” 

You uttered a small, happy laugh at his admittance and closed your eyes. The feeling only lasted a moment as you realized that he wouldn’t be staying, however. Nicomund was still Santa Claus, for crying out loud. Your smile turned sad as you fully realized that this couldn’t go anywhere. Opening your eyes and staring at his chest, you kept tracing the tattoos quietly, thinking. 

“Will you come back next year?” you finally brought yourself to ask, your eyes still downcast. 

A warm palm stroked over your jaw and tilted your head up to meet warm blue eyes. 

“Only if you stay off the naughty list,” he said, going for humor to lift the suddenly heavier mood, but his smile was slightly off. 

You couldn’t help but snort anyway and gave him a small smile, the implications of his comment clear. You’d always been on the nice list, so surely…

“No promises,” you whispered, having him huffing out a small laugh this time, while his fingers ran along the back of your neck in a wonderfully soothing way. 

Your eyes slowly fell close, your fingers stopping their path on his skin as his touch lulled you to sleep. You were completely unable to fight it and soon, the last thing you felt were soft lips on your forehead. 

With no surprise, you were alone the next morning.

One week later. 

Two hours past the new year, after your friends had left, and you’d put the night’s dinner leftovers in the fridge, you sank onto the couch with a glass of eggnog. You stared at the liquid with bleary eyes, smiling to yourself as you thought of Nicomund. It was a bittersweet thought, but you tried to keep any sadness away whenever you thought of him. Still slightly tipsy, you berated yourself for missing the opportunity to make a bad joke with eggnog. Maybe you should write it in next Christmas’ note. You could already see him rolling his eyes at you and grinned. 

Taking a sip and leaning your head back over the couch, you let your mind drift to the moment when you’d been lying face to face, his hands in your hair. 

A whoosh of air suddenly went through the living room, having you gasp and sit upright again. Your mouth fell open at the now familiar golden sparks coming through the fireplace. A few seconds later, you were looking into Nicomund’s face. 

“Happy new year?” he rumbled tentatively. 

Standing and looking at your glass, you put it down on the coffee table and tilted your head at him. 

“I should really, really leave off the eggnog,” you said as you approached him. “I’m starting to see Santa at New Year.” 

“Maybe you’ll see me at Easter too,” he smirked, leaning towards you as you cupped his face to kiss him. 

[reveryfics]

this is a bit specific for reader lol, any changes are welcome !!

alexei shostakov x prussian!supersoldier reader :3

any timeline,, preferably thunderbolts if you’ve watched it !! ^.^

Eyes Up

Alexi Shostakov x Male Reader

Summary: When the team got the green light to pursue a suspected reactivated Prussian super soldier, Alexi had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly who it was.

A/N: So um confession, I'm a broke bitch who can't afford to see the movie until it's released on like peacock. However as most of its been spoiled for me and because I love Alexi here you are, hopefully this meets expectations.

TW: Fighting - Violence - Blood - Prussian super soldier reader - Post-thunderbolts*

The hushed whispers in the Thunderbolts' briefing room solidified into a chilling reality: a reactivated Prussian super-soldier. Details were scarce, limited to the alarming fact that they were a product of the same sinister program that created Alexi. A knot of dread tightened in Alexi's gut. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew who it was – someone he'd grown close to even before the serums, someone he'd watched die in the unforgiving cold of the gulag. His mind raced, replaying fragmented memories of shared hardships and hushed confidences, each one twisting the knife of apprehension deeper.

Then, the moment arrived. There you stood, battered and bleeding, eyes holding a darkness that hadn't been there before, but undeniably the man he'd once known. A wave of conflicting emotions crashed over Alexi: shock, sorrow, and a primal understanding. He knew you, perhaps better than anyone else in that room, and he knew you wouldn't yield easily. The confirmation of his deepest fear ignited a desperate resolve within him. His instincts screamed at him to prepare, and he braced himself, but not enough. In a blur of motion, you charged, a feral cry tearing from your throat, tackling him to the ground in a desperate, entangled heap.

The impact sent a jarring shockwave through Alexi, the air forced from his lungs as he hit the polished concrete. You landed on him with the force of a battering ram, a guttural snarl escaping your lips. Your eyes, once filled with a warmth he remembered, were now cold and feral, reflecting a deep-seated torment. There was no hesitation in your movements, no flicker of recognition that might have given him an opening. Just raw, unbridled aggression.

You didn't waste a second, immediately trying to pin his arms. Alexi, however, had spent years perfecting his own brand of brutal close-quarters combat. He twisted, using the momentum of your tackle against you, leveraging your weight to roll, momentarily dislodging you. He scrambled to his feet, a low growl rumbling in his chest. This wasn't just another mission; this was personal. Every move you made, every strained muscle, every desperate lunge, spoke of a past he'd tried to bury, a ghost he never thought he'd face again.

You rose just as quickly, your gaze locked onto him with unnerving intensity. Your bruised face contorted into a snarl, revealing teeth stained with dried blood. You moved with a chilling blend of calculated precision and savage fury, a testament to the brutal training you'd both endured. He sidestepped your next lunge, a fist whistling past his ear, feeling the displaced air. He countered with a quick jab, aiming for your jaw, but you were faster, deflecting his blow with an almost casual ease.

This wasn't the man he'd known. This was a weapon, honed and sharpened, perhaps beyond saving. Yet, beneath the layers of resurrected brutality, Alexi still saw glimpses of the comrade he'd shared rations with, the friend who'd laughed with him at the darkest of jokes. That flicker of recognition, however faint, was a dangerous distraction. He knew he couldn't afford it.

Alexi forced himself to compartmentalize, to shove the ghost of their shared past into a dark corner of his mind. There was only the present, only the threat. You launched another attack, a devastating roundhouse kick aimed at his ribs. Alexi braced, twisting his torso and absorbing the blow with his armored forearm, the impact still rattling his bones. The sheer force of it hinted at the unnatural strength flowing through your veins.

He saw an opening—a brief, almost imperceptible shift in your weight as you followed through with the kick. Years of fighting had honed his reflexes to a razor's edge. He lunged forward, closing the distance, and drove his knee into your midsection. You grunted, a short, sharp expulsion of air, but didn't falter. Instead, you seized his leg, attempting to sweep him off balance. Alexi anticipated it, shifting his weight just in time, planting his foot firmly.

The fight was a brutal, intimate dance. You were both products of the same crucible, each move a twisted mirror of the other's training. There were no wasted movements, no telegraphing of intent. Every punch, every block, every feint was executed with lethal precision. Alexi could feel the strain in his muscles, the burning in his lungs, but he pushed through it, fueled by a desperate need to understand, to stop this resurrected nightmare.

He ducked under a wild haymaker, feeling the wind of it ruffle his hair, and came up with a short, powerful uppercut that connected squarely with your jaw. You reeled back, staggering for a moment, a thin trickle of blood appearing at the corner of your mouth. For an instant, just a fleeting second, the ferocity in your eyes seemed to waver, replaced by something unreadable, something almost… human. But then it was gone, replaced by the same cold, burning rage.

You lunged again, this time low, aiming for his legs. Alexi knew this move. It was a classic takedown from their old program. He sidestepped, letting you rush past him, and as you recovered, he clamped an arm around your neck, locking you in a rear naked choke. He pulled back, gritting his teeth, straining against your surprising strength. You struggled, your body writhing, hands clawing at his arm, desperate to break free. The fight was far from over, and Alexi knew, with a sickening certainty, that he was fighting for more than just his life. He was fighting for the soul of the man he once knew.

The struggle intensified, your muscles coiling and flexing under Alexi's grip. He could feel the desperate, raw power radiating from you, but he held firm, his own strength straining against yours. The sounds of your choked gasps, the frantic clawing at his arm, were a torment. He hated this, hated the brutal necessity of it.

"Stop it! Stop fighting me!" Alexi rasped, his voice raw with effort, close to your ear. He knew it was a long shot, a desperate gamble, but he had to try. "Look at me! It's me, Alexi! You know me!"

His words, instead of weakening you, seemed to ignite a fresh burst of rage. Your struggles became more violent, more desperate. But Alexi persisted, his voice cutting through the din of the fight, laden with a history only the two of you shared.

"This isn't you!" he pleaded, tightening his hold fractionally, hoping to shock some sense back into you. "The man I knew… he was more than this! He was… he was human."

A raw, guttural sound tore from your throat, somewhere between a growl and a sob. Your body shuddered against his, and for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Alexi thought he felt a subtle tremor of hesitation. But then, with a surge of almost superhuman strength, you suddenly arched your back, driving your head backward with bone-jarring force.

The impact slammed into Alexi's nose, a blinding flash of pain exploding behind his eyes. His grip faltered, the world tilting precariously. You seized the opportunity, twisting violently, tearing free from his chokehold. He stumbled back, hand instinctively going to his throbbing nose, a warm gush of blood instantly blooming between his fingers.

You spun to face him, eyes burning with a renewed, almost manic intensity. The brief flicker of recognition was gone, replaced by an even deeper, more terrifying void. It was as if his words had only fueled the creature within, solidifying its hold. You lunged again, not with the same calculated precision as before, but with a raw, desperate fury, a silent roar tearing from your open mouth. This was no longer just a fight; it was a battle for a soul.

The pain in Alexi's nose was a sharp, unwelcome anchor to reality, but it couldn't drown out the desperate plea in his heart. He stumbled back, shaking his head to clear the stars from his vision, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth. You were on him again in an instant, a whirlwind of fists and feet. He blocked, dodged, and parried, but each impact jarred him, wearing him down. The sheer, unthinking brutality of your assault was relentless.

"Please, listen to me!" Alexi choked out, weaving away from a powerful right hook that would have caved in his temple. He felt the cold, hard weight of a pistol against his hip, a solution that promised a grim finality, but he couldn't, wouldn't, resort to it. Not yet. "Think, damn it! Remember the gulag! Remember the cold! Remember..."

He feigned a lunge, drawing your guard up, then dropped low, sweeping his leg out. You reacted with a primal roar, jumping over his leg with an agility that belied your current state, landing perfectly balanced. You were fighting on instinct, a phantom echo of the soldier you once were, twisted and corrupted.

"The escape!" Alexi pressed, desperation lacing his voice. He grabbed your arm as you swung at him, holding on, forcing eye contact. Your eyes, clouded with pain and rage, flickered for a fraction of a second, a fleeting ghost of recognition. "Remember what we promised each other! That we'd make it out! That we'd see the sun again!"

Your struggles intensified, a low growl rumbling in your chest as you tried to pull away. It was a terrible sound, filled with agony and fury, like a wounded animal. Alexi held fast, pouring all his raw emotion into his voice, trying to shatter the wall that had been built around you.

"This isn't freedom!" he yelled, tightening his grip on your arm, refusing to let go. "They did this to you! Don't let them win! Don't let them turn you into their weapon!"

For a moment, just a beat of absolute silence in the cacophony of the fight, your eyes locked with his. The ferocity dimmed, replaced by a profound, heart-wrenching confusion. A single tear, stark against the grime and blood on your face, tracked a path down your cheek. It was a fragile, fleeting glimpse of the man he knew, a crack in the monstrous facade. But before Alexi could capitalize on it, a sudden, sharp jolt of electricity surged through his arm from your touch, and then the familiar feral roar returned, pushing him back, the brief connection severed once more.

The surge of electricity was a jolt, a brutal punctuation to Alexi's plea. He recoiled, his arm tingling, but refused to let go of the fleeting hope he'd seen in your eyes. You lunged again, a blur of motion, but there was a subtle shift in your attack, a hint of hesitation. It was no longer the purely animalistic frenzy, but a desperate, wounded lashing out.

"It's not worth it!" Alexi roared, dodging a wild, overhand swing. He saw the flicker of confusion again, a brief clouding of the monstrous rage. "They'll never let you live in peace! You’ll be their puppet, forever!"

He ducked under another clumsy blow, his eyes never leaving yours. He saw the internal battle raging behind their dark depths – the tortured struggle of the man he knew against the programming that had consumed him. "Remember your family! Remember what you fought for!"

Your response was a strained gasp, a ragged sound that tore from your throat. Your hands, still raised to strike, trembled. The feral snarl on your face wavered, revealing a flicker of raw agony. It was a fragile, agonizing moment, the sound of a mind tearing itself apart.

"No..." you choked out, the word barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the roars that had preceded it. Your eyes, though still clouded, held a profound sorrow, a fleeting glimpse of the humanity Alexi had been desperately searching for. You swayed, your movements becoming sluggish, disjointed.

Just then, the heavy thud of tactical boots echoed in the hallway, followed by the urgent shouts of the Thunderbolts. "Down! Get him down!" someone yelled. Alexi glanced over his shoulder, seeing the determined faces of his teammates, weapons at the ready. John Walker, his pistol aimed, was already taking aim. But it was the figure beside him moving with a familiar, dangerous grace, who made the decisive move.

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, was a force of his own. His bionic arm was a blur, not hesitating, not questioning. Alexi barely had time to register Bucky's grim expression before the bionic fist connected with your jaw with a sickening thud. The impact was brutal, sending your head snapping back. Your eyes rolled up, the last vestiges of awareness fading, and you crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The moment you hit the ground, unconscious, the immediate tension in the room fractured, replaced by a surge of ordered chaos. "Secure him!" John barked, his pistol still trained on your prone form.

Alexi didn't hesitate. He knelt beside you, his gaze still etched with the agonizing conflict of the fight. He saw the faint rise and fall of your chest, a confirmation of life, and a strange, complicated relief washed over him. Bucky, his expression unreadable, joined him. Together, with practiced efficiency, they worked. Bucky produced specialized restraints from his gear, designed to hold even super-soldiers. They quickly secured your wrists and ankles, binding you to a stretcher the arriving medical team brought in. There was a moment, as Alexi helped lift your dead weight onto the stretcher, that his hand brushed yours. Your skin was cold, clammy, and he felt a pang of something akin to grief.

As you were carefully wheeled out, Alexi exchanged a grim look with Bucky. "He's… complicated," Alexi said, the words heavy.

Bucky simply nodded, his eyes distant, as if seeing ghosts of his own. "They always are, when they come back like that."

The next thing you registered was the cold, sterile air, the faint hum of electronics, and the dull ache in your jaw. Your head throbbed, a relentless drumbeat behind your eyes. When you finally managed to pry your eyelids open, the fluorescent lights above assaulted your vision, forcing them shut again. You blinked, slowly, trying to adjust, trying to make sense of the fragmented memories. The fight… Alexi…

Your senses gradually sharpened. The scent of disinfectant and stale coffee. The feel of rough fabric against your wrists and ankles. Panic flared, a sudden, frantic surge as you tried to move, but solid restraints held you fast. You were strapped to a chair, an unyielding, unforgiving anchor in a stark, windowless room.

As your eyes adjusted, you scanned your surroundings. Grey walls, a single metal table in the center, and a heavy, bolted door. And then you saw him.

Alexi.

He was sitting opposite you at the table, leaning forward, forearms resting on the cold metal. His face was a mask of fatigue and worry, his nose still slightly swollen, a faint bruise blooming beneath his eye. He was staring at you, his gaze intense, unwavering, a blend of relief and sorrow. He didn't speak, just watched you, waiting. The silence in the room stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the frantic thump of your own heart.

A Familiar Face in a Strange Room

The silence was a palpable weight, pressing down on you, making the small room feel even smaller. You tried to shift, to test the restraints again, but they held firm. The effort only intensified the dull ache in your muscles and the throbbing in your head. Your memory, fragmented and hazy, began to piece itself together: the surge of anger, the instinct to fight, and then… Alexi's voice. His words, desperate and pleading, had resonated somewhere deep within the chaos of your mind, a forgotten melody in a storm.

You met Alexi's gaze, a thousand unspoken questions hanging between you. His eyes, though tired, held that same familiar warmth you dimly recalled from a lifetime ago, a warmth that was strikingly out of place in this cold, clinical environment.

"You're awake," Alexi finally said, his voice low and a little hoarse, breaking the heavy silence. He didn't sound accusatory, just… weary. He pushed a glass of water, with a straw, closer to you on the table, then a small plate with what looked like a protein bar. "Drink some water. You fought hard."

His acknowledgment of the fight, devoid of judgment, was disarming. You stared at the water, then at him, trying to reconcile the familiar face with the man who had just helped subdue you. The pain in your jaw was a constant reminder of Bucky's punch.

"Where… where am I?" you rasped, your voice rough from disuse and the remnants of the struggle.

Alexi's expression softened, a flicker of genuine sadness crossing his features. "You're safe. Or as safe as we can make you right now." He paused, his gaze searching your face. "They found you. The Prussians. They reactivated you."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Reactivated. The chilling reality of your situation began to set in. You weren't dead, as you'd sworn you'd been. You were a weapon, brought back from the grave. A wave of confusion, then a cold dread, washed over you. Alexi was right; this wasn't freedom.

The word "reactivated" echoed in your mind, a cold, hard truth that solidified the fragmented horrors you’d just lived through. You were a ghost brought back, a puppet on strings you couldn't see. The dread was a physical weight, pressing down on your chest. How could they help you? What was left to help?

Alexi must have seen the unspoken despair in your eyes. He pushed the water and protein bar closer again, his expression unwavering. "We're going to do everything we can to help you," he said, his voice firm, resolute. "The Thunderbolts, us… we'll figure this out. We won't let them turn you back into what you were."

You simply nodded, unable to form a coherent thought, much less a question. The concept of "help" felt utterly alien, a hollow promise in the face of the overwhelming control you'd just experienced. You were unsure how anything he said could possibly be true.

Alexi's gaze sharpened, a familiar look you remembered from the darkest days in the gulag, a look that said he knew exactly what you were thinking. He knew your every doubt, every flicker of despair. He slowly rose from the table, his eyes still locked on yours, and walked towards you. The deliberate pace, the quiet confidence in his movements, was a stark contrast to the chaos of moments before.

He bent down, his hand gently but firmly resting on your knee. That big, disarming smile, a beacon of hope in the most dire circumstances, spread across his face. "Eyes up," he mumbled, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "We'll get through this."

The phrase hit you like a physical blow, stripping away years of forced amnesia, shattering the walls you'd built around your past. It was your phrase, a shared mantra of survival from deep within your buried memory, whispered to each other in the dead of night, a promise of perseverance against unimaginable odds.

A tremor ran through you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to rage against the injustice of it all, to break down and release the torrent of emotions that had been suppressed for so long. But the second Alexi's arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a careful, comforting embrace, a strange stillness settled over you. It was as if a switch had flipped, and you completely shut down, the dam holding back your emotions replaced by a profound, exhausted peace. You leaned into his touch as best you could, the rigid restraints a cruel barrier, and whispered the words, a faint, broken echo of hope: "Eyes up, we'll get through this."

[twentyonetornmyheart]

Chapter 3: Sweet As You

Yelena x Fem! Plus size reader

Summary: A return to consciousness brings more questions than answers, and the line between love and betrayal begins to blur.

Warning: vampire Yelena, restraints, power imbalance, restraints stalking, abduction, restraint, toxic ex, horror themes, head injury, possessive behavior, psychological manipulation

A.N: Hello again!! When I tell y’all, life has been life-ing oh my God. Once summer break started, I thought I was going to have ample amount of time to write, but my school kept calling me to do summer school. Here is chapter 3!! I know it is a slow burn, but it’ll pick up. If you have any suggestions or comments they are always appreciated!!

Burning. Searing. Ice-cold pain. Your body being devoured. This torture has become all-consuming.

It starts at the crown of your head—like an electric spark—and then it floods, racing through your nerves, setting fire to your spine, your chest, your limbs, your organs. You can’t scream or even take in a breath. It’s like drowning in blistering heat, yet frigid, piercing cold at the same time—like your own blood is turning against you, slowly killing you from the inside out.

You’d give anything for this pain to cease. For this nightmare to finally be over. Only for your own mind to fail you.

You see flashes—not memories exactly, just fragments. Disjointed. Fast. Like your life is slipping through your fingers at a hundred miles per hour.

A laugh—your mom’s, maybe? Your dad’s warm, loving embrace around your shoulder. The hum of cicadas in a southern summer. A classroom door swinging shut. A day filled with paper, glitter, chalk dust, and tiny hands. A birthday cake you didn’t finish. A dress that hugged every single curve and roll your body had to offer. A warm giggle—one of your closest friends. Shame coursing through your thoughts.

Fear and pain lie at the end of all of this.

You start to come to—feeling a dull ache all over—but more noticeable… in your neck? Something heavy and deep. Hot. Electric. It continues to pulse through your veins, rewiring you from the inside out.

Your skin feels too sensitive against the rough cotton sheets. Your heartbeat, too loud. Your muscles tense and vibrating, as if your whole body is humming—perched on the edge of something you can’t name.

Flashes of bright light.

Golden hair.

Then—

Total darkness.

What finally feels like peace. No more pain. No more anxiety.

Just stillness.

Your lungs halt mid-breath, as if the air itself has turned to stone.Your heart slows—a sluggish, wary thud—until it shudders one final time, a death-rattling stop that echoes through your chest like a door slamming shut.

The heat drains from your fingers. Your muscles slacken. Sound vanishes, leaving an eerie silence Even the ache in your neck dissolves, slipping away as if it had never occurred.

And for the first time in what feels like forever…

You are weightless, free. 

No screaming. No burning. No thoughts clawing at the inside of your skull.

Just this.

Rest. Sleep. Nothing.

You gasp, jerking upright like you’re surfacing from deep, suffocating, overpowering water.

Where the hell are you?

A lamp casts a soft, golden-hour glow over the room. You try to sit up, but a firm hand presses to your shoulder—tender, yet unrelenting—keeping you down.

“Easy, миленькая.”

That voice.

Her voice.

Your limbs freeze. Fear flashes through your mind as you slowly turn your head—and there she is. Sitting at the edge of the bed, her body relaxed, her eyes sharp. She watches you closely, like a predator who already knows you’ll try to escape their trap.

You so desperately want to. Your memories slam into you like a wave: the school, the late night, the metallic crash, her voice—her bite.

Your hand flies to your neck, fingertips trembling as they brush against the puncture wounds you’d convinced yourself were just a dream. Just your overactive imagination. Your stomach churns.

“What…” Your voice cracks, your throat dry. “What did you do to me?”

Yelena tilts her head, completely unbothered. “Don’t be so naïve.”

Her gaze drops lower, dragging over the curves of your body, lingering on the soft press of flesh beneath the silk nightgown you have no memory of putting on. You don’t even remember getting into a bed. You don’t remember anything after the pain.

Your chest tightens. Something feels off. Deeply, dangerously off.

“Have I been asleep?” you whisper.

“Yes. For three days.”

Her words hit like a brick. Your classroom. Your kids. Sunday night had somehow become… Wednesday? Thursday?

You shoot upright, panic exploding in your chest. “Yelena, I don’t know what you did to me, but I have to go—I have a job, a life—I need to—”

She moves so fast you don’t even see it. One moment she’s across the bed. The next, her hands are around your wrists, pinning them to the nearest wall with terrifying ease.

“You can’t,” she says softly.

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “No. You don’t understand. I have responsibilities. I have kids who—who count on me.”

“They’ll be fine,” she says, too cool, too certain.

Those three words cut deeper than anything you’ve felt so far.

They’ll be fine…Without you.

You stare up at the ceiling, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling.You’ve spent your entire life building this purpose—this dream. You don’t party. You don’t sleep in. You show up. For your students.For your future. For the life you’ve always hoped to have.

“I knew something was off about you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I just… I didn’t want to admit it. I loved you so much I stopped caring. I just wanted you.”

Your breath shudders. “You made me feel like I was crazy—Yelena, what did you do to me?!”

It all comes out in one breathless, broken plea—a single sentence, chasing answers through the tears. Yelena’s face remains stoic, void of any emotion. You watch her closely, desperate to find something—remorse, empathy, anything.Instead, you’re met with cold, unyielding hazel-green eyes.

“Your heart stops,” she whispers, “yet you still live.”

Her voice is quiet, haunting. “Your body is drained of blood. You need no breath to walk this earth any longer.”You shake your head, disbelief rattling through your bones.

“No… Yelena, this can’t be real—”

“You’re faster than any animal,” she cuts in, her Russian accent thick, sharp. “You’ll no longer need sleep. Or food. Or warmth.”

The way she says it—it’s not cruel, it’s not even dramatic.

It’s real.

And that terrifies you more than anything else.

“Yelena,” you snap, voice rising, “this isn’t some fucking fairytale! Just be honest. Tell me what you did. I deserve to know that much!”

You’re shouting now, trembling with anger and disbelief. Your body hums—vibrating with heat, grief, and resentment. This isn’t real. This is a dream. It has to be. You try to convince yourself—talk yourself out of this twisted fantasy Yelena has pulled you into.But she doesn’t flinch.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” she murmurs.“I couldn’t stand not having you in my life anymore.”

Her grip around your wrists loosens. Her expression softens just enough to make it worse.

“You and I will never age. We’ll be together. Forever,” she smiles faintly, “just like you wanted… remember?” 

“Yelena…” You find your voice dying in your throat, void of any fight, just left with emotional exhaustion.“How could you do this? I wanted more than this. I wanted to be a mom. I wanted a home. A family.” Your voice trembles, hot tears continued to roll down your supple cheeks. “You knew I wanted that. So was everything you said back then just a lie—a con to string me along?” You shake your head, your next words barely more than a breath. “I never asked you for this, Yelena.”

Something flickers in her eyes. She leans closer, a bitter smile tugging at her mouth.

“Not entirely, Y/N. I just… left out a few pieces.” Her voice is low, almost gentle—like that soft tone could soften the blow.“I did it to protect you. To keep you happy. Can’t you see that?”

Your lips part, but the words die in your throat.You have nothing to say.

How could she do this?

Because even now—after everything—as her body presses into yours, your own still remembers hers. Remembers how it used to feel when she kissed you—like you were the only thing in the world worth tasting.How her hands used to linger on your stomach, like she didn’t see it as anything other than beautiful.

How she used to say “we” when talking about the future. But now you see it clearly— that future only ever existed in your head. It was never real for her. Not the way it was for you. Yelena—unapologetic. Undeterred.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, brushing a curl from your cheek. You flinch.She doesn’t let go. “You think I did this because I don’t love you. You think I wanted to own you.”

Her touch moves lower, dragging slowly over your neck, across your chest, down to your waist. Your body tenses—like if you stay perfectly still, maybe she’ll stop. Maybe you will stop.

But you hate it. Hate that some part of you still aches for her touch. Still craves to feel wanted.

“Didn’t you?” you whisper, your voice sharp with rage.

She doesn’t answer right away.Just looks at you. She leans in, her breath warm against your ear.

“I’ve never told you this,” she murmurs, “but I’ve lived over a century.” Her voice is low. Unhurried.“I’ve seen civilizations fall. I’ve danced with monsters. I’ve fed on tyrants and saints.” She kisses the exact spot where she marked you— a reverent, possessive press of lips against skin—an eternal kiss, sealed until the end of time.

Your body betrays you. Goosebumps ripple down your arms.A shiver moves through you, slow and involuntary.

“But none of them,” she whispers, her lips ghosting across your skin, “have ever tasted as sweet as you.”

Something cold coils in your gut—tight and unrelenting. You don’t know if it’s resentment. Disgust. Or fear.Because for the first time since waking—you’re not sure if you’re afraid of her…

Or of just how much you still want her.

[holmesandtheroman]

holy fuck you guys if anyone irl ever finds out what i’ve written it’s game over for me. I feel like marvel is gonna have a sniper rifle aimed at my head the second I walk outside

[himjopper]

Thunder & Lightning.

Pairing: Chief Jim Hopper x (Non Descriptive!) Female Reader/You, AU

Rating: Explicit, Mature, NSFW, read Here on AO3

Warnings: Language, alcohol, smoking (cigarettes), shameless smut, slow burn, teasing beyond belief, praise kink, size kink, age difference, boss/employee relationship, dominance, rough sex

Summary: Nearly 3 months into your internship at Hawkins PD, the Chief hardly notices your presence until he finds himself sharing the station with you alone one night during a power outage when it’s too unsafe to drive.

A/N: I am telling you, I had no idea this dawg was still in me. I had my fair lust for Hopper/Harbour for most of 2018-2022, all of which I wish I had the cure to writer's block to just really commit to writing some filthy at-work fantasy I've always wanted to read about. It finally happened, it just took several years lol please be gentle with meeee!! This is my first time publishing anything, so any and all kudos/notes/interactions are appreciated!! bonus: this has an opportunity to be expanded on? but I'm p happy with how it ended as well.... enjoy it!!! <3

On early mornings like these, you grew to appreciate and listen for his voice that was identical to the low rumble of thunder during a summer storm.

Maybe it was always the same disinterested and sometimes blatantly irritated tone he used anyway, but the mornings were when it sounded thickest… deepest, even dark. The Chief of Police is meant to be intimidating and strong, it’s only natural his cadence matches that of a bear’s growl. Even if the conversation wasn’t yours to have, it was impossible to resist an eavesdrop just to listen.

You’d hear his almost slurred tone that would raise goosebumps on the back of your arms. If you were lucky, you could sometimes catch the scent of his cigarettes that hung from his words or his aftershave if the draft managed to waft it close enough.

Your fingertips dancing across keys softly, not to overcrowd the voice you were trying to focus on instead, but still making yourself appear busy as to not draw any suspicion to yourself. Through your lashes, you could see him stand before you.

He had hardly made it halfway to his office before he had one of the newer sheriffs on his tail, pestering him with possible leads to a bigger case you were definitely not supposed to overhear details about. The younger man looked so small in front of the Chief, who had towered above him and seemed to be growing more impatient. You’d watch his brow furrow, knitting tightly together at the center before he forced them apart between his thumb and index as if he was attempting to alleviate a migraine that you could only assume followed a hangover based off the nearly toxic smell that lingered off his coat he had shrugged off and haphazardly tossed near your desk up front. It could also just be triggered by the incessant ramblings of the younger officer, who had clearly memorized a speech for his boss this morning and was not picking up on his less than polite cold shoulder attitude.

The Chief’s hand swiftly flew up between the two men as if to be a physical barrier.

“I don’t care and I am not entertaining this conversation before noon ,” he snaps at the younger officer who had immediately looked equally as irritated now by the Chief’s disinterest. The officer’s mouth made an “O” to protest before the Chief interrupted him with a mocking “up!” sound and “zipped” lip motion to signify the conversation was definitely over.

You watched the younger man, now with the same furrowed brow and heavy footstep, grumble something along the lines of “fuckin’ bastard” as he stomped by your desk to return to his own desk chair and probably complain to the other members of the squad about the interaction with the notoriously infuriating Chief.

Suddenly, your breath hitched in your throat the slightest once your eyes followed the Chief who had turned on his heel to walk in your direction. His eyes stayed above you, searching for the brewing coffee pot and mediocre-at-best office breakfast selection that had been displayed no more than two feet behind you on the clothed foldout table you assemble and attend to everyday. None of this should surprise you. Within two months of your internship, you’ve hardly stood out more than an everything bagel and smear that he was already manhandling after roughly flipping open the cardboard lidded box it came in. A part of you felt humiliated for even assuming he was considering you as anything more than another piece of office furniture before he’s had a cup of coffee.

“Jim!”

Your self depreciation internal monologue was interrupted by a voice that calls out to him across the station, only for it to be a familiar face and local, Gus, who owned the diner just down the road. The bells on the front door chime as he enters, massive characteristic grin slapped across his older face, cheeks rounded that crinkled his eyes. You could hear the loud patter of the rain on the cement before the doors swing shut behind him again.

At a much lower volume and even less enthusiasm comes the familiar rumble from behind you, “Mornin’, Gus…”

Heavy boots move towards the end of the table that you are closest to, pretending to type away about something interesting that never happens in this God forsaken town, and now the back of your desk chair is nearly brushing against his backside while he pours the coffee.

“How can I help you?” He sighs out, hardly much louder than the volume of the steaming liquid hitting the ceramic mug. You can feel his body shift slowly to fully turn and face the older man. The table creaks the slightest as his back presses into it and you wish he had just chosen to balance his weight on your desk instead of a flimsy foldout.

“Did’ye see the breakf’st gifts I brought in?” Gus calls out as he removes his cap, letting his gray hairs look charmingly disarray, and shakes the rain off on the already worn and sad excuse of a carpet. He complains about the weather, wiping his feet a few times as well, and you wince a bit imagining the horrors of water damage in an older building like this. Who knows when Hawkins PD had prioritized a proper cleaning.

A tan wrinkled hand lightly beats on the top of your desk that separates the public from the sheriffs, making you finally look up from your tattered keyboard. “Hey sweetheart, hope you’re doin’ alright,” Gus whispers at you before returning his attention to the Chief. You smile politely and thank him, wishing him the same as simple small talk, but he’s already moved on, greeting the other sheriffs and appreciating the gratitude for the bagels he dropped off so kindly this morning… when you opened… nearly three hours before the Chief had finally rolled in.

“Might be a lil stale now,” Gus continues to tease towards him. “I thought’ye would be here when our tax dollars pay’ye to be here, Jim.”

While you can’t spin around to see, you are certain the Chief’s eyes are squinted and lips tight in an unimpressed and less than amused expression. Although Gus was being playful, I don’t think he could have anticipated the critical lack of patience that the Chief has before he’s had any caffeine.

“Right,” he grunts irritably before taking an audible sip from his coffee and clearly his throat, “I asked, what can I do for you, Gus?”

He steps away from the coffee pot now, closer to your desk to interact more closely with the old man. His back continues to face you and you’re sure he can feel your eyes burning into his spine as you take in the pure width of his shoulders, clad in the khaki uniform.

Your autopilot keyboard clacking becomes less convincing as your fingers trail off the keys from your focus changing to his profile. From the pronounced brow to the slope of his nose, you can now study how his thumb comes up to his mouth to catch some of the cream cheese and crumbs from the bagel he had already devoured in the short time. His mustache had twitched up as his lips pursed, what sounded nearly like a kiss as he licked the remnants from his skin, nodding along to something Gus is rambling about. Beyond the size of his hands alone, the way his tongue darted between his lips left you feeling shaken.

It’s too early for this, you thought to yourself in a desperate attempt to push whatever lustful thoughts you had out of your clearly misguided mind and pretend the local crime report you had been bullshitting for the last hour was worth focusing on.

Thankfully, their voices fade as they disappear into the Chief’s private office. It’s rare you see him actually entertain a conversation with any townie that strolls in, but the symbiotic relationship of town protector and breakfast provider is worth the exception.

———————————————————

“Did you finish your report, honey?”

Your eyes had grown so heavy, the time now closer to the hour you are normally crawling into bed than the hour you are sat at your same desk with the same dusty desktop.

You inhale sharply before meeting Flo’s eyes, who had only stopped back in the station to retrieve her prescription she left on her half of the desk.

“I’m nearly there, I didn’t expect two more missing kids this week, so I don’t want to rush the notes in case there’s a connection between the cases,” you sigh out while placing the pill container in her hand, her touch naturally comforting your stress. Despite the weather, Flo was always warm.

“Well, your hard work doesn’t go unnoticed, but…” she’s adjusting her umbrella now and huffing at it seeming to stick to stay closed. “Don’t work too hard, it’s the weekend!” she reminds you, trying to get you to smile. You give her your best attempt and it’s enough to satisfy her as she gently squeezes your shoulder and shares her goodbyes before she’s heading back towards the door. You can’t believe you had completely forgotten it’s already Friday.

The bell on the door chimes again and the sound of rain fills the office before the door comes slamming shut, leaving just the sound of ambient office fans whirring and tapping raindrops on the windows. The silence was peaceful to work in.

Another hour passed before you noticed the sound of rain had grown much heavier than before, a thunder rolling in the distance. A fluorescent light above you flickers and paranoia shoots through you as you think to just print out what you’ve been working on in a desperate attempt to save before you lose power. With one last closing statement typed, you finally rise from your chair to waltz to the printer. Your footsteps come to a halt when you notice the dim light peering from under the closed private office door.

Had he been here the entire time?

You thought he left with the eager crowd after 5, assuming he had a weekend to get to, but the time is approaching 10PM and you’re both here. Alone.

Thunder roars louder, above the building now, and you jump at the sharp noise from the clouds before the office lighting begins to flicker again… and again…

“Shit,” you hiss and desperately start smacking the printer to continue finishing printing this stupid report you’ve been working on all day, due Monday morning, no less. “Come on,” you plead again, standing on your tippy toes to monitor the machine from all angles and try to keep it magically immune from a power outage.

A loud clap of thunder followed by a bright flash of lightning surrounds the station before—

 “NO!” you shriek, desperately hitting the printer with your open palm. Pages 8 out of 14 had printed before it went black.

A louder noise is heard when a door is whipped open with such force, it smacks against the frame and startles you even more in the dark and you can’t help but let out a yelp.

“What‘s wrong?!” A deep voice booms.

Your heart is hammering out of your chest already, but his towering presence isn’t helping. The lighting isn’t much, but you still make out the features of his face. The scruff that lines his skin, the barely lit cigarette dangling from his lip that illuminates his eyes enough for you to see he appeared actually worried for a second. About you, even.

“The printer,” you huff out, catching your ragged breath. “The storm, it killed it, I’m fucked,” your voice falling more quiet as your hands find your eyes, heels of your palms pressing against your eyelids to relieve the stress of knowing at least 6 more pages will need to be retyped and reprinted first thing on Monday.

He clears his throat, obviously unsure of how to comfort you as this is the first one on one conversation you’ve properly had since you introduced yourself on day one.

There’s another beat of silence before your arms fall back at your sides and you’re both just staring at the idle machine. Another minute or two passed before he thought to break the silence.

“That sucks,” he exhales and smoke fills your nostrils.

In your own deliriousness, you chuckle lightly at his comment. “Yeah,” you shake your head, “it does.”

Suddenly, an amber light is in front of you and you can see his fingers holding his cigarette out to you. Your eyes search for his in the darkness, trying to navigate if this was a peace offering for your pity or a genuine attempt at being kind, but you don’t want to appear ungrateful at the gesture regardless.

You could’ve sworn you could make out his eyes watching your lips wrap around the base of the cigarette, leaving a burgundy print on the paper. The sweet taste of nicotine eases your nerves almost immediately, your lungs only slightly burning as you take in a second drag. You exhale away from him out of respect and apologize out of habit for the makeup residue as you return it to his hand.

“Don’t be,” he mutters before returning the now lipstick stained cigarette to his mouth. You shouldn’t be so hung up on the feeling of it almost being like your lips touching but you can’t help your crush from growing more delusional. After all, this is all new territory for you and the Chief.

Another exhale of smoke clouds around you both before his large palm comes down on the printer, “No use waitin’ on this anytime soon. The power will click on eventually, just wait it out.” His cheeks hollow as he takes another sharp inhale, clearing his throat towards the end, “Not like you’re gonna be drivin’ in this weather anyways.”

Your attention diverts to the large windows of the station, watching the rain come down in heavy sheets and various flashes of light scatter across the clouds. Another rip of thunder proves his point. You sigh, fully accepting defeat.

“Come on,” he mumbles to you before you can see his figure moving in the dark towards his office. As if on autopilot, you follow him without hesitation and your blood starts to run hot. You’re grateful the power has lent you the grace of hiding your flushed cheeks as you think about how many times you’ve fantasized about this exact moment. Being behind closed doors with him in his office, the smell of him lingering everywhere, how it could feel to have you thrown on the desk the way you’ve imagined him having his way with you.

“Just a second,” his voice breaks your train of thought as he rifles thru his office drawers and cabinets, cursing along as he bumps into and knocks over his office clutter before he eventually reveals a lantern. A proud hum rumbles in his chest for his victory as he flicks it on and you’re both suddenly visible again.

“Have a seat.”

He doesn’t ask you, he tells you. You don’t protest, you sit. His brow lifts slightly in amusement at your obedience. You cross your legs to squeeze your core and pray you are coming off as nonchalant as much as you wish you were.

“So…” he trails off, flicking the cigarette into the ashtray before extending it to you once again. You didn’t expect to get a second chance at sharing, but you lean over the desk to accept the offer and your eyes catch his for a brief moment before your lashes flutter closed with the drag, his eyes begin to study your face before dropping lower, watching your chest rise and fall with the inhale and exhale.

“So,” you return, trying to sound sultry, but maybe coming off more exhausted than anything. Thunder rolls through the clouds, his office lighting up with another quick flash of light for just a moment.

One corner of his lips curve up in reaction to your tone.

“Where’re you from again?” He’s squinting at you now, eyebrows knitted together as they always are. He taps the ashes into the bowl again and you notice how many are already in there. As you worked on your report all day, you can only assume he worked on something just as stressful if there were over ten to twelve cigarette butts pressed into the tray from probably his heavy handed or angry extinguishing.

You give a rehearsed answer that you’ve repeated to nearly every townie who claims they don’t recognize you or ask who your parents are, assuming you’re here to visit a relative before choosing to ever move to Hawkins willingly, and explain your internship with the station being the only “job” you could land after graduate school.

“It’s just a stepping stone until I get to where I want to be, you know?” you admit while hugging your chest, trying to comfort yourself from nerves from being even addressed by him let alone questioned by the Chief of Police.

He nods for a moment before studying you in silence. The only thing you can hear is the rain, the embers igniting with his inhales, and suddenly his soft chuckle.

“This isn’t an interrogation, y’know ,” he smirks as he mocks your familiar tone and a heat forms in your lower stomach. His eyes look like a darker blue in this low lighting and he’s leaning back in his chair now, his weight causing it to creak slightly, making it impossible to ignore the size of him in every capacity.

“I know,” you challenge but you swallow hard. You start to self soothe with rubbing your arms at any attempt of friction, “I’m just cold.” It’s not a complete lie, but you still hope you sound convincing.

The power outage should’ve cut the chilly office air conditioning, but the goosebumps on your skin and chill from your nerves made you feel freezing despite the summer thunderstorm reminding you the station was only going to start growing in temperature as long as the power remained out. You could tell he was already feeling the warmth as a sweat lightly formed on his somewhat exposed chest, right above the unbuttoned collar of his uniform—

“I know how to warm you up,” his voice almost purrs and you can feel all the heat in your body flare in your cheeks as he bends down to reach for something. Instantly, your heartbeat quickens.

In a perfect world, you would have known this was going to happen. You could have prepared better, like shaved your legs or worn underwear that’s not cotton with daisies.

However, you were still here. Just you two. In his office. During a storm. Without power. It was a little cliche, but a chance was all you had at this point. You had already gotten this far which felt like a small victory in itself. You tried to swallow away your dry mouth, caused by nicotine or nerves, you couldn’t tell, and mentally tried to prepare for what he planned to reveal to you.

Your vision being slightly distorted doesn’t help the anticipation as you hear his belt unbuckle and hit the oak of his desk before hearing fabric falling from his shoulders and onto the floor.

Before you have time to react, there’s two clinks and a hard thud on the same desk. Your eyes adjust from the lantern’s lighting to reveal a dark handle of liquor and two smaller drinking glasses. He’s in his undershirt and seemingly more comfortable without the full uniform fabric clinging to him in the growing heat of the office.

“One finger or two?” He asks.

Your brain is playing a game of catch up already, embarrassed by your fantasies running ahead of you again, and now by his—what seemed insane—question.

“Excuse me?” you almost laugh, still trying to catch your breath.

Something wicked twinkles in his eye and you start to feel like you’re playing his game and you’re playing extremely well. He was starting to feel his own internal heat rise watching you react to his questions. Something primal in him shifted from the moment you sat down. It’s become a game to him, something of cat and mouse but he was more like a tiger and you hardly a gerbil. He wanted to see how innocent and obedient you really were.

“One finger,” his index dragged along the crystal glass before he coyly layered his middle finger on top, indicating a higher level, “or two?”

It was obvious what he was insinuating, but there’s a chance he is just your boss getting more comfortable in his own private office, wanting to get to know you over drinks the way he usually bonds with the other sheriffs, and you are just infatuated with your running fantasies.

Realizing this was going to be a game of pushing both your limits, you decided to try your luck and play along. You let your legs uncross, your dress not short enough to reveal anything, but short enough to maybe work as a tease. You weren’t stupid, but you were nervous about looking pathetic in front of a man like the Chief.

For the last two months, you’ve watched different women come and go from the station. Being invited into the private office, giggling as they leave, being ignored by the phone for weeks after, being avoided entirely if they had the gall to actually confront him at the station, and eventually giving up before there was a new woman who could repeat the cycle, but you weren’t looking to necessarily be a repeat lover or even someone he needed to think twice about. You had a craving and an insatiable thirst to fulfill the fantasy of wanting to know what Hawkins Chief of Police is really all about. There has to be a reason these women flocked to him and hung around until he forcibly removed them from the property on worse occasions. Something was worth the humiliation. You were already committed to taking advantage of your situation as much as you could.

“I can take two,” your voice now more clear and confident than before. You watch the corner of his lips turn up again, he nods, and fills your glass with the dark brown liquid up to his second finger and pours the same amount for himself.

You sit in silence together for a moment as he sips carelessly you get the courage to bring the crystal to your lips, leaving a deep red print along the glass again. It smells strong like spices and oak barrels and the taste burns like gasoline at first but the finish is like warm cinnamon and you push your glass towards him to pour you more.

The same eyebrow raises at you inquisitively over his own glass he was finishing from before he tips the bottle once again, not forgetting to top off his own before pushing your glass back to you. It shoots like lighting through your veins when your fingers brush against his briefly as you go to wrap your hands around the cup as if it’s a comforting mug of cocoa, but the warmth of the alcohol and now comforting smell of cigarettes mixed with his musk linger in the air are starting to make you feel a bit more at ease with your surroundings, even if you’re a little dizzy too.

Somehow, you made it through small talk and by your fifth glass, your body was beginning to feel like JELL-O, your skin tingly from the alcohol and your lust only growing stronger in your drunken state.

“You can call me Jim, if you’d like.” Although he shrugs as he says it, his eyes stay trained on yours as if anticipating what you’ll reply will be. He was already trying to learn you; understand your thoughts and behavior. He had been asking you questions about yourself for at least an hour, trying to memorize your pattern. He is a professional after all.

“I prefer Chief,” you look up over your glass, lashes fluttering, as the liquid hits your tongue and you can see his body visibly tense. “If that’s alright with you,” you quickly add, keeping your tone light to maintain your innocent persona and not add to any growing suspicions he could have had.

His smile is big enough now you can actually see his teeth, even if his eyes are focused on ashing what was remaining of your shared cigarette, it seemed like you answered him how he wanted. A sense of confidence begins to take over you as you feel more in control, but nevertheless, still intimidated by the dynamic you are finally testing the limits of.

As if on cue, his soft chuckle dies down and the thunder-like voice fills the room.

“Good girl.”

There it was.

Confirmation you weren’t living in a daydream. He wants this just as badly as you do, though I don’t think he could have anticipated just how much you’ve thought about this kind of moment happening.

You were staring at each other now. His undershirt revealed chest hair and you could see more beads of sweat starting to form on his shoulders. You felt insane. Despite your movements being slow and seemingly cool, both of your chests were just cages containing hearts that were beating so loud in your ears that you couldn’t even hear the rain outside anymore. He’s looking at you over his glass now, finishing what was in the cup before he spoke again.

“Pour me another.”

He had been serving you this entire time, was this another test? You didn’t want to leave any suspicion you aren’t capable of handling what he could throw at you, so naturally, your hands gripped the shaft of the bottle. As your fingers wrapped around the neck, you arranged your hand in a way that would tease the idea it could be like his cock in your hand. Finding a grip at first towards the top, sliding down towards the base as if you were merely finding the best weight to balance. The same way he demonstrated how his fingers could slide on the glass like the way they could look fitting inside you, it only felt fair to give the same optical fantasy.

You cradle the bottle carefully as you attempt a graceful pour into his glass, then yours, before placing it down gently; twisting the cap a specific way that felt like you were mimicking the motion of running your thumb over his tip.

You hadn’t made eye contact during your little show until you slid the glass towards him. The lantern light illuminating only half of his face, but the shadows casting something so intimidating that if you didn’t know any better, he looked hungry enough to devour you like the prey he saw you as.

This was the game he wanted, but I don’t think he could have guessed how well you would play along.

“Do you always do as you’re told?” His voice was lower, slower. His eyes never leaving yours. Your breathing starting to pick up again.

“Not always,” you take another sip to hide your growing nerves, “but I was thirsty, too.”

His response was a low hum and it rumbled the same familiar way that sent waves through your body. It’s like you could feel the vibration against your core and suddenly everything was on fire. How much longer did he plan on teasing you like this?

“M’gonna ask you one more question,” his voice was something between a slur and growl before he downed the rest of his drink, leading you to feel like you should throw your head back and do the same.

You hiss to cope with the burn of the alcohol, but straighten your shoulders afterwards and take a deep breath.

“Shoot,” you dared.

He pushed his chair away from the desk and the same nerves you had tried to drink away had started to creep up again. Everything about how how he moved felt intimidating; he was so much bigger in size compared to you, you know he really didn’t have to ask you anything as if he couldn’t just take what he wanted with force—like you would even want to fight back. He could have his way with you and you’d be just as happy. Everything felt so opportunistic, you were mature enough for this to not affect your work or to keep a secret and he could see that, but there was a fire burning inside you that needed more than just the thrill of the scandal but a genuine hunger to be satiated.

The same boots you heard from behind you this morning now echoed the footsteps coming towards you now and the space widened between your legs almost instinctively, causing him to smirk so slightly as he peered down at you. Seeing him from this angle as he towered above you sitting in the small desk chair made your skin hot and it felt like electricity as his thumb and index finger found your jaw to tilt it up at him slightly before his thumb fully dragged across your now parted bottom lip.

Your lips, so soft, stained from the color that once washed them but now mostly decorated the crystal glass on the desk and ashed cigarettes.

He lowered himself to be closer to you and you could smell the same liquor on his breath as you smelled on his jacket from the morning. You know the smell of his sweat too well and the sweet muskiness of it all was making you more dizzy than the alcohol.

“Can you lemme know when you want me to stop?”

Before you could answer, his lips were feverishly on yours and he let out a low hum of satisfaction that vibrated against your lips, causing you to mewl into his open mouth. His scruff scraped your skin at first but as one of his large palms found the back of your neck, he cradled you there to kiss you deeper, all your senses melted away. It was hard to differentiate between the weather and his own satisfied growls as he continued to grasp at your body and pull you into his. With one swift movement, he had managed to already have you out of the chair and straddling his lap as he sat on the top of his desk. With the new leverage, your balanced your weight on your arms that had been thrown around his neck and shoulders as you pressed your middle into his crotch, gasping at being able to feel him so prominently through even the thick material of his uniform.

“Chief…” you breathed out and he groaned, forehead falling to your neck as your hand palmed over him, wanting more. You heard his sharp inhale as you applied more pressure and his hand that had been on the back of your neck now gripped the root of your hair, sharply tilting your head back to reveal more of your exposed skin. His teeth grazed your sensitive pulse against your neck, raising goosebumps that his warm tongue soothed and parts of your vision felt more blurry than even before. Another moan falls from your lips and his chest rumbles a darker chuckle than before.

“Is this what you wanted?” His free hand sliding up from cradling your leg that had been wrapped around his middle to slide under the dress you wore, hiking it up to allow you more movement and fully press yourself against him now. You could feel his calloused fingertips and rough warm palms on your soft skin, sending you into a newfound frenzy. “You wear dresses like this ‘ere, ignore me all fuckin’ mornin’, hmm?”

You can hardly respond when his lips are on yours again and he tastes that good. Something mixed of the tobacco and warm spices of the liquor are intoxicating. The smell of his sweat mixing with his aftershave is like awakening something purely instinctual inside you. He’s harshly tugging at the fabric around your chest, feverishly unbuttoning the front of your dress as you attempt to do the same with his trousers but he’s already moved your hand to be back behind you. His actions gained more urgency, his tongue finding yours even as he’s managed to stand you back up now and he’s figured out how to slide your dress from off your shoulders down to your ankles. His facial hair is like sandpaper on your sensitive skin as his lips travel down your chest, hands already expertly unclasping your bra from behind but still managing to fully cup your breasts in his warm grip before they had any chance to be exposed to the air. Your jaw slacks at the shock of his hot calloused palms massaging you tenderly and your noises are driving him crazy.

“Don’t cum until I say so,” he rolled your sensitive bud between his finger and thumbs before squeezing at your breasts hard enough to feel like the air had been knocked out of your lungs.

You nodded, you really could have twice or even three times already just from his actions leading up to now anyways, but you weren’t in a position to protest if he was going to only be giving you more.

Without much warning, you only saw the same flash of his smile as quick as the lightning outside before he had your bare chest against the oak of his desk. The almost empty liquor bottle you two sipped from for hours now mere inches from your face. The thrill of everything finally hitting you with such a sense of euphoria that the things you felt possibly embarrassed about were immediately flushed away as soon as his hand came smacking down, hard , flat on your ass. He had your panties in a tight grip, pulled upwards so the fabric rode into your crack and you were forced to feel the stitching of the cotton press into the places you need to be touched the most. He watches as your knees buckled with each yank and spank before his hands were smoothing over the red welts he was making on your supple skin.

“Good girl,” he purred into your ear again and your body melted at the words, becoming basically putty in his hands.

From behind you, you could hear the fabric of his pants finally hit the floor and you nearly bucked your hips into the desk with anticipation. You had already gotten a sense of how big he was as you felt him over his uniform, but having him stretch your body to fit his size was all you’ve been fantasizing about since you got assigned to Hawkins.

His grip changed from squaring your hips to falling to your thighs and before you had time to wonder why, you felt the heat of his breath against your entrance thru the cotton of your underwear. What felt like him inhaling your scent before he vibrated another rumbling groan against you had sent rolls of flames through your body, causing you to push back against his mouth and nose that pressed into you and leaving you muttering a string of curses.

He pulled away again with a satisfied but strained groan, he let his hand come down with a loud smack on your ass again, soothing the sting immediately after and pulling down your ridiculous daisy cotton panties. You were grateful for the lantern’s minimal lighting and hope he wouldn’t notice, but he was already ripping them down your legs and you could feel his breath inside you.

“You want it?” He teased, one pair of hands still holding your wrists against your lower back and the other that had pushed your legs further apart is now sliding up closer and closer to where you’ve started to see stars.

“Yes,” you can hardly muster out, your chest being pressed against the desk and the overall sticky hot air getting harder to breathe in. You could feel an ache that was hurting you so bad you almost cried out when his fingers found your folds and teased the entrance.

“Yes, who?”

He had leaned forward to be able to press his clothed hardened dick against your ass and you pushed back against it instinctively, hearing him groan again.

“Yes, Chief.” You remembered your line and he was quick to reward you for it, using first one finger then his second to feel your heat completely engulf his digits. He spit out a few curses at the feel of you before his grip on your wrists tightened and he started pumping his fingers in and out of you in rhythmic timing.

A bliss washed over your body as you rocked against his desk, feeling his fingers curl up and hit your exact spots, you let sounds you’ve never made before fall from your lips that he used as encouragement. You tightened around him and started to feel a wave rock through your hips.

“What’d I say?” his fingers suddenly pulled out of you and you tried to gain back your conscience. “Hm?”

Growing impatient with your breathless responses, he flipped you on your back to hold your chin tight with nearly the same grip he had on your wrists. “Hmm?” He repeated, sounding just as impatient and irritated as he sounded with the young sheriff from this morning.

You swallow so hard you’re sure he heard the gulp before you manage to speak again.

“Not until you say.”

His eyes are so full of bloodlust he doesn’t even bother more of a fight because seeing you so exposed on his desk is making his cock throb in his already tight briefs he needed to rip off an hour ago.

“Gonna hav’ta get you ready for me,” he sounded so urgent and hungry before he lowered himself to get between your thighs. Your back fully against the desk now as your leg gets hiked up by his forceful grip, nearly knocking over the liquor bottle, so he can lower himself into you. Your breath fully catches as soon as you feel the wet warmth of his mouth meet your opening, lips pursing around your clit for a teasing suck. Your hips bucked up naturally and his massive palm laid across your lower stomach had pushed you back down against the creaking oak and his other hand fell from your bent to knee to the underside of your thigh.

Your neck bent over the edge of the desk, forced to look up at the station’s ceiling and each lick he took was pushing you closer. The mustache scraped your clit, causing you to cry out for more. His tongue remained flat as he bobbed his head up and down, his nose pushing into you, letting you ride his mouth as your hands found the back of his head and tried to press him as close into you as you could before you could get brought to the relief you craved so badly. Another groan from the back of his throat was spoken straight into your core and the vibration was making you stir.

“Please,” you cried, needing to him feel him desperately at this point. The alcohol had already mostly left your bloodstream as you felt like all the blood had rushed to your now throbbing cunt that you know his tongue was teasing. Another “mmm” leaves his throat and he braces your body in a tighter grip as you go to buck your hips wildly again at the vibration.

“Please, what?” He’s towering over you again, this time his face inches from yours. You can smell yourself off his lips, his scruff collecting your wetness, his fingers taking his tongue’s place again and your eyes roll back into your head at the memorable feeling as he finds the same rhythm as before.

“Fuck … me, Chief,” your eyes found his and you pulled his neck down to have your lips meet again. He swore into the kiss, his fingers gaining speed and his tongue getting sloppier, the kiss growing more and more rough as he started to press his now bare cock against your entrance.

His throbbing skin against your wet cunt was making you feel primitive. In desperation, your hand reached between the both of you and grabbed him like the neck of the liquor bottle and his brow furrowed together the way you know, his eyes squeezing shut at the first gentle but then hard tug you gave on him.

He watched in amazement as you licked your hand before rubbing his tip, sliding his precum up and down his shaft. He felt huge. “Dirty girl,” he growled before lining himself up with your entrance. This was it.

His lips came crashing onto yours again, this time slower but just as intense and deep of a kiss as the first, breathing into each other as his tip entered you first and leaving you both a little rattled. He knew he would need to pace himself if he wanted to fuck you the way he knew you were asking him to, but he didn’t expect you to be so tight and already throbbing.

Unexpectedly, he cradled your neck from underneath for support and forced your head up as he rocked into you, pushing in deeper. You bit down on his lower lip to distract you from the initial pain of him stretching you out which only made him twitch inside you, sending you both whirling. Eventually, he was able to bottom out inside you and he began to find a similar rhythm he had to when before you only had his fingers to adjust to.

Both of you started swearing repeatedly against your swollen lips, especially as his speed began to quicken. The oak of his desk was creaking below you, the sweat off your bodies making embarrassingly loud sounds as he slammed in and out of you. He came up from your intimate position to fully stand up and be able to hit you from a deeper position, once again pushing one of your legs up higher so he was rocking deeper into your core.

You could feel yourself getting close, the more you looked at him and his famously knitted brow as he was focused on fucking you into oblivion, you found every part of your fantasy happening before you. His hand came down with another hard smack on your thigh, making you interject on reflex.

“Chief…” you felt yourself squeezing him, clenching around every vein and curve he had inside you, sending his own knees to nearly buckle. His hips start to move faster, less rhythmic and more primal and you get to see him bring his thumb to his tongue like this morning before he uses it to start rubbing circles on your clit.

“Cum for me,” he started to chant as your body shook under him. You felt on fire and freezing at the same time, you couldn’t tell what was up or down, your nerves started to awaken on every part of your body and you let out a cry you’re sure someone in the parking lot could have heard if anyone was stupid enough to be outside during this storm.

“That’s it, cum for me—you look so fucking beautiful, Jesus Christ—“ your lashes fluttered open, your body nearly out of energy, just to see him biting on his finger to keep from cumming before he felt like you had enough. You desperately reach for the back of his thigh and have him push completely inside you, leaving you both to gasp at the feeling.

He started watching himself disappear in and out of you before you felt his cock twitch once more inside you and that’s when you held him there. His grip on the back of your neck traveled back to the base of your skull, gripping on your hair for support as he started to twitch on top of you.

You dared to push him further inside of you, as deep as you could feel him, eyes boring into his the entire time and it sends him completely over the edge. His teeth bite down on your shoulder, cursing as he does a few short thrusts, filling you with his cum before he slowly pulls out and watches it spill from out of you, completely in awe.

You can’t get yourself to move from the desk as you feel like a rag doll, the weight of your own limbs being too much to move.

“Easy…” he soothes, helping you regain balance and sit back up, still supporting you as your arms clad to his sweaty body until you can properly sit up again. He looks amused, but exhausted, as he reaches behind you again and pulls another cigarette from the pack and a lighter by the ashtray you’re surprised didn’t get flipped over in the process.

Your mind is still spinning, fully coming to terms with what happened and how much of it was your uncontrollable lust fully taking over your usually overthinking and clouded mind.

The cigarette smoke surrounds you again, you notice the rain isn’t as loud on the windows as it had been before, and suddenly he’s feeding the cigarette between your lips to nurse on as he finds your dress and undergarments, collects it from the floor, and gently lays them over the same chair you originally sat in for him so nicely.

He steals another kiss before you fully exhale as he finishes fastening the buttons on his pants, taking the cigarette back to bring to the corner of his devious smirk that makes a blush creep across your cheeks.

“You did good, kid,” his chuckle is like a deep vibration that sends a shiver up your spine and familiar flutter in your lower stomach.

“Hey, you too,” you kind of laugh at still the shock of this being reality and it makes him smirk at you again. Somehow, you manage enough strength to push yourself from his desk. Your body already aching, your legs are resembling a fawn on ice. Smugly, he watches you intently as you dress yourself again, blowing smoke in your direction as you shimmy your panties back over your hips.

“You’ll have that report on my desk by Monday?”

Not that you were expecting any different, but as you button your dress, you just nod from exhaustion and say, “yeah, I’ll reprint it before I even make the coffee.”

“Good girl,” he flicks the cigarette into the ashtray again as you pull up your stockings and finally your shoes. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time you dress yourself and you’re ignoring the heat between your thighs growing again from his comment. With a deep breath, you do your best at smoothing out your hair before finally leaving his office.

You don’t expect him to walk to your car. You don’t look behind you as you grab your keys and purse and brave the remaining relentless rain. You don’t even look in the rearview mirror to see if he left the station after you or if he planned to spend the night there. You drive home in silence, no radio, nothing to hear but the faint thunder and softer rain hitting your windshield.

——————————————————

Walking in on Monday, you felt anxiety bubbling in your stomach and told yourself the more you convinced yourself that it never happened and it was just a really vivid dream after you fell asleep at your desk, you’d actually start to believe it. You read enough about placebo, surely you can convince yourself of anything you needed to get through the morning.

Your hands practically shook as you unlocked the station’s door, the same bell chiming as you came in. Thankfully, the power had come back on and you felt a sense of relief wash over you as you immediately headed for the printer and what laid on the tray was nothing short of a miracle: your remaining pages.

You exhale for the first time that morning and go to grab a paperclip from your drawer before you can put the full report on his desk. The same oak desk you knew a bit too well.

What you see manages to stop you mid stride.

There, by the same dingy desktop you stared at all day on Friday, was a small vase. Detailed and jade in color, holding a small bouquet of not just any flower, but daisies.

The flush finds your cheeks immediately before you can see the note attached to the neck of the vase.

“Can’t stop thinking about daisies.

Wonder why.

-JH”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

All Fics Are Jim Hopper xf!reader

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone Part 1: When you don't show up to work, Jim Hopper stops by to make sure that you're alright, but stays when he realizes just how much help you need.

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone Part 2: When Jim Hopper showed up to take care of you, the last thing your thought was that he would have feelings for you.

Last Updated On 10/05/2024

(Photos For Mood Board From Pinterest)

[wannabespacesmuggler]

J.H. | The Duality of Jim Hopper

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Ever since Joyce introduced you to the local chief of police, Jim Hopper, you’ve thought maybe this town is a little too small. You’re certain that there is no truth behind the rumors until you take one hell of a beating and Hopper wants answers.

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Reader

Warnings: mentions of an injury, teenagers being punks, swearing, Hopper being Hopper

Word Count: 4.5k

“How are you settling in?”

The voice tears your attention away from one of the books piled up on the table in front of you. You glance toward the sound and see Marissa, the librarian, standing beside you. A part of you wants to groan at her question because you are acutely aware that you don’t share the same history as most of your friends in Hawkins. 

You didn’t approach another child on the playground during your first day of kindergarten and establish a once in a lifetime kind of friendship -- like Mike and Will. You didn’t share cigarettes under the bleachers of your local high school while attempting to not get busted by administration -- like Joyce and Hopper. You didn’t attend new mother classes and bond over the newfound joy of motherhood -- like Karen and Marsha.

No. You haven’t lived in this small town your entire life. You moved to Hawkins after everyone your age had settled into their lives -- with jobs, and spouses, and children. Meanwhile, you came to Hawkins from Indianapolis in an attempt to have a quieter life. No children, no spouse, and no job -- that is until you had an interview with Donald Melvald.

And Melvald’s is where you met Joyce Byers, who quickly became your lifeline in Hawkins. You remember your first day at work, when she took all day just to train you. Little did you know, Joyce was just as excited as you were to have some company throughout the day. She easily took you under her wing and brought you up to date with the history of Hawkins. Eventually, she invited you into her life and home. Dinners at the Byers’ home became more frequent as you continued working together. The Byers slowly became your family in Hawkins.

“I’m doing well. Thank you for checking in.”

She gives you a polite smile. You were hoping she’d leave the conversation at that, but she asks you another question.

“Are you still working over at Melvald’s with Joyce?”

You give her a nod in response and turn your attention back to the stack of books that Will had recommended to you. It’s not that you don’t like Marissa. She’s fantastic at her job and you enjoyed the few conversations you have had with her, but you know she’s also a gossip -- or at least that’s what Joyce told you when you asked why the local librarian started asking you so many personal questions during your first visit. 

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s good. So are the boys. I’m actually going over there for dinner tonight.”

You hope you’ve given her enough information to quench her thirst for details.

“Oh. With the Chief?”

Apparently not. 

Your brow furrows at her question and you shake your head. Ever since Joyce introduced you to the local chief of police, Jim Hopper, you’ve thought maybe this town is a little too small. 

The two of you became quick friends, but you weren’t aware of his reputation in town until after you had dinner with him. It wasn’t even supposed to be just the two of you at Benny’s; Joyce was actually the one who had planned the little outing, but Will ended up coming home from school early that day with a fever, so Joyce had to cancel last minute. Hopper ended up wandering into Melvald’s later that day after Joyce had called the two of you about her predicament. 

“We can still go tonight. If you want?”

Hopper will never tell you that he wants to take you out to dinner. Instead, he leaves the decision to you; afraid of the rejection that could come if he were to just blatantly ask you out. 

You shrug before giving him a verbal answer.

“I don’t have anything else going on tonight.”

Hopper smiles as he leans against the counter, watching as you continue restocking the shelves. 

“Meet you at Benny’s? 7:00 o’clock?”

You stop restocking and glance up at him. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was intimidating. He’s a large man and his presence practically demands your attention. Hell, his broad frame is taking up half the counter. But then his hands are anxiously fiddling with an unlit cigarette as he waits for your response. It almost makes you laugh -- the duality of Jim Hopper.

“Actually, can you pick me up? My car has been acting up.”

“I’ll be there at 7:00 and maybe I can take a look at your car?”

Jim watches you stand up. As you walk past him to get behind the counter, you gently place your hand on his bicep. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, but for some reason, every single fucking time you touch him, Hopper has to fight off the shiver that begs to journey down his spine. He doesn’t give it a second thought though. He can’t. He’s had his heart locked up tight for years. He isn’t sure if he could find the key even if he tried.

“You’re a lifesaver, Hop.”

You enjoyed dinner and Jim did end up fixing your car that night. You repaid him for the ride and a free tune-up with a case of beer, which the two of you powered through in the span of a few hours. At some point, you stole the keys to Hopper’s truck and convinced him the crash on your couch for the night. The next day, you two were the talk of the town after your neighbor told everyone she knew that the chief of police was leaving your house awfully early in the morning.

Since then, you’ve gotten quite a few questions about Hopper from the local citizens who didn’t know you too well -- assuming you were just another one of his many flings.

It takes everything in you to not roll your eyes at Marissa. Still, you offer her a polite response.

“Hopper’s working tonight.”

Marissa seems to be content in your answer and leaves you with your stack of books. You let out a sigh of relief and glance out the window. A small smile pulls at your lips as you spot Jonathan and Nancy talking to a group of boys in the parking lot, until you see one of the boys throw a punch a Jonathan.

You hastily push out your chair, turn on your heels, burst through the doors and sprint through the parking lot. You can hear Nancy begging for the boys to stop, but her protests fall on deaf ears as the boys continue to pummel Jonathan. Nancy turns toward you and relief washes over her features -- she doesn’t know you well, but Jonathan has always spoke highly of you and right now she’ll take any help offered.

“Get off of him!” 

Your voice gets one of the boys’ attention for just a moment.

“This has nothing to do with you!”

You furrow your brow at the comment. Jonathan may not be your child; however, you care for him as if he was your own and you’re not going to let this teenager lay another hand on him. Quickly, you try to get inbetween the two boys. You think you have the upperhand until the boy on top of Jonathan throws his elbow back in an attempt to get you off of him. His elbow cracks you in the nose and immediately sends you crashing to the ground. The sound of your body hitting the gravel stops the boy’s assault on Jonathan. He turns to you and you can tell by the look in his eyes that he did not mean to hurt you; he had been blinded by anger and made a stupid decision.

However, those stupid decisions seem to continue as you watch red and blue lights reflect off of Jonathan’s car. You can vaguely hear the sound of a police siren and someone yelling your name, as you watch the boy who had been pummeling Jonathan into the pavement run in the other direction. You take a moment to take in details about the boy, knowing that you’ll end up at the station giving a description of the boy to Hopper. 

As you try to get up, you’re met with the face of Officer Callahan. 

“Woah, there. Seems like you took quite a beating.”

“No, no, no. Jonathan. You need to check on Jonathan.”

Officer Callahan puts a gentle, but firm hand on your shoulder to keep you in place as you frantically search for the boy.

“It’s okay. Powell’s with him right now. We’re going to get you both to the hospital. Chief is already on his way.”

You give Callahan a nod and lay back down on the rough gravel. As the adrenaline begins to leave your system, the pounding in your head starts to take precedence. In an attempt to ease the pain, you close your eyes. You only mean for it to be a minute, but as you hear Callahan’s voice begging for you to just hold on, you feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

When you open your eyes again, the pounding in your head has dulled and your ears are met with the rhythmic sound of your heart beat on the monitor next to you. You’re about to call for a nurse to get some information when you hear a woman yell from down the hall. 

“Sir, you can’t smoke in here!”

You hear a string of grumbled expletives before a familiar figure leans against the doorframe of your hospital room. 

“Hey, Hop.”

He’s disheveled. His uniform shirt is fully unbuttoned and falling off one shoulder, leaving his henley to be on full display. It looks as though he threw on the shirt hastily as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. Somewhere in the chaos he’s lost his hat as well, allowing you a glimpse at his unusually tousled hair -- he’s been running his hands through it in frustration since he got the call from Callahan that you were on your way to the hospital.

His eyes rake over your body, checking for injuries, before they settle on your face. The hardened anger in his gaze quickly fades to a tender concern as he studies your broken nose and two black eyes. 

Eventually, he moves from the doorframe and takes large strides toward you. He towers over your body as he stands beside your hospital bed. His jaw is clenched so hard that you begin to worry that the man might crack a tooth. The anger in the pit of his stomach begins boiling over once more as he gets a better look at your injuries -- they’re much worse upon closer inspection. Callahan was right -- you took one hell of a beating.

“Hop.”

Hopper lets out a solemn sigh as you slide your hand into his. Finally, he meets your gaze and his features soften. You swallow a string of emotions -- Hopper has never looked at you this tenderly before. It’s a lot to take in -- on one hand he’s got a warmth in his features that you’ve never witnessed before that only seemed to spark once he entered your hospital room and, on the otherhand, his body is so rigid that you fear he might snap if another goddamn thing happens today.

Keeping a tight grip on your hand, he takes a seat beside you on the small hospital bed. He reaches out and places his free hand on the side of your face. Your breath catches in your chest as his thumb gently traces over your wounds. His touch is careful, the softest whisper of contact. He’d stop if you asked him to, but you wouldn’t dare. You’d let him trace over the bridge of your nose over and over and over again, if it means that you’ll maintain Jim Hopper’s undivided attention. However, as he grazes over the area where the kid split your nose open, you flinch away from his touch. He pulls his hand back immediately and anger washes over his features once more. It was only for a second, but it was enough for you to recognize the festering rage stewing in the back of Hopper’s mind. 

“Who did this to you?”

His voice is low and he ducks his head down to your level, maintaining eye contact with you as he speaks. You open your mouth but no words come out. You’re entirely enamored in the duality of Jim Hopper once again -- fierce and rageful, while simultaneously gentle and kind. A protector in every sense of the word. He moves cautiously, placing his hands on either side of your face. He’s cradling your face like a coveted prize jewel. He takes a moment and then asks you again.

“Sweetheart, who hurt you?”

You finally let out the breath that got caught in your throat. His voice is somehow sweet as honey while simultaneously laced with venom. 

“It was just some punk kid that was giving Jonathan trouble.”

His brow furrows immediately at your response.

“What kid? I’ll make sure he never touches you again. And Jonathan.”

There’s a beat before he says the last two words. He rushes to add Jonathan into the equation in an attempt to make it seem like he’s sitting here with you because it’s his job, and not because his heart dropped into his stomach when he got the call from Callahan. He didn’t even both listening to the rest of Callahan’s message over the walkie. He knew someone hurt you and that you were being escorted by an ambulance -- that was more than enough to get him racing to his truck and speeding to the hospital. But now, in this moment, where it is just you and Hopper, he tries to cover up the fact that he’s here solely because he cares for you. 

“He didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He looks at you with an incredulous expression. Where Jim is harsh, you are forgiving. He’s always appreciated the ways you’ve challenged him since you moved to Hawkins. But, right now, he wishes you were as angry as he was. But, instead, you’re sitting here with your infinite grace and it’s just pissing him off more. He retracts his hands from your face and stands up, before raking a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Oh, he didn’t mean to hurt you? Sorry, sweetheart, Callahan didn’t relay that to me that in his message -- you know the one where he let me know you were unconscious! I should go find him then, right? So I can check in on him?”

The honey is long gone from his voice, it is all venom. And the way he says ‘sweetheart’ this time is almost condescending. You’ve heard Hopper raise his voice before, his anger is no stranger to you; however, this is the first time he has risen his voice at you. It startles you for a moment. You let out a frustrated breath and furrow your brow.

“Hey, don’t take this out on me. That isn’t fair.”

“You scared the shit out of me!”

And then there is a painful silence between the two of you. Hopper is practically panting as he tries to regain his composure. Against his better judgment, he glances in your direction. Guilt immediately blooms where anger had previously resided. Deciding he’s done enough damage, he turns and begins to walk toward the door in an attempt to find Jonathan’s room. 

“Hey, Hop. Wait.”

Hopper stops as he hears your voice. It sounds smaller than normal -- almost as if you were scared that he’d cast your plea aside and leave you in this room alone. Don’t you know by now he would do anything you asked of him? He lets out a sigh before turning back to you. 

“Please don’t go.”

Hopper nods at your request before slowly making his way back over to you. This time, instead of sitting beside you on the small hospital bed, he pulls a chair up to your bedside and slumps into it. He no longer looks angry or concerned or soft. No, he just looks exhausted and the sight causes a sharp pain in your heart. The two of you sit in silence for a few moment before Hopper notices your hands wringing anxiously. He decides then to break the silence.

“How did you even get caught up in this mess?”

You let out a laugh before answering, catching Hopper off guard.

“I was actually at the library.”

Hopper raises an eyebrow at your confession and looks at you in disbelief. 

“You’re joking.”

The two of you laugh together at your absolute dumb luck. You’re glad that the tension in the room has dissipated. Now, the silence is comfortable.

“You know Marissa?”

Hopper raises a brow at you once more.

“The librarian?”

“Yes, the librarian. I think she likes you.”

Hopper lets out a half-hearted laugh at your comment. A part of him wishes you were around when he was a younger man -- when he was less bitter. Before the war totured the boyish charmisa out of him. Yet another is glad that you weren’t there to witness his past. That unlike everyone else, you don’t assume that he’s already slept with the local librarian -- even if it’s true.

“Trust me. I know.”

You stare at him with a look of naive confusion. Eventually, you put the pieces together and your eyes light up. You roll your eyes and laugh before covering you face with your hands.

“This explains so much.”

Now it’s Hopper’s turn to be confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“She asks about you all the time.”

If Hopper were a few years younger, that comment would fuel his ego; however, those days are behind him.

“And that explains why she doesn’t like me.”

Hopper is taken aback by that comment. He can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t like you.

“Why wouldn’t she like you?”

“Because she believes what everyone else does.”

Hopper looks at you as if you’re speaking a different language. You let out a laugh at his oblivious nature which only seems to confuse him more. It makes sense that the comments were directed toward you and not the intimidating chief of police; however, you can’t believe he hasn’t overheard anyone talking about it at this point.

“People talked after you crashed on my couch that night.”

“Oh.”

You don’t have to get into details about what they said. Hopper knows. He knows his reputation proceeds him. And he should have known that spending more time with you would raise a few eyebrows in town. Sometimes he hates this stupid small town and the fact that someone is always watching.

“Did you think about it?”

Hopper looks at you for a moment before he furrows his brow. God, this oblivious man is going to kill you. Deciding that it’s too late to back out now, you decide to double down. 

“Did you think about me that night like you thought about Marissa?”

“How hard did that kid hit you?”

He attempts to lighten the mood and brush off the question, but you won’t have it. He’s avoiding your eye contact, deciding instead to fiddle with the pack of cigarettes that he pulled out from his pocket.

“Jim.”

It knocks the breath out of his lungs. You’ve only called him that one other time -- the same night you’re asking about. Hopper was already one too many beers in when you fell beside him, onto the couch. He let out a loud laugh while throwing an arm behind you, on the back of the couch. You laugh along with him and lean your head back into his arm. You turn your head to face him and you’re suddenly aware of how close you are to Hopper. He’s looking at you like you’re a goddamn dream. And you’re not sure what time it is but Hopper looks softer in the moonlight. And you know you’re not thinking straight; however, leaning into the sudden intimacy between you and Hopper doesn’t seem like a terrible idea.

And then you say his name. And it sounds like a goddamn prayer. His mind is fuzzy and he swears you’ve never looked as stunning as you do right now -- he takes a moment to capture this memory and file it away into the back of his subconscious.

He watches as you lean into him. You move slowly, allowing him room to back away if he wanted; however, he doesn’t pull back. Instead, he takes your lead and leans in as well. Before any drunken, heat of the moment decisions can be made, your phone rings, cutting through the thick silence. Hopper emits a low growl, but allows you to pull away and leave the room. You answer the phone and he can hear your voice from the other room. He sets his beer down on your coffee table, deciding that he’s definitely had enough to drink. By the time you return to your living room, Hopper is snoring and the moment has passed.

He may not be drunk now; however, he’s just as enamored as he was that night as you say his name. 

“No.”

His answer hits you harder the elbow you took to the face. Your eyes fall to your hands and you nod. Hopper is immediately filled with regret. God, he’s an idiot. That’s not what he meant. Of course he’s thought about you. It’s just different and he’s not quite sure how to explain it to you, but he’s going to try because he cannot stand the sadness that has washed over your features.

“Sweetheart, you’re not Marissa. When I was with her, I wasn’t thinking about her; I was just thinking about me. Of course I thought about it that night -- you and I.  It’s just you could never be just a fling to me.”

Hopper avoids eye contact with you as he speaks, but it doesn’t matter. His honest words make your heart flutter and repair the heartbreak that his previous answer caused. A small smile spread across your face at the sudden realization that Hopper likes you. 

“I thought about it too, that night.”

Hopper’s head rises and he meets your gaze. 

“You know -- you and I.”

You repeat Hopper’s words back to him with a small smile on your face. Hopper can’t help the laugh that escapes him. The two of you have entered uncharted waters; however, Hopper has never felt more comfortable than he does right nwo, wading into the deep end with you. He moves his chair closer to your bedside and takes your hand in his once again. When he meets your eyes, your breath is once again trapped in your lungs. It’s like you’ve transported right back to that night and you’re Jim Hopper’s answered prayer. 

“You know, the kid hit you pretty fucking hard. Are you sure you’re thinking straight?”

You roll your eyes; however, Hopper still manages to get a good laugh out of you. Even when he’s flirting, he’s still a goddamn smartass.

“Just kiss me, Jim.”

You don’t need to tell him twice. In a moment, he’s out of his seat -- towering over you once again. If you were any other person in Hawkins, you would probably perceive Jim’s presence so close to you as formidable, but, right now, you just feel safe. And you can’t help but lost in the duality of Jim Hopper. 

He moves his hands and gently cradles your face. Your eyes close as you lean into his touch. You allow yourself to just enjoy the feeling of Jim’s skin on your own, until he traces his thumb over your bottom lip. As you open your eyes, you’re met with Jim only a breath away from you. You lean into him and then his lips meet yours and it just feels right - like everything has finally fallen into place; Hawkins, Melvald’s, the Byer’s family, Jim.

Jim’s movements are gentle and slow, until you grab a fistful of his open sheriff’s uniform and pull him closer. The guttural growl that reverberates in Jim’s chest as he moves his hands down your body, sends a shiver down your spine. The sweet, lazy kiss has now turned into something more passionate and desperate. Seemingly lost in the moment, Jim nudges his nose against yours which makes you involuntarily let out a pained hiss. Jim pulls away instantly and his eyes fill with panic, until he realizes what he’s done. A soft chuckle escapes him as he leans his forehead against yours. 

“Sorry. Got a little carried away.”

His voice is low and sultry. You’ve never heard anything so heavenly before. And then you're laughing with him. Today has been overwhelming, to say the least, and it’s comical to you. Jim leans back again and meets your eyes. There’s a new fierceness in his gaze that isn’t quite so rageful. He moves his hand to gently tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by footsteps stopping just outside your hospital room and a surprised gasp. Jim’s eyes close and he shakes his head. He should have known -- there is no such thing as privacy in this small town. He opens his eyes and you’re smiling at him. You’re fucking smiling at him and it takes everything in him to not kiss you again. 

“It’s Joyce isn’t it?”

You peek over his shoulder and spot Joyce standing in the doorway with both of her hands over her mouth. The sight makes your smile grow and you nod your head to answer Jim’s question. He lets out an annoyed sigh and finally moves away from you. Jim doesn’t go too far though, he simply sits on the edge of your hospital bed and keeps a protective hand on your thigh.

“Joyce.”

Jim’s voice is stern. The dramatic change in tone almost gives you whiplash. Joyce seems to be at a loss for words as she just moves her gaze between you both. Jim finally throws both of his hands up in front of him, exasperatedly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Jim rolls his eyes at her apology, but there’s a small smile plastered on his face. He might be impatient and uncordial with almost everyone in this small town; however, Jim Hopper has always had a soft spot for Joyce Byers. And right now, Jim feels like he’s back in high school. Joyce has never been nonchalant, so every time Jim included her in his extracurricular activities, it always seemed to bite him in the ass; however, no amount of detentions ever stopped him from inviting her into his life. 

“It’s fine, Joyce. How’s Jonathan?”

Your nerves dissipate once Joyce lets you both know that Jonathan is perfectly fine -- a little bruised and battered, but ultimately okay. She attempts to make some awkward small talk with you both, before excusing herself from the conversation so that she can go check on Jonathan. 

With that, Jim’s attention is once again focused solely on you. He moves to kiss you again, but stops once his forehead meets yours.

“I swear to God, if a nurse barges in next.” 

“Shut up and kiss me, Hopper.”

A content smile spreads across his face at your words. He could get used to hearing those words -- he could get used to all of this. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Jim Hopper x Reader | angsty smut | includes infidelity, Reader is married to a different public servant of Hawkins (can you guess who, @umnitsa ? 😉) Hopper is married as well, death of Hopper’s daughter mentioned, Hopper is a real ass here, unprotected p in v sex, vaginal fingering, ANGST ANGST ANGST…

@mrshopper84 @travelingtwentysomething @beefrobeefcal @braincell-pingpong @skye-44 @midwest-princess @riotrhythm

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“This isn’t right.”

At first, Hopper didn’t hear you speak. He was too distracted by the taste of your soft skin on his tongue, his mouth pressed to your neck in an open kiss. When your words did register in his mind, he disregarded them. Who gave a fuck whether what the two of you were doing was right or wrong? Hadn’t you both earned some happiness? You, with a husband too absorbed in his work to pay you any attention, and Hopper, whose wife had grown so cold and distant after the death of their daughter that she barely let him touch her anymore?

“This isn’t right, Hopper,” you repeated, insistent this time. His grip on your hips tightened, almost hurting. You were sitting on his lap in his office, after hours at the station. In the darkness, just the two of you, just how you liked it. How you needed it to be, to avoid a scandal that would turn the small town of Hawkins upside down...

You became frustrated at Hopper’s disregard for your words, pulling back from him. His jaw tightened, his lips a thin, hard line. “And what makes you think I fuckin’ care if it’s right or wrong?” he asked, his voice husky and impatient. “I want you.” Hopper bounced his knee under you, making you gasp as your cunt settled against the thick outline of his cock. Hopper exhaled as you shifted on top of the erection painfully straining against his uniform. “I want you,” he reiterated, speaking through grit teeth. “I want you and that asshole you’re married to doesn’t.” Hopper’s words stung already, but they were about to get worse.

“That new secretary he just hired? Remember her?” You braced yourself for what you already knew was coming. “He’s fucking her, did y’know that?” Hopper didn’t waste time softening the blow of his words with pretty euphemisms. Why should he? You’d come this far, let him touch you already. You were straddling Hopper’s lap for fucks sake. You wanted this as much as he did, and he’d be damned if he let you pretend to have grown a conscience between the time you straddled his lap and now…

Hopper knew you were a smart woman. You must have known your husband was having an affair, that he’d been unfaithful for as long as the two of you had been married. “Mrs. Kline,” Hopper uttered your name through a cruel smirk. He reached for the strand of hair spilling down your shoulder, gently tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as Hopper’s thumb grazed your earlobe, his skin warm. “Don’t let this time we have go to waste,” Hopper told you. “We both know things aren’t going to change anytime soon, for either one of us.”

You shifted a little on top of his thighs, Hopper’s cock pulsing against your cunt in response. You’d already soaked through your panties, a wet patch leaking through onto Hopper’s pants. He’d have to wash those himself, later. Couldn’t risk his wife finding them in the laundry and asking questions. But a bit of deception was a small price to pay if it meant finally getting inside you.

“Larry is-,” you began, but Hopper bucked you on his knee again, silencing you.

“Mm-mm,” he chastised, shaking his head. “Don’t say the bastard’s name. Not when you’re with me.”

Hopper swallowed any words you may have had left in a kiss. His tongue licked back the apprehension sitting on the edge of yours, the things you knew you should say, but didn’t want to. Mainly, the word “no.” You didn’t want to tell Hopper no.

His large hands held you down against his lap, thumbs finding purchase in the space where your hips and thighs met. Being the mayor’s wife, you’d interacted with the Chief of Police several times over the years. But never like this. The time you’d spent together had been social, limited to local events. Always public, always within the gaze of the people of Hawkins. The eyes of the public on you had forced both you and Hopper to keep your desire for one another a secret. But now, years later, you’d both grown weary of pretending, of keeping things professional. His hand slipped between your legs, gliding under the waist of your panties. You gasped as Hopper inserted two of his thick, calloused fingers inside you without warning. A cocky little grin pulled at his lips. “Just warming you up, sweetheart,” he drawled confidently, adding “Christ you’re fuckin’ tight…Might send you back to Lare a little broken, y’know…?”

You moaned into Hopper’s chest as he fingered you, humping against his palm. No matter how fucking good his fingers felt inside you, he was still Jim Hopper. The same man who’d developed a reputation for drinking and drug use while on the job. The same man whose wife was presumably sleeping soundly right now, at the home she shared with Hopper, having bought the lie he’d sold her about needing to stay late at the station for ‘work.’ He was working, but not the way he’d implied. Hopper’s fingers working inside you were an altogether different kind of work, the way he manipulated your cunt yet another form of manipulation he was very skilled at, in addition to lying to his wife.

“You’re so close,” Hopper gloated at your ear in a low, smug voice. The fact that he was getting you off with nothing but his fingers was stroking Hopper’s ego, just like his fingers were stroking your insides. He held a misplaced sense of pride in being able to do for you what your husband couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do. It was something Hopper could accomplish, something he could succeed at, in contrast with his crumbling marriage. Maybe instead of thrusting his fingers up another woman’s cunt, he should have been at home with his wife, working on repairing his marriage. But Hopper wasn’t interested in what he should be doing. All he wanted to do, was you.

The sound of Hopper’s chair creaked loudly in the small office at the impact of you grinding on his lap. He smacked your ass with the hand that wasn’t between your legs, then carefully removed the one that was. You whimpered at being suddenly empty, pouting up at Hopper in frustration. He didn’t deny you for long, quickly working his belt and pants undone, his cock springing free and smacking thick and wet against your cunt with an audible slap. Hopper lifted you by your hips, guiding you onto his plump, leaking tip and letting you sink onto him at your own pace.

Hungry, greedy, your cunt swallowed Hopper with minimal difficulty. You managed to take him whole, your clit pressed against the coarse dark hair above Hopper’s cock. He growled behind grit teeth, as the sensation of being consumed by you overtook him. It had been years since Hopper had been with a woman besides his wife. The grip of fresh pussy moving up and down his shaft caused Hopper’s brain to temporarily glaze over. He was lurched back into awareness by the harsh ring of the telephone sitting on his desk.

“Ignore it,” Hopper panted, speaking to himself as much as you. A moment later, the phone ceased ringing. When the shrill sound began again less than a minute later, Hopper pulled his lips from your throat and cursed. He knew there was only one person who would be trying to reach him here at this time of night. Hopper reached for the phone, gently lifting it from the receiver. He brought his index finger against his lips, instructing you to remain quiet. Forcing his voice as steady as possible, considering you were grinding up and down on his cock, Hopper spoke: “Diane?” You nuzzled your face into Hopper’s neck, muffling your own sounds into his shirt. A woman’s voice on the other end of the line spoke, but you couldn’t make out the words. You didn’t want to. All you wanted was to keep riding Hopper, moving closer and closer to your peak.

“I can’t-I uh-,” Hopper stammered, swallowing. You could feel the heat radiating from his chest, the sweat blooming beneath the hair peeking out from his shirt collar. “I’m gonna be a little longer, sweetheart,” Hopper managed, clearing his throat. He closed his eyes in an attempt to remove the image of your breasts bouncing in front of him with every descent you made on his cock. His wife’s voice chattered away on the other end of the line. “Thirty minutes,” Hopper said, and inwardly, you grimaced. You wanted all night with him, but under the circumstances, both your options and Hopper’s were limited.

“Yeah,” Hopper grunted, followed by a rushed “love you too,” before he quickly replaced the phone on top of the receiver. You paused, meeting his eyes in the dim light of his office. “Is that true?” you asked tentatively, your voice breathless. Hopper’s hands were all over you again, as if the phone call had never happened. His expression conveyed annoyance as he sorted out what you were asking him, his response a confused “what?”

“She said I love you,” you explained. “Your wife. And you said it back.” Hopper’s eyebrows lifted incredulously. “Yeah,” he said. “What’s your point?”

“Did you mean it?” you asked, despising how pitiful and small you sounded in this moment. Hopper exhaled, the cruel smirk returning to his lips. “How is that any of your fucking business?” he asked through a humorless chuckle. His smile evaporated as a darker look replaced it. “Now you listen to me, because here’s how this is gonna work-.” His hands slid down your thighs, squeezing a little too hard. “-You’re gonna keep these legs spread till I come in between them and then we’re gonna part ways like this never fuckin’ happened, understand?” You nodded, forcing the tears behind your eyes not to fall. You wouldn’t give Hopper the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt you anymore than he already had.

Hopper nodded, satisfied with your compliance. “Good girl,” he said, without any sentiment behind his words. Hopper’s arms crushed you against him as he bucked up into you. His shoulders tensed, the muscles in his stomach tightening. Hopper’s grunts of exertion grew sharper, till his body stilled tight against yours, his cum spilling inside you. With his forehead pressed to your shoulder, Hopper panted hot and labored against your chest.

The absence of sound in the office, apart from Hopper’s breath, was far from quiet. A sick tension hung in the air, his cold words repeating back in your mind on a loop. After a moment, Hopper patted your ass and instructed you to “get up.” He held onto the base of his cock as you slid off it, a thick trail of semen gushing out and landing on his thigh. Hopper cursed, almost as if implying the mess was your fault. He turned his back to you, lighting a cigarette. Feeling unsatisfied and worse, ashamed, your voice was trembling when you quietly asked, “should I…go?”

Hopper’s shoulders moved in small chuckle, and he turned to face you. His cock was still hanging out, as if he was in no hurry to put it away. You, by contrast, had already begun to dress. Hopper sucked a long drag out of his cigarette, exhaling as he informed you flatly, “yeah, we’re done here.” He reached for his coat and made his way to the door. Even though you were fully dressed by now, you felt more exposed than ever. He waved his hand ahead of him, ushering you out the front door of the station. “See yourself out,” Hopper directed. The hurt inside you was beginning to boil over into rage. You’d never felt more used in your life, even after being humiliated by your husband’s affairs for years. “Fuck you, Jim,” you spat at him, your saliva landing on his cheek. Hopper’s eyebrows lifted in a look of amusement. “Well that already happened,” he taunted.

The cold night air was oddly welcoming as you burst through the station door and out into the parking lot. You found your vehicle and quickly got inside, your hands squeezing the steering wheel till your fingers cracked. You left the station and made your way home to your husband, while another man’s cum slowly leaked out of you onto the driver’s seat the whole way home.

[winterwidowgirly]

Different Version Masterlist

Different Version Fanfic Series

Chapter One

Chapter Two

[nikiscooler]

p r e s e n t i n g . . .

GILDED LILY

production made by nikiscooler

“but with my double vision, how was i supposed to see the way?”

cults, gilded lily

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STRANGER THINGS FANFICTION

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: ̗̀➛ S U M M A R Y !

JOSIE AINSWORTH WAS AFRAID.

Strange things have been occurring recently in the small midwestern town of Hawkins, Indiana. It all started with the disappearance of Will Byers, a young boy who went missing while biking home from a friend's house late at night. But that wasn't the only reason Josie was afraid, her home life scared her too, she needed to get her sister out of that hellhole before it was too late.

Josie felt guilty. She hadn't wanted to go home that night, so she was biking around town after being at her friend Barbara’s house when she saw Will on his way home. She didn't say anything, if she had said something, he would still be here now. Everything was piling up on her already burdened shoulders, she felt like she was going to crack, like a porcelain doll.

Josie and Nancy Wheeler had been friends at the beginning of high school, but they had drifted apart since Nancy started dating that douchebag Steve Harrington. They now only talked through their mutual friend Barbara Holland. So, when Josie walked out of a party that would end in disaster, she felt the guilt suffocating her. None of this was supposed to happen, she was just angry at fucking Carol.

The Ainsworth family was well known in the community as being a story of unexpected downfall. Before the car accident, Josie’s parents Nathan and Eleanor were well-respected, they hosted parties and were church-goers. The family got into a terrible car accident, and the hospital bills cost them basically all they had to their name, it essentially bankrupted the family. Eleanor left, just walked out on her two young daughters and Nathan began to drink heavily. He was fired from his job because he kept showing up to work drunk. They lost their home because they couldn't pay for it since Nathan wasn't working. They had to move to the trailer park. Now, people refuse to speak to the Ainsworths, most of them are scared of Nathan, who has grown violent over the years.

Her friends are the only bit of comfort she has left in her life. Though, after what happened to Will, talking to Jonathan has gotten harder and harder.

At school, she sinks her brain into her work, keeping her mind off everything else going on. She doesn't let anyone see what she is dealing with and no one seems to notice either. She is invisible to the world around her.

With Nancy and Steve's relationship growing distant, and Nancy and Jonathan growing closer, a friendship blossoms between Nancy and Josie. And when Nancy and Jonathan start dating, Josie is happy for them.

But that wasn't true, was it?

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⋆ nikiscooler, 2025 ♡

N. Wheeler x OC

━━ : ̗̀➛ ━━ : ̗̀➛ ━━ : ̗̀➛ ━━ : ̗̀➛

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ I N T R O D U C I N G ,, : ̗̀➛ THE CAST -^-

JOSEPHINE “JOSIE” AINSWORTH ⋆ Hailee Steinfeld

( xv, lesbian, she/her, sagittarius )

#You're On Your Own, Kid / The Punching Bag.

NANCY WHEELER ⋆ Natalia Dyer

( xv, closeted bisexual, she/her, scorpio )

#What Was I Made For? / The Sharp-Witted.

Act One, 1983 / STRANGE HAPPENINGS IN HAWKINS

Lucas Sinclair ☆ CALEB MCLAUGHLIN

Dustin Henderson ☆ GATEN MATARAZOO

Mike Wheeler ☆ FINN WOLFHARD

Jane ‘El’ Hopper ☆ MILLIE BOBBY BROWN

Will Byers ☆ JAEDEN MARTELL

Jonathan Byers ☆ CHARLIE HEATON

Steve Harrington ☆ JOE KEERY

Jim Hopper ☆ DAVID HARBOUR

Joyce Byers ☆ WINONA RYDER

Karen Wheeler ☆ CARA BUONO

Ted Wheeler ☆ JOE CHREST

Holly Wheeler ☆ ANNISTON & TINSLEY PRICE

Nathan Ainsworth ☆ GARY WEEKS

Jude Ainsworth ☆ PIPER RUBIO

Act Two, 1984 / SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH WILL

Maxine ‘Max’ Mayfield ☆ SADIE SINK

Murray Bauman ☆ PEDRO PASCAL

Billy Hargrove ☆ DACRE MONTGOMERY

Eleanor Ainsworth ☆ MELANIE LYNSKEY

WARNINGS

This is a Stranger Things fanfiction, so anything included in Stranger Things will happen in this book, those things include; child abuse, violence, gore, death, mommy issues, daddy issues, etc. This fanfiction will also include period typical transphobia, racism, misogyny, and homophobia.

DISCLAIMERS

I don't own the Stranger Things characters or their storylines, all rights are reserved to the Duffer Brothers and Netflix. I did however, make my original character Josie Ainsworth and her whole story.

[sivilvendetta]

New fic just dropped

Do you like cars? Racing? Gran Turismo the movie?

How about Jack Salter? Or David Harbour? Why not all of it?

Then check out my fic!

Mechanic!Reader clashes with her fellow team Captain in this almost spicy X Reader fic. Mind the tags as per usual :)

Haha, I broke this character's Ao3 cherry

No. He is my little meat puppet and I will do what I wish with him.