#david harbour fanfiction

[piratesfromspace]

Brandy & Gingerbread (Nick 'Santa'/Reader)

Nick 'Santa Claus' (Violent Night) x fem!Reader Rated: Explicit 1.2k words

Nicomund the Red and the Tooth Fairy meet again on Christmas day. Fluff and smut ensue.

This is my Christmas gift for @gipsydangerzone 💖

Content: mention of food and alcohol, implied violence, magic healing, Santa Claus kink (is that a thing?), smut, thigh riding, Christmas fluff, fem!reader, established relationship. This happens just after the end of the movie. Look at me expanding on the lore of this Christmas masterpiece that is Violent Night.

MASTERLIST

gif by nick-offerman

“Well, well, what do we have here? Isn’t that the Tooth Fairy herself?” The familiar gravelly voice has you shiver before you even see him.

“What are you doing here?” he continues as you swirl back to face him. Here he is. In all his glory, red velvet and white fur and the gray of his fluffy beard. Gold sparks of magic still floating around him.

“Nick! Nice to see you again! How am I doing? Fine, thanks for asking!” you answer sharply.

He seems unbothered by your sarcastic greetings.  “You know it’s actually my night, right, sweetheart?” he croons, taking a step toward you.

“Well, it happens that the kid in this house lost a tooth today, so it’s also my night. I work all year round, Nicomund, I’m not some lazy old man who manages to complain while doing shit for most of the year.” you snap back. 

“Oof, darling, no need to be so mean. You don’t want to end on my naughty list, don’t you?” He takes one step further, crossing slowly but surely the length of the living room. The place is cozy, old fireplace but modern floor, new sofa but vintage quilts. The tall christmas tree is a real one and it smells like pine and spice and sugar. Like Christmas. Fairy lights spread across the place bathe the room in a soft warm glow. Seeing him in such a decor, it feels like a freaking cheesy Holiday movie. Except you know him, know what he’s capable of, and he’s far from the lazy old man you accuse him to be. 

“Well, I don’t have time to play games Nick, so unless you’ve lost a tooth yourself, I have to go.” you don’t sound as sure of yourself as you’d like. That’s his fault, he unsettles you, makes you dream of domesticity, of chocolate and marshmallows, of cuddles in front of the fire, of all those soft other things you don’t have time to indulge in. 

“Oh sweetie, you won’t believe me, because actually I’m afraid I’ve lost a couple teeth earlier tonight.” He rasps, and behind the sirupy lull of his low voice, you notice for the first time the thin hint of pain. Now that he’s closer, you actually take the time to really look at him. There is a split on his right cheekbone, specks of dried blood on his jaw, spots of red on the white fur of his collar. His usual stupid hat is absent, and his hair hastily tied up in a bun. The tiny round glasses are nowhere to be seen. His sleeves are bunched up, showing off the dark swirls of ink under his skin, meeting the blue-black of fresh bruises. 

“Nick, what happened…?”

Flashbacks of wars long lost invade your mind. Nicomund the Red and his hammer. Bathed in blood and mud and death. The stench of it clinging to the inside of your nose for days after the battles. Ears ringing with the screams of your dying enemies for countless nights. Your own sword covered in gore. 

“Hey, you with me, sweetheart?” Nick’s hand lands on your shoulder and you’re suddenly brought back to your senses. To now, to the cozy living room and the smell of Christmas candles. He’s the one injured, yet he focuses on you. It’s not the first time. It’s been going on for millenia now.

“It’s a long story, but I’m fine.” he adds now that he has your attention. 

“What about you?” he asks, and he cups your cheek, eyes the color of iron - moody skies - scanning your face. His palm is hot, rough pads against your delicate skin. You circle his wrist and nod in reassurance. He said he was fine but you can’t miss how he flinches under your touch, a muffled groan of discomfort escaping him. 

“You’re still a bad liar, you know that, Nick? Let me see. My magic may help.”

He sits on the sofa, large thighs slightly open and strong feet on the ground, while you’re perched on one of his legs. You had opened his jacket, and traced his naked chest in search of every cut and bruise, blue sparks at the tip of your fingers, healing them on your way. You remember doing the same thing a very long time ago, when you both did not have your magic yet. It’s intimate. Weirdly familiar. His warm body under yours strangely soothing. 

You push the jacket even lower, revealing his broad shoulders, hard muscles under the soft curves of his body. Runes and sacred symbols itched in his skin, reminding you of home. You shift on top of him to reach his back and powerful hands fly up to your waist to help you keep your balance. The heat of him warms up your core, and you find yourself not wanting to leave his embrace. 

Once you’re mainly done, you sit back, and stare at his face. His hands are still on your waist, burning where they meet the sliver of bare flesh between your top and pants. It’s unconscious, your body reacting on its own, but you ground yourself on his leg, your cunt pressing against his thigh in search of something you’ve denied yourself for too long. He notices of course - arched brow and knowing smile - and the iron of his irises melt to a deep night blue. Your fingertips ghost over the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, smooth over the silver strands of his beard, just enough time for you to gather your courage and finally take the bait of his lips. 

You press delicate kisses on his mouth, until he parts his lips. He tastes like gingerbread and brandy and it pairs surprisingly well. Nick keeps kissing you and strengthens his hold on you, brings you down on his thigh and flexes the muscle. He drinks your sudden gasp with a low chuckle. Bastard. 

“You like this, mmh? Come on, take what you need my little fairy.” he whispers in your neck, his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle softly. He repeats his move, encouraging you to find your own rhythm. Warmth builds and builds between your legs, you can feel how wet you’re becoming while you seek the delicious friction of his thigh against your swollen flesh. 

Nick is drowning you in filthy praises between two deep kisses, tongue tasting the roof of your mouth like you’re a sugary treat. Your hands are buried in his long hair, yanking him to you when he dares to leave too much space between you two. You’re close but it’s not yet enough, and you wish he would give you more, let you open his pants and really ride him. 

It’s like he can read in your mind - you don’t understand how the whole wish thing works, maybe he is - and he rises from the couch, holding you in his arms in an impressive display of strength, before he spins and lays you back down on the sofa, landing on top of you. 

“I guess you deserve a gift too sweetheart, you work so hard, it’s your turn to be taken care of.” He dips his head, kisses you once again, and there’s a devotion and a passion that wasn’t there a moment earlier. He smiles against your lips and his voice is like molten chocolate, decadent and rich: “Merry Christmas” he rasps, before sliding lower and bringing down your pants with him.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Perv!Dark!Jim Hopper x fem!reader • Jealousy, angst, posessive Hopper • Hopper has a corruption kink and some dark fantasies about reader

PART TWO

Chief Jim Hopper knew he had a problem; several, in fact. There was his moderate abuse of alcohol which bordered on severe, especially under times of heightened stress (which to be fair, seemed like most of the time these days). Then there was his pill addiction, the ones he found himself leaning on throughout the day when the effects of the previous night’s alcohol had worn off. But the problem Hopper had that bothered him the most, perhaps, was the one that involved YOU…

He was absolutely, unequivocally in lust with you. Every time Hopper saw you, the limited bit of feminism he’d learned over the years flew right out the window. He wanted you, and not in a pretty way, or any way that implied romance, flowers, dating, none of that. He wanted you carnally, in a way that almost frightened him because of the strength behind it.

Hopper knew he could control himself, at least physically. He wasn’t worried about that, wasn’t concerned that he’d hurt you. But mentally…he was out of control. The fantasies that filled his mind involving you were beyond pornographic; they were sinful. Everything sweet about you, everything pure, Hopper wanted to corrupt.

As the station’s new secretary, he saw you daily, heard your voice chatting on the phone and with your co-workers. And fuck, how he wanted you. He wanted to know if your pretty face would still look so sweet, so innocent, with his cum running down it? How distorted would your sweet voice sound with his cock rammed down your throat? Would you still be smiling if his hands were in your hair, yanking it backwards as he stretched your asshole beyond its capacity to take him?

Hopper knew he was sick. And sometimes, when he was alone and drunk, or high, he didn’t fucking care that he was sick. He didn’t mind being a monster, in those moments with his hand around his cock, lying on his back with his eyes closed, imagining your mouth around him instead. Servicing him, seducing him, your pretty eyes on his and only him.

He was your boss, after all. Your superior in every way. How Hopper wished he could take advantage of that superiority, to abuse his position of power as thoroughly as he longed to abuse your throat. It was all fantasy, of course, and therefore safe. A secret indulgence that Hopper took little pride in during sobriety, but that he found himself a slave to when intoxicated. Even at the station, he’d have no choice but to relieve himself in the privacy of his office.

Hearing your voice just outside his door, knowing what you were wearing as he’d seen you when he entered the station that morning, Hopper would lock his door and have his pants undone before he got back to his chair. He’d loosen the top buttons of his shirt, sit back and stroke himself to the sound of your voice beyond the door, hanging on your words, the gentle trill of your laughter. He’d imagine how pretty your moans would sound as he took you from behind, how sweetly you’d whimper as he pumped his cum inside you, then licked you clean.

Hopper would reach for whatever was nearby, usually his emptied coffee cup from that morning, and ejaculate into it. And what a poor substitute for your mouth it was, he’d think, breathless and leaning fully back in his chair, cock still leaking and twitching in his hand. He’d always toss the cup into the trash can and clean himself up, so no one suspected a thing. No one else at the station was aware of his perversions, and that’s how Hopper wanted it to be. He knew that if his secret got out, it would ruin his already faltering reputation within the community. Hawkins was his hometown, and had generally been sympathetic considering his past trauma and choice to return home after the death of his daughter. But this? Combined with the rumors of Hopper’s substance abuse, the fact that he was lusting after the new secretary at least ten years his junior would likely solidify his reputation as a degenerate and render him unfit for duty.

Hopper was lonely, very lonely. It had been months since he’d last had a woman, and even then, it was so casual and boring that it meant nothing to him. He hadn’t even wanted her, truthfully; she was just a wet, willing mouth to suck him off, parked behind The Hideaway bar downtown after they’d both indulged in far too many beers. She’d swallowed his cum, he’d fingered her in the front seat to climax, and that was the end of it. She’d left his car for her own, parked a few feet away, and they’d never seen each other since. She’d tried to get his attention in the weeks after, but Hopper wasn’t interested.

Because a week later, you’d come to work at the station, and Hopper’s world (at least, his internal world) had been flipped upside down. He’d never been more attracted to anyone in his life, never felt such an instinctive, primal yearning for a woman who he literally knew almost nothing about. But really, Hopper would ask himself, did he need to know more? He could see everything he wanted to take from you, from just one look in your direction. That body…those soft pink lips that would look even softer with his cum dripping out of them…Your eyes, beautiful eyes that he needed to see rolled back while gagging on his cock…

Hopper was reaching a breaking point, he feared. Although he knew he’d never hurt you, he needed to. He needed to know what you felt like around his dick, what sounds you’d make taking him. He wondered if you’d ever been with a man as big as him before? Hopper knew he was hung, at least three inches above the average man’s size. He was thick too, and he knew from experience that women appreciate a cock with not only length but girth as well. He knew he could pease you, could do things to your body that no other man ever had, if only you’d allow him. If only, if only, if only…

Hopper was drowning in ‘if only’s.’ One way or another, he would have you. The first step , he decided, was to approach you as a colleague. Not as your boss, necessarily, even though that’s what he was. He needed to be subtle about his approach, so as not to come across as abusing his position of power over you. This needed to go down smoothly, softly, a calculated plan of action that Hopper was dedicated to seeing through, from the beginning to where it ended with his cock buried inside you…

He planned to approach you at the station’s annual ‘Spring Fling,’ a community fundraising event for local charities held every year on the second Saturday in April. Hopper chose this event because it was outside of work, yet as an employee of the Hawkins P.D. you were sure to be there. The days leading up to the Spring Fling were the hardest for Hopper, both figuratively and literally. He’d never had to masturbate so often in his life, finding himself painfully hard through most of the work day just being near you. Thank god for the privacy of his office and the lock on its door. Hopper had begun taking extra coffee in the morning with the excuse that he was more tied than usual, with the actual intent of dumping the coffee out and using the empty cups to cum inside.

He groomed himself as usual the morning of the event, taking slightly longer to adjust himself in the mirror before leaving his trailer. Hopper had been a little self conscious about his weight in recent years, but he was tall and knew that his height worked as an advantage for him. Straightening in the mirror, pressing his shoulders back, he met his eyes in his reflection, their deep, intense blue. He was ready.

Hopper planned to make casual, friendly conversation with you, before inviting you to dinner. He’d control his body as best he could, force his eyes not to wander from your eyes to anywhere besides your lips, perhaps, and even then, for the briefest of moments. He needed to seal this deal, to secure your trust (although as Chief of Police and your employer, he was reasonably sure he already had it). No need to get ahead of himself, however, Hopper remembered. It was better to assume you had at least a neutral opinion of him before proceeding, rather than expect your automatic approval.

When he arrived at the Spring Fling, Hopper was surprised to see how just many people had turned out. The event usually drew a big crowd, but the majority of Hawkins seemed to be there this year. It was promising for the charities hoping to earn donations that day, but made Hopper’s effort to spot you in the crowd more difficult. He met up with officers Callahan and Powell, and lingered with them near the stage set up for music to be performed later, hoping that perhaps the trio of them would catch your eye and prompt you to say hello.

When Hopper did see you, he was awestruck. You were, to him, like something divine: an angel dressed in white, your long skirt moving gently in the light April breeze, the neckline low enough to display your breasts but modest enough to keep his mind actively wondering for more. Your hair was pinned up by bright yellow ribbons, tied together at the back of your head to create what looked to Hopper like the crown a princess in a fairytale might wear.

You were so effortlessly elegant, so perfectly innocent, moving through the crowd completely unaware of the effect you were having on Hopper, and likely most of the other men in attendance. Hopper opened his lips to speak as you approached, but was stopped short when he noticed the young man walking alongside you. Hopper hadn’t seen him before, had been so lost in the sight of you that anyone else near you had faded into the background of his vision, blurred by your presence.

The young man smiled and placed his arm around your waist, as if to claim you. Hopper’s jaw tightened; he’d seen this man before. Up close, he was barely a man at all, at least as Hopper perceived. This was a boy, in his early twenties Hopper assumed. Hopper wondered what this boy was doing for you, what he was doing to you, knowing full well that he could do it so much better, regardless of how good this boy was in bed-

“Chief!” you said brightly, pulling Hopper from his vindictive string of thoughts. “It’s so good to see you! I can’t believe this many people showed up today, isn’t it great?”

Hopper forced a polite smile onto his face.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m glad to see such a big turnout.” Hopper’s eyes narrowed slightly at the man with his arm around your waist. “You look beautiful, (y/n),” he said, and you smiled, cheeks going slightly pink. Because of course they did. Of course you blushed easily, because you were so sweet, so soft. And it made Hopper want to absolutely ruin you…

“Who’s your friend?” he asked, his tone slightly sharper than he’d intended. You smiled and looked up at the (admittedly handsome, Hopper conceded) man beside you. “This is Steve, my boyfriend,” you replied, your cheeks going pinker. The young man extended his hand to Hopper for a friendly shake. “Steve Harrington,” he said, his big brown eyes full of a joy that Hopper had only dreamed of ever experiencing. “My mom runs one of the charities participating here today, right over-.” He pointed awkwardly past Hopper, who didn’t bother to look, chuckling slightly. “-Over there,” Steve continued, adding “it’s good to meet you, Chief.”

Hopper studied the boy a moment longer, committing to memory all of the details about him he’d have to pick apart and analyze later. “Likewise,” Hopper lied, taking Steve’s hand and squeezing harder than he needed. Steve’s eyebrows rose but his smile remained polite. “Well uh, (y/n) tells me a lot about her new job,” Steve said, his tone pleasant as ever. Hopper’s eyes shifted back to you. “Does she?” he asked, and you smiled up at Steve.

“I tell him what I can,” you teased. “But not all the details; I can’t give away too much information about everything that goes on at the station-.” You playfully patted Hopper’s arm, and he swallowed. “-You know,” you continued. “Official police business and all that…”

Hopper knew you only were being friendly, but his paranoia made him wonder exactly how much you knew about what went on at the station? Specifically, his daily masturbation when you were just outside his door? Hopper forced the possibility away, refusing to entertain it. If you knew about it, you probably wouldn’t be so friendly towards him right now, or anytime for that matter. You’d probably think your boss was a pervert (and that’s exactly what Hopper knew he was) never speaking to him again unless you had to. You were too sweet, too innocent, to ever condone such carnal, almost animalistic behavior from a man, surely. At least, that’s what Hopper had always assumed. It’s why he wanted to test how far he could soil such a pretty little flower, to pluck every petal and see what you were capable of underneath?

“Only good things,” Steve assured Hopper. He nodded politely. “Well that’s good to hear,” Hopper said, but he wasn’t looking at Steve; he was looking at you. “(Y/N) is a real asset to the station. We’re lucky to have her.”

Steve smiled down at you warmly. “Me too,” he murmured, and you leaned into each other for a quick kiss. Hopper felt his blood boiling.

You noticed the odd look on the Chief’s face, and felt slightly embarrassed. Even though you weren’t at work, and in a casual setting, you worried maybe it was still unprofessional to give your boyfriend a kiss in this situation? In front of your boss? You were still learning the proper decorum for working at the station, and you hoped your innocent display with Steve hadn’t rubbed Hopper the wrong way. The last thing you wanted to be was unprofessional.

To lighten the mood, you decided to attempt a joke. “I think,” you told Steve, glancing from him to Hopper. “The reason the Chief likes me is because I get him those extra cups of coffee right away every time he asks for them.”

Hopper couldn’t help it; his eyes widened slightly. You were giggling, probably oblivious to the actual weight of what you’d said, but…Hopper’s paranoia lurched in his stomach. What if…what if you did know? He scanned your eyes for any sign of hidden meaning, for any indication that you were on to his behavior behind the office door. But all Hopper saw in your eyes was, as usual, a beautiful innocence that lay waiting to be corrupted…

Steve chimed in with “I’ll bet you need every last drop too, huh Chief?”

Hopper frowned at him, not understanding for a moment before he realized Steve was talking about coffee. “With your job, being so stressful, I mean.”

Hopper nodded, realizing that his dislike of Steve Harrington was rapidly shifting to hatred. “Yeah, it’s a job alright,” Hopper muttered in Steve’s direction, still avoiding looking at him.

You noticed a friend of your and Steve’s a few feet away, and waved to them. Steve saw them as well, and you both took a step in their direction. “Gotta go, boss,” you smiled warmly at Hopper. “See you Monday morning.”

Hopper grinned tightly, glancing very briefly at Steve when the younger man took his hand again. “Pleasure to meet ya, Chief,” Steve told him. Hopper didn’t return the sentiment.

The rest of the event dragged on for Hopper monotonously. Although he tried his best to avoid seeking you out in the crowd, he still found himself looking for the yellow ribbons adorning your hair, and the white dress that drifted so gently in the breeze. It was a welcome distraction in a way, having so many people around, speaking to him even though he had no interest in them or their conversation. There was only one person in the crowd that he cared about; and now, he knew that having you would be more of a challenge than ever.

Hopper felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned. He was looking at a woman, and it took him a solid thirty seconds to recognize that she was the woman he’d fucked in his car months ago. “Hello there, Sherrif,” she said with an overly flirtatious drawl, her voice and demeanor reeking of desperation. She slid her hand down Hopper’s arm, and he watched it, noting the harsh, tacky shade of her nail polish. He knew that you would never wear such a color. You kept your nails neat and pretty, painted in soft pastels like the flowers in your hair.

Hopper hated this woman’s hand on him. He hated the way her neon pink lipstick had transferred onto her teeth as she smiled up at him, waiting for validation. Hopper wondered how long it would take to wash that disgusting pink lipstick off his dick later? He smiled back at the woman, watching her light up at his attention, that he remembered her. There was nothing in this for Hopper, he realized, besides a quick fix to a problem only your body, your mouth, could solve for him.

He looked past the woman briefly just in time to see you and Steve leaving the event together, hardly able to keep your hands off each other. It was all the motivation Hopper needed to make yet another bad decision; and so he took the woman’s hand in his, and asked her a question he already knew the answer to: “What’re you doing tonight?”

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober Day 9: Body Worship

DBF!Jim Hopper x Artist!Fem!Reader

Summary: Hooper 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.”

[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. 

[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. 

[nicomundthered]

I saw the gifts from violent night and he is🥵, I know it’s may but what you say about a story with our Santa daddy, thank youu

Santa May-be?

pairing: Nicomund(Santa) x fem! reader

summary: you are being very naughty, and Santa decides to make a surprise visit.

tags: 18+ this is mostly smut, a little fluff, but it’s really just smut.

word count: 7k | ao3

a/n: just going to be completely honest here, I don't know where this came from. Apparently I've been neglecting David because damn! I got carried away. I hope you were asking for smut because this is f*cking filthy. Like really this is only my second attempt at smut and…I am kinda scared.

Anyway thank you for the request, and I hope you enjoy!

masterlist

18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+

Even Santa gets horny in May as it turns out.

Which was unusual. Nicomund has been Santa Claus for over a thousand years now. Time was different for him. One day out of the year felt like weeks, while the other 364 flew by.

That was at least until he started sleeping with you.

It had become his favorite part about Christmas which in retrospect was unfortunate. It used to be solely–unselfishly, for the kids but now…now he could not wait for his present. Which just so happened to be you.

Yes, since you entered his life he struggled through the other 364 days.

It didn't help that you were being unusually active this week. He sat in his workshop and had your notifications turned up loudly on his naughty/nice list. With each naughty deed you did, Carol of the Bells played loudly in the wrong key- indicating that you were in fact, being naughty.

At first he found it amusing, but after the third time just this morning he was getting pissed.

He knew what you were doing. You weren't a bad girl, at least not in the literal sense. No, you only pinged up naughty when you pleasured yourself or had sex. And that wasn't normal for the list. It normally kept zero tabs on people's sexual encounters. He wasn't exactly sure as to why it focused on yours.

Well he might have an idea – you see he and the list were…connected. And the things that he deemed naughty became naughty. He had that power and he himself had no clue how to control it, it just happened.

And for some reason, whatever did control it, had fixated on you.

He didn't have the tendency for jealousy, but he had grown quite enamored by you. It started a few Christmases ago when he heard you soft gasps as you were masterbating in your bedroom. He wasn't being pervy or anything, but the only thing you wanted that year was a toy. And he had it wrapped and in his hand. He only wanted to help you (at least that's what he told himself).

You were shocked at first but then saw the large and attractive man, and invited him to show you how it worked. He stayed for far so long that he had to practically throw the rest of the presents down their respective chimneys as he quickly darted around the rest of the world.

The year after, he brought you a new toy. One that he had made himself, out of a cast of his own erect penis. He’ll never forget how entranced you were by it. The way you told him how big and beautiful it was. The way you wrapped your fingers around it while making eye contact with him.

And it wasn’t until the Christmas after that that he even fucked you. When you held his cock in your hand the first time you muttered in his ear, “I knew it was yours”.

And last Christmas things had escalated. After three rounds and a few hours, he had told you his name. And then for a reason he had absolutely no fucking clue why, he told you about his past while you were satiated and playing with his chest hair.

It was domestic and he didn't do domestic. He was an ancient mythical being, not a human.

In short he had no clue what you were doing to him. You were always on his mind and you were making him very jealous and painfully horny in May. A point in his year that usually flew by, came to a sudden standstill.

If this happened in July at least he could use Christmas in July as an excuse…but May??? It wasn't even halfway until Christmas.

His head snapped as he heard Carol of the Bells again and just like Pavlov's dog, his cock responded to the sound. Blood quickly engorged his member and his balls tightened as if already ready for release.

He had it bad.

He pulled his cock from his red silk pants. He was already leaking and he knew this wouldn't take long at all. This was his fourth painful erection of the day and he was red and sensitive.

He annoyingly looked over to his trash bin and saw all of the used tissues just from today, mere hours in fact. You were turning him into a damn sex puppet is what you were doing.

He didn't bother wetting his hand as he roughly gripped his aching cock. He wanted the burn, he welcomed the pain. Maybe if he jerked off enough like this it would have an adverse reaction and stop him from getting SO damn hard everytime he thought about you.

It took seven, maybe eight rough tugs, all he had to do was think about you enjoying the toy he made you. Then he cried out as his painfully throbbing member spilled his seed- shooting it out all over his hand, pants, and desk.

This time there was very little satisfaction, he sought this release out of necessity because he didn't have the self discipline to not think about you. His cock was very raw now and he grunted and shuddered as he carefully placed himself back in his underwear.

After his breathing and wandering mind calmed down, he put himself in a bad mood picturing you at someone else's house. He angrily smacked his desk and then threw his stein- still full of steaming hot coffee against the wall of his workshop.

He huffed, dramatically crossed his arms, and sat back in his chair. He thought he was above this but as it turns out he wasn't. He opened his desk drawer and rolled out his large map. He spoke your name and his magical map located you.

Miami, Florida.

That explains it, he thought. At the beach, on a vacation…with whom he wondered. Who was so good that you had to be with them four times in a day?

Turns out you were with a couple of friends, all of which he knew of. But then he came across somebody new. Well not new to him, but most certainly new to you.

And this dude made Nicomund’s skin crawl. He had been on the naughty list his whole life, and not because of something particular that Nicomund just happened to make up. No, this guy was actually by the literal definition naughty. Most alarmingly, he's been known to treat women poorly.

Oh no, this won't do.

You were an angel and deserved to be treated like one. You were way too good for this piece of shit and if Nicomund was thinking clearly, he'd have noticed just how possessive he was becoming over you.

But he wasn't. He changed his clothes with an angry scowl on his face.

Now where was his sunglasses?

You were having an ok time. Your friends were already on the beach and your boyfriend was out buying alcohol for tonight. So you were enjoying a little, much needed alone time.

And by much needed, you mean – you finally got to cum.

Your boyfriend had fucked you three times this morning. Once he came so quickly and you didn't even have time to become lubricated. The second time he got into the shower right after he finished. You had enough time to grab Nicomund’s dildo from your bag, and god did you come quickly as the fullness stretched you.

The third time, if you even count it as such, he just wanted you to blow him before he left. You got on your knees and took his average dick down your throat and had him cumming in under four minutes.

As soon as he left you got out the dildo again and came even quicker than he had. It was nowhere near as satisfying as the real thing, but it most certainly was better than any alternative.

Little did either of you know that the cast he made of himself was magical. And that everytime you used it he could feel the phantom grasp of your wet pussy and you could feel his warm velvet hardness. What he attributed to his Pavlovian response or his imaginative mind was actually just your magical cunt. And what you thought was just being properly filled was actually his perfect erection.

You'd both eventually figure this out and make proper use of it and maybe find out new abilities, but at this time you were both clueless.

You cleaned up your mess. You always flooded any surface you were on when you used the toy. And then you put on your bikini. It was red and the bottoms showed…a lot of your ass, but this was for the most part an adult beach so you didn't find yourself embarrassed or worried about children's eyes.

Just as you grabbed the sunscreen there was a loud banging at the door. On first instinct you grabbed your phone and a heavy sculpture of a seahorse to use for self defense. Which looked ridiculous but you knew how people robbed these beach houses. Then you walked over to the door.

You desperately hoped that it was just one of your friends needing to use the bathroom or your boyfriend with his handful of groceries, but you knew that it hadn't been long enough for that.

The banging happened again, this time louder and more persistent.

“Who is it?” you said as confidently as you could manage.

“Open up,” the voice was muffled through the thick door but it was still loud and to be honest scary as fuck.

“Not until you tell me who it is.”

You could almost hear a growl through the door, which sounded oddly familiar. “If you don’t open this door right now you wont get anything for Christmas this year.”

It only took your brain seconds to put the pieces together, “Nic?”

“Yes, now open up or I’ll break down the door.”

You complied quickly and swung open the door, almost dropping the heavy seahorse in your hand.

Your eyes widened when you saw him. He was wearing a short sleeve red and green Hawaiian shirt and black shorts that almost looked like swim trunks. He had on sunglasses and his hair was in a bun.

This would be funny – this should be funny. Santa Claus in Miami dressed to go to the beach should be humorous. But it soooo wasn't.

It was rare you two were ever standing when you were around one another and if you were, he was holding you up, so you sometimes forgot just how tall he was.

His arms and shoulders looked absolutely massive. You practically gulped when you remembered just how strong they are. He looked a little leaner to you. Probably because of the time of the year. You wanted him healthy but you almost frowned – you really liked his belly.

But what was most striking to you was his skin. True you had seen him naked many times but always at night, with soft lighting. Now you could see just how milky white he was in contrast to his numerous tattoos. How absolutely soft and smooth his skin appeared, which you knew was factual. And now the smattering of dark gray almost black hairs on his forearms stood out.

He made your mouth water.

But when you had snapped out of your daze you got worried. Why was he here?

“Is everything ok?” you asked with true concern displayed on your features. Your only contact with him was on the night before Christmas. What was he doing here in May?

He looked like he was snapping out of a daze of his own, “No, everything's not ok,” he ground out through his clenched teeth.

He opened the door further and stepped inside.

“Where is he?”

“Who?” you knew who he was probably talking about but your brain wasn't exactly functioning currently.

“You know damn well who I'm talking about.” He called out a few times and looked around. When he was satisfied he looked back at you.

Oh, he was jealous. The thought made you press your thighs together.

He noticed and it made him take a deep controlling breath in. He threw off his sunglasses not caring in the slightest where they landed.

“Shut the damn door and come here.”

You turned quickly and shut the door, but struggled to lock it because of what all was in your hands.

You heard him hiss. You then blushed as you realized your almost bare ass was now facing him. You then heard his heavy footsteps behind you.

“You are having such a naughty year,” he grabbed both of your ass cheeks that were hanging out of your skimpy bikini bottoms.

He smacked them a few times and watched them jiggle, he felt himself immediately harden. “On full display for the world to see. Do you have any idea how many people you'll put on the naughty list wearing this?”

He suddenly yanked them down your legs and pressed your front half hard against the door, while bringing your bottom half up and closer to him. You dropped both the seahorse and your phone. Both shattered but thankfully missed your feet, you didn't flinch, there was only one thing on your mind.

He shoved his face into your crease.

With your face to the door you didn't even notice that he had gotten on his knees, and you moaned in surprise and absolute delight as he put his face into you from behind.

He lifted his face by the smallest of margins from your center, “When I passed you I could smell him on you,” he went back to your crease momentarily and hummed, “I only smell you now.”

“Oh gah,” you felt a wave of moisture flood you. You may be naughty but he was dirty, and man was it a turn on for you.

“I was worried,” he used his nose to run through your folds, “Don’t want you to smell like anyone else.” He had no clue what he was admitting to you, you didn't either- you were far too aroused.

“Nic–”

He suddenly added his tongue to the mix. Licking you up and down, “You don't taste like him either,” he lapped at your entrance tasting your wetness, “Just taste like mine.”

You moaned sinfully, “Let’s go to the…”

He lunged his tongue into your tight wet little hole. It made you arch back and jam your ass hard into his face.

“Yes, just like that.” he groaned loudly, vibrating your core. You could barely hear him over his face being absolutely suffocated by you. You weren't worried for him though, he loved it when you sat on his face. And the amount of times he's asked you to do it…you knew that his lung capacity was very good.

Juices and his drool were flowing down your thighs and down his chin soaking the collar of his shirt. The wet lapping of his tongue and your ragged breathing were the only two sounds.

His tongue went farther and somehow farther still, until he started poking at your favorite spot. You start clawing at the door, and you almost couldn't believe it – you were about to come on his tongue.

Now you could blame it on many things, after all you were extremely sensitive and yearning from a day of unfulfilling activities, but regardless, when his tongue started poking your g-spot you started squirting all on him.

He was absolutely relentless until he got a somewhat heavy flow started and then he just opened his mouth and drank you in.

“That's a good girl, give it to me,” he said as you continued to rain down into his mouth.

Your legs started shaking and you suddenly felt like you could no longer stand. He read you perfectly and stood lifting your trembling soaked body up with his.

You put your arms around him and looked at him in such a pleasant daze. You softly gasped as you saw how blown his pupils were, more black than blue. His beard was absolutely soaked making it look a couple of shades darker, and he had a smirk on his handsome face.

You cupped his face with both hands and kissed him, tasting the salty-sweet tang from yourself along with Nicomund’s wonderfully delicious mouth. And then you pulled away from the kiss and smacked at his frim chest.

“What do you think you're doing?”

He laughed and started walking you to the bedroom.

“You can't just fuck me –”

He threw you to the center of the large bed. That only shut you up for a second.

“I have a boyfriend you can't just —”

He laid halfway across the bed just so he was face to face with your drenched swollen cunt. He roughly parted your legs. “There she is,” his voice was low as he complimented your pussy.

“Nic…OH!”

He roughly pressed his face into you again. Though this time since he is facing it, his tongue and nose kept brushing your overly sensitive clit, making it a very different experience.

He used his hands for the first time and reached up to grab your covered breasts. His large hands covered them as he not so gently massaged them. Your nipples were already painfully hard and that made him hum into your core once again.

“Take this off,” he commanded as he started to make out with your folds. The smacking sounds of his skillful lips just made you wetter.

You complied quickly, jerking the top over your head. You propped yourself on your elbows so you could look down at him.

His mouth then began to suck. He sucked each fold, and then not as an afterthought, but instead to build the anticipation he finally finally sucked your clit.

Your eyes rolled back a little and you gave a throaty exhale.

He paused and chuckled into you. He released your breasts and moved his hands underneath you to slightly tip your hips up for him. “Hold your legs out for me.”

You did as he requested and held your ankles and spread your legs as wide as you could. You felt your muscles stretch but wanted to give him as much access as you were able to.

He tilted you up a little more, and then started moving you up and down on his face as he continued to lick. The rocking motion was helping him reach the whole length of your crease quickly. The sloppy wet sounds kept getting louder as he kept moving you against his face.

You were moaning like crazy now, and just when you felt your legs start to ache from the stretch he pushed your legs together and pushed them up and back towards your head in a half-backwards roll. He held your legs together tightly.

From this position he could tell just how pink and puffy he had made your pussy, “You like this baby?” he playfully smacked your sensitive cunt a few times. The smacking sounded wet and little drops of your arousal splashed all over the bed and drenched his hand.

“Yes!” he barely gave you a chance to yelp out before he pushed his middle finger inside of you.

“Oh sweetheart you are already gripping me like you're about to cum.”

His voice shot straight through you making you grip even tighter and flutter around his large digit. He pumped in and out a few times, moving slowly, driving you insane. Of course now he'd choose to play with you.

“Give me my finger back baby,” he laughed and slowly pulled it out of you. A long strand of your arousal followed and he slurped it all into his mouth, “I’m not done eating you yet. You taste so damn good.”

He pushed your legs back farther behind your head and held your hips high up towards his face. He was now kneeling on the bed, with a huge tent in his shorts, you desperately tried to grab it. He moved his hips just out of your grasp, “Not yet. You don't get what you want yet. You've been a bad girl.”

He held your cunt so high up now he barely had to bow his head to reach it. You crossed your ankles behind your head as he started to move his mouth against you roughly. Your own body was bent far and weighed down by your lower half, it made it hard to breathe, but the constricted airflow somehow turned you on even further.

He sped his licking, with one hand keeping your legs together while the other occasionally smacked your ass. His beard was beginning to burn you in the best way possible.

“Nicomund pleeeaseee.”

It was the sound of his full name that made him give you pity. If this were up to him he would continue to lick and suck you for hours. He loved your taste and smell, and just getting it once a year was nowhere near enough.

Almost reluctantly he slowly placed two fingers inside of you, you moaned at the stretch, and then he focused on sucking your swollen clit while pumping into you, curling his fingers with each insertion.

It took absolutely no time and you exploded on his fingers. Gravity caused your cum to dribble down your stomach past your breasts. You felt the sheets beneath you soak. And this time your vision did fade out but only momentarily.

As you came down you were still pulsing, and then all of the sudden you felt the pressure again. All of the sudden it felt like too much. He was still licking, even quicker it felt like. You desperately tried to back away, the overstimulation was extreme.

“Nic, st- stop.” you kept trying to slide back but he held you firmly. You weren't going anywhere.

His licking and slurping became even more intense, and in record time your eyes rolled way back into your head and your body shook violently. You tried to push his head away, but by the way you were cumming he could tell that you didn't mean it.

When you finally started to come down from your third orgasm he dramatically slowed down his sucking and moved back to slow licks up and down your slit.

You jerk slightly every time he made it past your clit but it was bearable. He was slowly coaxing you down, almost lovingly you thought.

When you finally could open your eyes, you looked up at him and smiled. He gave you a suck on your inner thigh that would leave a mark. You knew that he did it for one specific reason, but you didn't really want to think about what this meant for your relationship…if you could even call it that. But that was to think about later…

After you’ve had his cock.

“Hey,” you said as he slowly laid your lower half down and then crawled his way up your damp body. He was still fully clothed and as he laid gently on top of you and gave you a deep kiss, you had the thought that he was soaking up your juices with his shirt for later. That's how he was, dirty.

“Hey,” he said after the breathtakingly sweet kiss.

“What are you doing here?” you moved a strand of hair that fell from his bun out of the way.

“Christmas is too far away.”

You looked at him as if to say yeaaaah?

“I- I missed you.”

You smiled and kissed him again.

“I missed you too.”

“Did you you?” he looked at you skeptically, his brows furrowing, “Seems like you've been filling your time with –”

“Shut up,” and then you chuckled.

“What?” he said, almost annoyed.

“I am making Father Christmas jealous. Who woulda thought it?” you laughed again.

“It’s not funny. He's not a good guy.”

“I’m a grown woman and I can take care of myself,” you reached down and grabbed his hard as steel cock.

He visibly shuddered as you started slowly moving up and down his clothed erection, “He’s- he is not…been on the – for all, of…his - life.”

“Shhh it's ok,” you soothed as he struggled speaking. “Let me take care of you now.”

He nodded, completely silent except for his deep breaths in and out from his nose.

This was unusual for him and you filed it back into your mind to bring up later. He was normally rough and dominant, which to be fair he has been, but suddenly he had given you all the power. Like he desperately needed this but was too proud to tell you that.

You slid down his shorts and gasped at how purple and engorged he seemed.

“I've had an- eventful day as well.”

You grabbed him softly because he almost looked like he was in pain, and you didn't want to hurt him.

“Don’t you dare. Grab it!”

You did firmly, and his head bowed and touched your forehead, “Fuck you have no- no idea how- how good that feels.” he kissed you again, you bit his bottom lip and he groaned into your mouth.

“Lay back,” you whispered.

He did and your hands left his cock and started unbuttoning his shirt. He grunted in displeasure, “Get back down there now,” he yanked the shirt off buttons flying everywhere and the material ripped in two.

You pussy pulsed at the sight. He was just so fucking strong.

You moved down him slowly wanting to tease but knowing by the look of his purple leaking member, he wasn't up for that.

And besides, now you knew that it was time to treat him. Little did he know that for the past five or so months, ok it was after you begged to suck him off last Christmas but he didn't let you, since then you've been practicing on his dildo. You could now take almost all of it down your throat and you couldn't wait to show him.

You took him in your hand and gave his leaking slit a lick. He was salty and musky just like you liked him.

His hips jerked up and you playfully said, “I believe after what you put me through –”

“Please don’t, I ne- need you now.”

You realized that for him to ask this he was desperate. And judging by the look of him, he was in pain.

You nodded your ok and his shoulders relaxed a little.

Then you laid on your stomach and propped yourself up on his thick thighs. You gave him a few firm strokes and then licked the underside of him. He groaned and you smirked, you were about to blow his mind.

You sucked on his tip and he squirmed. He opened his mouth to beg again, you knew it, you could see it in his body language and so you abruptly opened your throat and swallowed him down.

His upper and lower body jerked up like he was trying to do an abdominal exercise. His eyes shot to you, wide and shocked, and he hissed out “Oh fuck!”

You stayed all the way to his base. Your nose in his curls and your chin pressed to his balls. You counted to fifteen slowly.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't know what to do. His fists gripped the sheets roughly, peeling them from the mattress. His breathing was almost embarrassingly loud and his sole focus was on not spilling down your glorious throat.

You slowly sucked your way off of him. Spit connected you to his cock even as you pulled away to smile at him.

“I can't take much of that baby.”

“Much of what?” you smirked and launched him down your throat again. This time with his cock sheathed you moved your tongue and lapped at his balls. You were proud of yourself and only slightly gagged once.

This time he was better prepared but only just, “Your boyfriend teach you that?”

You knew that he was desperately trying to keep from cumming. He was wound tighter than you'd ever seen him, his muscles were flexed and shaking, but for some reason he didn't want to cum yet. You imagine that mentioning your boyfriend did bring his arousal down a few notches.

“Nope,” you said as your mouth popped off of him. “I've been practicing on your dildo for your Christmas present.”

His mouth opened in disbelief. Naughty!!!

“That’s very –”

You went down again, but this time continued moving at a slow pace – all the way to the tip of him, down all the way to his base.

That sparked something in him and he put one hand on the back of your head and one caressed your throat. He pushed your head up and down roughly, while simultaneously feeling his cock make your throat swell. Believe it or not this was the first time that he'd actually experienced true deepthroat.

Others had tried but he was too long and girthy, but you, you naughty thing- were taking him like it was your only mission.

Controlling your gag reflex made your eyes tear up and turn red. Spit was pouring out of your mouth now and puddling at his base. He was being rough but it was the good kind of rough. You wanted him to enjoy this, you had practiced a lot for this moment.

And by the looks of him he was most certainly enjoying it. More hair had spilled from his bun. His skin was tinged pink and had a thin sheen of sweat. Every line and wrinkle on his face was amplified by his scrunched up expression, fully concentrated on what you were doing.

He had kept your mouth off of him for the most part in your previous encounters. That was because he enjoyed being inside of you so much he didn't want to waste a minute. But what he just found out was that he was still inside of you this way. And it shocked him at how much you seemed to be enjoying it as well.

You pulled away needing a breather and to give your jaw a little break. You gasped for air a few times and spit all the saliva pouring out of your mouth onto his cock.

You went back down quickly taking him off guard this time. You wanted to feel him spill down your throat, and by the way his head shot back and his balls tightened you knew that any second now you were going to get what you wanted.

“Off,” he practically croaked.

You kept sucking, your sounds were getting ridiculously sloppy.

“Get off,” you could tell that his heart wasn't in his command. He tried to move your head back but you stubbornly fought back, taking him deep.

“STOP IT!” his yell made you still and he pulled your head from him, you sucked as hard as you could on the way up. “Fuck!”

He pulled you to him so your mouth was nowhere near his throbbing member. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried his best to get off the edge. He managed but only just, and only with his eyes glued shut.

“Did you like that?” you cooed as you rubbed his broad-heaving chest.

“You know I fucking did.” He pulled you down for a kiss. You lost your balance and landed on top of him.Your lips were sensitive from the work they’d just done, and his beard lightly tickled them.

Then he absolutely claimed your mouth, every nook was his.

He never enjoyed kissing this much, but kissing you was different. There was something he liked about it, a little too much. He loved your soft lips and when your tongue danced with his it turned him on so much.

“I need you to get on all fours. And I need you to cum quickly.” You continued kissing him and made your way down his neck. “You hear me?”

He rubbed his hand on your lower back as you continued to nip and suck on his neck. You made your way to a scar on his clavicle. He hissed and then smacked your ass, stopping your descent.

“Hey!” You whined.

“I said, did you hear me?”

You shook your head no and moved back in for a kiss. Your eyes were heavily lidded and your own arousal was back at full volume. You were so far gone you couldn't concentrate.

He held you back, “Hey, look at me.”

You did. You blinked at him almost lazily, and bit your lip.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that.” His thumb caressed your bottom lip as your teeth released it. You suckled at his digit. His eyes darkened even further and he slowly said, “I need you to get on your hands and your knees and I need you to cum quick sweetheart.”

You complied and slowly got into position. You were thankful that he wanted you this way. You never lasted long when he took you from behind.

He sat up and damn near passed out. There was too much blood heading south and not enough heading to his brain. He waited until his head rush went away and scooted behind you.

He rammed into you suddenly. You were both so well lubricated he knew that he could without causing you any pain, well real pain at least.

“Nic!”

He took no mercy. He was gone, long gone. His cock disappeared into you fully. He pistoned into you with short, rough strokes. Hitting you right where you needed to be hit repeatedly.

You rested your upper body on the bed, sticking your hips higher. Which made him ram into your spot even harder. You put your arms behind you and he held on to them tightly.

You were going to cum if he kept up his pace. You felt yourself begin to flutter around him.

“That’s it baby. You're such a good girl, listening to me so well.” His hips were smacking into yours with a wet slapping sound that seemed to echo throughout the room.

“Please please please.” You started pushing back into him desperately as he pushed forward.

“I’ve got you.” He reached around and started circling your clit.

“God, I’m gonna, Nic I’m gonna — ”

“Cum for me.”

And you most certainly did. You strangled his cock with your contractions and practically screamed, “Nicomund!”

He almost sobbed at the feeling of you cumming around him. It’s what he’s desperately needed for five long months. He felt your cum coat him as you screamed his real name, and at the last squeeze of your intense orgasm, he came.

He came so hard he yelled your name loudly. His hands grabbed your hips roughly and he wished he could let up, he didn’t want to bruise you, but he needed something to tether him to the earth – to keep him from passing out on top of you.

You made him cum so hard he was dizzy.

He spurted into you, filling you up fully. You felt his hard cock twitching inside of you and you felt his warmth flood you, gushing out as he continued to ram into you.

He came for so long that you were impressed. His cock seemed to twitch inside of you for minutes.

As he slowly regained his senses, he gently attempted to sooth your hips – where he had held on for dear life by softly rubbing them. He pulled out slowly and you both hissed at the loss.

But you knew to stay absolutely still.

He bent down and watched some of your mingled cum pour out of you. Then he licked you clean. Normally he would clean you by eating you out until you came again, but he knew that you were absolutely spent, so he kept it to the bare minimum. Lazily drinking what he could, as you squeezed out what he left behind.

He sighed contently as he laid on the bed and pulled you to him. You immediately snuggled into him and placed your hand on his chest.

You both laid there in a comfortable silence. You felt so at peace when you were in his arms. So very safe and warm. It was your favorite place to be. You cared for him, and you didn’t think that he knew that.

But you also felt like that this whole relationship thing, or whatever it was, was his call. He knew more than you did, and had more riding on it than you. Though, you couldn't help it, you really wanted to tell him what he meant to you.

How you felt when he was around. How you thought about him throughout the year. How you couldn’t wait for December. How he was making you wish your life away by always wanting it to be Christmas Eve.

“What are you thinking?” His voice was so soft and gravely.

“Nothing.”

He lifted his head up and looked down at you, raising his eyebrow in disbelief.

“I just — this was fun.”

He rubbed your back, “It was.” He was silent for a second and then continued, “Listen, maybe we need to come up with a way to do this more than once a year.”

You looked up at him and your face was absolutely beaming up at him. “That sounds good.”

“Yeah?” He smiled.

“Yeah. That would be great Nic.” You moved your hand down to his belly and gave him a hug.

He pulled you tighter into the hug and kissed the top of your head.

“I have one condition.”

You tensed a little having no idea what he was going to say. “What is it?”

“You're mine alone.”

You took a moment to really decide if that was what you wanted. It didn’t take long in all honesty, you just didn’t want him to know just how much this meant to you.

“I’m yours.”

He looked shocked and something almost sinister clouded his eyes, he felt possessive again. Hearing you say that snapped something in him, or rather, maybe it tore something down.

“Can I request the same from you? I- it’s ok if — ”

“You’re it.”

You smiled again, he could feel your cheeks move against his skin, and you pressed a kiss on a deep scar on his chest.

The two of you laid there for a few more minutes. When your eyes became heavy and your breath deepened, he gently shook you.

“I have to leave.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you held him tighter.

“I don’t want to go. Believe me, but I have to.”

“I know. I’d never keep you from being Santa Claus.”

You both slowly sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. He looked over at you seriously. His brows furrowed and his hands gripped his knees.

What you had said affected him so deeply.

When you had mentioned him being Santa it was like throwing ice water in his face. He would never stop being Santa Claus, and you only had a couple decades left of your life. He fought the sudden urge to walk away from it all, and stay in this bed for as long as you had left.

You moved in front of him and stood between his legs. You pulled his head to your chest and you rubbed the back of his head lovingly. He wrapped his arms around you and looked up at you.

“Whatever we can have Nicomund. That is what I want.”

His damn eyes teared up and you leaned down and kissed him.

“I don’t want you to but you need to go. You have a lot of work to do.”

He laughed, and then sighed, “It seems like it never ends.” He was thankful you had quickly moved on because he was a heartbeat away from giving you absolutely everything.

You backed away from him. “When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to have to invent a way for us to communicate.”

“No phones?”

“Not at the North Pole I’m afraid.”

“Oh…”

“But don’t worry, I'll think of something. It’s kinda my thing.”

You laughed and he stood up and towered over you. Gosh he was so tall. He kissed you again and then smiled at you.

He put on his shorts and slid on his shoes. He found both halves of his shirt and slung it over his shoulder. He used magic and cleaned and straightened the bed.

You walked him to the door where he used his magic to fix your phone and the stupid seahorse sculpture.

“Why don’t you just fix your shirt?”

He smirked at you, “Oh you know why.” He tilted his head, pressed his nose into the fabric, and took a deep sniff.

You reddened and were about to say something when the son of a bitch touched his nose and disappeared.

He wouldn’t get away with this, you’d make sure of it.

THE END

[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.” 

[itsonlydana]

"Sehnsucht" || Gran Turismo (2023)

Sehnsucht: German from sehnen (“to long”) + Sucht (“anxiety; sickness; addiction”)

meaning: yearning or craving, but the word as a concept and its roots can refer to a lingering illness of heart-wrenching pining for something

➛ pairing: Danny Moore x fem!reader

➛ idea: Two people too blind to see what the other feels until Jack Salter puts a stop to the hurting and wondering

➛ tags/warnings: Age difference, mature language, mention of drinking, idiots in love, hurt/comfort

➛ word count: 5k

➛ an: i am obsessed with this movie and Orlando Bloom so here we are - i wrote this baby in three days

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Fuck

Would have been the first word of the day but all you can do is groan as the feeling of something pounding inside your head drags you out of sleep.

The hammering is brutal and while your brain is still trying to fight back the lingering grasps of the night and you don't really know what is going on, you are sure you are dying.

"Fuck"

The curse, now being moaned against the warm spot of the pillow your face is mushed against, feels heavy in your dry mouth and hard on your chapped lips. The feeling is disgusting and not just because your mother always threatened to wash your mouth out with soap if you dared to swear but because your tongue is hefty and there is no spit left whatsoever and speaking feels more like grating the words over your teeth.

The hammering doesn't stop, it grows louder and louder, becoming unbearable as your body and mind wake up slowly.

Heat washes over your body in unpleasant waves and you try to kick the sheets away but they cling to your sweating body. You feel like you are burning up, not only from the sheets but from the inside as well. You kick the sheets harder, legs rubbing against each other until the fabric finally slides down and bunches together somewhere at your feet. You couldn't care less about where it lands.

The relief is instantaneous. A slight breeze caresses your nearly nude body and you slightly lift your head in the direction you presume the wind is coming from.

It's deliciously calm at this moment of quiet, the air fills your lungs, kisses the sweat on your body, sends refreshing shivers that soothe the pain in your head and a soft sigh escapes you.

Taking a deep breath your mind finally settles and in that exact moment the sweet moment of ease slips from between your fingers, blurred memories of last night crushing down on you like a bucket of ice-cold water.

A gasp tears through you as you sit up in shock, the sound tearing through your rib cage and lungs painfully like a punch and echoing through the hotel room you find yourself in. Your chest rips apart, every breath shattering another bone and ripping muscle after muscle, while the memories claw their way back from the hazy wall of your subconsciousness back into the forefront of your mind.

The dim light of the bar should've been dark enough to mush the faces, surely they had been counting on it, he had been counting on it but you would recognize him everywhere.

The dark hair with the curls falls into his face, hides his eyes which certainly are closed in pleasure and you can only stare at the hands that are currently raking through the locks, messing up the slicked-back style he favors. His arm flexes, the muscles straining against his shirt visibly even from far away, as he cages the woman against the wall while his other arm is planted firmly next to her head, hiding most of her but not enough that you don't see how pretty she is.

You should look away, save yourself from the pain the image inflicts on you and still- you physically can't turn.

It's like watching a car crash happen, it has been ever since Danny started talking to the woman. Him buying her drinks and flirting with her was the car losing control, spinning and swerving. The hope of everything turning out alright when he had dismissed her arm on his for only a second.

Hope blossoming under conditions far too dark, far too impossible.

Hope repairing the crack in your heart, only to rip it into pieces when he leans into her, whispering into her ear and she laughs and she blushes and you stare.

You stare

watching the car crash

watching Danny lead the woman to the dance floor

watching Danny put his hands on her waist, moving to the music, moving far away from you

watching them stumble to the bathrooms and not making it before he pushes her against the wall

watching alone from the bar, left alone, left to suffer.

And then there was Jack, pulling you into his side, placing a drink into your hand with a mumbled "Come on, drink up, kid" and you bleed and cry and hold on to the shoulder holding you up.

Danny left with that woman, you remember it clearly despite the effort to drink enough to forget. They had left not shortly after he had kissed her and after that, everything had been a blur of alcohol burning in your throat and stomach, the world spinning and turning and coming to a full stop somewhere after you threw up and Jack had to carry you back to the hotel.

It had become a recurring routine, an unhealthy habit you had fallen into ever since Danny Moore had kissed you after the first race you placed first, with all three of you celebrating and Danny and you walking along the beach after Jack had taken off to the hotel room. Your hands had brushed against each other, gentle like the waves coming up licking the sand, a soft caress of the side of his hand that wasn't stuffed into the pocket of his black coat until it became an intertwining of your pinkies, a soft and gentle fall of your hands into each other and his thumb stroking over your skin.

It was how he had pulled you in and kissed you, your hands pressed between your chests, breath coming quickly because of the swift movement and his lips tasted like the salty seawater when his lips moved in synch with yours.

You dry heave, another sob breaking out of your sore throat and would there have been any more liquid in your body you surely would have started crying again. But you were all empty, left hollow and raw.

Your eyelashes still stick together, as you lift a hand to rub over your face and they come back smeared black with ruined mascara. Forcing yourself to get up, you shift to the side of the bed, Jack's bed you presume from the black suitcase lying on the floor and some of his personal items scattered over the surfaces of the room. Legs dangling over the bed you lift your head and are suddenly confronted with your own image.

That Jack had a mirror placed next to the bed was a thought pushed away by the reflection you see. There is no room for any jokes as you stare at the puffy and reddened cheeks with black streaks running over them. They are an ugly reminder of how you tried to catch Dannys eye, the carefully applied eyeliner in the hope of him seeing you again ruined and smudged.

The bags under your eyes tell the story of many nights spent tossing and turning, not being able to fall asleep with the things running through your mind. The question of why you were still trying is always there, whispered into your ear by your insecurities and fears in a voice that sounds strangely like Danny sometimes. Though you know that he would never ask you this.

He was still all over the project "GT-Academy"; despite the fact that Nissan offered him a bigger position which he had declined with a smile and a "No thank you, I am very happy where I currently am" to the cameras when someone had slipped it to the reporters.

They had asked you as well how you felt about Danny's decision, shocking you with this opportunity he hadn't told you about but thank god for all the media training. Falling into a perfected smile the astonishment and hurt were quickly hidden behind a positively neutral facade. You had told them you couldn't dream about working with anyone else than Danny and Jack on your side, moving the question away from its origin and following it up with the upcoming plans you three were working on.

After that interview, you and Danny had argued.

Again.

That started happening a lot more ever since he had kissed you on the beach and stopped looking at you the next morning. In front of the cameras, he was still praising you, talking about "combined forces" and "partnerships" and "teamwork" and "supporting you" while he strayed farther and farther from you away from the lenses and microphones.

Him joining you on the sidelines of every race, cheering for you and always hurling you into a hug if you did well became a rarity. At first the hugs stopped, became handshake and then he excused himself from the races, babbling about press conferences or filming commercials for Nissan before he simply stopped giving you an explanation and just showed up now and then.

He was slipping from your fingers, after three years of working with each other and flying all over the world to see new places and win races, he was harder to reach every day and every night when he would disappear with another woman you lost him more and more.

If you only knew what you had done wrong.

You flinched when a soft knock sounds through the room before the door is opened a crack and Jack tucks his head inside.

"So you are up already", he opens the door wider, stepping inside with the question you don't have the energy for to answer.

Instead, you shrug your shoulders, not turning away from the mirror.

Jack exhales and crouches down to his suitcase. "Don't know if you're hungry but I ordered some room service.", he grunts when he stands up again. "Suppose you should get at least coffee into you." A shirt is thrown in your direction and lands next to you on the bed. It's far too big, falling down to your thighs even while sitting down and you look like a child stealing their fathers' clothes.

"Thank you", you mumble, throat still dry and tongue still heavy.

Jack shakes his head, "No worries. Here, take this as well", he said and walks over to the bed with a bottle of water and what is probably an aspirin-both you take gladly.

While you swallow the pill and greedily inhale the cooling water, Jack sits down next to you. He leans back a bit, his hands behind him on the mattress and you wordlessly fall into the offered shoulder, your pounding temple pressed against his collarbone.

"You should talk to him", Jacks voice is low and the words spoken cautious and his left arm curls around your waist as if he knew you were close to jumping up and running away.

"Jack", you sigh his name in a weak form of protest.

He shakes his head again, before laying his chin on yours. "No I mean it. This won't go well if you don't clear the air", the words vibrate through your body.

"I have this under control" A lie. Not even a good one, as evidently proven wrong by the state of you last night.

"Don't lie to me, kid. I had to carry you into and out of the cap because you were so out of it. Not that I don't understand it. Shit, I did far worse stuff when I was in l-", he stops and you freeze.

The unspoken word hangs between you in the air, pressing down on you like a heavy weight.

"Kid-", Jack starts but you stop him, lifting one hand to lay it against his chest.

It's not like you have never talked about Danny with Jack. At first you tried to suppress the feelings slowly growing for the man but two years ago, when they started influencing your driving because you had no one to talk about it, you had confided in Jack. He had been surprisingly calm about the whole situation, not hot-headed as you knew him but maybe that was partly fault of the whole you still winning races and maybe turning up at his hotel room at 3 am with a bottle of whiskey had surprised him more than you spilling your secret.

So yes, Jack knew that you were falling hard for Danny, have been for a while.

"I didn't mean it like that", Salter says.

You sigh, deflating even more into him. "No, it's fine. I know.. I do", you pause, swallowing "I do love him"

The arm around you tightens and you feel Jack tensing up. "I will kill him someday. Fucking around with you like that. Fuck, he should know better" Looking up Jack wears a stony expression, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows drawn together.

"He has been in the media business far to long for him to fuck up this hard. And those women he fucks" He raises a hand and pinches the bridge of his nose, huffing out in annoyance. "Every damn press conference, I wait for the question about these women and their looks to drop and then I would love to see what he would do."

"Yeah", you sigh wistfully and turn your head back to the mirror. The next sentence is barely a whisper when you say it: "Why do they all have to be this pretty?"

In the mirror you can see Jack's eyes snap down to you, looking at you in a way that makes you think you missed something crucial and just when you want to ask him what that could be, a sharp knock comes from the door.

"Must be room service", Jack excuses himself, unfolding from you as gently as a man his size can and ruffles your hair. He stands up with another groan and you bite back a smile and a joke about how a man his age shouldn't be out partying this hard and late. There is another knock, knuckles meeting the door in the main room hard and fast, in an urgency that has Jack rolling his eyes. Grumbling to himself he walks out of the bedroom, heading for the door you can see from your place on the bed: "Fucking 5-star hotel and you would think with the money we pay they could wait a minute. Let me get that. You should eat something, and if I don't get ´nother coffee in me soon-"

The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue as he opens the door.

You stay quiet, watching in confusion as Jack's back straightens and one hand curls into a fist that surely wasn't a result of excitement at seeing coffee.

Then you can hear him, the low rasp of his voice, desperate and tired: "Jack, I fucked up. I fucked up hard"

Salter doesn't move an inch. Even when you can see Danny trying to take a step into the room, he squares his shoulders and blocks Danny's way with one hand stemmed against the door frame.

"Don't think you should be here right now", Jack says, a warning tone in his voice that Moore seems to interpret the wrong way.

"Oh, you have a girl in there?", you can hear him and see Jack shaking his head. "Then let me in, please. I need to talk to you about something important and I swear I will fucking explode if I don't"

"Moore-", Jacks voice takes on a low growl.

"No, Jack, I mean it. I fucked up badly. There was this woman last night at the bar, don't know if you remember but-"

"Moore, I don't really care who you pick up. If you need someone to get her out of your room call hotel security"

"No!", frustrated Danny groans. "She didn't stay. Not after what I did. Jack, I really don't want to discuss this standing in this hall! We have enough reporters on us already, don't you think?"

Before you had simply stared out the room, frozen at the sudden confrontation with Danny standing right outside but the mention of the woman, pressed against the bathroom, raking her hands through Dannys hair, her mouth clashing against his, you whimper and lift your legs slowly. Bringing them up to your chest, you wrap your arms around them, hugging yourself as to not break out into tears. You don't find any comfort in the fact that she didn't stay. It's even worse to think that Danny just finds a woman, fucks her and then she leaves him.

You could never leave him.

Not if he gave you the chance but he ripped that away from you before you could find out how his touch would feel.

What was it with these women that they could get his attention, even for just one night, but you were left alone to wonder and dream and hope and suffer?

The next whimper leaving your mouth reaches Jack and just when he whips his head to you, eyes looking you over to make sure you are alright, Danny uses the opportunity to duck under his arm and sneaks into the room.

You freeze up again at the sight of him. He is still wearing the same shirt as yesterday but now it's nowhere near as smooth, it's not even tugged into the black jeans and he looks so disheveled and panicked as he trips over a heel, your heel. Your hand flies to your mouth, trying not to make another sound and draw his attention towards you.

"Jack I need to tell you something and you have to promise me that you let me explain before you try to kill me, alright?", Danny stops, his back to the wide open bedroom door, and you don't dare to blink or move a muscle. You are fixated on his unruffled image, drawn into it by the pure realness of him. Where he normally is perfect, always knows what to say, always knows how to present himself to the public, he is now completely unraveled.

"Danny I swear to god-" Jack groans again. "Get out of here!"

"I can't!", Danny cries out, shifting his weight from one foot to the other "I fucked up. She could already be on her way to whatever newspaper is hearing her out and trust me; any of them will tear into her and then into us. Into me. Into her!"

Instantly, Jack's body language changes and with one swift movement the hotel room door slams close through a shift of his arm. "What the fuck did you do Moore?", he fixates the other man, staring him down and Danny shrinks, hiding between lifted shoulders.

"I said her name," he admits, and the room temperature drops.

Jack's eyes grow hard, his jawline is so tense you are sure his teeth are grinding against each other. You have never seen him this angry. Not this type of anger, anyway.

Jack Salter was hot-headed and was known for losing his temper if some of the male reporters threw some truly disgusting offers your way and a few years back when you'd tried to win your FIA-license and Nicholas Capa had made it his mission to nearly kill you on the track, Jack had been close to punching the arrogant boy in front of everyone at the podium.

This was a new version of his anger and it scares you how calm he seemed.

"You said what?", he asks, lip twitching and head following the question with a shaky movement.

"Her name", Danny moans, "Fuck, I was trying so hard and then I say her bloody name when I'm with another woman. I'm going crazy Jack, she's messing with my head and nothing helps"

Who was he talking about? You nearly break your skull thinking of the woman that Danny Moore had been seen in public within the last few years and while you can remember some names and faces from before the Academy, there were almost no memories of mentions or pictures popping up in the press after that. There have been the women at the bars, of course, but none of them had been with him longer than a night.

"Danny, I don't think we should have this conversation right now", Jack presses, moving towards the door again and his hand is already on the handle, fingers curling around the gold-colored metal when Danny explodes.

"How can you be calm about this, Salter? I bloody moaned our girl's name into the ear of a woman who is probably blabbing to a reporter and I need to talk to her before the press asks her why her mentor is thinking about her when he fucks another woman! I don't give a rat's ass who you have hidden in your bedroom! Tell whoever it is you picked up that you will be back but right now I really need your help finding-"

He turns around and your name falls off his tongue in a breathless stutter as his gaze glides into the bedroom. Onto you, sitting in Jack's bed with Jack's shirt, clinging to your legs in an attempt to calm down your breathing that has quickened up during the last few minutes and has now become quite panicked.

You two stare at each other, you already with tears blurring your vision but you can clearly see Jack rubbing a face over his beard. He clicks his tongue against his teeth, grinding out a: "Well now fuck this", before he pushes past Moore, who is standing still in the middle of the room, the arm he had swung into the direction of the bedroom dropping to his side.

The words are burning themselves into your mind as you stare at him, scorching your skin all the way down into your heart which surely has stopped beating because this can't be real.

Your hands fist themselves into the fabric of the shirt, knuckles becoming white with the strength and while your fingernails press into your palms nearly painfully sharp, you can't stop.

Danny Moore has a look in his face that you can't describe. If you had to try though, you would think of a mixture of absolute shock as he first sees you, morphing into anger, longing, and fear in a speed that not even your cars can achieve. His mouth opens to say something and you beg him with your eyes to please say anything, but he just lets his jaw open and close.

The great Danny Moore. Speechless at the sight of a bit of naked skin and you in Jack's hotel room.

Ironic how much you had wished for most of this.

While you and Danny continue the contest of not breaking away from each other, Jack is cursing and grabbing some stuff like his phone, a watch and the coat hanging over the end of the bedframe. He stalks over to your side of the bed again, taking your chin into his hands when you don't react to him calling your name and forces you gently to look at him. His eyes glide over your face, thumbs swiping away the few tears that have escaped down your cheek.

"You need to tell him", he says quietly to you, holding your face in the large palm of his hand. "You tell him everything and I am sure it will work out, kid. Be brave" Jack presses his forehead against yours before he turns and points a finger at Danny.

"If you do any more stupid shit I will nail you to the ground by your balls, Moore.", the threat has Danny nod, even though his eyes show he has no idea what is going on right now.

With that Jack disappears out of the door and the slam is loud enough that you flinch. The aspirin may have worked but the whole situation has your head hurting again.

You look from the door back to Danny, wincing at the man slowly walks into the bedroom. He stops at the doorstep, his posture unsure and drawn into himself like a mirror of how you are holding up.

You wait with bated breath for him to say what is going on, what he meant before.

He finally opens his mouth again, speaking slowly: "So you and Jack, huh?" and the laugh that leaves you is tinted in agony.

"No", you shake your head. "No, not me and Jack. I just slept here" It's a poor explanation, one that doesn't cover how you had curled into the other man's chest as you cried yourself to sleep. You half-heartily lift your chin and point into the other room. "He slept on the couch"

"Ah", Danny nods and pushes his hands into the pocket of his pants. He seems so unsure, so lost and nothing like the man Nissan prides itself with as marketing manager. No sign of his self-confidence in front of the cameras, just as little of his ability to speak quickly and well articulated in any situation. He is a picture of misery.

You two must make a fantastic looking couple right now. Nissans employee of the month and flagship racer reduced to two lost souls staring at each other in completely inappropriate states and a longing between them that would put Shakespeare's tragedies to shame.

You lose the tight grip on your legs, letting them fall back onto the mattress. "Do you mean it? What you said to Jack."

Dannys face screws up and he raises a hand to run it through the mess that is his hair. "Darling, I didn't want you to hear it like that", he starts and you can hear the apologies creeping their way into the conversation, the attempt he will grap on to deny because you know Danny and you know he will always try to save a situation with what he thinks is easiest rather than what is right.

"But I did", you interrupt him "I did and I want to know if you meant it. Because I really need to hear you say the truth right now" There is a begging edge to the words and you turn, sitting on your knees and pushing your fists into the crumbled-up sheet.

Danny comes closer, one step at a time, working out what to do and what to say. Brown locks fall into his face, eyes directed onto the floor like he can't bring himself to look at you.

But you- you can't look away from him.

He has the sleeves of his white shirt pushed up, his muscles flexing as he sits down carefully and leans forward, elbows on his thighs, hands rubbing over his face. You stare at the collar of the shirt, on the buttons he forgot or just didn't bother with and the skin that is right in your face because of it. There are freckles on his chest, dark stars dusted on his tanned skin, drawing you in in such a mesmerizing way.

His hands move to his hair, once again, raking his fingers through it though it doesn't change a thing. "Darling", he mumbles, focusing on his fingers and picking something nonexistent from his nails, "I have no bloody idea how I should start this, fuck. This shouldn't be how you find out, or what you deserve."

"You can't tell me what I deserve"

"No, but I know it's not me"

He finally looks up, dark chocolate brown eyes locking onto yours. There is a longing in them, one you have seen on pictures of yourself whenever someone captured you staring at Moore at press conferences. One that surely must be reflected in your gaze a well.

You shuffle closer. Close enough that your knees brush against his thigh and he flinches, his head twitching to the other side but one of his hands betrays his effort of holding back. It drops down to your leg and as soon as the warmth of his palm makes contact with your naked skin you gasp. Rough finger pads start moving in circles as you lean into him.

"Is that why you ignored me after the kiss?", you ask, and he nods.

"You deserve another man, a better one. Jeez, look at me." He points at himself, raising an eyebrow that radiates disappointment over himself. "I could be old enough to be your father and when I realized I couldn't have you I picked up women who looked like you. That's not the standard you should go for. You can go for so much better"

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you are about to say, about to admit.

"Danny Moore" You lean in closer, the mattress dipping under the weight of both of you so close together and your body nearly topples onto him. You use both of your hands to steady yourself, fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans. "You don't get to kiss me, ignore me and try to replace me", your voice shakes, breath stuttering in beat with the double tempo your heart has taken to beat in.

When Danny looks at you again, there is a smile on his lips. "It was easier than doing the right thing."

"And which would have been?"

"Never stop bloody kissing you"

There is a second in which you simply stare at him, the wonderful and stupid man in front of you and then you kiss him. It's not as gentle as the first one you shared under a field of stars, not like you had imagined it ever since. It's messy and raw, your feelings pouring out of your mouth in desperate kisses and Danny answers. His hands find your waist under the shirt, holding onto you as he kisses you back and your eyes flutter close as his lips move against you in such a perfect way.

Both of you know you need to talk, need to figure out how to move on from this point- not right now though.

Right now you just give into the longing, the yearning, the hope blossoming in just the right circumstances.

And the Sehnsucht in your heart explodes, soars as it finally finds what it has been looking for.

[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.

[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)

[space-cowboys-and-aliens]

BABY MASTERLIST

Frankie Morales

New Year’s Eve (T)

Bar Fight (E)

Joel Miller

Headcanons (M)

Jim Hopper

Off The Case (M)

Read My Mind (T)

Red Guardian/Alexei Shostakov

“Who did this to you?” (T)

David Harbour-Inspired

Afraid of Amazonian Warrior Goddesses (E)

[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

──────────────────────

“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.

[americaswritings]

"This is the Phoenix Police Department. Am I speaking to Jann Mardenborough?"

Jann startled, his heart stumbling in his chest and suddenly he was wide awake. "Uh, yeah, I'm Jann", he managed, his voice still low from sleeping.

"We are calling about Jack Salter. He was arrested this evening."

[storiesforallfandoms]

small ~ jim hopper;stranger things

word count: 1958

request?: yes!

“Oh my fucking god, I’m not the person who asked for Hopper but holy fucking shit balls. Maybe like you and Hopper go out one night just to get drunk and you do the like hand comparison thing and he just absolutely wants you then and there. But like his pov with a side of inner turmoil because he’s nervous about what would happen afterwards? I don’t really know, so basically anything, there’s not enough Hop on here.”

description: when they go out for a couple of drinks after work, neither of them expected it to end the way it did

pairing: jim hopper x female!reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, hinted smut but nothing detailed, slight age gap (hopper is mid 40s, reader is late 20s) and slight power imbalance (hopper is police chief, reader is newly appointed officer)

masterlist (one, two)

My usual drink was waiting for me in my usual spot as I entered the bar. I knew that should’ve concerned me, but it was yet another long day and I needed something to take the edge off. So I sat up on the stool that became my “regular spot” and took a sip from the beer that had become my “regular drink”.

I usually drank alone on nights like this, but this particular night a familiar voice asked, “Mind if I join you, chief?”

I looked over my shoulder to see our new rookie, (Y/F/N). She was still in her uniform, likely also just off from her shift. I hadn’t had a lot of interaction with her since her promotion, but I remembered her being an incredible trainee in her early days.

Not to mention she’s cute.

“Of course,” I said, gesturing to the empty stool next to me. “It’s a free country.”

She sat up next to me and ordered a pint of beer for herself. I glanced over at her as I raised my drink to my lips. There are certain ways to tell when a cop is new to the force and that is by how young they appear. (Y/N) still had that beautiful, youthful look to her. She had yet to face anything to cause the lines to form on her face or for streaks of grey to appear in her hair.

“Hard day, chief?” she asked.

“You can call me Jim, (Y/N). We’re not on the clock,” I told her. Not that many people ever actually called me by my first name, on or off the clock. I just wanted to hear how it sounded coming form her mouth. “And every day is a hard day on the force.”

She didn’t respond. I didn’t blame her. How are you supposed to respond to the off duty police chief having yet another existential crisis?

“It’s not that bad,” I admitted. “When you’ve been a cop as long as I have, you just see things you can never unsee. But you’re also protecting people and saving lives. That’s worth something.”

“I know. My dad was an officer, actually. He’s told me all the stories.”

“Really? Would I know him?”

she shook her head as she took another sip of her pint. “I’m not from Hawkins. I moved here after I finished police school. It was...well, it was the only place looking for new recruits.”

She could’ve been a big, hot shot cop in a big city, but instead had to settle for our small town. That’s how dreams die.

“But I like it here,” she added. “I do. Hawkins is a nice little town and the people here are...”

“Nice?” I offered.

She chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

When I noticed her drink was almost empty, I ordered her another one on my tab.

We were there for a few hours, drinking the night away. (Y/N) could handle her alcohol a lot better than I thought she could. She was easily keeping up with me and only started to show any signs of inebriation when I started to feel my own beer hit me.

“One more for me, bartender,” she said, raising a hand to get the bartender’s attention. Her words were slightly slurred as she spoke.

“I think you’ve had enough,” I said, reaching out to lower her hand. “You need some water before you go anywhere.”

She looked at my hand on hers. I could feel her skin warm against mine. I should’ve let go. I didn’t need to be holding her hand for this long. But her hand was so warm and so soft. I didn’t want to let go of her.

A small smile spread across her face as she slipped her hand from mine just long enough to hold up her open palm. She took the hand that was just holding her own and placed it, open, against hers. A drunken giggled escaped from her lips as she looked at the juxtaposition between the size. 

“Your hand is so much bigger than mine,” she said. “You could fit, like, both of my hands in one of yours.”

Her hand was much smaller than mine. Her fingertips just barely reached the second joints of my fingers. Actually, she was a lot smaller than me in general; her entire stature was much smaller than I was. I could likely hold both her hands effortlessly in one of mine.

Which made me picture both of her wrists locked in one of my hands. My larger body towering over her smaller one. My name coming from her lips in between a string of moans and whimpers. That warm, soft skin pressed against my - 

I quickly pulled my hand away from hers and turned to the bartender to order a water for (Y/N).

I couldn’t have those thoughts about her. There was so much wrong with that scenario, namely the fact that I was her superior and over a decade older than her. It was wrong, those thoughts were wrong. But now that I had gotten them in my head they wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t even look at her without those images flashing before my eyes.

“Did you drive here?” I asked her. She nodded as she started gulping down her water. “Listen, I don’t feel comfortable with you driving home in this state, even if you sober up a little, and I don’t want to leave you drunk at a bar on your own. I’m gonna drive you home, and you can come back to get your car in the morning.”

“But you’ve been drinking, too,” she pointed out.

“I’m much more sober than you are, honey,” I assured her. She didn’t make a comment on the pet name, and I hoped she’d be too drunk to even remember it later on.

I paid for our drinks despite her protests and guided her out to my car. She didn’t seem too drunk while walking, which made me wonder if I should’ve just let her drive home on her own. I didn’t lie when I said I didn’t want her to drive home after drinking, but I also wanted these last few moments together before I had to force things back to normal the next day.

“I appreciate this, Jim,” she said after giving me her address.

“What kind of police chief would I be if I let our rookie drive home drunk?” I asked, a light tone in my voice.

“The kind who drives after he’s already been drinking?” she offered.

I chuckled. “Okay, touché.”

She rested her head against the window. Her face lit up as we drove under the street lights. As we would approach another light, I couldn’t help but glance over to get a glimpse at her beautiful face.

God, I’m helpless here. How do I stop myself from doing something I’ll regret?

“Are you from close to Hawkins?” I asked, trying to make small talk. “Originally, I mean.”

“About a five hour drive away,” she responded.

“So not close at all really. Do you  get to see your family a lot at least?”

She nodded. “My parents drive in every other weekend. We talk on the phone all the time, too. They miss me and they wish I had gotten a job at our local department so I was closer to home, but they’re proud of me.”

“As they should be. Becoming a cop isn’t easy, as your dad probably knows.”

“School was tough, and I’m kind of worried about the first day I see something traumatizing, but it’s like you said: we do good, too. I just hope the good outweighs the bad.”

“It does. Eventually, it goes.”

“Do you have any kids, Jim?”

I felt myself tense at the question. My blood ran cold and my grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles were white.

“I used to,” I said, my voice icier than I meant it to be.

She looked at me with wide eyes. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I knew that. I should’ve have said...I should’ve remembered...shit, Jim, I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head, focusing my attention on the road. “No, don’t be sorry. It was years ago and...and you’re drunk. You weren’t thinking straight.”

“It’s still not easy to lose a kid, though.”

We were silent the rest of the way to her place. I felt a sense of dread as I pulled into her driveway. I really did not want this time to end, but I had no other reason to keep things going. Once she got out of my car and went inside, she’d fall asleep and wake up sober. When I saw her at the station the next day, she’d be referring to me as Chief Hopper again, and I’d just be stuck with the memory of tonight being a far away fantasy I could never have again.

“Are you still with your wife, Jim?” she asked.

The question took me by surprise. “Uh...no. We...we divorced a long time ago.”

She was slowly unbuckling her seatbelt, her gaze slowly drifting to me as if she were contemplating what I had said. Suddenly, she was out of her own seat and on my lap. Her lips were roughly pressed against mine, her hands around the back of my head, holding me to her. Instinctively, arms went around her waist and I began to kiss her back. It was the one thing I had wanted to do all night and now that it was finally happening, I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or not. If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

Her hips moved down so her crotch brushed against mine. I groaned in pleasure at the contact and she used this to her advantage by slipping her tongue into my mouth. The taste of alcohol on her tongue was enough to snap me out of my trance and to realize what was happening. I pulled away from her. She tried to move with me, but I put a hand against her shoulder to move her away from me.

“Shit,” she said, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was way out of line, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re drunk. It’s fine,” I assured her.

She shook her head. “No, no I’m not drunk. I haven’t been at all. I was a bit tipsy back at the bar, but I haven’t gotten further than a light buzz.”

I was shocked at her revelation. “But...you were okay with me driving you home. I thought you were too drunk to drive.”

“I wanted to be alone with you.”

I almost laughed I was so shocked. This entire time I was having these thoughts and telling myself I wouldn’t be able to act on them, and it turns out she was having the exact same thoughts, too.

“Did I make a total fool of myself?” she asked. “I can just go, we can just forget this ever happened.”

In response, I put a hand on the back of her head and pulled her towards me to kiss her again. I could feel her body relaxing against mine.

I couldn’t let the kiss be long lived, though, as I reluctantly pulled away again. “Go inside and get yourself sober. If you still feel like this in the morning when all the alcohol is out of your system, we can try it again.”

She smiled brightly at me. “Don’t be surprised if I kiss you the minute I see you tomorrow, then.”

I smiled back at her. “I’ll be waiting.”

[everly98]

Fan fiction a Million Dollar!

Okay, for all fan fiction writers, listen up!

Can you imagine a fan fciton where Hopper goes to find Joyce at the store, and suddenly a customer walks in who looks just like our modern-day Keanu Reeves! Where of course he is super nice, like our real Keanu Reeves, especially to our Joyce. And Hopper is obviously jealous! XD Fan fiction writers, I am offering you a million dollar idea!

fan art not mine

[barbedbetty]

….pretty sure my type is just “The Bad Guy”

and now there’s Santa

My therapist would have a new car with all the unpacking this would cost me 🤣