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[lady-z-writes]

The Vulture and the Jay, or: even the air is shaped by its vessel. Adrian Toomes x Reader. Smut, oral, angst, moviverse, taking liberties with canon. For those who got butterflies when it turned out Toomes was in control of the situation all along. Retirement is a pretty thought, but it’s not for people like him. Still, for good or ill, this is going to be his last job.

——

He’s leaning up against the workbench with that wry got my ass too close to the fire look that he wears when he’s cut things a little too fine. And he’s tired, too: all those late nights, all the worry of being not only a boss but a leader. It weighs on him, and if you could convince him to put this whole business on pause in favor of a few lazy middle-of-nowhere afternoons, you would. But there’s no convincing him, and so he leans there and waits among wires and tools and the bric-a-brac of invention. But there’s also the way he cocks his head like he’s listening to your heart hammering in the space between your footsteps, and the corner of his mouth lifts just a bit when he clocks the breathlessness behind your smartass words:

Looks like you’ve been a little tied up today.

Oh, sweetheart. You don’t know the half of it.

Sure, he’s got his hands stuck tight with one all webbed up on the table and the other somewhere out of sight but he’s leaning back all relaxed-like and it’s a good look, isn’t it, the way his crows’ feet deepen with shifting shadows; he’s all leather and machine oil and that shearling collar soft against his throat and Adrian. For real, though. You alright?

Yeah. He pauses then, lips parting slightly as he assesses the situation. When he speaks, the words catch on his teeth; they come out ragged on the edges. Could’ve gone better. Could’ve gone worse.

You wanna get away for a while? I’ve got a cousin, he says we can use his cabin as long as we like—

But there’s no getting away, not from this. Not from the razor-thin line he walks between black-market deals and outright villainy, not from the secrets that weigh heavy on his shoulders. He knows it, and you know it, but there’s still that little crumb of the daydream left til he brushes it away with the words of a man who already knows how this is gonna end. No, I have to see this through. I’ve got a feeling this’ll be our last job. From anyone else it would be a hopeful after this we can retire and enjoy ourselves, but from him—

Damn. That bad, huh?

It’s a hell of a risk. But you know I have to take it. Yeah. Yeah, you know. Water’s wet, the sun rises in the east, Adrian Toomes puts his ass on the line. The world’s full of rot but there are still things worth living for— still reasons to put his wings on and take to the skies— and though this wasn’t the way he meant his life to go, this is the way it’s ended up and damn it all, he’s good at it. But— hey, sweetheart. I can see those gears turning in your head. Don’t you worry about me. Now, why don’t you go on and come a little closer?

With a tilt of his head he brings you down easy as pie; if he’d said please it would send worry needling under your skin, and if he’d said on your fuckin knees it would be likely as not to start a fight. He toes the unspoken line between want and need; in the middle there is you and him and the spark that binds you when he meets you there.

He says eyes on me and from your place down on your knees in the dust he seems impossibly tall, cut with shadows that make his eyes shine with mischief, with lust for the skies and for the jewels of streetlights as he wings through the air, with an undefinable unknowable something that crawls along his jaw and pulls it tight. Don’t look away, sweetheart. And you don’t, though you’re fumbling at button and zip, feeling him twitch beneath his fly, warm and hard and thick with blood.

When all this is over—

Don’t.

When all this is over, we’re taking that fucking vacation. And you swallow him down. It’s a neat trick that short-circuits his thoughts; any chastisement he might’ve been cooking up is vaporized in the rush of need that vibrates through him. What a treat it is to feel him struggle for control, to catch those half-checked thrusts and know that he is hanging by a thread. This is the part of him that hides so well, gliding beneath his skin: the part that doesn’t think and cannot calculate, but only feels.

You wouldn’t take him for a talker, and he isn’t one, not really; words are weapons and he handles them with care. It’s not until his thigh is bruising beneath the clench of your hand— not until he sees the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes— that he speaks. Easy, there. Don’t have to take more than you like. But his approval is warm and shining even as he reins himself in, as his crows’ feet dig their shadows ever deeper with the effort of restraint. Oh, honey. What you do to me.

He traces callused fingers over your cheek, their susurrus more felt than heard; he follows the working of your jaw until he reaches the spit smeared shiny around your lips, savoring the feel of it,

wait.

slipping the tips of his fingers in alongside his cock, watching your lips stretch to their limit. He tastes of salt and metal, machine oil and sawdust. It’s bitter and heady and it’s so— so— fuck, it’s—

oh.

Body and mind meet each other at last, and realization coalesces. Now wait just a goddamned minute. You sneaky fucker, you weren’t stuck at all, were you?

Sweetheart. Just because something’s not as true as you think it is, that doesn’t make it a lie. And there’s that crooked little half-smile, the one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the one that speaks to long nights in the air with his phone turned off, watching the world through infrared lenses. His future is precarious, volatile; he believes that the key to it all lies beyond some unknown door and if he could only find it— What would you have done if you’d known?

In truth you’d probably do the same thing, but a little closer to the heart of him; you could climb him while he held you steady. You could nose at the soft skin beneath his jaw and whisper don’t, don’t, you can let it go into his bones. But you’d keep the worry tucked inside; before, you spoke of a soft life, a gentle life where you could sit lazy on the front porch while he kicked up his feet and spoke of birds. Carrion birds, yes— he has a fondness for scavengers; he sees his own life reflected in their bloody beaks— but all manner of others too. You’re like a jay, smart and stubborn he would say, and laugh when you reached to swat his arm. It’s a pretty fantasy, but one viewed through a door to nowhere.

You’ll be careful. It’s not a question. When you get back

(I’ll wash the wind out of your hair)

we’ll close up shop

(I’ll ease your jacket off your shoulders)

and go away for a while.

(I’ll bury you.)

Promise. It still isn’t a question; it’s an order and a plea.

I— and he doesn’t say it; he can’t because he is many things but he is not a liar. But he runs his thumb across your lips and if this is all that you can get of him, then this is what you’ll take.

Tch. Cut yourself loose, I want your hands on me. And so he does; with shreds of web still clinging to his hand, he guides you back to him. Don’t be gentle. Just be you. And so he grasps your hands in his: he plants them firmly on his ass with a sound halfway between a chuckle and a groan, and though he’s flagged somewhat, he soon swells thickly on your tongue.

And he is watching you watching him; when he breathes it’s harsh and openmouthed, sharp teeth flashing white. In all the wide world there is nothing that can compare with this: his body strung tight, straining toward sensation that’ll send him flying. It’s so easy to let the warehouse go fuzzy at the edges until there’s nothing left but you and him and the way the lines on his face swim in and out of focus as his fingers skip spit-slick across your skin. Too good. You’re too damn good to me. He is the ache in your jaw and in your concrete-pocked knees; he is salt and sweat and the sudden rush of bitterness across your tongue when orgasm catches him by surprise.

And all too soon he is tucked away again, looking for all the world like nothing happened. For a long moment there is silence as he helps you to your feet and wipes the spit and come from your lips. There’s a fleeting judder in his throat like he’s just about to speak, but you beat him to the punch.

Hey. You watch your ass out there.

Don’t I always?

He turns toward the sky to trace his flight path in his mind once more; he’s weighed risk against reward and now that he’s decided, he will not— cannot— change his mind. If he has regrets, they’re buried deep; if he has hope it’s wrapped up tight where even he can’t see it. He sighs and you sigh with him, and then you have to let him go.

[lady-z-writes]

Hopper x reader

A hot day at Hawkins new splash zone proves to be a steamy afternoon.

(Part 4 of this post. Also found on ao3.)

Snippet:

Hop stops mid-sip, gaze raising to meet you ...bikini with a see-through cover, big smile.

He swallows hard.

Behind your sunglasses, your eyes linger over the white tshirt sticking to his skin in the heat. He notices. His breath catches.

"You better not be making a scene, sweetheart." He speaks quietly, glancing around at how much distance is between you and the nearest guest.

"Oh, I won't," you hum, removing the bathing suit cover, tossing it on the chair beside him.

His jaw goes slack, eyes gawking at every inch of you. He grinds his teeth.

"When you've had enough, I'm told the changing station locks."

The heat these last few days has been pure luck for the owners of the new splash zone Hawkins just gained.

The new owners gave exclusive tickets to important townspeople - and, he'd heard, a few lucky winners at some local bars. Drum up business, all that.

He'd gotten tickets and gave them straight to Joyce who planned on taking the kids.

Only, this morning she called and informed him the whole household was down with a stomach bug.

So guess where he ended up on this stifling Wednesday morning.

El was stoked, of course. How could he say no?

But no way in Hell was he taking his shirt off.

He barely fit into his swim trunks anymore so he'd had to buy new on the way there. When was the last time he swam ?

Sunglasses on, trying to sit himself into a beach lounger chair, Hop sighs.

"Complimentary champagne?" The owner was going around, handing out freebies which was pretty awesome, no complaints there.

He'd learned they got their liquor license and planned some adult events after hours.

Oh, he could come up with some ideas for a certain someone...

El's laugh snaps him out of his daydream. The redheaded kid managed to get tickets, probably because her mom was a barfly. He's glad. Now El won't be bugging him to join her in the water.

He grabs his champagne. He hated the stuff, to be honest, but free was free and the drops of condensation off the glass made his lips dry from thirst.

Guzzling it, he joked for the owner to leave the bottle.

"For you, Chief, I would."

Was she...flirting with him? He clears his throat, nods, feels sweat drip down the back of his shirt.

"Oh! There you are! Great seeing you, y/n. Thanks for coming."

Hop stops mid-sip, gaze raising to meet you ...bikini with a see-through cover, big smile.

He swallows hard.

"I couldn't pass up the free tickets, Anne. Congrats on the new business endeavor." You hug the woman, grab a champagne, sip it, with a nonchalant, "Hey, Chief."

Behind your sunglasses, your eyes linger over the white tshirt sticking to his skin in the heat. He notices. His breath catches.

"You know each other?" Anne asks.

"Oh. You know: trouble ," you joke, pointing to yourself. Hopper doesn't laugh. Not when he sees the cut of your bikini through the cover, the heave of your breasts when you sigh. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Chief, y/n and I went to school together; convinced me to take business classes. She's part of the reason today is even happening!" Anne explains.

Hopper swallows more champagne, realizes his glass is now empty.

"Well, aren't we the lucky ones?" he chides.

"Save a bottle for us? We're catching up," y/n tells Anne, points to Hop.

She gives a quick nod, meeting her friend's gaze, acknowledging that there's something here.

"Of course," she hands them another glass. "Meet you out there," Anne nods to the water.

Now alone, Hopper growls low in his throat.

"You better not be making a scene, sweetheart." He speaks quietly, glancing around at how much distance is between them and the nearest guest.

"Oh, I won't," you hum, removing the bathing suit cover, tossing it on the chair beside him.

His jaw goes slack, eyes gawking at every inch of you. He grinds his teeth.

And then he's watching you walk to the tiki bar, lean over on it, say something to Anne while you know his eyes are on you. She points to some small building with "changing station" scrolled on a wood sign.

Your ass looks good in that bikini, he thinks.

When the two of you walk toward the water, Hopper bites his tongue. Anne is in some kinda one piece, but his eyes are glued to you.

You, stepping below one of the sprayers, letting the cool water mist across your chest. You, tensing up when one of the buckets pours down from above; the force gapping your bikini top just a little; making him groan.

He imagines your nipples are hard from the cold water, imagines kissing that spot at the curve of your neck where your shoulder meets, the relief of having your wet body pressed against him in this heat; how he'd rut against you until his cock leaks.

Cock hardening in his swimtrunks, Hopper shifts again, sits forward, places his forearms on his thighs, body in a slouch to sheath him.

Fuck, he wants to touch himself. But obviously not here.

Trying to distract himself, he looks over to find El sitting in the shallow end with Max. Safe, he's glad.

He knows you're putting on this show for him.

"It's so refreshing," you call to him and he notices you walking closer now that your friend is chatting with someone else. You're near him now, standing close enough for him to see the water dripping down your skin. "Come join me."

"I can't, " he grumbles.

"What? Why not?"

Hopper looks at you with a dumbfounded expression.

"You know why."

"Oh!" You lick your lips, sit at the foot of his beach chair. "You hard for me, Jim Hopper?"

His eyes widen behind his sunglasses, "Keep it down. Jesus."

"You can't seem to keep it down, huh, honey?" You speak only a little quieter. "No one can hear us."

He's trying to ignore you, block out the look of your lips when you finish your glass of champagne, the soft hum you make, the chill bumps appearing on your skin when the wind blows.

"When you've had enough, I'm told the changing station locks."

With that, you leave him again.

When he lost control of this whole thing, he'll never know.

He's trying his damnedest to get ahold of himself, but any time his erection starts fading, he has a thought about the changing station or your previous nights together and he's right back at attention again.

It's getting uncomfortable. Between that and the heat, he finds his breathing labored.

When you come back for another glass of champagne, you've got the whole bottle and an ice bucket.

"More?" You ask as you approach.

Fuck.

You're too close, looking like that.

You pour another glass, the condensation dripping down your arms, onto his body, stinging him yet feeling so good.

Fuck.

You sit down in the chair beside him, lean back, close your eyes, and soak up some sun.

You've put an ice cube on your belly, moved it around to cool you down, but now it sits in a puddle on your skin, melting by the second.

Hopper focuses on it, sees you shift those perfect thighs as you readjust.

Fuck.

He bites his cheek, stares at the sky, unable to sit back like that or the neighborhood will be talking about big Jim's hard on at the splash zone opening event.

Talk about a splash zone...

"Y/n..." He hums it, low in his throat, a warning. You need to leave . Or he's going to do something stupid.

You lower your glasses at him, glance over, secretly trying to peek at his little problem .

"They're about to start the raffle. People will be distracted," you stand and he watches the ice cube and water slide down your body, down your thighs...

"Meet you in there?"

He glances up at you, eyes desperate, fingers twitching to just pull you down on his lap, grind himself against you, take you right in the open. With you looking down at him like that...in this chair...he's practically pussy-level.

Before he knows it, he's watching you walk away, seeing the little shrug you give him when you close the changing room door.

He gives it a minute, is tempted to wrap his towel around himself, for fucks sake. He's sweaty enough to have someone believe he was in the water.

Minutes tick by and he's able to settle down a little, focus on the movement of employees, the prepwork going into setting up the doorprizes for the raffle.

He's grateful you're friends with the owner. Maybe that's what you'd been chatting with her about. He doesn't even care if she knows about your little fling. All he cares about is fucking you in that changing station right now.

"Alright! If we can have everyone grab their tickets, we're going to get started with our prizes!!"

Free shit gets people moving real quick. He glances at El who's too engrossed in conversation to notice.

And he stands, crumples his towl in front of him in the least conspicuous way he can, and books it for the changing station.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust, but he sees a wall of lockers, some showers, and you smirking at him.

"You cruel, cruel woman..." he strides toward you, removes his sunglasses, doesn't even care that the door didn't lock behind him.

You squeak when he picks you up, presses your back to the nearest wall as he kisses you roughly.

A moan leaves him at the feeling of your wet bathingsuit against his warm body.

"Hop, the door, baby..." you remind him, trying to reach it yourself.

His hand juts out, swipes the lock shut, returns to kissing you.

"Off. Now." He's pulling at your bikini top, trying desperately to get your tits in his mouth.

"I want you shirtless, Jim," you moan out as he's kissing your chest.

"Mhm. I know, baby. I know," he groans when the top falls to the ground. "First I need to feel you,."

His finger dips under your bikini bottoms, feels you dripping wet, swollen with arousal.

"Oh, fuck..." he can't help but cuss. "That little teasing do something for you too? God..."

You nod against him, "and your body. Fuck, Hop, you in that shirt. I could see the outline of your body," you moan when he inserts another finger into you. "You had to know what you were doing."

He hadn't, but he'll play that way, act like he'd been very aware.

"Cum on my fingers, sweetheart. Cum for me. And then I'll fill you up."

He knows you thrive on the dirty talk, sees you glancing down between your bodies to watch his forearm flexing as he pumps his fingers into you.

When he puts his mouth on your left tit, you arch against him, let out a soft whine. He feels your walls clenching around him, puts more intensity in his movements to help your orgasm along.

And then you're clawing at his shirt, kissing him roughly, sloppy, moaning into his mouth.

Hopper can feel precum leaking, inhales sharply as he sets you down on wobbly legs.

You paw at his shirt and he obliges, removing the sweaty thing and tossing it to the bench beside the lockers.

The room is stifling, fans lazily spinning overhead, but Jim is drenched in sweat.

You eagerly touch him, fondle his love handles, kiss his biceps, grind your lower half against him. Hopper loops his fingers under your bikini bottoms and pulls them down your legs, leaves you completely bare for him.

His swimtrunks are tented, and he feels his cock pulse at the look of you - wet and desperate before him.

"Go start the shower," he instructs.

As he watches you walk there and open the curtain, he steps out of his swimtrunks, pumps a fist over his hardened cock. The slightest touch to his tip has him hissing an inhale.

He follows you there, surprises you when he presses your back to the wall under the spigot, forearm above your head, kisses you wantingly. "Legs on my shoulders," he speaks, lowering himself to his knees.

You're hesitant, he can tell. "Dont worry. I've got you."

His hands cup your ass, holding you up as you lean against the wall, drape your legs over his hunched position, knees on his shoulders.

And then his mouth is on you and you're gasping once more.

Hopper eats you out like you're his hydration for the day. You're dizzy with arousal, you find solace in the metal fall bars on the shower wall.

Hopper can't help but pump his hand around his cock when you've steadied yourself more.

"Don't," you urge, moaning as he flicks his tongue across your clit. "Dont cum. Not yet, Hop. Please. I want you in my mouth."

The growl that leaves him vibrates against your pussy and you're coming on his tongue in moments.

He helps you to the ground, stands, gets pelted in the face by the shower water. As he makes sure you're steady, his mouth drops open at the sight of you on your knees for him.

He throws his head back when you deep throat him, says your name like a curse, doesn't hold back from pounding into your mouth.

"Oh, fuck, good girl. God damn...so close."

His orgasm hits him quickly and he's thankful for the release, finally, gasping out your name. You choke on the amount which he finds so sexy, but you swallow him down. When he's finished, the feel of you swirling your tongue over his corona sends chills through him.

He shudders, feels your mouth pop off him, watches you turn off the water, realizes he's still hard.

"Fuck, I need to feel you," he kisses you, this time more intimate, less needy and heated.

You lean into the kisses, stroke your hand down his facial hair, fondle his torso, press an open hand to his neck in a mock choke.

"Yes, sir."

You lead him away, sit him on top of his towel on the bench, grab two folded towels to place beside him, and straddle his thighs.

His cock finds your opening quickly as you sink down on him; the initial feeling making his eyes close.

He doesn't rut up into you, but instead allows you to move at your own pace.

His hands trail down your torso, landing on your hips and gripping them, helping you along.

Watching you ride his cock, he moans as you slam down on him, hitting you deep.

Your nails dig into his shoulders and he's sure you'll leave marks again just when the last ones faded.

He'd stay like this all day, if he could.

The urgency you feel when someone pulls at the locked door, you feel your cheeks heat up, pull your bare breasts closer toward Hopper's body.

He chuckles, listening to the footsteps retreating, thankful you know the owner.

Your hair is still dripping wet from the shower and he enjoys watching the beads of water trail between your breasts. It's mesmerizing.

You grip his shoulders harder, pull him in for a kiss, moan against his mouth. The sounds you're making alert him that you're coming. He hadn't even realized you were close.

"Mmm, there you go, sweetheart. Oh fuck, so wet for me."

You slouch against him, heavy breaths on his skin.

He loves feeling you this close, enjoys the way you let him manhandle you after you're done.

Hopper tilts your chin up as he lifts and drops you in his lap. The way you're looking at him, the feel of your slick pussy...he can't help but be close.

"Get off," he grunts.

"I did!" you gasp.

Swiftly, he lifts you off of him, sets you on the floor before him.

You're about to protest when you watch his hand cup around his erection, jerking himself off.

You always love watching the muscles move in his forearm when he's masturbating. You understand now what he wants.

You kneel again, get ready, trace your hands over his thick thighs, ghost your fingers over his balls.

Hopper moans.

"Wanna see your tits painted," he huffs out.

It's warm when his cum hits your breasts. Hopper moans loudly as the look of you before him, eager, dick drunk, streaks of his cum sliding down your perfect tits.

He leans forward, kisses you with such passion, such need and warmth, you never want it to stop.

Your knees ache from the tile, but he helps you stand, starts the shower water, helps rinse you off and clean you up.

His hand trailing all over your skin, you're heated once more yet so pleased.

Hopper takes good care of you, almost lulling you to sleep. Between the champagne, the orgasms, and the heat you want a nap.

"You've been so good to me today, baby girl." At his words, you nod. "You fucked out? Too cockdrunk to walk?" He's teasing but, damn, does he love seeing you like this.

"M'fine," you urge, kiss him again while he gets your bikini top clipped.

Your skin looks irritated from the biting and his facial hair, but he can't help kissing your skin again.

"You don't stop now, we'll never leave."

He hums. You're right.

It's decided you'll sneak out seperate.

"Do this again soon?" he asks, grabbing his towel.

"Please," you respond, kissing him once more.

Quickly, Hopper sneaks out of the changing station, sunglasses on, walks calmly to his chair again. He smirks at the look your friend is giving him, nods a 'thank you' her way.

He sits down, cusses at the burning sensation from the chair sitting in the sun.

And he realizes.

He left his shirt.

Fuck.

He hopes El doesn't notice the nail marks on his shoulder.

Moments later, his eyes meet yours before you slide your sunglasses on.

Your knees are still marked, bruised from the tile floor you knelt on. His shirt is pulled over your body, wet spots from where your bikini hits.

He thinks you're leaving, but you approach your friend, grab a glass of champagne, and approach him.

"Thanks for a nice time, sir. Glad Anne made good on your invite she promised me," you wink at him, taking a sip then handing him the champagne.

You little...-

He watches you walk right out of the park.

Until next time.

[lady-z-writes]

Part 3 of this Hopper x reader series.

Part 1

Part 2

(Also found on ao3)

Warning: explicit.

Snippet:

He freezes like an idiot, is stuck staring at you in that dress again. You’d spoken, he realizes. You’d approached and spoken, but of course he doesn’t register – he can’t – it sounds like water rushing beside his ears.

“You waitin’ on someone?” it’s that damn smirk again and all he wants to do is shove you against the wall and remind you who’s in charge in this little arrangement you have.

“You’ll sit if you know what’s good for you…” he speaks low, watches the way you try to hide the shiver that just sent through you.

Of course, you make him wait, make a show of it. You take a second, but you sit slowly.

“You seem frustrated, Chief,” it’s a double entendre, obviously, and he’s biting the inside of his cheek when you lean over the table just enough to make him see down the cut of that dress… “Do you have something you wanna say to me, Chief?” he bites harder on the inside of his cheek. “Any reason you came looking for me the other day? Were you on the edge of losing this little game we’re playing?”

“Real fuckin’ cute, sweetheart. Cut the crap. You miss this too.”

“Oh, sure I do. But between the two of us, who seems more desperate for a good lay?” you lean back, cross your legs, look so confident. Hearing you speak like this sends a chill down Hopper’s spine.

“Get in the car.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car. Now,” he speaks between clenched teeth. “I’m not asking.”

When you don’t move, he loses his temper. The cuffs come out.

---

He’s been through three cigarettes in a forty-five-minute period, even though he’s trying to quit. Kinda.

It’s been eighteen days since he’d fucked you. Seventeen days since Callahan questioned him about that night and how he heard a weird noise.

Eighteen. Fucking. Days.

He’s surprised you hadn’t broken, hadn’t called from a payphone again at some dive, hadn’t been in your bed with the phone between your ear and shoulder as you worked your fingers along your clit and gasped sweet cussing into the receiver.

He. Missed. Your. Cunt.

But he was determined to prove that he could stay away. He wanted to win this so bad.

Though, he does take a drive to Andy’s Bar again in hopes that it’s your hangout. He makes sure El’s out with friends that night – just in case.

Naturally, you aren’t there.

So, he has three beers and ends the night in the shower – alone – hand pumping around his cock as he cums down the drain. It’s not enough. It hasn’t been enough for eighteen fucking days.

Two more weeks go by and he’s losing it, so tempted to just hook up with someone just to get you off his mind, but it’s not that easy. He knows it won’t be enough – won’t be you. You egging him on, letting him cum inside…such a spitfire.

On day thirty-eight, he breaks. He’s drinking rum at home, alone, and his dick’s been hard for an hour. He’d wacked off earlier but clearly, he’s way too worked up to just let things go.

And you don’t answer.

He slams the phone back down, though he’s a little humored – thinks you’re playing with him. You’ll call back any minute.

Only you don’t.

And he jerks off two more times before bed.

Three days pass and he doesn’t try the number again. He knows you’ve been staying in some rental off Blossom Avenue, but isn’t ready to be that desperate just yet.

But he’s teetering on that edge.

Four more days and he’s at that point.

The place is empty when he pulls up. And now he feels like a real winner.

You booked it, you had to; took off. He knew you were a college girl, but when do semesters start…?

Paul Nelson is the landlord of the place. He knows this because there were a few shitty tenants that Hopper had arrested for domestic disputes in the past.

Maybe he shouldn’t call Paul when he gets back to the station…but he does.

“Oh, Y/N? What’s the matter? She in trouble or somethin’? Good kid.”

“Nah, nothin’ like that. Just one of her friends came lookin’ for her so I figured I’d follow up,” Hopper lies easily. “She, uh…she leave town do you know?”

“I know she said somethin’ about a birthday party, but she should be back Monday. I’ll tell her to give you a call.”

“Uh, no. No, I’ll…uh…follow up.” Hopper hangs up before any more embarrassment.

Well, fuck.

Two more days…

•••

Monday he’s scoping out the strip mall, waiting for Callahan to return with their coffees.

He sees you. Short dress, those legs, wedge heels…he’s practically drooling on himself as he watches you walk by. The wind blows and you catch the hem of that flowy dress just before he can get a peak at anything. Damn. He shifts in his seat, sucking his lower lip between his teeth.

You see him too and he notices you quirk your eyebrow at him before walking in his direction.

Oh, fuck.

He’s almost scrambling to roll down the window on the blazer as you approach – not really sure how to play it, not really sure where the fuck Callahan is with those coffees. He needs something to hold in his hands so he doesn’t end up doing something stupid like touching you in public. On the job. While he’s in uniform…

It’s quite the fantasy, he’ll admit.

You’re leaning against the blazer before he’s attentive.

“Spending money again, I see,” he teases, nodding toward the bag.

You click your tongue. “So quick to judge, Chief…” you dip your finger into the bag and his breath hitches when he sees a tiny, black lacy frock – see-through…matching panties.

He jumps out of his skin when the passenger door opens and Callahan hands him a cup of coffee.

“Hi, ma’am,” he nods passed Hopper to get a look at you.

Of course, you’re as calm as ever – lingerie back in the bag like it never happened, a cheeky smirk on your face.

“Now you boys have a wonderful day,” you lay it on thick. “Good talking to you, sir,” you comment to Hopper before strutting back to your car.

“She new around here, Chief?”

“Uh…yeah. Yep.”

“You know her?”

“Huh? Oh, no, uh…someone came to me the other day wanting to check up on her. She was out of town – misunderstanding. S’all I know.”

The rest of his shift is awkward and tense as he wonders if Callahan saw that black lingerie, if he’s tortured by the thought as much as Hopper is.

•••

Fourteen hours. It’s been fourteen damn hours since you’d returned and, damn, he needs you. Who the fuck was he? How the Hell did he get here? Fourteen hours is not a long time and he is so fucking used to this need of isolating himself. Hop flourishes on alone time, craves it like neon lights and sad, desperate women with nice legs and “fuck me” eyes. You fuck him up. You actively walked into his fucking shithole mess of a life, looked around, and tore the whole place down.

Are you this fucked up over him? He could only imagine…

Maybe, maybe not but…so what if he was?

The simple idea of it makes him ache – makes him hard – makes him wonder those ‘what ifs’…what if this is more than a little fling?

But people don’t end up happy. They just don’t. He can’t let himself hope.

People settle and get dealt shit hands and pull themselves through somehow. But people like him don’t end up happy. Maybe halfway-happy. Probably not.

And he hasn’t thought about it in a while – too long. After Sara…he knew it was over for him, no finding love after he lost his daughter and got divorced. He figures it was bars and sad sex forever.

The coffee shop isn’t exactly as empty as he expected. Lonely silence floats around him. A soft melody plays overhead but he really doesn’t have it in him to listen. Cars pass out the window and he sighs, thinking of you again; of that damn black lace and how good it probably looks on you.

The bell above the door announces a new customer and instinctively his eyes lift to the entrance.

Well, fuck.

Y/N stands there, carding a hand through your wind-blown hair, eyes surveying the room until they lock on him.

He freezes like an idiot, is stuck staring at you in that dress again. You’d spoken, he realizes. You’d approached and spoken, but of course he doesn’t register – he can’t – it sounds like water rushing beside his ears.

“You waitin’ on someone?” it’s that damn smirk again and all he wants to do is shove you against the wall and remind you who’s in charge in this little arrangement you have.

“You’ll sit if you know what’s good for you…” he speaks low, watches the way you try to hide the shiver that just sent through you.

Of course, you make him wait, make a show of it. You take a second, but you sit slowly.

“You seem frustrated, Chief,” it’s a double entendre, obviously, and he’s biting the inside of his cheek when you lean over the table just enough to make him see down the cut of that dress… “Do you have something you wanna say to me, Chief?” he bites harder on the inside of his cheek. “Any reason you came looking for me the other day? Were you on the edge of losing this little game we’re playing?”

“Real fuckin’ cute, sweetheart. Cut the crap. You miss this too.”

“Oh, sure I do. But between the two of us, who seems more desperate for a good lay?” you lean back, cross your legs, look so confident. Hearing you speak like this sends a chill down Hopper’s spine.

“Get in the car.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car. Now,” he speaks between clenched teeth. “I’m not asking.”

When you don’t move, he loses his temper. The cuffs come out.

There are several other couples scattered around the coffee shop and all of them look startled when Hopper presses you to the table; bends you at the waist, shoves your chest against the tabletop. He’s got you in cuffs before you’ve taken your next breath and he’d be lying if he said it’d been an accident when he bumped his body against yours in the scuffle. He’s too tall though, so it didn’t exactly pan out for the place he wanted stimulated by your ass on display in that short dress; your body kind of hit his upper thigh. Not good enough. Just enough of a tease to make him want you more.

He hoists you up, pulls you against him from behind.

“Sorry to interrupt your night, folks,” he announces to the crowd of stunned patrons.

Without further explanation, he shoves you forward, enjoying this way more than he should be.

Pushing you in the back of the Blazer is also satisfying. Gripping your hair and dipping your head down gives him a kind of power he’s been missing since you two fucked last time.

When he’s in the driver’s seat looking in his rearview at you, he notices the dilated pupils, the parted lips, the open legs.

“You’re just too much fun,” he mutters before pulling out of the parking lot.

•••

Maybe he should have taken you back to your place. Maybe he shouldn’t be parked down an old dirt road with the seat leaned back, letting you ride his cock. But here you are.

The cuffs are still on, proving difficult but he likes the way the angle forces your tits forward. He’d unbuttoned that dress and found that you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

Sinful. It’s sinful what you do to him.

He’s got his hands on you; left hand digging into your hip to steady you, right hand rubbing at your clit as you rock yourself on him.

He’s not quiet by any means – neither are you – but this empty road and the compact vehicle, he feels safe to let himself enjoy.

“Fuck, I missed you,” it’s when you finally admit this that he feels himself get closer to that edge.

“Oh, yeah?” he huffs out. “You missed my cock?” he pinches your clit then rubs deep circles, making you yelp out.

“Mmm, yes, sir, I missed your cock too.”

“Oh, fuck, faster. Goddamn it…” he shuts his eyes tight, tries to hold back his orgasm. “Did you cum? You’ve gotta cum…” he’s frantic at this point, realizes how much pleasure he gets out of your pleasure.

“I know,” you pant out, angling yourself a little different. “Hang on…ooh, right there…fuck…rut into me, Hop. Deeper.”

By now he gives up on your clit and takes both hands to hold either side of your hips. The angle you’re at causes friction against your pelvises – just enough pressure on your clit.

He feels how close you are, how tight your muscles are getting, how you’re squeezing his cock.

A deep growl leaves him. “Fuck, duchess, I’m right…there…” his voice is tense.

You’re nodding. “Hang on, mmm…deeper…oh, God just like that, yes…Jim!”

The relief he feels when he knows you’re cumming…

“Ohh yeah. Good girl, cumming all over my cock…God damn…”

He’s there. He’s right fucking there, holding you and rutting up into you, filling you…

It’s too much. His vision goes white; the most powerful orgasm he’s had in weeks.

In the comedown, you practically faceplant against his chest, gasping for breath together as the shockwaves shoot through you still. Your fingertips feel like lightening.

Eyelids heavy, you nuzzle against him, let yourself relax for moments.

Hopper’s fidgeting for the keys, unlatching the cuffs from your wrists which almost feels like a release in itself.

The car is silent, just the two of you breathing, your heartbeat in your ears.

“I bought that black lingerie for nothing,” you break the silence with a short laugh.

Hopper looks down at you seriously, eyes dark.

When he says, “I’m not done with you yet,” you can’t help but shiver.

[lady-z-writes]

Part 2 of this post (also found on ao3)

Hopper x reader

Warning: explicit.

Snippet:

“You aren’t naked on my desk in thirty seconds, I get myself off,” the tone is warning, quiet, and the look on his face is hungry.

The music sounds in the other room, but you can hear Hopper counting down as he watches you get undressed.

Completely bare for him in twenty seconds, you gasp at the cool desk against your ass. Hopper has undone his jeans and is palming himself over the material. If he makes you wait, you’re gonna leave a wet spot on the desk.

---

It’s not like you missed him or anything, you just get flirty with a few drinks in you and no one at this bar strikes your fancy.

You have his number memorized. Of course you do. Though, you’ve only called twice. Once for pretty decent phone sex…the memory makes you inhale sharply.

Tipsy calling someone from a payphone…who the Hell are you?

You’d made the choice to stay in town over the summer; claimed it was that you missed old friends. Really, you’d been spending lots of time pining over one Chief of Police.

“Yeah?” a gruff voice answers.

“Hey, hot stuff.”

A deep chuckle greets your ears.

“Y/n?”

“Mhm!”

“Ah, Jesus…” if the bar was quieter you’d hear him undoing his belt.

“Come pick me up.”

“Oh, is that a demand? Because you and I both know how this is gonna go if it is…”

You roll your eyes, step closer to the wall, and drop your voice quieter.

“I want you, Jim Hopper.”

There’s a loud cheer in the bar, patrons watching some type of sports game.

A hum, “Sounds like you’re kinda busy. I’ll talk to you…”

“You ass,” you hiss. “Please, big guy?”

He laughs again. “Ok, so lemme guess: you went out for a drink or two, thought maybe you’d find someone to fill the space and there’s no one that knows what you want. Not like I do.”

His voice and the alcohol…you want to play with yourself, but you’re in public standing in this hallway by the bathrooms.

“Yes,” you exhale.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You can imagine he’s stroking his cock to this and you let out a little whine, though you’re sure he can’t hear you over the kerfuffle in the bar.

“Jim, I’m…” you nod and smile as a woman walks by. Quieter, you say, “-I’m in public.”

He breathes heavy. “And…? Come on, baby girl, be forward.” He uses your words against you and you feel yourself heating up in an almost-embarrassed, almost-angry way.

“Jim,” you try to be stern but his silence meets you and you know if you want your way, you’re gonna have to give a little. “I want your mouth.”

“Ohhh,” he seems to appreciate your effort. “Where?” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“My thighs,” you’re practically up against the wall talking into the receiver.

“Nah, where do you really want it?”

You give. You have to. He’ll insist on it, “My pussy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’d love to eat you out right now.”

“Then come do it,” you blurt out.

He gives it a few frustrating seconds, “Where are you right now?”

“Andy’s.”

“Be ready.”

You’re so relieved and then you’re anxious. You’re a rush of nervous energy as you hang up, pay your tab at the bar, and walk out to the patio to wait for your ride.

Twenty minutes. It takes him twenty excruciating minutes to show up. As soon as he’s parking, you stand up to meet him but his door slam surprises you.

He’s exhaling cigarette smoke as he strides over to you. Those damn jeans and a fucking blue flannel…God, you’re melting as his height once again overwhelms you. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he walks right by, opens the door to the bar.

“You coming or not?”

Your mouth is dropped open.

“Apparently not,” you grumble an innuendo, storming back into the bar.

Hopper barks out a laugh at your retort, taps you on the ass when you walk in.

You’re at the bar. Again. Sitting there next to Jim, feeling that tension that existed the minute you ran into each other at Aunt Karen’s party.

Apparently, he’s old friends with the bartender here. Well, hard to not be when Hawkins is pretty small. And no one gets out of this town.

You’re nursing another drink when you feel his fingers dance across your thigh. His large hand grabs you and you inhale sharply, almost choking on the mouthful of alcohol.

When he slips his fingers between your thighs, you grip his hand; reflex. But you don’t want him to stop, not really. You want him to take it somewhere else though.

“Mr. Ryland’s social studies class? Woo, think we were smoking under the bleachers more than we were in class.”

They continue their conversation and it’s all fine and dandy but you’re way too distracted to focus on anything but being silent and inconspicuous. One sound and he’ll stop, you know that.

Under the bar, his fingers flick against your clit and you’re almost gasping but covering it with a fake cough.

You shoot him a look but he’s pretending to be so engrossed in conversation. You know he sees you. You know you’re his main focus and he’s watching you from the corner of his eye. It’s new to you to have someone so confident and playful but gruff and stern.

His fingers play along the seam of your jeans; teasing you and not putting pressure on your clit anymore.

It goes on like this for five minutes; him building you up just to barely tease you or rest his hand motionless on your thigh. You want so badly for him to put continuous pressure, ease how riled he’s gotten you, but you’re sure people are noticing his hand under the bar – sure it’s pretty obvious what’s going on.

“Finish your drink,” he instructs roughly when the bartender finally leaves to go serve someone else.

You have never guzzled down a drink so fast in your life.

By the time you make it to the parking lot, you’re lightheaded and giddy. Fingers pulling at his shirt, you urge him toward you, grab him by the back of the neck to dip him down to kiss you against the brick building.

He lets out a low growl, “Here?” he shames you. “Christ, woman…”

You whine, “Fine, okay, just make me cum…”

The parking lot’s in the back of the bar, not on the main road and at this hour not many people are stumbling in.

Hopper lowers his eyes to your mouth then blinks back up to meet your gaze. He inhales slowly before letting out a growl.

His grip fumbles for the button of your jeans. You’re breathless when he ghosts a touch over you, dips his middle finger inside your pussy.

“Fuck, so wet for me, baby girl…”

His fingers feel fantastic – the size difference between his digits and yours makes all the difference and your muscles are tensing around him.

It’s not enough. You want his cock.

But for now, you’re gonna have to handle that desire.

“God, Chief…”

This floors him and soon he’s pumping his finger into you with such pressure and speed that you can’t help but reach your orgasm in mere moments. After all that teasing…and now you’re out here in the dark parking lot where anyone could see, getting finger fucked by the Chief of Police. You don’t stop the moan that escapes you when he makes you cum.

“So fuckin’ loud,” he chuckles, kissing your temple before slipping his hand from you and allowing you to button up.

You’re breathless when he pulls away from you. Someone’s in their car, watching you, and when they meet eyes, you feel a tinge of embarrassment…and then pride.

Following him, you rush forward, grip his arm and pull your body closer.

You watch him lick his finger clean of you as he meanders to his Blazer, not caring about the audience.

“Let’s get you home,” his deep voice rumbles when you’re once again on the passenger’s side, reminded of your first night with him.

“What?”

“Hm? Not enough for you?” he teases – you know he’s teasing – but you worry that he’ll leaving you wanting.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that pants tent you’re sporting.”

“Pretty bold of you, considering I’m driving you home…”

“As if road head wasn’t a thing.”

You watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows hard.

“Ooh, you’re too much,” he grips you by the hair and pulls you into him again, lets you slide into his lap – squeeze yourself between his belly and the steering wheel as he lays the seat back – and he grinds his hard cock against your clothed pussy.

“Here?” you repeat his words from minutes ago.

“No,” he grumbles. “Bad idea. Whole fuckin’ town’ll be talkin’.”

“Let ‘em talk.”

You wish you’d worn a dress. Maybe he would’ve let you fuck him in the Blazer. Instead, he lets things get heated between the two of you, lets himself get good and worked up, and stops before he reaches his breaking point.

Before you know it, you’re upright on the passenger’s side again, trying to focus your attention on anything but his still-hard dick…the dot of precum that you can see when the streetlights hit the passing vehicle just right.

“Can’t go home. El’s having a sleepover,” he finally breaks the silence.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You’d let him take you anywhere at this point. The whole stopping and starting thing has made you desperate for him.

“Wherever you want, Chief.”

And it hits him. He puts the pedal to the floor.

The station.

Chills run down your spine when he pulls up to the fucking police station. You’re buzzing.

“Callahan’s probably on shift, but ignore him. We’ll go to my office.”

“Why’d we park in back…?”

You don’t think you can do this. What’s the excuse gonna be? How are you just going to walk into the station at one in the morning with the Chief who isn’t even in uniform?

And then your mind is drifting…fuck, if he were in uniform…

“You comin’ or what?” he calls to you, holding the door open.

You’re feeling slightly tipsy, face heated as you step through the door. The first thing you notice is the loud music. You imagine they do this to keep themselves awake for late night shifts at the station.

“Hey, Chief, what’s…uh…what’s goin’ on?” Callahan walks from the lobby toward a room with desks, sipping coffee.

“Forgot my wallet here,” Hopper thumbs toward his office, doesn’t acknowledge who you are which leaves Callahan surprised.

You can feel his eyes on you, but as you wait for Hopper to unlock his office, you see Callahan visibly shrug and return to the other room where the music is playing.

“You don’t pull this off with me, you don’t get any privileges tonight,” he huffs against your ear. “Follow my lead.” As you’re nodding, he leaves his office open, pauses in the hallway with you, then makes a point of walking toward the exit, pulling you along. “See ya,” he waves toward the room Callahan’s in.

“Bye, Hopper,” comes a voice over the music as Hopper opens then shuts the front door.

You two press against the corner, out of eyeshot, still inside the building. Now you know why he parked in the back…

A few moments go by before Hopper barely peeks in on Callahan to see if he’s still looking. And then you’re urged to sneak back toward the office.

You’re breathless by the time you make it back, Hopper quietly shutting and locking the door behind you.

The excitement of once again sneaking around is overwhelming and you find yourself so humored by the situation, clinging to his shirt once more, enjoying the proximity of him.

“You aren’t naked on my desk in thirty seconds, I get myself off,” the tone is warning, quiet, and the look on his face is hungry.

The music sounds in the other room but you can hear Hopper counting down as he watches you get undressed.

Completely bare for him in twenty seconds, you gasp at the cool desk against your ass. Hopper has undone his jeans and is palming himself over the material. If he makes you wait, you’re gonna leave a wet spot on the desk.

Tantalizingly slow, he approaches the desk, shoves some papers into another stack, then puts his hands on either side of you.

“Lean back,” he instructs.

Your naked back presses to the cold surface beneath you as he gets on his knees before the desk, pulls your legs over his shoulders, and starts kissing up your thighs. He remembers what you told him you wanted, is eager to please.

The feeling of his facial hair is like nothing else you’ve experienced. Back arching off the desk, you can’t help but cry out when his mouth meets your core.

He chuckles. “Didn’t think I’d forget, did you, duchess?”

You shake your head but you know he isn’t looking because he’s eating you out like a starving man; tongue sloppy and – judging by the moans he’s releasing – he’s enjoying.

“Fuck, so good, Jim.”

“Chief,” he corrects you.

You swallow, nod, “Sorry, Chief.”

“Mmm, better,” he goes right back to it, doesn’t use his fingers though like he knows you want. “Gotta be honest, baby girl,” he breaks away to pepper kisses on your thighs. “M’not gonna be able to wait much longer.”

“Then fuck me.”

Eyes meeting yours as you lean up on your elbows, you see his dark pupils.

It’s all a blur how quickly he shifts positions, but you watch him slide down into his chair, motion you over before pulling his cock out.

“Ride my cock, honey.”

You climb into his lap, easily slide down on his cock, throw your head back when he fills you completely. The moan that leaves you feels like an out-of-body experience and you almost forget where you are.

He chuckles again, kissing your neck, “Quiet…” he reminds you.

You’re sure you hear the music turn down in the other room, but you can’t care about that now. The slightest inclination that you give a fuck about being caught and you know he’ll use it against you; know that he’ll make this stop.

You’d rather the whole town watch you than have him pull away from you at this moment.

Feeling so full of him is extremely pleasurable. He’s girthy and he knows just how to fuck you.

His thumb is pressing against your clit as you ride him – the pressure of his hand against you just adds to the stimulation. He wants you to break, wants to see you sweat because he knows you’re loud; from the phone sex and the first night you met…you’ve proven that.

“Ungh, kept thinking about this,” he admits while he kisses your tits. “Right here, in this chair. Beating off at work…” he huffs a laugh and then, “what the fuck did you do to me?”

Pride swells in your chest as you bounce on his cock.

“Fuck, I’ve been so wet for you, Chief, since we met.”

“Oh, yeah?” he hums. “You think about me?”

“Nothing satisfies me like you do,” you admit. “My fingers, my toys…” his eyes shoot open at that and you can almost see his thought process. “Nothing makes me cum like you do.”

You feel his thrusts up into you deepen, feel his cock twitch inside of you. He loves what he’s hearing.

“Fuck, fuck, hang on…” he gasps, gripping your hips. “Y/n, hang on.” You don’t stop. He’s digging his fingers in harshly again, just when the bruises from last time healed. “Y/n,” it’s a warning. You know it is, but the power you’re feeling knowing that he’s damn near orgasm this soon?

“Chief, I need you to cum.”

He shivers, panting. “Uh, uh. No. Not until…”

“I will,” you interrupt, nodding furiously, voice breathy. “Can’t you feel how close I am? How tightly I’m squeezing your cock?”

He gasps, hips stuttering as he’s trying to stop himself but he can’t help his movements; clearly way passed the point of no return.

“I want you to fill me again,” you admit. “Only you. I’ve only let you…-”

And that’s all it takes – Jim is groaning as he urgently thrusts up into you, growling when he feels your orgasm pulsing around his.

A low whine leaves your lips at the overwhelming feel of all this; his warmth filling you, your own orgasm tipping once he’s growling your name.

You don’t even realize how loud you’re both being until the music turns down significantly in the other room.

And then it’s like you’re too pleased to care if Callahan heard you, too fucked to worry about getting caught.

Surely, Hopper will punish you later for not controlling yourself, but that’s a thought for another day.

Right now, you feel your heartbeat throughout your whole body, can hear Hopper still gasping in the afterglow. You nuzzle against his chest, noting that he’s still mostly clothed. You want him completely naked for you; are satisfied but so not.

“Next time needs to be in a bed,” you groan as you shift your sore knees, lift yourself off of him.

A bit of his cum drips down your thighs and you swipe it off, dip your finger in your mouth as your other hand reaches for a tissue.

Hopper watches with his lips slightly parted, looking completely engrossed and satisfied.

“Oh, you’re so sure there’ll be a next time?” he teases, voice sounding slightly groggy, eyelids heavy as he blinks up at you.

You nod. “I think I’ve done a lot of the chasing though,” you shrug, tossing the tissue. “Think you need to put in some work for me, sir.”

The title clearly affects him as you see him take a sharp breath.

“Is this a challenge?”

You don’t know how long you’ll last without wanting more of him, don’t know how difficult it’ll be to not call him when you’re tipsy and wanting him to put his mouth on you…but you’re sure going to try to hold back.

Jim Hopper has yet to realize what he’s gotten himself into.

[lady-z-writes]

Hopper x reader (also on ao3)

Snippet:

“Guys are so forward, why can’t I be?”

This piques his interest it seems, body turning fully toward you.

“Oh? Alright, college girl, be forward.”

“Well, for one I think you like what you saw. Maybe had to do with this dress. Maybe the age thing?” you eye him up and he doesn’t give away too much but you get the sense that you hit the nail on the head. “Whatever. Point is: there’s a spark here of some sort and I think it would be a damn pity to miss out on something that could be really fucking good if you let it…”

You aren’t prepared for the kiss he plants on your lips, but you welcome the intensity. He’s dipped down to catch your lips and you’re so into the height difference it’s ridiculous. You can taste the beer and smoke on him, but it’s adding to the urgency you’re feeling. You press yourself toward him, meeting his intensity with a need of your own.

Leave it to Aunt Karen to plan a party when you’re visiting from out of town and not tell you. Spending a day shopping by yourself wasn’t exactly in your plans but, hey, it sure beats the nonstop criticism that go something like, ‘why are you taking time off before starting graduate school?’ and ‘your clock is ticking, you better settle down soon.’

It’s a little ridiculous.

Clothes shopping by yourself never goes well because you’re super freaking indecisive. You aren’t surprised when your stomach growls, signaling a needed lunch break. Ditching the store, you meander to the nearby food court.

“Y/N?” you’re three bites into your meal when you hear a familiar voice: your cousin.

“Nancy! What are you doing here?”

She shakes her head. “Avoiding. I didn’t know you came in today.”

Quite honestly the only person in the family you’ve really bonded with has been your cousin, Nancy. A few ‘how you doin’ phone calls spaced out throughout the year that consist of discussions of work and what college was like, where you plan on going to grad school, how lame the guys are in this town…

The idea comes quickly: asking Nancy to join you at your final store – your last attempt before saying ‘fuck it’ and just wearing jeans. Thankfully, she agrees and soon the two of you are off to J.C. Penny to search through the racks.

An armful of dresses and a head full of hope, you enter the dressing room to try on.

Nancy promises to be nearby when you need her opinion, an old habit you two formed years ago during your visits. Only this time you don’t need her opinion for the first eight outfits – they were just not your style.

Last-ditch effort you shove yourself into a flowy black dress and stare at yourself in the mirror. It’s…actually…not terrible. Not what you usually wear and if you remember correctly Nancy may have been the one to suggest this dress, but if she doesn’t take credit you aren’t giving it.

Peeking out of the dressing room, you notice only one other door closed but you know Nancy didn’t try anything on.

“Nance?” you meander to the entrance of the fitting room, eyes scanning for Nancy.

To your right, you notice a big man leaned against a rack. Your eyes would meet, but he’s busy looking you over. You feel hot under his gaze and take a quick second to notice that he’s in uniform. And he looks damn good in uniform; filling it out. Your heartrate increases. You hadn’t been doing anything wrong, so why is this cop outside of a women’s dressing room?

You surprise yourself, have the courage to speak even though this is so awkward and you have no idea who this is and you totally caught him checking you out just now. He’s flustered slightly, you can tell by the way he straightens up.

“Can I help you, officer?” there’s a slight flirtation to your voice, you can’t help it. He checks all your boxes.

An eyebrow raises. “Not unless you can rush someone out of there for me.”

Oh. Girlfriend? Wife?

“That depends. Who you waitin’ on?”

He’s silent a beat then nods toward you. “You buyin’ that?”

“No, I was thinking of stealing it in front of this police officer. Opinions?”

A short laugh leaves him before he runs his hand down his face, your eyes catching that he traces his thumb over his lip. Tantalizing. Truly.

“Real cute,” he takes a step closer. “Looks nice on you though,” he’s picked up the flirtation and apparently felt like joining in. “Your boyfriend’ll like it.”

Smooth.

“Better on me or on the floor?” you manage, feeling heat in your belly.

The cop clears his throat when someone steps out of the dressing room: a tentative young girl. She won’t break gaze from you, stare intense.

“Uh…El, you ready?” the officer chokes out, shoving hands in pockets and making you oh, so curious. “Enjoy your date.”

You decide to leave well enough alone, not tell Nancy about your little encounter, go change out of the dress. She doesn’t question how it looks on you when you finally find her searching around in the shoe department. Naturally, she takes credit for finding that black dress which – of course – you’re buying.

You go your separate ways after a quick ‘see ya later.’ It’s odd how time changes things, how a relationship that used to be so intense in childhood has now grown amicable yet almost dull as the years separate you.

Nancy isn’t going to be at the party, but instead will be spending time with her boyfriend, Jonathan. Meaning you will have to mingle alone. Joy.

•••

The mingling is just as painful as you’d expected. You’re on your second drink and if Aunt Karen makes a comment about it you aren’t afraid to point out that she’s been pregaming since 3:00.

“You bought it,” a deep voice fills your ears and you instantly feel warm, noticing a person beside you as you’re mid-pour.

No way. No freaking way.

Officer Dadbod is standing right fucking next to you and dear, sweet Satan are you thinking some impure things right about now. It’s the wine, sure, sure.

Only Officer Dadbod is wearing a blue flannel that really highlights how blue his eyes are and those jeans are doing something for him too, God damn.

He’s staring. Right, he spoke, yeah…you should probably say something back. Think of the fire of your last conversation.

“I figured you seemed to like it so much, how could I say no,” you stare up at him, once again noting the height difference.

“S’that right?” he’s reaching for a beer and his fingers graze yours as you put down the wine bottle.

His hands are ginormous…

You send him a smile. “I never got your name.”

He smirks back at you. “Really? It’s on my uniform…”

No filter, “If you think I was looking at your nametag you’re pretty daft.”

A slow gaze takes you in as he swallows back a sip of beer. You’d almost expected more of a reaction from him. Yet, nothing.

“Hopper,” he speaks after a beat. You shoot him a confused look. “My…name. Jim Hopper.”

It clicks. “Y/N,” are you supposed to shake hands? This is weird. Things are weird when you aren’t bantering with one another.

“Wait, you’re Mike’s cousin, aren’t you?” he points at you to which you nod, confused how he knows this. “Your…uh…he’s dating my daughter…” this makes him swallow down some more beer.

There is so much that needs unpacking from that but you start with, “You have a daughter?”

A nod and you gather he’s uncomfortable talking about this. “El. She’s uh…she was in the dressing room.”

Right. She heard their flirty comments to one another. Great. Probably went home to tell her mother…

“Oh.”

You eyes scan around the room for a second.

“You lookin’ for my wife, you’ll be at it a while,” he hums against the beer, taking another sip.

“Ah, did she not join you?”

“M’not married,” maybe it’s the weight of what he’s saying or how he says it but that deep voice sounds like the only one in the room and you’ve got tunnel vision.

“Good thing. Me neither,” you joke, trying to laugh off the intensity of the situation that he’s probably not feeling.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, taps them twice. “You want a smoke?”

“Uh…sure!” yes, less crowded situation hopefully, some more privacy, hopefully you won’t abruptly kiss him.

It’s nice out tonight, no breeze, not too chilly.

You’re found out pretty quickly when you two get outside. He offers the open pack to you.

“Actually…I don’t smoke,” you awkwardly stumble out. His lackadaisical glance greets you.

“So, you just wanted to get me alone then, s’that it?” he lights his own, takes a drag.

“Guilty,” you shrug. “Guys are so forward, why can’t I be?”

This piques his interest it seems, body turning fully toward you.

“Oh? Alright, college girl, be forward.”

You sip your wine for a second, realize you’re kind of all talk and losing the nerve a bit. And then you think of all the lame guys from your town, all the boys and this man currently towering over you.

“Well, for one I think you like what you saw. Maybe had to do with this dress. Maybe the age thing?” you eye him up and he doesn’t give away too much but you get the sense that you hit the nail on the head. “Whatever. Point is: there’s a spark here of some sort and I think it would be a damn pity to miss out on something that could be really fucking good if you let it…”

You aren’t prepared for the kiss he plants on your lips, but you welcome the intensity. He’s dipped down to catch your lips and you’re so into the height difference it’s ridiculous. You can taste the beer and smoke on him, but it’s adding to the urgency you’re feeling. You press yourself toward him, meeting his intensity with a need of your own.

You can tell he hesitates to pull away but the door opens beside you and some lady walks out, calling out to someone by the bonfire.

Hopper growls low in his throat, staring at you as you smirk behind your wine glass, swallowing some courage down so you don’t say anything stupid. The look on his face is pure desire, his eyes shamelessly trailing over your body.

He’s about to say something but the door opens again and you peek around him to see your aunt. She hasn’t spotted you yet so you duck back behind the mountain of a man that is Hopper, bumping against him in your movement.

“Hop, have you seen my niece?” she speaks to him.

“Uhhh…” he doesn’t have any quips for her and you wonder if it has anything to do with the bulge you noticed in his pants.

Karen waves him off, stepping off the back porch.

“Smooth, Officer,” you joke.

“Chief,” he corrects, looking down at you with that intensity again. You bite your lower lip. “What? That do somethin’ for ya, kid? You wet?” he speaks lowly. “C’mon, be forward.”

Your mouth goes dry. “I’ll meet you inside.”

Two steps toward the door and you hear your aunt calling you, rushing over to sling her arm around your shoulder. Apparently, she wants to introduce you to Ted’s coworker’s son. You know Hopper heard that one because when you glance back before the door closes, he’s looking smug with that little lip bite he’s doing. Damn him.

It takes you a little longer than you’d hoped but you manage to ditch this kid and sneak your way upstairs, claiming a bathroom break. In the hallway by the staircase, you lean against the wall with a sigh, taking a sip of your wine.

You think your eyes deceive you when the Chief walks up those stairs, eyes focused on you considering you’re the only one in the area. He must have been watching you, must have assumed this was his invitation.

And suddenly you’re realizing that you’re alone with him now. Completely and totally boned, for sure.

Once again, he’s dipping down to kiss you, but this time he starts peppering kisses to your neck, presses his thigh in between your legs. The pressure makes a soft moan leave you – thank God for the shitty music downstairs.

His free hand comes down to grab your ass, teeth nibbling on your neck and you grant him a sharp inhale.

“Jim…” you whisper, trying to get his attention before you let him fuck you in the hallway.

“Mmmmhm?” instead of stopping, he moves on to your lips and adds more pressure between your thighs.

“Now.”

Half-laugh, half-growl leaves him when he pulls away to let you lead him down the hall to the bathroom. You shove the door closed behind the two of you, locking it. The Chief pushes you against the sink countertop, slips his fingers up your thigh, growls when he notices you aren’t wearing panties.

“Since we met, I’ve been wondering what that dress looks like on the floor,” his voice is so sexy in the whisper thing he’s doing and you’re melting against him, his body pushing you to the counter but holding you up. Your legs are Jell-O. “Off. Now.”

You do as you’re told and he rewards you by slipping his finger into you. After the initial pleasure of his thick digit, you sigh, a smirk lifts your features as you look up at him.

“You’re fun,” you taunt. “Just bend ‘em right over.”

His finger is in you but he keeps it still.

Hopper grunts at you, grips both your hands with his free one and presses them to his bulge. As soon as you get to work unclasping his belt, his finger start pumping inside of you and you almost lose balance.

No words are spoken as you shove his unzipped jeans down his hips, boxers too. Your pleasure is almost overwhelming – it’s been too long since another touched you like this and you’re extremely sensitive at the moment.

Hopper wastes no time, realizing your height difference might prove more complicated than he’s willing to contemplate right now – he slips the finger out of you, hoists you up on the counter.

You’re barely on the thing, just enough to hold you there as Hopper lines himself up with your entrance. The size of him…

He must have noticed your trepidation because he raises your chin with his finger and holds your gaze as he slips into you. Watching the pleasure on his face, you bite your tongue as you get used to being stretched like this. Short breaths leave his nostrils, you can tell he’s trying to control himself.

Hands roaming his torso, you grip his hips and force him closer to you, shoving him deeper before he thinks you’re ready but your wetness helps with that and the stretch isn’t so painful.

“God, Chief, I need you to fuck me,” you whisper against his flannel shirt, actually disappointed he hasn’t taken it off. Here you are completely bare for him.

He’s clearly in control and you gladly lean into that.

At your words, he finally starts moving and clearly the levee has broken – his thrusts are incessant, desperate.

His voice huffs out a string of words, “God, you’re so wet for me,” and “are you close already, baby girl?”

You find this whole thing super attractive. Head pressing against his chest, you nod fervently, trying not to make too much noise.

“Chief,” you whisper. “Close, m’so close…”

The way Hopper holds his breath, eyes closed, concentrates, you wonder if he’s close already too. Does he get off on this sneaking around thing just as much as you do?

You lean up and kiss him through your orgasm, trying to remain silent but once he knows you’re cumming, he puts more power behind his thrusts.

There’s movement outside the door and you shush him, try to get him to still, dig your heels into his back. You can feel his cock twitch with every heartbeat. His pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from your kisses. His panting comes out quieter.

The footsteps retreating back downstairs, you both breathe a sigh of relief.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he mutters against your neck as he presses open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.

Your reaction time is a little delayed so he repeats himself with a growl. You follow orders.

Hopper easily hoists you off the counter, presses your back against the wall. The thud is covered by the music playing downstairs, but you’re quickly sore from the way he’s manhandling you. Bruising is likely.

Hands slide down to your hips as he steadily pounds into you; this position giving him easier maneuverability. The pleasure coursing through you from the way he’s sliding you on and off his cock; it’s overwhelming. Your back’s aching a little from the pressure on the wall, but his thick cock’s gotten you so wet and focusing on that stimulation is your saving grace.

“Gah, fuck,” he huffs out and you can feel his hips pulling back as if he’s going to-

“No, don’t,” you gasp. “Cum in me. Fuck, cum in me…”

That’s it – all it takes – Jim couldn’t pull out in time even if he was trying. The urgency of your words and the permission to fill you fulfills some kink of his and he’s filling you good.

He’s still got you against the wall after he’s finished grunting and breathing against your shoulder. Half-hard dick still inside you, you tense your pelvic floor and his cock jolts at the sensation.

“God damn, little girl…” he shakes his head.

“Had enough already?” you tease, eyes trailing over his heated face.

He swallows, shakes his head. “No. Not even close.”

“Good.”

“C’mon, get dressed. Let’s get outta here.”

“So, you’re just gonna leave my aunt’s party with her niece; sex hair and swollen lips and cum dripping down my thighs?”

He groans. “Filthy. God, what a filthy mouth…” he groans, gripping your cheeks.

You laugh, leaning your head back as he slides himself out of you. He eases you to your feet and his cum is dripping down your thighs.

His cock’s still hard when he puts himself away and zips up.

“I’m leaving,” he says. “It’s up to you to figure out how you get in my truck.”

“Challenge accepted.”

[lady-z-writes]

Short little ditty where reader was a bartender Hop once knew.

"Serve me," he jokes, sets the whiskey glass down, and you stare open-mouthed at him.

His smug expression greets you and you hoist yourself up with a half-laugh from the reminiscing you were just doing, the good times, the drinks, you serving him at the bar.

"What'll ya have?" you smooth your outfit out from where it'd been wrinkled from sitting in the velvety green armchair, the breeze through the window cooling your heated body down.

You grab his empty glass.

"Surprise me," he shrugs.

There's something about him - an almoat arrogance - that makes you warm, makes you want to wipe that smirk off his face.

Your eyes take in the overwhelming collection of alcohol, the wash below the bar. He's an experienced drinker. You've known this. Being around him overwhelms you a little; reminds you where you come from, makes you feel small. It'd been a while since you were in town.

You pour him some bourbon, leave the bottle, feeling his eyes on you as you saunter back over to him.

Surprise me, he'd said.

So you take a sip of his drink before handing it over, watch the feigned anger flash across his face.

"Such poor service when you're not being payed for it," his quips are all dripping with innuendo.

You slide into his lap then, really surprise him.

His hands almost hover by your hips, but he sets them down on the armrest. You watch his jaw clench and unclench; see the inner debate playing around in his mind.

"You said surprise you," you say, biting your lower lip.

"That I did."

"So...surprise?"

He's staring at your mouth, finally lets his hands rest on your hips, fingers gripping into your skin, almost feeling you out.

"Well, what...uh...what's your plan here?"

You smirk, shrug, try to take on his arrogance when you say, "Impress me."

It takes 2 seconds for him to press his lips to yours.

All that flirtation at the bar all that time ago you weren't convinced he was into you. You were wrong, you realize, as he pulls you in closer, grinds himself against you.

"Knew we were indulging tonight," he speaks between kisses. "Didn't think this way."

You're desperate for his touch after all this time.

[lady-z-writes]

Just going through notes on my phone and found some Commander Lawrence x OC stuff I planned to make into a fic but chose not to.

So here's some little pieces I'm actually not hating. Some spicy, some sad. Very niche post. And one, big trigger warning...

Tw: miscarriage.

We've both experienced loss, we know this. He's spent countless nights drunk with me, watching in silence as I let the fire dance in front of my face, swallow down tears.

It takes him four days to ask, but I feel enough gratitude toward his kindness, I at least owe him this.

"This is my first post since I had a miscarriage."

His eyes flick toward me, mouth a hard line, but I see a spark of understanding in his expression. The empty bedroom upstairs for his wife, the news Aunt Lydia told me before my post: Eleanor passed three months ago. He's lost, too.

"I see."

Is there...anger I see? Does he think I'm not fit to carry a child; that I can't?

I finish my drink; stare at him until he turns to me.

"Quite a loss, heavy - especially given these circumstances." He swallows a mouthful of his drink. "My assumption is they've assured you you're fit to try again, as they say?"

I nod solemnly, look in my lap. So it's like that, then. Maybe he isn't much different than the other Commanders.

"...do you want to?" There's no urgency in his voice - no demand, no force. Simply a question, as if this loss happened at a time before Gilead.

"Yes," I find myself saying, partly because it's true, partly because it's expected.

He nods then, tries reading my expression, then stands.

I hold my breath, count to five. He's before me now, fingers slipping between my knees for the empty glass I'm holding there. I let it go, exhale.

"You're younger than my last handmaid."

We aren't supposed to talk about her; I know this.

"Yes."

"You buy into all this or are you a rebel too?"

I open my mouth to speak, almost forgetting myself.

He raises his eyebrows at me, returns with my drink, hovers before me.

"The place isn't bugged - you can speak candidly here."

I reach for the glass - something to do with my hands, but he pulls it back, lowers his chin at me.

"I wanted to be a mother...before."

He hands over my glass now, sits beside me, knee-to-knee.

"And now?"

Tears form, tears I've swallowed back for months- aunt Lydia only allowed so long to mourn before she forced me into a doctor's office and made them confirm that I was ripe to try again.

I nod, shakily lift my drink to my mouth and swallow again.

He hangs his head for a moment, sighs. "Even in all this?" His voice isn't judgemental though, curious.

"A girl can dream," I almost laugh, slide the stupid hat from my hair.

This catches his attention and he's almost transfixed by it as I move to unclasp the pins to let it down.

"May i?"

"You never have to ask," He speaks it so softly, I almost think I've imagined it.

My fingers glide through it, tussling it gently so it falls in messy waves over my shoulders.

"And what do you dream about?" he asks in a voice that's almost whispered, almost half-asleep though his wide eyes meet mine.

"Finding a nice Commander. Getting out of this place," I scrunch up my nose, "bringing our child with us."

"Canada?"

I shrug, "anywhere but here."

"But I haven't dreamt of those things in quite a while," I wave off, then add, "and then i met you."

He coughs, pulls his hands closer to his body, settles his fingers around his drink so they're not creeping toward my hair.

"Beg pardon?"

I shrug. "I feel safe here, with you. I can rest easily. I can dream," I clarify.

"Ah," he huffs. "I don't dream anymore. Just nightmares."

My hand finds his forearm when he goes to take a final gulp of his glass. He halts, stares. This is the first time we've touched.

My fingers interlock with his and we simply sit, my fingers rubbing over his knuckles.

"Did you come in talking like this at your last placement?"

I laugh loudly. "That's hilarious."

"I thought so, too." He shoots me a soft smile.

"Why aren't you...like the others?"

"Do you want me to be?"

"No."

"Good. Because fuck that."

It's still a little jarring, hearing him speak so candidly.

"My...wife...and I..." He pauses. "She wouldn't like me behaving any differently to you girls...and...it would be an insult to her memory."

How did I get so lucky?

That night, I pray for the first time in three months. I pray for the Commander, I pray for his wife, I pray for my lost child, and I pray for myself.

The night is filled with dreams, memories returning of Commander Hillebrand and Mrs. Hillebrand's anger when I lost the baby. Reliving. If I'm not dreaming of a future, I'm reliving.

•••

My eyes shoot open and I launch to sit up in my bed.

"You were screaming," Commander Lawrence's voice hums through the darkness and I suddenly feel the weight of him on the edge of the bed. "So much for those dreams, huh?" A dry laugh.

He's about to stand but the thought of being alone in this room, my memories plaguing me...

"Will you...stay?" It's barely a whisper and I can see the shock even through the darkness.

"...yes."

And, to his credit, he does. Though, I can't sleep. He rests in the armchair beside my bed, dozes a time or two before realizing that I'm not sleeping, but staring at the doorway.

He clears his throat, stretches.

"No one's gonna come in here, you know. It's my house."

"Nothing is ours," I speak grimly. "Not here. Not even for you."

"Sheesh, you wake up so cheery."

"How can they do it?" At my question, he silences. "How can they just believe that a child is theirs, disregard our worth, force us to walk away after the feedings are done?"

It takes a long time but his response comes like a whip, "you're just a vessel to them."

"It was my baby. Mine. She had no right to mourn."

"Did they kick you out after that happened?"

I nod quietly. "As if it were my fault. They assumed it would happen again, didn't want to take a chance."

"They cast you out as infertile." He hums.

"They treated me like a murderer."

It surprises me he wanted me here.

•••

I sip my coffee, hum at the warmth, close my eyes and focus on the taste swirling around on my tongue.

When I open them back up, Lawrence is smirking at me and I shoot him an inquisitive look.

He shakes his head, lifts his own mug, "I just enjoy you enjoying things."

We both know that it's been a long 5 years without. Lawrence lived a pretty cushy existence considering, but as a handmaid I'm not granted such luxuries.

I'm again reminded of how we would look to a passerby in a world before this one - this older man and a 30-something me. But he's comfort to me. Lawrence and I can exchange a glance and understand exactly what the other is thinking. It comes with the territory of being constantly monitored in Gilead.

I can still remember laying in the Commanders bed for the first time; soft sheets, sunbeams trying to come through the closed curtains, the weight of him beside me, the dip of the bed.

When I turned to him, he'd been staring; arm propping his head up, fingers hovering above my shoulder. He looked like he'd been caught, the fear in his eyes was enough to make me almost laugh. How did I get to a point to make a Commander fearful? Wonders never cease.

I lean into his warmth, kiss his open palm, almost permission to touch me.

This is strange territory for the both of us. He, not having taken a lover since his wife, not performing a ceremony with any handmaid other than June because they were forced to. And me, not being given pleasure in 5 years.This bed is not meant for this.

He hardly ever sleeps here, I've noticed. It's either in the study or crashed on the couch.

"We're in some serious trouble," his groggy voice groaned with a soft laugh punctuating the sentence.

"Is this...going to be the last time?" I managed to whisper the question that'd been on my mind all night.

He looked haunted then.

"I'm not sure," he hums then adds, "I hope not." And I'm comforted by this.

After so long of being used sexually, steeling myself, locking this part of myself away, actually being touched because I've wanted it is such an addiction now. Thinking about only having this feeling once fills me with grief.

"You don't think Amara will talk, do you?" He knows her better than I do, but I can tell he needs this reassurance so I shake my head; his Martha shouldn't.

"You picked me," I whisper. "Why?"

He laughs without humor. "You're gonna hate me."

"No, I won't."

He sits up now, stops touching me, breaking that contact, I'm guessing, before he thinks I will eventually.

"You were a counselor. And...I lost my wife..."

I smile softly at that sentiment. "You wanted healing."

There are tears now.

"I wanted forgiveness. I wanted someone to look at me without judgement...what is that called? The term evades me..."

"-unconditional positive regard."

"I guess I was just planning on using you for something else entirely. It's not much better than the other Commanders."

I reach for him then, pull him down against my chest. "I'm grateful for you, Lawrence. It's a blessing to be here."

The tears are dripping down my naked chest, he's gasping and breaking down in sobs.

His facial hair tingles against my skin but I don't pull away, I run my fingers through his hair and give him time.

•••

I'm needy again and he's....loving it. The cocky smirk on his face when I meet him in the study is so overwhelming to me I have to hold onto the doorframe.

"Close it," he instructs. I follow orders.

But now I want to call the shots. I stride over to him, holding my dress up over my knees, padding barefoot to the desk.

"Can I help you?" He speaks evenly. I bite my lip, round the desk, wait for him to invite me to sit. He does. I hoist myself on the desk. He blinks slowly when I place my feet on the armrests of his chair.

I see him looking, though he's trying not to. I'm panty-less, exposed, shivering but not from the cold.

"Is this what you want?" His tongue darts out of his mouth to lick his lower lip.

I nod, rest my hand on his shoulder, pull him toward me and then down.

He gets on his knees and my mind flashes to that red cushion - all the times I've knelt before a ceremony.

His hands are warm on my thighs as he traces up them, grips my knees to guide me closer to the edge. His head dips down and I feel his facial hair harsh against my skin, open-mouthed kisses against me, trailing closer and closer to my cunt.

And then he spreads me, presses a thumb to my clit, dances his tongue around my folds until I'm gripping at his hair.

I don't demand a change of pace - I'm chasing any and all pleasure at this point.

He eagerly slips a finger into me, arching just right and I let out a loud gasp.

He shushes me then, moving slow, reminding me that we could be caught.

I cover my mouth when he starts pumping into me, pressing harder on my clit.

I'm fluttering around his finger in no time and he seems pretty pleased with himself, based on his expression. He looks hungry, looks flustered.

His pants are tented when he stands and I groan inwardly. It'll be too long until it's safe for us to fuck in the bedroom. Unfortunately, I know all too well.

Only he's unzipping quickly, sliding his suspenders down. My mouth goes dry. I glance over my shoulder at the closed door.

"We'll be fine," he reassures, "you just can't be loud, my girl."

It's a haunting feeling - to be content once in a while in this world.

[lady-z-writes]

(Jealous Karl x reader. "You're mine" smut)

Swear I thought I posted this, but here you go:

(ETA: ...I'd posted it in 2021, apparently. 🫣)

He'd made the decision to bring you, despite his best efforts to avoid this type of thing.

As soon as Alcina found out about you, she'd been urging him to join her little charade where she pretends to be a good oversized hostess.

She just wanted to get a taste of you, he was sure; lock eyes with you and hope to seduce you, steal you away from him.

Who knew the fucking caterer was going to be yet another threat.

The way he's staring at you makes Heisenberg notice. Sipping his whiskey, he keeps an eye on things as you chat kindly, probably unknowingly.

The smile on your face, the way you look in that outfit tonight - it's too much. He barely let you leave the factory without a mark on you; just in case someone got close enough to see the bite marks on your inner thigh.

You knew you were his. But with some alcohol in you, he wasn't so sure you'd behave yourself. Clearly, you hadn't started this interaction. Of course Heisenberg had been staring since you got up from the table; always an eye on things. He'd rather silently watch you than play socialite at Alcina's ridiculously over-the-top gala.

You'd been good, he just didn't trust the rest of these fuckers.

And the longer he stares, the more heated he's getting.

You'd noticed Heisenberg's staring. It was hard not to. He'd been grinding his teeth when he wasn't taking a sip of that almost-empty whiskey glass.

Speaking of, you knew you were meant to get the bottle from the server.

The caterer is nice enough but if he doesn't watch it, Heisenberg is going to make him into a mechanical plaything.

As you say goodbye, the caterer takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Totally flabbergasted, you shake your head at him.

"You need to stop," you say.

"Stop? We were having such a lovely chat. Perhaps we could have a drink under moonlight."

You glance over your shoulder, but Heisenberg isn't there.

Fuck.

"No, thank you," quickly, you back away toward the serving plater with the whiskey he likes.

It's gone.

Eyes wide, you gaze around the room to see if it's on anyone's table. If you come back without that bottle...-

Suddenly a familiar smell of cigar smoke overwhelms your senses. Glancing to your left, you notice Heisenberg's gaze fixed on you from a few feet away; whiskey bottle in hand.

"Come with me," he demands, shoving the bottle into your arms as he passes.

Before long, you're in a loading bay area, wrapping your arms around yourself from how cold you are suddenly.

"Karl, I-"

"Take your clothes off."

"What?"

He exhales smoke in your face as he shoves you against a crate.

"Now," he hisses.

Shivering, you follow orders, hand him the bottle of whiskey, watch him take a hefty gulp as he stares at your nakedness. As he hands you the bottle back, his eyes linger on the bite marks on your thigh.

You sip the booze in hopes it'll warm you up. Heisenberg takes pity on you - or maybe it's an act of ownership - but he gives you his coat and you're greedy for the warmth.

Not wasting time, he hoists you up, shoves you completely back on the oversized crate. It's freezing and hard but you don't sit up. You set down the booze before you spill it. Heisenberg pulls himself up, crawls over your body with a deep growl that exhales smoke around the cigar in his mouth. When he's eye-to-eye with you, he pops it out of his mouth, ashes it near you, uses his gloved fingers to uncover your right nipple from beneath his jacket. And then the left.

His eyes scan hungrily as he takes another inhale. You can feel him hard against your body and to be honest you're not surprised. It feels good to be this wanted.

He nods down at you and you know what he wants so wordlessly you undo his pants and belt. When his cock springs out, you guide it toward your naked pussy and let him shove himself inside you.

Arching your back, you moan out for him, knowing he wants you to be loud and the pressure of his thick cock is tender without any prep. But he wants it like this. It's a punishment of sorts.

"See you made a friend tonight," he grunts as he puts his cigar out beside your shoulder.

When he's completely in, you feel like you can finally speak. "N-no, that's not it at all. Karl, I-"

There isn't a second of hesitation: he starts pounding into you at such a pace, you can't help but grip his shoulders and whimper.

"You're mine," he growls. "You got that?"

"Yes."

"Say it," he grunts, biting your neck.

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"Karl, I'm yours!"

"Mmm, that's right. You are. You're mine to bite and to fuck. You're mine to make a scene about."

He's putting so much pressure on you, you're consumed by him and it's such an overwhelming feeling you can't help but love it.

"This cunt is mine to fill," he chuckles. "Oh? You're close, aren't you?" a deep laugh. "Bad girls don't get to cum."

You whine and grip him tighter. "No, I'm good. I promise."

"Oh, are you now?" he teases. You nod. "You look good...my jacket falling off your body like some centerfold...tits with my bitemarks on them, little marks from my facial hair...heh, it's like you're my little plaything."

"I'm yours," you whisper out, nodding against his chest as you feel your orgasm nearing. "Please, Karl, please."

He hums as if thinking it over. "One condition, doll."

"Anything."

"You sit in my lap and ride my cock while you cum."

You nod quickly and shift positions, staring in awe at him. This new position gives you so much pleasure. Your mouth is on his shoulder then kissing at his neck, moaning and crying out his name as you ride out your orgasm.

"Good girl," he laughs. "Ah, that's it, kitten...getting me so close."

After you've come down, your heartbeat in your ears, you kiss his neck again, open your eyes, throw your head back a second to stare at the ceiling as he pounds up into you.

It's only when you look straight ahead of you that you notice the door is open.

"Karl," you whisper, tapping him on the arm, trying to pull back.

It's too late. He's got an iron grip on your hips as he's moaning and pumping into you.

All while the caterer stands there in shock next to his crates of pastries.

"Get a good enough show there, bucko?" Heisenberg pants a yell over his shoulder where you're still staring in shock.

No response, just the sound of footsteps retreating.

You smack him on the bicep.

"You knew he was there."

He laughs loudly. "Of course I did!"

"Heisenberg!" you hiss.

"No harm. I didn't even kill him. Besides, look at that entire crate of pastries he left...just for us to sneak back to the factory."

You groan, hiding your face in his chest out of pure embarrassment.

"What? You're a sight when you're cumming. Probably gave that guy plenty to think about..."

"Can we go now?"

"Depends. Learned your lesson about talking to strangers?"

You roll your eyes.

"Yes, sir."

[lady-z-writes]

Been a long time...found this in my drafts.

Sequel of sorts to this post:

In which the group meets at the church and Reader is too distracted by Heisenberg finger-fucking her under the table...

His fingers. His thick God damn fingers...

You cross your legs, let out a quiet, shaky breath, and try to regain your focus.

He notices. Of course he does.

He's watching you out of the corner of his eye and you swear you hear a low chuckle in the back of his throat.

The table setting didn't give you enough space. This is torture. He knows just what he's doing when his hand trails to your thigh.

You jolt up, gasp a little, try to cover it with a cough and a reach for your glass. His hand remains. Minutes pass without any movement from either of you.

He's really fucking good at acting invested. Practiced. You're sure there's reason behind that.

His eyes trail toward Alcina who sits across the table, making demands for something - you aren't really sure. Your focus has been on keeping your breathing even, not drawing attention to yourself. It's a tough job.

Especially when he starts shifting his fingers to hike up your skirt. Your hand instinctively reaches for his when it's between your legs. You grip him, pleading without even looking at him. But his hand keeps moving, shoves yours off, and starts slipping his fingers underneath your panties.

You tense your leg muscles but it's too late - his hand shoves your crossed legs apart, his thick fingers play with your opening, dipping into your wetness.

He shifts in his chair and you imagine he's getting hard from this.

You try to look really focused on Miranda and Moreau's conversation, but Heisenberg's thick digit is just barely moving inside you, but it's curled at the knuckle so it's hitting you just right.

He's glancing at you once again and you're sure that he's completely aware of your little secret: aware that in the past few days you'd fingered yourself in hopes you come close to the pleasure he'd given you. Two fingers, pressure on your clit...it all got you to the point of climax, but nothing compared to his mouth, to his cock.

You swallow down more liquor, inhale sharply as he just barely shifts his finger against your g-spot - constant pressure, slow and deep...

Your thighs press together to stop his finger, but instead he slips another into you and you have to rest your elbows on the table, cover your mouth with your hands.

Heisenberg responds to something Miranda asks him - completely composed - his left hand free and swirling his drink in his glass. The casual way he's going about this, they're none the wiser.

And yet you're barely composed, making eye contact as best you can, but completely overcome with arousal.

This is so public, so wrong in front of all of them.

When you manage to take a breath, sip your drink, attempt composure, his fingers return roughly, hitting you so deep.

He chuckles at something, you're unsure, but the deep vibration reminds you of his damn mouth on your core.

You let out a tiny breath as you cum on his fingers. It takes everything in you not to thrust your hips against him, gain more friction. You shield your eyes from the group, looking at the table like you're in prayer.

His fingers don't stop.

This is going to be a long night.

[lady-z-writes]

Been a while and I just have the urge to write Jim Hopper, okay?

Hopper x reader...sexual tension galore.

"Drive."

Wordlessly, he presses his foot to the gaspedal. Hopper isn't interested in the story this time, is just thrilled you're getting out of there. Time and time again, he'd arrested your boyfriend for disorderly conduct. It's how you met. He was always curious about the pretty little thing that swung by to pick his ass up every time.

You'd called on him a few times, when he'd get physical with objects in the house - start throwing things. Hopper would offer you a smoke on the porch as Callahan took a statement from your boyfriend, sometimes it ended with another arrest. And you two would get to talking about how a nice girl was with such a deadbeat, about how much longer you'd put up with it. You knew it had to stop. But you knew it had to be you to finally make the choice to leave.

Tonight was that night. You'd called him at the station and said you needed a ride. Anywhere. You didn't care.

So, here he is at 2am - tired eyes and an ache that only another night on duty would give him.

When you slid into the passenger seat with two big bags, he knew there was a story there.

You're wearing a red dress and heels and - fuck - is he into your shape. Wants to run his hands down your curves. Wants to make you feel good for once.

Has he grown attached to you over these last few months? Absolutely. Is he going to put you in a position where you felt pressured? Absolutely not. You have enough shit to deal with.

"I need a drink," you say it suddenly but it seems like those words have been rolling around in your mouth for hours. Had you been thinking of him? "Buy me a drink."

One drink turns into two which turns into you spinning around that pool table, a smile on your face for once, feeling lighter without that baggage weighing you down. You suck at pool - your words, not his - but you sure look good bent over, determination on your face to use that stick.

"I've only ever played with my hands," you'd said which made him almost spit his beer. "Never learned for real- just goofed around in high school."

He'd teach you, but that's cliche. Instead he lets you cheat, use your hands if you wanted. It just looked good to see you laughing.

He wondered where you'd been in that dress before you loaded up all your shit and took off. A dress like that deserves to be hiked up as you're fucked good and hard until you squirt.

But these are thoughts for another time, for someone else probably. Yet you're giving him this coy smile before taking your next sip and if he's reading the room well enough, you're flirty.

You make it pretty obvious when you move in close, draw your arms over his shoulders, look up at him.

"You're not in the right place for this, not tonight, sweetheart." He says it though it pains him.

"You know," you don't let go, "he knows me pretty damn well. Accused me of having a little crush on you."

"Is that right?"

"That's right," you draw in closer to him.

"You're just jumping from one car crash to another."

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, Jim." He focuses his gaze on you. "If you don't feel something between us, I'll go."

He huffs a laugh, sighs, looks at you. "What have you been thinkin' about?"

"Today?"

"Sure."

"Well, right now I'm thinking about you bending me over this pool table."

The look you're giving him is enough to make him sigh a heavy breath.

"Fuck..." He leans his head back, stares up at the ceiling, contemplates in what world this would be an okay thing to do.

"Chief?"

"Hm?"

"You can kiss me."

"I could," he agrees, letting his hands trail over your arms as he's trying to hold back the urge to pull you in enough to feel his hardening cock. "But I don't think I'll be able to stop there."

He levels his gaze on you.

"Good," is all you say.

He inspects you now, a groan just barely heard.

"I take you to my place...you sleep. You wake up and you're still interested, I'm off tomorrow. It's your lucky day."

"Deal." Without hesitation, not missing a beat, you pull him close to kiss him on the neck.

You linger there, the tension between you two igniting something in Hopper that's long burned out.

Tomorrow...He can hardly wait.

[lady-z-writes]

Joel x fem!reader

A skimpy outfit. A feeling. A steamy afternoon.

It isn't often that your raids take you to malls. Malls are a thing of the past, a life long ago that haunts you if you ruminate too long on it.

Malls aren't safe.

But the group of you going, you're feeling more confident than maybe you should.

The world you now live in has changed you - another thing you fail to think about until you're on the long, quiet trek to the latest raid location, your mind drifting even though you know that keeping focused means staying alive.

Robert had set this one up and, though you don't trust him, you currently have no other choice but to follow through. You needed the work.

Surprise settles itself in your throat as the team meets up with someone just outside of the mall.

Joel Miller.

Who'd have fuckin' guessed.

His eyes narrow at the group of you, distrust seeping from him. Even when his eyes land on you, he gives a barely-there scoff; nostrils flare for a second, eyes stop squinting only momentarily.

He nods at you and you know you're the only one who passes his scrutiny.

You'd saved his ass from a Clicker once.

Lucky shot. Lucky moment. Right place, right time. All that.

But he doesn't forget it and he doesn't bail on you if you ever call for him.

Which is rare.

There's a tension between the two of you but it's not hatred.

You're absolutely wildly attracted to him, but you can't tell what the feeling is coming from him. It's not anger so you figure you're on his good side. For now.

Once inside the mall, there are teams to be broken into. You're with Jake and Laura but you don't know them well. Joel's name was not on the list, from what you can recall.

He hovers back by you, gives you a sideways glance as the doors open, nods for you to step inside.

Your group is to gather clothes. Sounds silly, but the community is filthy and growing. It'd been a while since they'd prioritized this.

The team had been here several times so unless a new pack came through, it should be clear compared to the first raid.

Joel follows your lead. Silent, focused. You don't think you've ever seen him less than stoic.

The packs on your backs quickly fill up with clothes; Jake and Laura meandering into another nearby store, leaving the two of you partnered up.

Working in silence, you steal glances over at the man, watching him meticulously pick through the racks. He's intelligent about his choices for the community: jackets and pants with many pockets, things that can be layered.

But your eyes keep trailing to the mannequin in the corner - a black romper that's flowy. It's pretty. But there is no time for these delicacies. Not here.

You're not supposed to be shopping for yourself, you mentally argue. Yet you linger near it, touch it and relish in its softness, casually pluck at the ties to see how easily it would come off the mannequin.

You have it halfway off when you notice Joel. Staring. Jaw clenching and unclenching. Only his expression isn't angry. He looks lost in thought.

When you finish removing it from the mannequin, you fold it quickly in your hand, turn awkwardly to Joel, send him a sheepish look and a shrug.

It's subtle but his eyebrow quirks upward and he inhales sharply, his expression hungry.

Joel Miller is a man, starved.

•••

The raid is a success. No deaths, no run ins with infected. Everyone takes the trail that's planned and avoids the hot spots. It's genius.

Paid, back to your makeshift 'home', you snag the romper from the zipper pocket in your bag. No one had questioned it, no one noticed.

It's yours.

The first nice thing you've gotten in a while. Keeping things for yourself is against the rules.

You're slightly worried Joel will snitch but your worries are lifted as soon as you try it on.

The broken mirror in your place reveals cracks of something that would be beautiful. You feel beautiful in this. It's something you'd have worn Before. A flash of the person you were hits you; a wave of emotion.

And then you're crashing down when you hear a knock at the door.

Frantic, you throw on a long coat, clasp it in front of you, pray it's not Robert.

Joel Miller stands on the other side of that door, and you almost gasp.

"Been a while," he nods, stepping in when you step aside. You close the door and he locks it. "Got anything to drink?"

You do. You're trying to busy yourself in the kitchen, using both hands which means your coat is open and-

His hands glide to your sides, pinning you against the counter, his touch making you jump and almost spill the drinks.

"Turn around."

His voice is rough, hushed, breathy beside your ear.

Slowly - so slowly - you spin around for him.

"Take it off," he shoves his hand over your shoulder and pulls at the coat. You follow orders, let the coat fall to the floor.

Hungrily, his eyes trail over your exposed skin - the cut of the top showing a good amount of breast, the flow of the hem almost like a skirt - short on your thighs.

His tongue darts out of his mouth before he wipes his hand down his face, looks serious again.

"You need to be careful," he instructs.

"Joel, I know. I-"

He cuts you off with a deep kiss.

You're stunned, caught up in this moment, feeling like drowning. But you quickly tread water, come up for air, let your fingers tangle in his hair as you press yourself to him.

A moan leaves his throat when your bodies connect; your brain slowly piecing together that he's hard against your thigh.

"Too much, sweetheart. Taking a risk, putting on a show for me. You think I'm unfazed by that? Thinkin' about you like this..." He kisses down your neck, bites, "it tortured me the whole way back."

The word rings in your ears. Torture.

His hands on your bare skin, you're igniting.

You dare to trail your hand down his body, cup his erection, squeeze and jerk. It's embarrassing how wet you're getting just from this.

You're about to get on your knees for him when he stops you, stares, breaths harsh.

And then he's lifting you up to place you on the counter, kissing down to your chest.

His facial hair scraping against your skin makes you moan as he pulls the loose fabric to the side and kisses; massaging one breast before taking the other nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue on you.

You're desperate for him by the time he's kissing your thighs.

"How do you get this fuckin' thing off?" He mutters, hands trailing over your body.

You shimmy out of the top half, shifting to pull it down. Topless, you sit there in just panties and Joel's breathing is the only sound you hear.

Joel Miller is a man, starved.

And he proves that with his mouth on your cunt, his thumb on your clit. He'd ripped off your panties in his hurry, but he keeps his hands on you like he's desperate for contact.

He demands that you cum on his fingers.

When he says, "and then on my cock," you lose breath.

•••

You convince him to get naked as you lay on your bed. He seems so hurried, so eager, he'd only pulled his cock out when you got to the bedroom - tried to slip into you with his jeans around his thighs - but you wanted to see all of him.

He obliges. Doesn't like you making a spectacle of him but he's desperate to be pussy drunk at the moment.

When he's on top of you, pressing into you, all else is forgotten. It's just skin and breaths and pleasure.

The first time isn't enough.

You both cum too quick.

Riled up even after he filled you, you climb onto him, grinding against him once again to urge his cock hard.

A sleepy smile appears for a brief moment, but you take it in.

His strong hands grip your hips and help you along when your legs tire. You look good straddling him, you think.

"I've been thinking about this," you admit as you ride him, the sunset peeking through the blind slats.

He quirks a brow. "I know."

You kiss him, beg him for more, praise his name when he flips you over and takes you from behind.

You're gripping his forearms as he envelopes you. His fingers clench the bedsheets. The deep rumble of his moans in your ear send chills through you.

It's not affection, but it's something; a dalliance.

He won't ask you to be his in the morning. He probably won't even be there in the morning. It'll be like you're a secret. But secrets are safe here. Secrets keep you alive here.

Your assumption is right.

All that's left behind are rumpled sheets and a sensation between your thighs.

You spot him across the street when you go out for your morning.

The intense stare can only mean one thing.

He'll be back.

You're eager, to say the least.

[lady-z-writes]

I know when I started this side blog, it was Heisenberg that I was obsessed with but now that I'm watching The Last of Us, it's reignited my love for Joel.

Anyone else?

[lady-z-writes]

Since some of you requested, here's more steam from this Butcher x reader post...

You and Butcher have hooked up 7 times since that night.

It's always after some stressor of a night, after seeing some shit or feeling too much.

And you've done a pretty decent job of keeping it from the others.

But there are moments you don't want to control yourself. Like now, standing in the hallway talking to Frenchie, Butcher leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, forearms looking so good in the lighting...

You're not even paying attention to the conversation, completely unable to focus when you're this close to him. It's irritating. You're actively annoyed that Butcher does this to you without even touching you.

The minute you're alone, he shifts his gaze to you, and it's like the floodgates have opened.

You're shoving him against the wall, clawing at his skin, hungry kisses, sharp breaths. His hands wander over your body and you let him touch you, let him undo the button and zip of your jeans, feel his warm hands slip between fabrics, playing with your clit over your panties.

"Been waitin' for this all fuckin' day," he growls.

And then footsteps approach and you're both frantic, righting yourself and trying to not look flustered as you pull the hem of your shirt lower to cover your unbuttoned pants.

Hughie nods at you as you meet eyes, but then he stops before Butcher, looks between the two of you, eyebrows furrowed.

"Are you okay?"

Your gaze flips to Butcher who is wiping his hand down his facial hair.

"Tired. Just...tired," you nod. "Have a good night, guys."

The walk to your coat and purse is awkward and you can feel his eyes on you. It's...sort of a fun idea to leave him wanting.

But then you're suffering too.

By the time you leave, Hughie is still talking, holding him up, and you catch one long look from Butcher as you walk out the door.

In your apartment, alone, you can't help but feel needy and desperate. You'd assumed your night would be filled with Billy, but the empty space feels really heavy.

You make it to your bedroom in no time, seek out your vibrator, don't even undress completely before you're pressing it to your clit, imagining Billy's fingers.

You're working your way to your first climax when there's a sound - several pounds. You almost think you've imagined it but suddenly you feel like you've been caught.

You know who it is and your excitement jolts through you, tossing the toy to the foot of the bed, and bounding toward the door.

Butcher stands there when you open, looking absolutely wrecked.

"You think you're cute, running off like that?" He shoves passed you, into the living space, tossing off his coat, standing so powerfully. "On your knees."

Desperate for your own release, you almost deny him but the dark look on his face makes you follow orders.

"You're lucky," you huff.

"Oh, yeah? How's that?"

"I want your cock in my mouth." Your fingers slowly undo his clothing but when you glance up at him, you can see the gears turning.

"Know what? No," he pulls you up by your arms, shoves you harshly against the wall, "you've got some nerve," your smug expression just pisses him off and he's kissing you instantly, grinding himself against you.

When his hand wanders and he feels how wet you are, the smirk on his face is arousing.

"What, exactly, were you up to?"

He. Knows.

You'd talked about it before; your toys, how they never satisfy like he does.

And before you know it, he's pushing you into the bedroom. His eyes instantly land on the vibrator, a short laugh huffed out.

No words are spoken, he simply undresses you between hungry kisses, pulls his cock out, shoves you on the bed, and teases his tip against your wet opening.

"Been thinking about this little cunt all day and then you don't stay around for me to play with you. So, you know what? I get off. You have to wait."

Your jaw drops. He shoves himself inside. You see stars.

And he isn't lying, of course he isn't. The minute he feels the slightest flutter, hears your breath escape like you're close - he slows his pace or stops completely.

This edging is not ideal.

You knew the vibrator would come back to haunt you. When you hear it buzzing, you have seconds to process before he shifts, reaches around you as you're bent over the bed, and presses it to your clit.

The urgency you're feeling is astonishing.

A, "please," leaves your lips before you're even realizing it.

He completely ignores you and you can tell by his breath that he's close. Good thing, too - so are you. Your hope is he'll be too distracted and let you...-

A growl. "Oh, fuck..."

The vibrator shifts, no longer hitting you where you need it and in a desperate attempt, you grab his hand, throw him off balance a bit, and shove his fingers against your clit - toy be damned.

He chuckles but it's short-lived because he's sliding into you so smooth, tensing up...

A cuss leaves his lips as you feel him ejaculate, his breathing labored. Your pleasure almost peaking, just not quite, you moan.

Panting, he lazily kisses your back, bites your shoulder, rides out the end of his orgasm.

You're. Heated. So sensitive, close. So damn close.

Gasping, you feel him shift out of you.

"You don't plan on leaving me waiting again, hm?" You're on your back now, Butcher leaned forward, fingers in you, hooked deep and pressing into your g spot. You feel him through the mix of your wetness and his cum. The sensation is overwhelming.

"Do you want to cum, duchess?"

You nod tersely. He hums.

A second finger enters you, vibrator still buzzing beside you on the bed. His thumb covers your clit.

"Maybe I'll let you cum on my cock tonight."

Your brain is foggy and you don't know if he means there's more to look forward to later or he's going to deny you again. But that urgency pushes you on and in seconds you're right there.

Butcher allows it, pumps his fingers into you, loves watching you climax.

"Ah, there it fuckin' is."

You kiss him, and he's caught off guard but once again allows it. The moment is still, grounding. You're both breathing heavy, holding the moment.

You take a minute to exhale, cover your face, laugh.

"You cheeky fuckin' thing," it's sort of amusement in his voice but it's short-lived. "Get up and get in the fuckin' shower. I'm not finished with you yet."

[lady-z-writes]

Source: This

[lady-z-writes]

so admittedly I was drawn to RE8 out of nowhere (had never played the games before, never had interest) because of big vampire lady at first, but I think the thing that made me really latch on to it emotionally was just how...natural and organic the characters are, despite being yknow monsters and stuff? There's something about that cast in particular that brings a very sympathetic, dare i say down to earth kind of vibe to each of the characters that i really wouldn't expect from a survival horror (sometimes I wish they hadn't, considering it is yknow a survival horror and the nature of the game is to keep moving and killing things EVEN THOUGH EVERYTHING IS GORGEOUS AND I LOVE EVERYONE). Heisenberg especially was the one I latched on to after Lady D because there was something so simultaneously confident/smooth and yet also convincingly awkward about him that Neil portrays SO WELL, like you know Karl's self-perception is always either at one extreme or another and it gets conveyed so well in Neil's mannerisms- Heisenberg swaggering and crooning one moment, then sheepishly apologizing for yelling at his frankenstein propeller blade creature the next, lest Ethan think him RUDE or something heaven forbid!!!

I just think it's so masterful and has really ushered in a new precedent for gameplay and storytelling. It went SO HARD!! WHEN IT DIDN'T HAVE TO!! I will always be so grateful for that lmao

[lady-z-writes]

Going through notes on my phone which is where I'll type up random fic ideas if I'm out somewhere.

Just stumbled across this little number that never got written...:

"Fic idea: modern day AU in which Heisenberg has a cell phone and discovers your social media page...including your inappropriate Instagram.

Can't stop jerking it."

....

That's it. That's the post.