ps ur writings are soooooo good i love ur work <33
How about piss kink with both of them?
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"Open, sweetheart." Price murmurs, gently parting your lips with his soft cockhead. "Attagirl."
You keen softly as Price whispers praises to you. Price sighs, his body sagging as he relaxes. You suckle lightly on his cockhead.
Price groans, finally starting to piss into your eager mouth. His free hand lightly pets your hair. "Such a good girl for me, sweetpea."
You swallow mouthful after mouthful if Price's piss, not ushering a single complaint or losing a single drop. Once Price finishes, he pulls his (now hard) cock from your mouth.
Price gestures toward Ghost, who is sitting in a chair right next to Price. "Go on. Simon needs a nice warm mouth, too."
You nod, shuffling to sit between Ghost's legs. He frees himself from his boxers, cock large and intimidating, even soft.
Ghost, unlike Price, prefers to piss on your face rather than into your mouth. You think it might be because he likes making you lick the mess off the floor.
Ghost's free hand grips your hair, roughly muttering, "Open."
That's all the warning you get before Ghost lets go. His piss doesn't land in your mouth. You know that he's aiming away from your mouth on purpose.
Ghost's piss coats your face. Some of it ends up in your hair and dripping down your chest. You barely manage to get any in your mouth.
"Look at you, made a fuckin' mess everywhere. You need to clean it up, doesn't she, Cap?" Ghost grumbles, wiping his cock on your soaked face.
Price laughs, deep and warm. "Doesn't she ever. Better lick it up for us, darling."
You end up on all fours, covered in piss and cum. You were just trying to clean up, but the sight of you licking Ghost's piss up off of the floor made both men hard.
He doesn't think it's anything special, but Simon knows you like his voice. There's a certain cadence to it when he addresses you that just... does things to you. Coarse, heavy with emotions, and sounding a lot like home. Those were your words. Heh. Fancy that. Goes double with the pet names, though. And yes, the bastard takes advantage of this at every turn, if only to see you flustered, look away in embarrassment, or get all shy and soft on 'im. Aren't you cute, pretty?
Speaking of pretty, whenever you call out to him?
"Yeah, sweetheart?" First time he said it, Simon swore your knees buckled. Then it turned to "What is it, baby?" or "Luv?" That rough but soft lilt, just like you like it.
Oh, but if you thought that was bad, Simon ups the ante with strong eye contact, too. Sometimes he doesn't say shit, doesn't really have to to get his point across, just watches you. And when you catch him, he doesn't stop. Nah, not his M.O., precious. Your lieutenant keeps staring, keeps watching you, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, loving how you get so timid and shit, avert your gaze some, and then come back to him because yeah, you got that hold on him, too, sweetheart.
But the coup de grâce?
"...Simon?"
"...Yeah, beautiful?"
You shortcircuit something fierce, and Simon chuckles in response. Smug bastard's still got it.
And nah, he ain't stopping anytime soon. Get used to it, gorgeous.
WORD COUNT. 3432
SUMMARY. being a booty call is harmless, said no one ever. you've been the favourite fuck for a particular hawkin's chief for quite some time now. only tonight when you visit, your suppressed feelings get in the way and you're each forced to confront what you've both been burying. [smut + angst bc its my fave combo]
WARNINGS. kinda dark content?? kinda not?? fuck buddies, set just before season 1 when he's a bit of a womaniser, dom!hopper, porn with plot, general filth, pinv sex, throat holding, reader has a taboo liking for men older than her, very legal age gap, corruption(???) arguing + angst. mdni
PART TWO | PART TWO REWRITE
From what you've pieced together, Hopper's lake trailer has been a revolving door of women for quite some time now. No two have been the same, though it seems as if you're the exception.
Supposedly, you're the only one of the many women to be called back; you're his most favourable and consistent booty-call, as it appears. You sort of wished you had more respect for yourself, but clearly you don't. He calls, and you come. Every single time. It's as if he's secretly dependant on you, knowing you're a phone call away — knowing that you'd drop everything just to show up on his door step and please him.
There have been continuous clarifications that this, what's going on between you, is purely physical. Just sex. Nothing else. He's not into you like that, you're just a really good lay, as he so frequently reminds.
But you read into it, you always have.
You're not sure how he expects you to separate your feelings when he calls you over so often, how he unknowingly lures you in with his damaged, drunk vibe that you shouldn't find as hot as you do. It's as if you're setting yourself up for failure: consciously indulging in repeated moments of weakness simply because you liked the little bits of attention you were granted.
You knew yourself, you knew you could only repress so much before it all just sort of fizzes up and explodes out of you. You didn't know when that would be, or what it would entail, but you knew it was coming. These feelings can't be contained forever.
It's weird really, how you allow yourself to be used by him; how you permit what you do just because of the enshrouded infatuation you have for this particular older chief. If you were to think hard, you'd realise you'd always done it; obsess and fantasise over someone older than you with a sense of authority. You did it back in high school with your history teacher, you did at your first job with your boss, it's just what you do. It was immoral and wrong and slightly disturbing, but it felt sort of natural to you.
That's kind of what you have now with Jim Hopper, the chief of police. If teenage you could see you now, she'd have a fit: the thought that future her would be sleeping with a chief, an actual chief. By now it's obvious that he is older than you, maybe significantly so, but as the renowned saying goes, you're half his age, plus seven — so it makes it okay, so you tell yourselves.
But people talk in this town, gossip travels fast, which is why the nature of these rendezvous, cannot be uttered, ever. It's become this dirty secret that just makes the whole thing that much hotter.
You're back on the porch of his little lakeside cabin for the second time today, hand in a fist as you give the flimsy door a light couple knocks. It swings open not even a second later, like he was anticipating your arrival; waiting for you. He stands there, the lamps from inside gently illuminating his soft body from behind as he wears nothing but an off-white, ratty old towel on his hips.
"Anyone see you?" he asks, eyes darting from the left side of you, to the right — looking around at the dark, vast expanse of woods surrounding.
You peer over your shoulder, following his eyeline. "No," you reply and look straight ahead to the sight in front, head craning slightly to get him to meet your eyes.
"Sure?" he questions, reaching for the sides of your head — massive hands encompassing it as he pulls you into meet him.
"Yeah. Yeah I'm sure," you utter against his lips, voice caught in your throat.
"Yeah?" he hums. It wasn't really a question, or something he wanted an answer to, rather simply a gruff, hum-like noise. A pleased one.
It's quick and rough, the motion of his lips on yours. Like he's impatient, eager to get to what he wants most. Hopper's grasp on the sides of your head lower, palms now situated around the base of your throat as he tugs you into his trailer — only to kick the door shut with his foot. He rams his body into yours, the feel of his chub on more than evident through the thin fabric that merely covers it.
"Missed me like I missed you?" he asks, voice breathless as he speaks it between the kisses he sears on your throat.
He didn't mean it. It's just something he says.
You give him a blissed hum, and a nod.
He begins to walk you backwards and to his couch behind, brisk desperate footsteps implying the restlessness that bubbles inside him. But he's careful, walking you back with considerate direction as you undo and drop your pyjama shorts to the floor. Jim turns and plops down onto the sofa, keeping you latched tight so you too drop with him. You fall onto his lap, thighs spread and dropping off either one of his as you straddle him.
He brings a hand up to cup the base of your throat while the other grabs a hold of one of your tits — grasp tight on the latter, fingers urgently digging and pawing at the your breast. Hopper pulls you in to meet his lips again; movement rough and desperate and deep as he fills your mouth with his tongue.
"Get yourself ready, like I told you?" he asks, pulling away slightly as he speaks.
"Mhm-hm," you nod, your own fingers latching onto the shorts of damp, dirty blonde hair at the back of his neck.
"Yeah?" he comments, voice gruff-like and husky. He holds his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, moustache hairs quivering ever so slightly as his eyes fall from yours, and to your mouth. "Aren't you good."
The hand he has on your tit, falls. Large palm sliding down your clothed side only for it to slide back up; this time underneath your top. He pulses your bare side for a moment until he drops it between your bodies; snaking it into your underwear from the side.
"I said I did," you hum, arms tightening around his pudgy, broad shoulders.
"I know," he slowly licks his lip, the act timely — like it was an effort of savour the moment and focus.
He slips his middle finger between your folds and drags upwards, evidence of your prior playing coating him. He then joins his ring finger, adding it with the other as scoops your arousal — collecting what he can between his two fingers.
Hopper releases his hold around the base of your neck and drops it to between his thighs, like he did with his other a moment ago. Finicking with his towel, he undoes it and reveals the thick aching cock underneath. He's careful as he retracts his hand from your cunt, being mindful not to spill your slick. And once he's pulled himself carefully out from behind your underwear, he's smearing you over himself — polishing your arousal over the head of his cock. Lubing himself up with you.
It's a sight really, enough to fill your racing head with filth and strip the air from your lungs; it's probably the hottest thing you've ever witnessed. Ever.
You snap yourself out of the little haze and reach a hand to between your thighs — preemptively hooking your underwear aside. You hold the elastic to the side and stand a little bit, allowing some space between yourselves so he can line up with you. Giving himself a quick couple preparatory pumps, he grabs a hold of the base of his cock, palm encompassing his balls as he brings his other hand to your waist.
He grabs a hold of you and lowers you down, lining you up with his dick so you could slip right on top of it. You do exactly as he hoped: you slide right on top. He fills you entirely and it knocks all the air out from you.
You cradle his head for a moment, grip tight on him as you use him for a sense of comfort and stability. You don't move, neither does he. You both sort of still for a moment, letting the other adjust. But that changes when he scooches forward from his lounged position, the shift making him knock into you differently.
Hopper sits at the edge of the sofa, legs spread wide as he supports the weight of you on top of him. Both his very large hands have by now travelled to the lower of your bare back, the placement simply there to guide you under your tee. He winds you over him, directing your hips up and then down in a singular, particular movement on top of his cock — the feel enough to make your breath shudder and cause a sting at the back of your throat. Almost like he was so deep inside you, that you feel him make his way up and through your body.
"You're all mine," he husks, teeth territorially grazing your skin.
You support yourself with a hand on his shoulder while the other reaches for the bottom hem of your top, your fingers curl underneath and you lift it upwards, undressing your upper half. Hopper notices your slight struggle with only the one hand and helps rid your top, though he keeps you put; holding a spread out hand on the middle of your back, supporting you so as not to let you fall while he helps undress you.
His heavy eyes hang low as they watch you, focus on set on your face as it slowly appears from the top he drags off you. You offer him a small, sincere smile, but he doesn't say anything, not with his mouth anyway. His eyes however, they paint a picture. And it's in that moment that things begin to feel a bit too real, a bit too complicated.
He doesn't notice the flicker of puzzlement in your eyes because he's already dipping his head in for your chest, mouth reaching for your nipple. He encapsulates it with his lips and its enough to temporarily rid the conscious realisation from your mind. The thought momentarily forgotten.
Your arms move back to his shoulders and you tighten them, enveloping his head within your hands as you tug him into you. You rest your chin on the top of his head as your own head falls back, the overwhelming feel of his sucking on your tits enough to warrant such a response.
Jim parts ever so slightly and moves away from your breasts. His tongue swipes upwards; moving up your collarbones, up the length of your throat and to just under your jaw. It leaves a residual smell of cigarettes and beer, but you don't seem to mind. You've never minded it.
He guides you back up by the hips and then lowers you back down, doing this repeatedly —making you take him over and over and over again. Though there's nothing hasty about it, each wind and grind done so with steady, systematic care.
It's so weirdly intimate that it evokes a response you don't much like. It makes you want to cry. It's a combination of it all that makes you feel as such: the domesticity of it all, how tender it is, how confusing it is — and it only makes you think. Makes your head whir with thoughts that should be saved for later on.
"Wait, wait, Hop," you murmur, head pulling back as you untangle your arms from him.
"Hm?" he too pulls back, heavy, blissed eyes growing with concern as they watch a sense of avoidance fill in yours. "What? What is it?"
You stabilise your feet on the floor properly and then stand, letting his dick slip out from you. "I gotta go, I can't do this."
He sits in place for a moment, quite like he's in shock, not yet aware of what's just happened. "C'mere, whats the matter?"
You bend to the floor and pick up your tee, quickly placing it over your head — moving so like your life depended on it. You glance around the floor for your shorts, and while you search, Hopper is joining you on your feet. He wraps the towel back around himself and makes his way over to you, cock pained and still fully hard from the pills he popped earlier, erection so large that it knocks you in the thigh; the accidental act making you flinch.
"M'sorry," he hums, watching you fluster in a slight panic as you search for your things. "C'mon."
"I can't find my shorts. Where are my shorts?" you raise your voice, but it's not out of anger, it's something else.
And he notices. He picks up on your tone.
He extends a hand for your shoulder, an effort to calm you down, but you only dip away — avoiding it.
"What is that? Hop, seriously."
"You were fine a minute ago," he utters, head moving side to side like he was trying to keep your eyes on him. "What, you don't want me to touch you now?"
"Well it's not the same though, is it— fuck! Where are my shorts?"
You run a frustrated hand up your face and into your hairline, and you let out a shuddery breath.
He's never seen you act like this before, he doesn't quite know what to do.
"What is this?" you emphasise, hands theatrical as if it was to express your frustration. "You—you—you," you scoff, the noise humourless. "You sweet talk me, and you— and you fuck me, like that," you gesture to the sofa, implying the sex from a moment ago. "And you say all these things and then when we're done, it's nothing. Just nothing. What is that?"
He's quiet, he doesn't have an argument.
"See? Like that," you shake your head. "It's just sex to you, isn't it? You just like the idea of me."
Well that was what was originally agreed. There was a common, vocal agreement that it's all it should be. But you felt as if you were past that, that what you have now has evolved from mindless, emotionally detached yet incredibly passionate sex.
"I do like you," he admits, but it doesn't sound honest, it's like it was was forced out of him. Like he was saying what you he thinks you want to hear.
"Yeah? Then ask me on a date," you cross your arms and stare at him. It was like you were making conscious effort to stand your ground, forcing yourself not to give in so easily.
You wait. You wait for longer than deemed necessary just to get a response, but you don't get one. As if you were giving him the benefit of the doubt, but really you were just holding out hope that he'd say actually something — but no, he doesn't.
You scoff again, and shake your head, the action despondent, dispirited.
"Like that. You tell me I'm yours when your dick is in me and then what? And that's just—" you cut yourself off, far too frustrated with the circumstance to continue.
He keeps his towel in place with a hand, and the other is up the air, irritation evident in the way he holds it up and out. His eyes have lost that sense of softness from before, now they're rigid — gaze tense as he watches you in place. "Where's all this comin' from?"
Your face contorts without your knowledge and you once again, shake your head at him. You've done a lot of that tonight.
"This is confusing, this whole thing is so confusing."
"This too hard for you, huh? Too grown up for you? Is that what it is?" he low blows you, the comment an effort to hurt you, so it seems. "This is what grown ups do, and if you can't handle that, then I don't know what to tell you."
"Don't patronise me," you furrow your brows at him, mirroring his expression. "There is nothing grown up about this, anyof this."
Instead of cowering away, you stand up to him; taking a step forward. Because with Jim, he can take it, he can take your tongue and not respond in a way most men do. So you didn't fear him in that sense.
"You wanna know your problem, Hopper?" you firmly poke him in the chest, right bang in the middle. "You're scared."
His head dips aside and so does his body, like he was repelling from that observation, physically dejecting it. He diverts his eyes from you, focus withdrawn as a chagrin expression replaces the ire one from before.
"You don't want to feel things, so you run and you hide from it all…" you meet his eyes, making sure he sees you as you utter what you're about to. "You're a coward."
He reaches a hand up and to yours right in front of him, your finger still stuck in an accusational point against his chest. Enveloping his fingers around your wrist, he pulls it away — but keeps a hold of it, of you.
"You don't talk to me like that," he murmurs, tone sort of chilling. "You got that?" his eyes narrow at you, expression like it was a challenge.
Confusing. Something switches in him again, you can see it.
You feel your heart thump in your chest and you fear it may explode out of you. Involuntarily, your eyes drift from fury focus to smitten mush in a matter of seconds, gaze now fluttering to his lips; like his are with you.
He sees how easy it is, how simple it is. But we waits, he waits for your invitation. He sets it up, he's just got to wait for you to act on it.
And you do, just as expected.
You reach up for him, pressing your lips to his. And in response, Hopper deepens it; mouth working over yours, tongue entering you as the hand from the towel moves to your face, thumb and forefinger making indentations in either cheek, grabbing a hold of you and pulsing your face in place. It's like he's taking charge again.
You muffle breathlessly into his mouth and he swallows it, sucking up your lusty little noises like he favours most. And with the other hand around your wrist, he lowers it — guiding it back to the attention starved, aching erection between his thighs. But it has the opposite effect, it doesn't pull you back in, except it pushes you away; making you realise what was happening.
Retracting from him, you take a step back, putting physical, literal distance between yourselves.
"This is just— this is such a mind fuck," you utter, voice airy, like it was of faux amusement. You retreat backwards, but keep your eyes in his direction. "You're messing with my head."
Hopper stands there, face dejected and chest pounding as he watches you leave. You were right, he is scared, he is a coward. He can't confront his feelings as that would mean he'd have to recognise them.
You make your way out of his door, but you don't slam it. You're not even sure what you feel, but it's not anger, it's something else you can't quite place. You're past that point and that's reason for the lack of slam. It's like you disappear, backing out of his life as quietly as you came into it.
Barefoot in nothing but undies and a tee, you rush to the comfort of your truck parked on a dirt curb. You hop inside and sit for a moment, you aren't in any rush. It's like you want to take a minute to process what happened and get it all out before you drive, not so keen on getting into a car wreck as a result.
That felt oddly liberating, the whole thing. Like a weight's been lifted off you.
You did know yourself, you knew your blow up would be unpredictable, only you just wished it would've came after you did. Now you're left with an ache in your cunt to match the one in your heart.
He's a man, they don't much change. If he doesn't do anything, that's on him; you've done your part. You've said your piece. But if he does decide he wants to change, you'd stupidly be there waiting — ready to pick things back up upon his cue.
⎯ ☆ ⎯
idk what this is. had the idea and ran with it tbh. probs not my best💔💔💔💔ending is rushed tooooo anyway I’ll shut up now
season 1 hop my beloved!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
simon riley is a very dangerous man shaped by scars and hardened by a life of violence. but when he finds you—an innocent kitten hybrid caged in a lab—something in him shifts. he owns you and he takes very good care of what's his.
this series is a collection of drabbles that follows owner!simon and the delicate kitten hybrid he takes in. it explores their slow-building bond and the blurred line between protection and desire.
scenes from the keeper and the kitten
taken in
when simon adopts you.
uncovered
when you see his face for the first time.
getting you clean
when simon gives your first bath, just like a good owner should… but it’s not that simple.
scar by scar
you groom simon slowly, licking over every scar like you’re trying to make him whole.
just a glimpse
when you walk in on simon while he’s taking a shower.
bad dreams
when you have a nightmare and simon comforts you.
first kiss
when you first kiss simon.
eager mouth
when you give simon a blowjob for the first time.
burning up
when you get your first heat.
name
you say simon’s name for the first time.
shopping
simon takes you shopping at the mall but your choice of clothing leaves him very tempted
141
simon takes you to meet the 141
pretty and pink
simon gifts you a butt plug and stretches you in more ways than one
after seeing that matthew pluschat live with the delicious angle i cant help but think of sucking him off ><
😏 now what about sucking him off WHILE he’s on live?
matthew loves doing cooking/kitchen lives so he’d be in there making pancakes and talking with his fans. you, still in the bedroom, got the notification on your phone that he was live so you clicked on it. you couldn’t deny your boyfriend looked just as delicious as the food he was making, so, you went to the kitchen, mischief brewing in your head.
he’d been caught by surprise when you sauntered over & crouched down to avoid the camera, his eyes widening when you started palming him through his sweats. he’d quickly angle the camera higher so no one could see what you were doing :3
matthew is definitely vocal during sex so he’d be biting his lip to hold in his moans!! his throat went dry while trying to talk to fans, watching as they started to get concerned about how flushed he looked.
there were a few comments asking why he kept looking down, most fans assumed he was sick cuz he kept shutting his eyes tightly and breathing heavily. but in reality he was getting the best head of his life. your mouth felt so good around him and he was trying not to cum so quickly >_<
what took you by surprise though was him grabbing your head and slowly thrusting his cock into your mouth. and when he got closer and closer to his peak, he quickly ended the live telling his fans he’d come back later and that he had a schedule to go to.
as soon as he set the phone down he picked up his pace, finishing in your mouth with a groan. he flashed his pretty smile before pulling you up and bending you over the kitchen counter <3
you woke up on your bed when you smelled something from outside of your bedroom. getting up from your bed, bring the headache straight to your head. ah i went crazy last night.
trying your best not to bump into the walls while walking to the kitchen till you see someone’s back, cooking something, smelled like pancakes. his back turned around, “youre awake?” you nodded.
“did you sleep here, bin?” he nodded, “i fell asleep on the couch, i was planning to drive back home but yea” he shrugged. “i see. are you making pancakes?” “yea, i made some hangover soup for you too. go wash your face first”
after brushing your teeth and all, you started eating the soup hanbin made for you, “bin” he looked at you with pancakes full in his mouth. you chuckled, “i want to ask you something” he nodded, “go on”
“did i do something yesterday..?” he tilt his head, “what do you mean?” you sighed, “did i… sleep with someone..?” he stared at me with a shock face “wh-.. i.. uh.. no..” you frowned, “really? youre not lying right?”
she doesn’t remember.
but she has the right to know, hanbin.
you shrugged, “i asked because when im drunk, i’ll wake up with someone beside me. but, i’ll just believe you. thank you for the soup, i feel so much better now. youre done right? i’ll go wash the dishes” you were going to take his plate but he hold your wrist, “i lied.” you looked at him, “hm?” you sat back down.
“i..u- we..” he stuttered. “what is it?” you asked. “we..” we?… oh … oh. “hanbin, did we..?” he tries avoid your eye contact, “i couldn’t.. hold myself.” he sighed, “imsosorryiknowyouhatemenowyoucanpunchmeslapmeitsmyfault” you chuckled and hold his hand, “hanbin, i dont hate you.” he looked up to you, “but-“ “im pretty sure its my fault” you looked down. silence came for like 5 seconds till he speaks up, “i didn’t hate it though..” you smiled, “even though i cant remember it, but i didnt regret it. im glad it was you. its really a shame that i cant remember it” you caressed his hand before letting go and took the dishes to go wash it. he sat there, eyes widen a little when he heard you say that. then his mind went back to last night..
“we shouldn’t…” his mouth said it while his body reacted the opposite, his hand on your waist, pulling your close even though he keep repeating shit like “we shouldn’t” “we cant”
“i know you want it too, bin..” he hates how right are you and that he cant deny that. the way your hand feels on him. no, she’s drunk. you cant hanbin. “you wont regret this, i promise.” you whispered as your lips brush against his. im fucked. “ah fuck it” he groans before smashing his lips into yours, immediately entering his tongue in.
pushing you down your bed, both instantly taking off your clothes. “do you have any condom, princess?” you shakes your head, “fuck me raw, hanbin.”
his mind went back, looking down to his pants, seeing his hard cock already bulging the pants. he turned to you at the sink, before biting his lips, trying to stop himself. i didn’t regret it. thats what she said. she didnt regret it.
you heard hanbin standing up from his chair before you feel his presence behind you, when youre about to turn around, he hugged you from behind. “han-“ then you feel it. something poking your ass. he sighed into your neck, “i cant stop thinking about it..” he mumbles. you can feel your face turning red. “you’ll remember this time, princess. please just let me..” he starts grinding on you slowly. you turned to him, “do whatever you want to me, bin.” he stared at you before smashing his lips on yours.
