if I put together a low-key multifandom writing and art event incorporating any and all characters from David Harbour's filmography, would you be interested in participating?
yes as a writer
yes as an artist
maybe - I want to learn more
no but I would read & support via comments & kudos
Hc where Hopper doesn't understand why reader is obsessed with his body esp because she's younger and he's seen younger girls liking muscular guys but she only has eyes for him <3
Our little big & tall attention whore:
That *is* something Hopper might feel but then he’d get over it and fuck you silly until you’re moaning and whining his name so loud it’s a wonder the whole town can’t hear you going at it like rabbits.
He’s picking out engagement rings and thinking about kid names as we speak.
I read this in another Hopper fic once and I feel like it's so true for mee that reader loving Hopper's thick ahh thighs and getting distracted into biting them randomly when blowing him 😭😩
Thigh Riding & Teasing • NSFW
• Sometimes you’re just so horny for him that you’re riding his thigh, watching his cock get stiffer in his boxers
• Hopper ecstatic watching you make yourself cum on him, pussy dripping onto his skin
•You’re still buzzing when you sink between his knees, soft hands playing with his excited shaft
•He’s tired of the teasing, gently pushing your head onto his thick cock, groaning and panting as you suck him off like a slut
•You’re still thinking about his thighs, pausing your blowjob to trail kisses on his hot skin, sometimes dragging your teeth against his flesh
•Hopper lets you play with him before making you bob and gag around him over and over until he’s cumming down your hot little throat
Hopper HeadCanons You May See In My Writing — SFW & NSFW
• Hopper is actually a decent cook! I think he can actually throw together a nice, well-seasoned meal that isn’t standard breakfast food.
• A lot of his clothes have little stains that he just doesn’t care to fix. In the show he eats donuts and then kinda touches EVERYTHING with his sticky donut fingers, sooo yeah.
• Loves face fucking. Idk what else to tell you.
• Falls asleep very fast. Probably has horrible nightmares but by God he’s OUT like a light.
• Doesn’t like receiving hickeys. I just get the vibe that he doesn’t like to be bitten.
• Favorite position is full-on, deep mating press. He’s a man born in the 40s with a breeding kink, I don’t make the rules.
• I actually don’t believe that he’s insecure about his body. I think Hopper is more insecure about his behavior, history, and sense of belonging.
• Hopper is not great at words of affirmation and romantic compliments. Think about the show. The ONE time he explicitly calls Joyce beautiful he’s trying to deflect attention from himself so she doesn’t find out about his plan to blow up. It also just didn’t seem like a natural Hopper line to me, sorry. Praise during sex is different.
—————
What other headcanons do YOU have?
Any ideas for new Hopper smut or angst? Send them my way. 💌
After a less than appropriate night shared together with your boss, Chief Jim Hopper, he seems to be ignoring you and you’re desperate for any type of attention he could give you again—even if it means getting on his nerves a little to be noticed.
It had been exactly 19 days, 6 hours, and 14 minutes since you found the vase of daisies with his note attached.
The note you read so many times that the folded seam was starting to get soft and tear at the edge. The note you still kept, shoved in the back of your desk drawer, now littered with the other office supplies clutter that you hope would deter the very organized Flo from ever looking in your drawer for something. The note that you feel like has scorched your brain from pure humiliation and maybe that was his plan all along.
It would explain why since that stormy night, he had hardly given you the time of day or a mere glance in your direction. That being said, there were two missing children in town and it was already kind of a high stress situation two weeks ago to have just one missing child but now two in a town this small is the most news Hawkins has seen in the last decade.
Every other day, he was coming in looking more haggard than the last. From other officer conversations at the coffee pot behind you, you’ve been hearing how clues lead to nowhere and freak accidents without explanations. Mothers of the missing children in and out of the station; sometimes screaming in frustration, sometimes sobbing in desperation.
Your heart ached for them, but you knew whatever the Chief was dealing with, it was best you were kept out of police business.
Hands on your hips, annoyed, you stared at the same stupid cotton underwear at the bottom of your hamper as you continued to avoid the daisy fabric for too long now. Why did you even own these? You’ve had them for years, they look well-loved, and they don’t exactly paint you out to be a mature grown woman like you wanted him to see you as. Your lips pursed as you kept your focus on the ridiculous little flower design.
Was he mocking you? Did he think you were just this childish, easy lay? I guess he isn’t entirely wrong if that was his presumption, but Jesus, no one thought you’d be getting bent over his desk that night or you definitely wouldn’t have worn something so immature.
“Whatever,” you mutter to yourself before tossing them in the wash. You debated throwing them out for a moment, but a part of you hung onto the hope he meant that he couldn’t stop thinking about them because he had his own sick fantasy about your age difference; maybe your daisy underwear added more fuel to that fire, maybe it’s the memory of when he inhaled your scent before devouring you. Wishful thinking, probably.
———————————————————
The station’s front door opens, the all familiar chime that follows is quickly interrupted by a grizzly voice.
“Where’s Flo?”
So he speaks. Wow.
You look up from the papers you were stacking neatly in a pile for her record keeping on her desk organizer. The small wooden frame of the built-in window is the only thing that separated your body from being mere inches from his. You could smell his cigarettes and aftershave, pretending to not remember how much you miss it completely overwhelming your senses. A deep ache formed in your stomach.
Your eyes only meet his for a second before you sigh, placing the papers neatly in her tray, doing your best to appear disinterested.
“On vacation,” your voice barely above a whisper. It’s still the morning, after all.
His face twists up in confusion as he steps out of the entry hall and barricade, properly facing you at her desk now. His body much closer to you without that stupid half wall in the way.
“Vacation?”
His tone makes it seem like you’re covering up a friend’s absence for skipping class, but you really cannot be bothered with his lack of attention these days. Regardless of the stress of the cases, Flo has been talking about her upcoming vacation the last two weeks, it’s even decorated on her calendar that anyone working in the station would be able to see. Does he pay attention to anyone? A good police Chief should be putting all of their energy into their cases, sure, but he never has before either.
A part of you still felt a personal irritation. It’s not like he needed to disregard your presence altogether anymore and maybe a little cold shoulder from you this time could be a rude awakening to his bad manners.
You let out an exacerbated sigh to relieve your annoyance before responding, “Yes, Hopper, a vacation.”
Now, you had his attention. You don’t speak to each other very often anyways, but in the times you do, he’s only ever heard you call him Chief. It’s a formal title he likes to hear your voice in particular say. Since that night, he’s had to ignore the way his pants tighten the times you’ve addressed him before; the way you say “Chief” being like a chime that invokes a vivid memory he has to palm himself over as soon as he gets to watch your ass leave his office.
Hopper on the other hand… not quite the same ring to it.
The silence intimidated you the slightest, you look up to meet his eyes again, hidden by the shadow of his furrowed brow, assuming you may have pushed it by using such an informal title—ignoring the time he gave you permission to call him Jim of all things.
He doesn’t blink, he just stares at you and instead of backing down, you maintain the same gaze despite the hammering in your chest.
“Yeah, she’s in Poconos with her husband,” a sheriff pipes up behind you from his desk, breaking the thick silence between you and the Chief.
He’s still staring at you intensely, arms crossed against his chest now, as he responds to the officer, “Oh, really?”
His eyes are such a deep blue. You want to look intimidating too, but taking advantage of the moment to study the different flecks of green in his iris shouldn’t distract you too bad.
“Mhm,” the younger man continues, mouth full of whatever muffins you grabbed from the clearance section of Safeway for the breakfast spread this morning. “Celebratin’ their thirty… odd… somethin’ year anniversary….”
The audible sound of him sucking on his fingers could make you gag, he’s still chewing as he adds, “You’re tellin’ me, you didn’t see the big red letters that say VACATION on her calendar?”
A couple other sheriffs eavesdropping start snickering now and as you still face the Chief, your lips slowly grow into a knowing smirk and you’re able to stand up straighter. Something about being proven right really gives you a sense of confidence that is dangerous to his appetite.
His body is considerably more tense, visibly irritated. You raise your eyebrows as if to challenge what he could possibly have to ask you next, since it was clearly common knowledge across the rest of the station where Flo was. You mirror his crossed arm stance to gloat without saying a word, but you have the advantage of a perkier chest and noticeable cleavage that he definitely isn’t seeing in his peripheral vision.
“Hey Callahan,” he growls, tearing his eyes from yours finally to face the younger officer. “Smaller bites next time, yeah?”
Without another word or glance, he brushes past you and the rest of the uniformed hyenas now hushing their laughter, heads straight to his office, closing the door with a slam.
———————————————————
The officers have mostly abandoned the station, the Chief taking his two most loyal sheriffs with him to investigate one of the homes of the missing kids, the rest of the team split up to handle other townie related emergencies like stolen gnomes from gardens, break-ins caused by only local wildlife, and so on.
Once again, you are alone in the office with only the white noise caused from the hum of the air conditioning mixed with your methodical keyboard typing. You find yourself drawing in a deep sigh with a slow exhale as you relax into your desk chair. You’re nearly done with the task of ticking off Flo’s daily routine since the responsibilities have fallen into your lap in her absence. Though the workload is heavier, you feel a sense of pride knowing you can handle it and give her peace of mind for her much needed vacation, plus having more work means less distractions. Less opportunities to overthink or obsess over details like…
Your mind still travels off to remember that worn folded card in the back of your drawer. You shouldn’t, but of course thinking about it again, you have no choice but to look at his handwriting for the umpteenth time.
“Can’t stop thinking about daisies.
Wonder why.
- JH”
Your fingertip glides over the letters, written with a ballpoint pen from his much more haphazard desk.
You start to daydream and wonder if he wrote it just this once, or practiced with a couple other messages or phrases. Would he have been more direct in the first attempts? More vulgar?
He could have been more professional like “Keep up the great work, kid” or some bullshit like that. You snort to yourself thinking how you could hear his tone saying those words so clearly in your imagination.
Without warning, the sharp ring of the office telephone makes you jump, swears leave your lips as you frantically try to contain the small mess you made in reaction to the phone scaring you.
You do your best to compose yourself before answering professionally, throwing the note back where it belonged with a light slam of the desk drawer.
Please don’t be another crying parent. You aren’t even stable enough emotionally to help someone be sane right now.
“Hey, it’s Callahan!”
Oh.
“Oh! Uhm…” you can feel yourself relax at knowing you don’t have to be as professional as you prepared to be, but nonetheless, this felt random. You hadn’t really seen him since he left with the Chief, of course with another muffin in hand. “Did you… need something?”
“Yeah, Chief said we need to put together a search party for tonight, if possible.”
Your heart drops. These poor kids.
“Oh, uhm, yes… of course,” you stammer. You’re not exactly equipped to deal with this type of work and it feels like a job for Flo, but you don’t want to disappoint not only the station by not getting this organized quickly and efficiently enough, but the families of these children who rely on you now to bring everyone together for a search.
Callahan can tell by your hesitancy that you might lack some confidence on what to do next.
“There should be a book of contacts, volunteers and all that, written down somewhere. Probably in Flo’s desk. See if you can give some folks a call, maybe right after we close up shop, we’ll have everybody meet at a designated spot…. Benny’s, if y’know it. We, uh… we kind of need all hands on deck for this one…” he trails off, sounding just as nervous as you, really.
Regardless, you’re grateful for the help. “Thanks, Phil- I mean, Callahan,” you clear your throat.
You didn’t know him well, but you were close enough in age that it didn’t feel appropriate to give him the same formality as you do the Chief. He also eats like a toddler, which doesn’t exactly help his professionalism in front of you either.
He doesn’t seem to mind though as you hear his smile through the phone, “No problem! We’ll, uh, be at the station to regroup later. See you then.”
You try to multitask by looking for the book of contacts he mentioned as you continue your conversation. “Yep, sounds good, thank you.”
You might have sounded a little more distracted than polite as you hang up before he can reply, but you finally find what you’re looking for.
There’s at least forty to fifty names on the list, some just contacts for local businesses, others recognizable townies like Gus who you can rely on to be there for their community for times like this.
You take a breather to mentally prepare yourself for the heavy task ahead of you, find yourself a cigarette in your purse and spark it to relieve your nerves. Smoking wasn’t your favorite habit, more of a social one really you saved for the bars or get togethers, but the stress of this job has you taking in a long inhale.
“It’s just phone calls,” you whisper to yourself for encouragement, finding your calm before you handle these difficult conversations as a stranger to this extremely close-knit town. After a few moments of hesitation, you start with the first name on the list and get to work.
———————————————————
It’s not that you weren’t an outdoorsy person, you just didn’t think your internship would have you in hiking boots, trudging thru a foggy forest late at night for a search party because children keep disappearing from Hawkins.
You follow the other glow of flashlights to avoid your anxiety about getting lost yourself.
You overhear some members of the community talking to themselves about what the youngest kid is like, both in appearance and personality. Some voices introduce themselves as his teachers, his mom’s coworker, another parent who just knew him from name.
Your heart sinking as you realize he’s much younger than you could have anticipated, assuming at first maybe we just was another teenager running away from home out of rebellion. All of this is just really heavy in nature and a part of you starts to feel guilty for giving the Chief a hard time this morning out of your own immaturity. It’s not like you could’ve had this context before, as he purposely kept you away from this case, but you should have been more considerate of what he could have been dealing with for the last couple weeks.
You didn’t realize you had been biting the inside of your cheek while dwelling on your guilt until the taste of iron is on your tongue from maybe biting too hard.
You hiss a swear at yourself.
“You okay?” You know that voice and your stomach drops at his presence. How long had he been behind you?
“Yeah, I just… thought I was going to trip,” you manage to lie.
He doesn’t say anything in response, but continues to crush leaves beneath his boots. His strides, much bigger than yours, catch up to you with little effort.
For awhile you enjoy walking next to him despite the circumstances. The scattering lights of the other flashlights remind you of fireflies and the lingering voices of others calling out for the missing child are all that fill the silence before you speak up again.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. His eyes stay looking forward, flashlight gripped tightly in hand with a hard focused expression. You can’t even tell if he’s listening but it doesn’t stop your confession. “About earlier, I shouldn’t have… it was… you have a lot on your plate. Clearly.”
When he’s still not looking at you, it makes the lump in your throat harder to swallow down but your footsteps have now matched pace despite him easily able to get ahead of you if he wanted to.
“I could have had more patience,” you continued. “It was wrong to be reactive like that about being under new workloads to try and, I don’t know, measure up to Flo and everything she does, and… I’m sorry.”
His head finally turns towards you and while you can’t exactly see his expression from the shadow cast on his face, you can make out his curt nod before he grunts something that sounds dismissive like, “Let’s keep movin’.”
You watch as his silhouette is in front of you now. His wide shoulders being in almost perfect symmetry to the hat he wears with his uniform. His mysterious energy blending in with the fog he walked ahead into.
———————————————————
By the time the search party ended, it was approaching close to midnight and you knew one thing was for certain in Hawkins: nothing good happens after midnight.
You had already been on your drive back home, exhausted both mentally and emotionally, but you see a familiar police cruiser parked under a dim light outside one of the more rundown bars in the area.
Just go home, you told yourself, but as you came to a slow stop at the red light before the turn, you felt the weight of the crossroads in front of you. The roads are completely dead, slick from the light rain and dense fog lingering in the air. Though the lighting wasn’t the best, you could see the parking lot for the bar had maybe two other vehicles assuming one of the two was the owner or bartender at the very least, and your boss you know is drinking away his problems is inside.
Should you stay or should you go?
As the hue of neon green of the street light changing illuminates your face, you had already began to prepare to turn in, parking right next to the tan Bronco.
Your knuckles white as you grip your steering wheel one last time before committing to the decision to face whatever waited for you behind those heavy wooden doors.
As soon as you walk in, you can see him at the bar, a smoky hazy and amber lighting and his tall figure hunched over a half empty glass, just as you expected to find him. You released a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding and began walking over to a stool two away from his… just in case.
He looked so much worse up close. Like hell, really. Around his eyes had developed deeper dark circles, his forefinger and thumb massaging his brow in stress the way you’re used to finding him. In his other hand, he cradles a crystal glass full of a dark liquor and ice that brings back memories from the last time you shared a drink together. There’s a mess of cigarette butts in the amber ashtray by his drink and a single lit one still in his hand.
Even in silence, it felt better to be near him during this time than not at all. Not only for your own safety as a young woman who lived alone and weird shit happening in town lately, but you didn’t exactly love how things were left off earlier in the woods. You apologized, but he still seemed so far away from you; though you sympathize with what the Chief had been going through.
You don’t think he would even notice you at all until he recognized your familiar melodic voice, pulling him out of the downward spiral he was creating in his mind, as you gave the bartender instruction.
For the first time in the last hour, his fingers left his brows to look at you properly before he spoke up.
“What’re you doin’?” he slurs, voice so deep and gruff, your thighs squeezing together tightly in response. You can’t even be surprised he’s this drunk already. Who knows how many glasses deep he had been before you showed up?
“Same thing as you,” you reply honestly, shrugging off your coat, before thanking the staff as your drink is placed in front of you; another small crystal glass full of the same familiar taste you’ve started associating with this town.
“Mm,” he hums, shucking back whatever remained of his drink before waving the bartender over for a full glass now that you’ve joined him. “You shouldn’t be out this late,” he says in a serious tone, it felt like a warning.
His eyes burning holes in the side of your head since you have yet to face him.
Nervously, you only shrug and continue to sip your drink next to him, nearly half of it gone before you reply.
“Didn’t want to be alone either,” your voice loud enough for only him to hear. Your eyelashes batted momentarily before peaking up at him, not surprised that he never seemed to look away from you.
He nods slowly again, the ice cracking in his drink filling the silence as he brings it to meet his lips again.
“You pity me or somethin’?”
There’s almost a smile in his cadence that makes you wonder if he’s joking, but he’s lighting a new cigarette and not looking at you this time, just forward as he blows smoke towards the shelves of liquor on display.
Now it’s your brow that knits together, completely caught off guard from his question.
“Why would you think that?” You don’t mean to sound offended, but it was a bit accusatory to even ask you. As if it’s so audacious to speak to him outside the station and share a drink again, as if you two are only strangers.
“C’mon,” he sneers, “don’t have to play dumb around me, sweetheart.”
Your chest tightens in more annoyance from the confusion and the alcohol is not soothing your nerves whatsoever. What was his damage? “Sweetheart”? You know he’s drunk, but this was just ridiculous.
Your eyes can’t help but roll.
“Let’s say for arguments sake I am dumb,” you quip, your voice getting louder with irritation, “could you fill me in on why you think I pity you? Or is that what you want me to do, Chief?”
His eyes immediately darken at the mention of his title, the fabric of his pants containing him in an uncomfortable way, and the smoke he exhales fills the space between the both of you.
Feeling bold all of a sudden, you manage to stretch out your hand and retrieve the same cigarette from between his fingers in one quick motion and bring it to your lips for a long drag. You know he’s just as annoyed as you are now; serves him right.
Through the haze, you see his body lean closer to yours. When did the stools between you disappear?
“I think you know damn well what you’re doin’…” his voice is a low growl in your ear, almost threatening in tone, making the hairs on the back of your neck raise.
Maybe he’s just drunk, you thought to yourself as you turned your chin towards him again, feeling his body heat from how close he was. You could smell that smell you loved so much, a sweet mix of smoke and aftershave.
What reason would he think you pity him? Because you can apologize for being wrong? For fucking him in his office and entertaining a fantasy? Does he really assume that wasn’t your idea too?
When you don’t reply right away, his warm palm finds your thigh and a faint gasp parts between your lips at the contact, you manage to catch the dangling cigarette between your manicured fingers before it could fall into your lap and his dark chuckle echoes in your ears.
You can’t help but blush as his hand squeezes the muscle you’ve already tensed trying to keep yourself composed. It sends a wave of lust through you as his hand slides further up and he does another hard squeeze, a pathetic noise escaping your throat in response.
Something in him snaps, creating a sudden sense of urgency.
His hand leaves your thigh too soon to down his drink quickly. He’s stolen the cigarette back from you, extinguishing the remains of it aggressively into the amber dish before he smacks a few bills on the bar top.
“Get up,” he demands.
His large frame towering over you and you’re almost frozen in shock from how much this interaction has done a complete 180° from how it started.
“Now,” he grits through a clenched jaw close to your ear again, grabbing your forearm with such force it nearly lifts you from the stool anyways.
You start to feel your own hunger take over and grab your jacket with the same urgency.
You’re practically dripping when he slams you up against the cold metal of his Ford, pressing his much larger body against yours. You can see his breath in the chilly air as he speaks.
“What’re you doin’, hmm?” he purrs while he has you pinned under him, hands flat by either side of your head as he leans in deeper to leave a trail of kisses from your neck to your earlobe, his facial hair scratching your already sensitive skin. Your ears start to feel hot and your heartbeat is radiating throughout your body.
“You don’t say anythin’ after I give you those pretty flowers…” you can smell the alcohol from his breath and it’s making you more drunk with every word, your head getting dizzy from your own intoxication and lust, “… then you wanna tease me in front of my officers, humiliatin’ me like that…”
His uniform clad thigh presses on your center and your head falls back against the metal with a desperate moan, his mouth finds your neck again as he speaks against your soft sensitive skin.
“Next you’re apologizin’ to me in the middle of a search… you really are somethin’…”
You can feel one of his hands drop from the cold metal you’re pressed against and onto your warm skin beneath your sweater, the difference in temperature of his rough callouses against your waist making you lightheaded.
“Now, you show up here… teasin’ me like I’m not gonna punish you…” his beard and teeth graze your skin before he bites down briefly and your body squirms under him as his thigh pushes on you harder.
You can’t take it anymore. You fully submit under his touch, your core beginning to have its own pulse as it craved him again after so long.
Your lips find his in a rush of desperation, hungrily and angrily, his tongue darting between your lips and smoothing against your own. You both practically panting as you feverishly grab at one another in the parking lot, not paying attention to how close you are to the very public road for anyone to see if they so happened to drive by.
The flavor of him you have craved for weeks finally on your tongue, you can’t help but moan into his open mouth.
The sounds you are making are driving him crazy and like a real criminal, he’s shoving you in the police car with such force you hardly understand what’s happening until he’s already crawling on top of you in the backseat. His lips remain on yours as he starts to unfasten your jeans with haste, ripping them off you with ease. Thank God you remembered to ditch the cotton tonight when you see the darkness in his eyes take over at the sight of your black satin.
With your new freedom of motion, your legs find themselves around his middle and without breaking the rougher growing kiss, his arm is under your back in seconds, flipping you upright to now straddle his lap. You don’t have time to react before he’s already lifting your sweater over your head, throwing it towards the front seat, his lips hungrily attached to your chest as his fingers expertly unclasp your bra.
“Chief,” you whisper and he groans against your skin in response, the twitch of his cock beneath you rubs against your own entrance and you know you must be soaking through the thin material of your panties, the only piece of clothing you have left.
You whine at the sensation, changing the attention to be on him as your now swollen lips pull from his, pressing more kisses into the base of his throat as you try to undress him, your kisses leading up to his earlobe where you have a slight nibble, making his hips buck upwards into you and a rumble vibrate in his chest beneath you. You smile at the sound and his hands fall to your bare back as you lick the shell of his ear, erupting another strained groan from his lips, before a couple of swears.
Gaining some more confidence, you dare to press your luck.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how your cock feels inside me, stretching me out…” you pant into his ear before nibbling more on his lobe, faintly moaning when his hands travel lower down your backside to roughly grab at your ass, spreading you apart and making you gasp.
“Fuck…” he breathes, that smell of bourbon and cigarettes fans in your face before your lips are crashing against each other once again and his hands have a tight grip on your hips to forcefully grind your ass against his crotch.
Once he finds a rhythm, you can’t help but cry out at the fabric between the two of you separating you from what you both want.
You let yourself lean your weight back on his thighs at the feeling, grinding on him now freely while his hands start to palm at your breasts after you expose his chest from his button down, a light tug on your nipple making you cry out and an almost wicked smile crosses his face.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” his voice is so deep that you swear you can feel it inside you with each roll of your hips.
A harsh smack echoes throughout the Bronco after he gives you a spank and starts to pick up his pace, pulling your panties to the side to rub yourself against his uniform. The feeling of the fabric nearly scratching your clit has you seeing stars but another louder, heavier spank is given when you don’t immediately respond to him.
“Tell me now, what’dya want?” He growls. You have already started yanking on the zipper of his pants, clumsy and desperate for closer contact.
“You,” you manage out between your heavy breathing, attempting to lower yourself in whatever small amount of space you can in the backseat.
When you’re finally lowered between his now spread thighs, he takes in a sharp inhale at the sight of you, nearly shaking his head in disbelief. A fire lights within you, knowing you have the control again. His belt falls to his ankles with a loud clink and your hands rub over his exposed thighs, pressing your chest up as you arch your back to have him meet you again for another kiss.
He’s taken your face between his hands as if to transfer all of his desires onto your tongue, kissing you so deeply that time felt frozen. You gently palm over his cock, earning a thunderous rumble against your lips before his head fully falls back onto the headrest at the feeling of your grip around him, freeing him from his tighter briefs. He feels so slick with his leaking precum assisting your hand movements. “Jesuuuus,” he drags out, chest rising and falling at nearly the same pace you begin to pump your hand at. When his eyes finally meet yours again, you recognized the same darkness he had that first night in his office when he took you over the desk. Maintaining your squat, you lowered yourself to take him between your lips, trying to keep his eye contact as long as you could before committing to fully fitting him in your mouth.
His large hand instantly found a tight grip on your hair in an effort to control himself. Despite the string of swears he spit at you, he tried to remain still, careful not to force himself deeper like he craved but to be patient as you worked your jaw and throat to accompany his size.
The more the warm wetness of your tongue circled around his shaft and tip, had made his eyes roll back. He couldn’t help but add pressure to the back of your skull as you finally hit his swollen tip on the back of your throat.
“Just like that, sweetheart,” his voice gruff, his other arm extended out to collect your wrists and firmly press your now crossed arms against your lower back.
Your head bobbed on him, training yourself to take him deeper with his rise and fall.
“That’s it…” he encouraged before he his grip on you tightened and suddenly he regained control once again.
Your eyes starting to water as he pushed your head down, nose muffled against his skin and breathing in his natural scent. Three or so more times and you have to stiffen an instinct to gag and he feels your throat twitch on cue.
He pulls you from him completely, your ears ringing too much to properly hear his praises, and a string of your thick spit remains connected to him still as you start to rise from the floor of the car, already positioning yourself to take your seat back on his lap for him to properly fuck you.
“C’mere,” he practically hisses before pulling you into a deep kiss again, as if you weren’t already struggling to catch your breath.
You don’t have much time to prepare before his calloused fingers find themselves between your folds, sliding up and down to collect your wetness before plunging into you.
“Chief,” you cry out again, this time into his open mouth and he takes your bottom lip between his teeth as he slips in another finger and swallows your gasp with another dizzying kiss.
He continues to keep a pace that nearly brings you to ecstasy but when he feels your walls tighten around his digits, he’s feverishly reaching for his own cock and lining it up with your entrance. Your hand finds a place on top of his, guiding him where you needed him, pressing your forehead against his and panting together as you lowered yourself on top of him. His groan vibrated through your body and the grip you had around the back of his neck for support had tightened, making him react more primal than he might have anticipated.
Something animalistic took over with how his thrusts up into you seemed to hit every nerve in every specific direction. The way his massive palms had clapped down on your bare ass, his hips bucking at an incredible pace, swears falling from his lips, there was no doubt he was focused. Just when you feel your body shaking and going numb, his hand is around your throat and he’s murmuring encouraging sweet nothings into your ear in his low thunder-like voice that sends another wave of electricity through your body and your core tighten around him.
“C’mon, pretty girl, c’mon…” The pressure building up in your body was getting overwhelming and you could hear the blood in your head pounding between your ears, his pace never slowing down and when his fingers begin circling on your clit, you throw your head back with an almost scream from the sensation.
The combination of your hot core tightening around him and twitching in response to his movements mixed with your cry has him in shambles, losing his own concentration and his thrusts get more sloppy and desperate.
“Oh, fuck,” he can’t help but groan when there’s hardly a warning before you’re overcome with the feeling of a hot liquid shooting inside you, just barely spilling out between your thighs.
Every muscle in your body seems to give out at the same time, collapsing onto his chest where you match his deep panting and try to catch each other’s breath.
At first you’re not sure if he’ll say anything, or maybe start getting dressed immediately like before, but he surprises you by tenderly smoothing your hair as you both lay there in silence for a moment and admire just the sound of each other breathing again.
Your eyelids are so heavy, your body completely expended, it took him such little effort to lift your chin up to meet his face again for one final tender kiss.
Though he was still catching his breath himself, it seemed like he needed to still be connected to you through that moment to do it.
The kiss never deepened, but just stayed soft and chaste before he inevitably pulled himself from out of you; both of you wincing at the sensation.
Before you could say anything more, he’s already yanked his pants from the floorboards and rifling through the pockets until he found his favorite lighter and Newports.
With your head returning to his chest, he situates you more comfortably against his body with his one arm slung around your middle and the other to cradle his torch, flicking ash out of the now cracked window that allowed the chillier autumn air to find your steaming skin and relieve the fog on the windows.
He doesn’t say anything at all, so neither do you, but you both listen to the cigarette burn between his lips and let the smoke fill the cabin of the car.
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