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strangersatellites · 1 year

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It had all started in Photography 101.

All he had needed was one more elective added to his schedule for the fall semester to be considered a full-time student. It was Robin who had suggested photography.

Steve had never had that great of a memory to begin with, the numerous blows to the head from juvenile high school fights certainly doing him no favors. Sometimes the amount of time it took to jog Steve’s memory surpassed the time it would’ve taken to simply tell him the story as if he hadn’t been there himself.

He was always able to grasp the memory eventually, but sometimes they were slippery in his mind.

He and Robin had found that his memory was ten times better if he had something to look at. Sometimes that was a souvenir from a trip, sometimes it was a takeout menu with his order circled in red pen, sometimes it was a physical scar on his skin from some silly injury. But most of the time it was pictures.

Steve took to taking photos of everything. His friends, his food, the landscape, a book with a pretty cover, anything he wanted to be able to remember.

The walls of his room grew to be covered with polaroids and prints, some staged, most not. Many blurry and out of focus, but in the moment just the same.

So when Robin suggested Photography 101, Steve saw an opportunity to take something he did for his own benefit and turn it into something he really enjoyed, something he was good at.

The semester was a breeze and Steve flourished under the attention of his professor. He was constantly drowning in compliments about the movement in his photos and his eye for composition.

(Robin would tell him on several occasions that she had never seen him enjoy something this much.)

By the time the semester was coming to a close, he was left with one final project. The professor had been intentionally very vague in her description of it throughout the semester, so Steve was a little on edge.

Sitting in the front row of the small classroom, he twirled the strap of his camera around his fingers while he daydreamed. The room slowly filled and the professor settled in behind her desk.

About five minutes after class was supposed to have begun Steve noticed they were all still sitting in silence. Glancing at the professor he saw her brows furrow and a frustrated lilt to her lips as she looked at her watch.

What are we waiting for?

She stood and dusted off her pants before clapping her hands together.

“Well,” she began, “I guess we can go ahead and get start–”

The door at the back of the room swung open and knocked against the wall with a resounding slam.

“Shit! Fuck! So sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”

Steve is so caught off guard by the man who just burst into the room that he barely even registers the words he’s saying.

He’is tall and all lanky muscle, dark curls and jewelry, tattoos and the smell of smoke, chains and leather and everything Steve’s not. Everything nobody in this class is.

He’s even more caught off guard when his professor laughs and pulls the man into a tight hug. There are only five other students in this class, surely he’s not the only person confused.

He keeps an arm around her shoulders as she introduces him to the group.

“Guys, this is Eddie. He’s a family friend and he’s going to be your subject for your final project.”

Steve’s own eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand how this was the project she has been keeping under wraps. They’ve had plenty of portrait sessions this semester, with models and subjects of their choice alike.

The guy, Eddie, claps a hand to his chest in a dramatic show of faux humility.

“Thank you for having me, Joyce. It's such an honor to be here.”

She smacks at his arm and carries on.

“So, Eddie is your subject and you have no parameters. The only requirement is that he is the inspiration for your shoot. This can look like a standard portrait session, this can be contemporary urban street photography, whatever you like. Eddie does not even have to be in the photo! He just has to be the inspiration for it.”

Steve's brain is already running a mile a minute, conceptualizing shots faster than he can keep up.

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But one idea sticks out from the rest. As Steve lifts his eyes to Eddie once more and meets his own twinkling with mirth and smirking back at him he makes his decision.

He’s going to take his mugshot.

*****

“I want to take your mugshot.”

They’re at the campus coffee shop. Joyce had scheduled a few hours for Eddie to meet with the other students during their class time so they could talk through their projects.

Eddie barks out a laugh. “What, man?”

Steve twirls his straw around his drink and tries not to bristle at the reaction.

“Look,” he starts, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I don’t really know where the idea originated but once I had it, it stuck. I just saw this vision of the shot in my head and it was sick, dude.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, one of his boots knocking into Steve’s foot under the table. He crosses his arms and tilts his head.

“Thought this shoot was supposed to be inspired by moi,” he says, gesturing a hand towards himself. “You saying I look like I should be in jail?”

Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. “No. I already told you I don't know where i got the idea–”

But that’s a lie isn’t it. He knows exactly where he got the idea. It was somewhere between the chains dangling from Eddie’s jeans and the handcuff belt he was wearing the day they met.

He put his hands together on the table between them. “Okay. No, I’m not saying you look like a criminal, Eddie. I’m saying I think you want to look like one.”

Eddie blinks at him for a moment before his face breaks into a slow smirk. He huffs a quiet laugh and leans closer. “Guilty as charged, Stevie. Besides, I was arrested once actually.”

Steve gawks while Eddie laughs. He is unfairly attractive when his dimples pop and Steve is going to have such a hard time holding it together behind the camera.

*****

Steve takes his shoots very seriously. Every detail has to be perfect, even the ones not relating to the subject of the photo.

So it is wildly convenient that his professor happens to be married to the chief of police back in Hawkins.

One quick phone call from Joyce and Steve and Eddie were granted access to the booking room at the police station. You know, for the sake of realism.

Steve’s setting up his tripod while Eddie takes a chalk marker to the placard and writes up his own booking ID, a long series of random numbers with E.M at the end.

Steve would be lying if he said Eddie’s choice of clothing wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

He’s wearing a ratty, old band t-shirt for some group Steve’s never heard of. There’s his usual black leather jacket and the silver chain around his neck. His ripped black jeans and fingers covered in rings and black nail polish.

It's perfect for the shoot. But Steve’s sanity is struggling.

He gets the camera and the lighting set up just as Eddie steps into place in front of the height measurement wall.

Steve puts his hands on his hips and gives instructions.

“Okay, so I know you’ve done this before–”

“Hey! It was one time!”

“So you know how this goes. We’ll do one forward and then one to each side.”

Eddie shakes out his hair and rolls his shoulders back. He holds the placard up in front of him and levels the camera with a dead-eyed stare.

He looks good.

Steve is less than shocked that he looks even better on camera.

He lines up his shot. Click.

Eddie turns to his left. Steve gets a little distracted by the line of his jaw.

Click.

He turns to the right and of course only now does Steve notice his ear piercings.

Steve takes a deep breath and focuses.

Click.

Before he can even look through his shots Eddie is dropping the placard on the desk.

He’s halfway out the door before he grabs the frame and leans back in. “One second pretty boy, I have an idea.”

He’s back before Steve snaps out of his stupor at the nickname. This time, he has a pair of handcuffs swinging from his index finger.

Steve snatches them out of his hand. “Where did you get these?”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “I know a guy.”

He rolls his eyes.

He’s already picking up the placard and setting up some detail shots when Eddie grabs his wrist and stops him. He freezes for more than one reason.

“Hey, uh. Not to step on your toes or anything, but I actually have another idea.”

Steve is about to start on his spiel about ‘not messing up his flow’ when Eddie rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist. Gentle and reassuring.

“Do you trust me?”

Honestly Steve has no reason to trust him, he’s basically a stranger.

A pretty one. His brain supplies.

But he does. Trusts him enough to let him take Steve’s creative liberties and throw them out the window apparently.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Eddie’s smile is blinding. He turns Steve’s hand over and drops the handcuff key into it.

“Don’t lose this big boy,” he says as he snaps the cuffs around each of his own wrists.

Steve laughs, loud and shocked. He waggles his eyebrows at Eddie.

“Well, now didn’t this take a turn.”

Eddie rolls his eyes this time and lifts his hands as much as he can.

“Don’t try to sexualize my creative prowess, Steve. I am a professional.”

He nearly trips on his way back to his place in front of the wall and Steve has to hide his laugh into a cough.

Steve’s back behind the camera, hands back on his hips when he asks, “Alright, what’s the plan?”

Eddie smiles and says, “You just shoot, Harrington. I’ll do the rest.”

He leans down to finalize his camera settings and line up his shot. When he finally looks through the viewfinder his jaw drops. Because while Eddie was clearly joking about being a professional, if Steve didn’t know any better, this shot would have him believing it.

Eddie’s got both of his pinky fingers tucked in the corners of his smile, tongue bitten between his teeth. His thumbs are raised along with his middle fingers, while he’s got his nose scrunched and one eye squeezed shut. The cuffs hang right under his chin and accentuate his silver jewelry in a way Steve never would have anticipated.

Click.

The next is a close-up of the booking placard between his teeth.

His hands twisting to unlock his own cuffs.

He’s a natural, and Steve’s camera roll can attest to the fact.

It wouldn’t be until Steve was reviewing and editing the shots that he caught on. The booking ID on the placard looked long because it was. It was Eddie’s number.

*****

Steve got an A.

He got an A, an endless stream of compliments from Joyce and a dorky hot boyfriend.

The rest of the class went the route Steve expected them to.

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But Steve’s mugshot series stood leagues above the rest.

Later in their lives, when one of their friends would see the photo in Steve’s wallet they would ask when Eddie got arrested and why.

It quickly became a game between the two.

He’s been arrested in high school for selling drugs (True.)

When he was twenty for public indecency.

At twenty-two for arson.

Thirty for contract killing. This one was followed up with the claim that he was in witsec and was now going to have to change his identity and flee the country.

But the real when and why Eddie got arrested is because when he was twenty-one Joyce told him there was a nice boy in her class that she thought he should meet.

#photographer x mugshot au #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #one thing about me: my Eddie is going to be a jackass in every universe #also not to toot my own horn #BUT #Joyce being the professor? when her son??? is a photographer?? who probably learned it from her????#toot toot bitch #its canon I don't make the rules #can you guys tell I am a photographer be honest #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #gin writes #fin gin #shot of gin #steddie nation #come get y'all juice

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xspeter · 5 months

Text

𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝

𐬾 ➾ 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙨𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙏𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙤 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

𐬾 ➾ 𝙥𝙡𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚! :)

Steve Harrington has been through countless relationships. He has been on thousands of dates. He has only ever truly been in love once.

But, standing here with you, he wonders if the love he felt for Nancy Wheeler really was real. Because compared to what he’s feeling right now to what he felt with her, they don’t even come close to each other.

Tonight was a very very happy day to hopefully put an end to all your very, well, bad days. It was finally Joyce Byers and Jim Hopper, your father’s, wedding. It was held in a beautiful forest just south of Hawkins. There was a gazebo and of course a dance floor.

The reception had been hours ago, and only the both of you as well as the rest of your new found family remained. The kids were with Hopper and Joyce, no doubt celebrating with them. Nancy and Jonathon were by the food table, wide smiles on their faces. Robin and Eddie were having a gossip session in the corner of everything, no doubt exchanging juicy secrets.

But you and Steve, well, you were in the gazebo still. Steve’s arms circle your waist and yours circle his shoulders. Your face is in the crook of his neck and he rests his chin atop your head, the both of you chest to chest. You both sway gently to the slow music.

“Do you ever wonder what our lives would be like if… if Will had never gone missing?” You ask softly, your head pulls away from his shoulder so you can look at his face.

Steve ponders your question for a moment. The truth is that no, he never had thought about that before.

Steve comes to the realization that if Will never had disappeared that night and had inevitably dragged all of you into this then he most definetley would not be standing where he was right now. He would probably still be that same asshole he had been that he was ashamed of now. He probably would have never known what it’s like to love you and cherish you.

Steve tightens his hold on you a bit. The thought of never getting to experience this love with you- of never getting to wake up to the sound of your soft snores or hear the way you snort at his jokes… it makes him almost nauseous.

“No,” He mumbles, “I’ve never thought about that.” He admits. You hum in acknowledgment, your fingers playing with the baby hairs at the nape of his neck, “It just… it’s so weird to me how different our lives would’ve been.” You explain, “The boys would’ve probably still been just as close, but El wouldn’t even be in our lives. Joyce and Hopper would’ve probably never even got together.. we probably would’ve never got together.”

You whisper the last part, and it takes Steve’s brain a second to register the sadness in your tone at the thought. Steve rubs comforting circles on your back. He leans down and leaves a trail of kisses on your jaw, he moves to your cheeks, then your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips. When he pulls back he’s happy to see your radiant smile back on your face.

“If none of this had happened then we probably wouldn’t be in each others lives right now,” He says, “But I think we’d eventually find our way to each other. Even if it’s when we’re old and wrinkly.” He scrunches his nose at the last part. You giggle at him and he basks in the sound of it.

Steve stares at you like you are bigger than the sun. Because to him- you are the sun. You are his reason for waking up in the morning, you are the reason he even believes that real love even exists. You are his reason for holding on, for living. He knows no matter how much he says it to you, you will most likely never really understand just how much he loves you.

Steve knows that no matter what you’re going through- if it’s getting into college and you’re at your absolute best he wants to be with you for it. He knows that even if you’re going through your absolute worst- if you’ve hit rock bottom and can’t stand on your own anymore, he wants to be there to get you back on your feet. He wants to be with you for all of it, because he fucking loves you. He loves you so much he doesn’t think words could even do it justice.

“I love you,” He confesses. Your cheeks fill with pink as your fingers stop their movements at the nape of his neck. You’d known Steve loved you- you’d have to be stupid not to realize it- but to hear him actually say it? It was enough to make your eyes fill with tears.

When Steve notices the gloss beginning to cover your eyes, he immediately panics. “I’m sorry! Is it too soon? I just- I don’t know, I couldn’t stop myself-”

You shut him up with a kiss, your lips hopefully being able to convey everything you’ve ever felt for the boy. From the first time you met him all those years ago in the first grade, all the way to the last time he fought next you in the Upside Down. Steve Harrington is the love of your life, your other half, your soulmate.

When you pull away Steve appears frozen. His eyes dart around your face, clearly looking for any kind of indication for what that could’ve meant. You laugh and hold him against you so tight, you swear you’re closing his airway.

“I love you too, Steve. I’ll always love you.” You confess. Steve physically deflates at that, any tension between felt quickly leaving his body as he pulls you in for another kiss.

The two of you don’t notice Joyce and Hopper and the rest of the kids staring at the two of you.

“They’re so gross.” Mike fake gags. Max slaps his arm, “They’re in love.”

Joyce lsighs happily, “We should start preparing for their wedding.” She jokes. Hoppers eyes go wide as he quickly shoots the idea down, “That’s still my daughter, and she won’t be getting married for a long time.”

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #joyce byers x jim hopper #stranger things #stranger things x reader #fluff #love confession #mike wheeler #past nancy wheeler x steve harrington #nancy wheeler x jonathon byers #max mayfield

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theladyeowyn · 2 years

Photo

It is important to me that you feel safe. That you and your family feel safe.

aka “Hopper being a better dad to this family than their actual dad since the beginning”

#strangerthingsedit #stranger things #stedit #jim hopper #joyce byers #jonathan byers #will byers #joyce x hopper #(sort of at least? there's definitely a Theme here)#*#idk i was just thinking about The Speech(TM) from the latest season #and i've seen gifsets around that contrast people viewing eleven as a tool/weapon while hopper just sees her as his daughter #so i wanted to make this as sort of a companion to those #'i told myself they needed me but that was a lie. i needed them.' you all needed each other!!

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weird-an · 9 months

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Billy wants to pick Max up and she's there again, chatting to him like he's one of her kid's friends. He doesn't know what to do with it, just listens. It's hard, because he's got a black eye and his temples throb.

"Oh, Billy, are you alright?"

Joyce Byers tries to hug him and Billy flinches so hard he knocks his elbow against the door frame. Tears sting in his eyes and he chews on his cheek to not groan from the pain and a hint of a memory, blonde hair and her hugging him after he picked up the shards from the floor.

Joyce's big eyes widen, but she doesn't say anything. Says goodbye with an awkward wave instead. The memory first feels like a little drop of water. It turns into a puddle. He sees a plate and thinks of her.

It's like Joyce invited her back, but she never really comes back. She is a memory, a ghost. Joyce Byers only invited Billy. To dinner, way too many times. Billy always says no. The black eye fades but she doesn’t

"What are you thinking about?" Steve asks him, a week later, when the memories feel like a river, nearly dragging him away. They are on Steve's bed, just hanging out. They aren't friends, they aren't anything. They kiss a lot and Billy might like it and dreams about it, but he shouldn't.

"Your dick," Billy says. Hears her softly scolding tone in his ear when he busted his knees skating again.

"Billy." Steve uses a different tone, has a different voice, but it's the same thing. Softly scolding. Billy doesn't deserve soft. Billy isn't made for softness. But he can't defend himself from it.

"My mom," Billy whispers. He stares at Steve's swimming trophies. "Because Mrs. Byers tried to hug me."

It sounds stupid. Billy doesn't really know Joyce Byers. He drives Max back and forth, only sees her at the door. He knows she isn't like Mrs. Wheeler and her friends. She doesn't touch him. Doesn't stare. She asks how Billy's day was.

"Oh," Steve says. He's silent for a while.

Billy can hear the ocean and her laughter. His eyes burn like the sun is shining too bright, like it did on their days at the beach, but what's left behind is only the salt of the ocean, shaped into tears.

"I miss her," Billy admits. He has never said it. Only felt it, let himself get torn apart by her absence. "She left, but I miss her."

Steve's hand strokes his hair. "What was she like?" he asks carefully.

"Kind," Billy chokes on the word. "Angry."

He remembers shouts and thuds, hiding in his room or watching, not daring to breathe. He remembers hugs and good night stories.

"I think Joyce is kind, too." Steve says after a while.

"Yeah." That's what Billy is afraid of. If he lets more kindness in his life, it will hurt more. Steve's is already too much on most days. But this isn't the thing he's afraid of most. It's that he wants that hug. To come in and sit at her table. He knows she isn't her. He doesn’t want her to be.

"My mom loved the beach," Billy hears himself say. Steve listens. "Neil hates it..."

The flood of memories doesn't stop. Billy feels it flowing out of him. Steve is a good swimmer. A good listener.

He holds Billy's hand. Billy tells him of her, so that he doesn't drown. It's easier that way.

#billy is such a mamas boys i can't #joyce byers would be so kind to you sweetie #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #harringrove ficlet #steve x billy #billy hargrove deserves better

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permeate · 1 year

Quote

She felt everything too deeply, it was like the world was too much for her.

Joyce Maynard Labor Day

#Joyce Maynard #x #quoteoftheday #quotes #quote #she #her #couple goals #permeate tumblr #per me a te #love quote #love you #miss her

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ed-mnsn · 2 years

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can i pls request hcs for dating robin and being hopper’s daughter/a part of the byers-hopper family

dating robin headcanons

LOVEEEEE this ask

pairing: robin buckley x byers-hopper afab reader

content: fluff! smut towards the end (labeled) 18+

summary: what its like dating robin <3

joyce and hopper have always been supportive of you

they first notice you hanging around with robin and her friends more often and theyre like oh that robins very sweet what a beautiful young woman

joyce telling you to invite her over for movie night

hopper asking when you’re gonna hangout with her next

they’re such pot-stirrers

but you brushed it off always bc theres no way she’d ever like you like that

but she DID !!!!

robin always gushing to steve about you like she never stops talking about you

steve kinda set you guys up bc he couldnt stand your pining eyes and robins rambling any longer

you guys have a very soft and sweet relationship

you find comfort in each other and have lots of similarities

you guys can always ramble to each other about the most random things and it always makes sense

her stealing movies from family video picking ones you’d especially like

you visit her all the time at the store

she steals your clothes

robin draws on your converse

writes her name on them <3

robin has one of those nameplate necklaces with your name on it or maybe just your first initial

she wont admit it but she loves flowers and she blushes profusely whenever you get her a little bouquet

i think even though she met joyce and hopper before you guys started dating she’d be so nervous to see them for the first time since you started dating

little does she know they were trying to spurr your relationship

“god they’re gonna hate me”

“babe, can i remind you that you’ve already met them? like 50 times?”

“this is different”

you just hold her hand because above anything that would help

she puts on some frilly blouse she pulled out of her moms closet and you make her change because “no you dont have to impress my parents, they already love you. and i think they’d hate that top as much as you do”

needless to say joyce and hopper love her just the same as before she was dating their daughter

robin is quite charming despite the word-vomit

her quirky little one-liners make hopper laugh

joyce can tell how much she loves you

will, jonathan, and el love having her around more too, of course

she says ‘i love you’ first

immediately surges into a long winded declaration of how she thinks the world of you and how much brighter you’ve made her life and shes going on and on despite how nervous she is

and you just cut her off with a kiss

and you say it back

tears in your eyes a little because you seriously feel in your heart how much she loves you

and she teases you for it

so you tease her back for the proclamation of love she just got into

robin isnt big on physical touch besides when it comes to you

with you there are no boundaries

50 seats in the room and she’s practically in your lap

sweet kisses

nose kisses

forehead kisses

she likes playing with your hair

and she asks you to paint her nails because she sucks at it

you guys go on picnic dates and ride your bikes around town and hold hands when no ones looking

robin needs your presence

sleepovers !!!!!

popcorn and candy and fuzzy socks and reading magazines and card games

snuggles

shes your favorite band nerd

you go to every game to watch her play her instrument

you urge her to practice in front of you and you just love watching her focus

i like to think maybe hopper teaches her how to drive

even if she cant afford a car he insists that she knows how

you sit in the backseat while hopper instructs her and it just makes you want to cry because you’re so thankful for your family and so happy that they love her as much as you do and treat her like their own

you guys hangout in your room and she loves to look through all your knick knacks and add her own notes and drawings to the posters on your walls

joyce gets hopper to recind the 3 inches rule for you guys

“they’re 18! do you remember what we were doing at 18!?”

and hopper cant argue with her even if he tried

warning: smut ahead! 18+

another warning hey

ok lets get into it

robin is very gentle and loving with you

i think you’re both pretty inexperienced so you kinda figure everything out together

robin is a pleaser.

god she just loves touching you and hearing you and making you squirm

robin takes control a little

i wouldnt go as far as saying dom vibes or anything unless you’d like that moreso that she kinda leads you

teases you a lot

takes her time

kisses your entire body before even going near your pussy

and she loves how wet you get for her

always calling you cute pet names and saying you always do so good for her

constantly just whispering dirty words in your ear

she knows how to use her fingers.

likes when you pull her hair

she can get very vocal so you put your fingers in her mouth to keep her quiet <3

she gives you boob hickies

fingers you while you sit in her lap

she likes riding your thigh

face sitting !!!!!!!

69 !!!!!!!!

she will cum from you saying her name thats a promise

you guys make love

she scrunches her nose up when you call it that

but she takes care of you

puts her heart and soul into how she fucks you for sure

i think she has ideas and will come you like !!!! i saw this in a cosmo magazine and we should try !!!!

aftercare aftercare aftercare

cleans you up ties your hair back

gets nice and wrapped up and under the blankets with you

lots of cuddles

shes the little spoon

shes the perfect girlfriend and she loves you dearly

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wannabespacesmuggler · 9 months

Text

J.H. | The Duality of Jim Hopper

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

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

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Reader

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

Word Count: 4.5k

“How are you settling in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s she doing?”

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

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

“Oh. With the Chief?”

Apparently not.

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

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

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

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

You shrug before giving him a verbal answer.

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

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

“Meet you at Benny’s? 7:00 o’clock?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re a lifesaver, Hop.”

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

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

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

“Hopper’s working tonight.”

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

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

“Get off of him!”

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

“This has nothing to do with you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir, you can’t smoke in here!”

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

“Hey, Hop.”

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

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

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

“Hop.”

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

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

“Who did this to you?”

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

“Sweetheart, who hurt you?”

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

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

His brow furrows immediately at your response.

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

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

“He didn’t mean to hurt me.”

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

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

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

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

“You scared the shit out of me!”

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

“Hey, Hop. Wait.”

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

“Please don’t go.”

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

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

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

“I was actually at the library.”

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

“You’re joking.”

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

“You know Marissa?”

Hopper raises a brow at you once more.

“The librarian?”

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

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

“Trust me. I know.”

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

“This explains so much.”

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

“What are you talking about?”

“She asks about you all the time.”

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

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

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

“Why wouldn’t she like you?”

“Because she believes what everyone else does.”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“Did you think about it?”

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

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

“How hard did that kid hit you?”

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

“Jim.”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“I thought about it too, that night.”

Hopper’s head rises and he meets your gaze.

“You know -- you and I.”

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

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

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

“Just kiss me, Jim.”

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

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

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

“Sorry. Got a little carried away.”

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

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

“It’s Joyce isn’t it?”

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

“Joyce.”

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

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

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

“It’s fine, Joyce. How’s Jonathan?”

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

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

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

“Shut up and kiss me, Hopper.”

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

#jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #hopper x reader #hopper #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper fanfiction #jim hopper imagine #stranger things x reader #two idiots in love #grumpy x sunshine #jim hopper is oblivious but so are you #jim is canonically a ladies man #but he's only got eyes for you #joyce byers #david harbour

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 1 year

Text

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: You and Eddie are guests at Joyce and Hoppers' wedding. When Eddie sees you in your dress, he can't seem to keep his hands off of you.

Warnings: slight voyeurism, fingering, squirting. Established relationship. Dirty talk, Eddie and the reader are little horny dorks in love. Also, Eddie smokes weed (not surprising for a man who carries weed in his lunchbox instead of food)

A/n18+ not proof read ignore any mistakes, please. This has been in my drafts for months now.

"Come on, babe, we're gonna be late," Eddie yelled from your shared bedroom.

He was currently trying to put his unruly curls in a low bun. He's currently wearing a black button-up shirt and black jeans with combat boots. This was your compromise since you told him no to his vest. You, on the other hand, were currently in your bathroom putting on makeup.

Usually, it takes you and Eddie both a while to get ready. You and him rushed around your trailer, trying to find something you misplaced. Your home wasn't dirty, but it could get chaotic sometimes. Eddie referred to it as "organized chaos."

"I'm going as fast as I can. ya want me looking like a clown or something? "

Today was Joyce and Hoppers' wedding day. They invited you and Eddie to come to the ceremony and reception afterward. You've known Joyce since you were a kid and would babysit for her sometimes if Jonathan couldn't. Eddie was a little too familiar with Hopper since he constantly got arrested for vandalism by spray painting his bands name on anything.

You finally finished applying your makeup, and now you hunt down to see where you hung up your dress. Rushing into your shared bedroom, you see Eddie sitting at the edge of the bed about to light up his joint. You snatch it from his lips and toss it on the bedside table. "Babe, really? Right now?"

"Don't act shocked. You know I smoke before I go anywhere." He defended and went to grab the joint from his table.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. have you seen my dress?" You asked him as he lit it up and took a puff. He immediately started coughing and choking.

Rolling your eyes, you begin to panic and search high and low for your black dress. Joyce told you it was a black tie event, and Eddie couldn't have been happier to hear that since he knew you couldn't put him in a funny little dress shirt. You ran around your home while Eddie was busy coughing up his lungs in your bedroom.

You stop and see it's been draped over the couch the entire time.

"I found it." Yelling out to Eddie. Entering the bathroom, you take your robe off and slip the little black dress over your figure.

The dress was black with spaghetti straps and a small slit up the side of your leg. Joyce helped you pick it out when all of you went dress shopping two weeks before the wedding. Eddie hasn't seen you in it yet, only seeing it on the hanger. When you emerge from the bathroom and into your room, his eyes go wide, and his mouth gapes slightly.

"Come on, we can leave now, or we'll be late." You ushered him off the bed, but Eddie immediately grabbed you from behind and nuzzled his face in your neck.

"we can be a little late." He purred in your ear.

You push yourself away from him and head to his van. The entire ride to the venue was pure torture on yours and Eddie part. With him constantly trying to rub his hand up higher and higher on your leg. You fought him off pretty good but it took everything in you to not let him pull over and fuck you in the back of his van. The way Eddie had been thinking about you when he saw you in your dress is how you have been thinking about him in his dress shirt. Especially when he decided to roll up the sleeves and expose his inked forearms. You just knew the both of you were in for a very long, long night.

His hands were roaming up and down your torso, and he stopped when he discovered your exposed thigh. He groaned and grinded into the swell of your ass. "No we gotta go."

Now it's time for the reception which is being held outside the venue of the wedding ceremony was at. Thankful you can finally eat and drink the night away with your friends and family. Eddie had other plans for you, apparently all day long since putting on this dress, he couldn't stop touching you. His hand ran up your thigh even during the ceremony. You had to gracefully smack it away a few times when it got just a little too high, and you could see some people starting to notice. If looks could kill, Eddie would be dead before it's time to cut the cake.

The wedding was beautiful, and Joyce and Hoppers' wedding vows were so romantic even Eddie cried a little. You've never seen Jonathan and Will look so at peace now that they knew their mother was in good hands. El looked beautiful, standing next to her new mom.

Now that you're both seated and able to eat, Eddie has been preoccupied in a conversation with Steve. "Thank God for steve," you think to yourself. Now you don't have to worry about Eddie's wondering hands on you while you try to enjoy your meal.

Unfortunately, it was too good to be true because just when you thought that, he leans over and whispers in your ear, " Either you let me finger you under this table or im not gonna let you come later."

He moved away and went back to laughing after whatever Steve just told him. Acting as if he didn't just threaten you a moment ago. Pouting at the threat and also knowing he's about to finger you with all of your close friends next to you. Carefully, you spread your legs open and scoot closer to the table. You feel Eddie's hand once again creep up your thigh, only this time he didn't stop.

Eddie squeezes it a little and brushes his finger over your covered pussy. You let out a shuttered breath as he moves the lace, keeping you two a part. You try to level your breathing and focus on your food. He runs his middle finger up your wet folds and starts softly rubbing your clit. His dips, his finger lower, collecting some of your slick and brings it back up to your clit.

You whimper a little and try to cough instead, hoping no one would notice. He doesn't stop and continues to lazily rub your clit while keep his attention on Steve. You bite your lower lip when he pushes down on your sensitive bud just a little harder and rubbed it just faster. You can feel yourself getting closer that tightness in your core getting stronger. Your breathing gets heavier, and before you come, you jump up from the table and excuse yourself. Hurrying yourself inside and to the nearest bathroom. You don't pay attention to Eddie calling after you.

You're a little embarrassed at what was happening, but you also didn't want him to stop. You knew if you came at that table, you wouldn't be able to hold back any moans escaping your mouth. Eddie knew that too he knew you couldn't be quiet even if you tried. You hear a little knock at the door and hear Eddies muffled voice behind the door.

"Baby, you okay? "

Opening the door slightly, you look up at him, and he can see your dazed face, and he frowns. He pushes his way inside and pulls you in for a hug. Kissing the top of your head as he smooths down your hair. "Want to go home?"

"I'm sorry we can go home if you like." He reassured.

Shaking your head no, that's now buried in his chest. He smells good, and it somehow brings a sense of calmness to you. He sways you back and forth as you hold onto him.

"I don't wanna go home yet." Your voice muffled. He pulls back a little and kisses you on the forehead.

"Wanna continue in here, sweet thing?" He smiles and wiggles his eyebrows.

He chuckles and slowly backs you up against the wall. The cold tile against your naked back makes you jump slightly. He kisses down your neck and hooks your leg over his hip. He grinds his cock into your core as he nips and bites the tender flesh of your neck. You let out a breathy moan and move your head back to give him more access.

You look up at him and give what he asked a second thought. You wanted to continue and never actually wanted to stop. You just know you can't keep quiet, and what if someone heard you. "I'm loud, Ed. what if someone hears me?"

"I'm gonna cover your mouth with my hand so no one can hear. Kay?" He pulls away from your throat and smiles at the little marks that are starting to blossom.

Nodding your head, he brings his large ringed hand up and covers your mouth. He brings his other hand back down to your wet folds. He pushes the lace of your panties to the side and dips a finger into your tight entrance. You moan in his hand. "I can't wait to get you home. I'm gonna fucking ruin you". He whispered harshly in your ear.

You loved it when Eddie got like this so greedy with passion and lust. Not being able to keep his hands off of you. He doesn't even care about his pleasure right now knowing he's gonna get it later. Right now, it's all about you and getting you ready for what he's gonna do when you both are home.

The thought makes your pussy flutter against his finger that's currently pumping inside you. He brings another finger to join and curves them upwards inside you. The squelching sound of your pussy as Eddie fingers you bounces off the tiled walls. His fingers are relentless inside you, and you whimper against his hand as his fingers find that sweet spot inside you.

"Or should I have you crying as you bounce on it? You'd like my dirt girl?"

"I know, baby, it feels good, huh?" His grip on your mouth tightens just a little. You close your eyes when he moves your leg up higher around his waist. His fingers deeper inside you and rubbing against the spongey spot on your velvety walls.

Your pussy clenches as your slick coats his fingers and drips a little down your leg. " You gonna come for me, baby, huh?" "Fuck you're so tight I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cock squirming under me" He grunts out.

He's breathing heavily against your ear as he continues to whispersing dirty things to you. Your legs buck, and you move to wrap your arms his shoulders for leverage. He takes his thumb and starts rubbing your clit while his fingers relentlessly fuck you. "Fuck sweetheart you're making a mess all over my hand. "

You moan his name, but it comes out muffled against his hand. Eddie give your pussy a few more strokes of his fingers. He presses and rubs that spot on your walls, and you're coming all over his hand. Leaning your head back, you cry out as you gush all over him. Clear liquid squirting out and soaking his arm and getting on his pants. Your legs almost giving out from under your as your climax washes over you. His fingers keep pumping in and out of you as you come down from your orgasm.

You grip onto him tightly and bring him closer as you ride it out. You're trying to catch your breath and keep your balance, but your legs legs feel like jello. Your mind foggy, you don't really comprehend that Eddie has been calling your name.

"Hmm, what's wrong, Ed?" Your voice sounding so sleepy and small.

"Hey, there's my girl. I thought I lost you for a second. " He said, moving the hair from out of your face. You smile and hold onto him tightly. Eddie hooks his arm under your legs and carries you out the bathroom bridal style.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted to dance now, but it seems your legs have gone all wobbly on me." He joked as he carried you outside to the van.

"I wanna stay." You whined.

"Baby, I would love to stay, but you soaked me back there." Hiding your face in his neck as embarrassment washes over you. He laughs and helps you get in the passenger side of his van.

"Can we still dance later?" You asked as he helped buckle you in.

"Yeah baby, we can dance all night if you like." Eddie said as he closed your door. He hops in the driver's seat, leaning over to give you a quick peck.

He takes off down the street, strumming softly on the steering wheel. Eventually, exhaustion from the hectic day plus the orgasm Eddie just gave you takes over. He looks over at you and smiles to himself as he makes his way back home. Eddie feels bad he'll eventually have to wake you up, but he has some promises and plans to fulfill.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #joyce byers #hopper stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #my writing

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

the ache

billy hargrove x gn!byers!reader

word count: 625

warnings: grieving, mentions of death, post the battle of starcourt

a/n: um, so…i just wrote this in thirty minutes, give or take. it’s a bit of dialogue that i’ve been kind of toying with in my head for a few days, and here i am, at one in the fucking morning, writing this. i’m sorry in advance. (also for context, none of the season three hopper death shit happened.) i love you all. <3333

————

When you don’t show for dinner, Joyce knows exactly where you are.

There’s no guesswork, or calling around. She knows.

She knows because she’s been where you are. And she knows you shouldn’t be alone.

She remembers when Hopper had come and sat on the floor in front of her without a word. It had settled something inside of her, that small gesture. Sure, it hadn’t soothed the ache—nothing could do that, nothing but time—yet it had helped. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

Joyce parks the car, and makes her way to where she stood all those months ago as they lowered him into the ground.

You’d been silent then. She wasn’t sure you were breathing, really. And when they’d finished, when the funeral was over, you’d just stood there. And she’d waited until you made your way to the car, and she took you home. Anything for her baby.

————

The grass is chilly under your palms, where you’re desperately ripping the blades up and flinging them to the sides. There might be two sparse patches left by the time you’re finished, but that’s okay. It’ll grow back.

Your face is wet. You gave up on wiping it dry long ago.

When you hear footsteps behind you, you don’t even have to turn because you know exactly who it is. Who’s come for you.

You start to cry again, but this time it’s worse. This time you’re sobbing.

Joyce sits down beside you, settling on her knees.

You look up at her, but you can’t really see her because your eyes are filling with tears and blurring your vision.

“Oh, baby,” Joyce says. She runs her hand over your leg.

You cry out. You’re practically wailing. It hurts, you’ve noticed. It’s like an ache, and it won’t leave. It stays.

You look away from her and at his headstone. William Hargrove, it reads.

That’s all he is now, a plot. A marker. A memory.

“Mama.” Joyce never takes her eyes off of you. Seeing you like this fills her with an immense grief, and she wants nothing more than to make it all go away. To fix it. To kiss it better.

“Mama, I miss him.”

A sob wrenches free from your throat, and you’re wiping desperately at your face again because now she’s here and she can see you at your weakest. But it’s no use, so you let it come.

“My baby,” you cry.

Images of Billy flash through your mind: sitting with him in the staff room while it rained one day at the pool and no one could swim, helping him get a tangle out of his hair, kissing him on the cheeks just to see him blush.

He’s gone. He’s never coming back. Your Billy is dead.

“Mama, please.”

You don’t know why you’re begging, but you are. And you keep begging, like it’s going to fix something. It’s not.

Please what? Please bring my boyfriend back. Please undo what happened that night. Please let him be safe. Please.

Joyce wraps her arms around your shoulders and you cling to her like you’re afraid she’ll disappear too. Like she’ll be in the ground and you’ll be sitting and crying out for her just as you are now.

You’re not sure how long you cry for, but she lets you for as long as you need.

And when you’re done, you go home and lay in bed. You slip on one of his shirts, and you think about him.

You cry some more, and try to remember something Hopper told you after he’d taken you out of the mall that night.

“That feeling never goes away. But everyday it does get a little easier.”

You hope he’s right.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x gn!reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x gender neutral reader #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove ficlet #billy hargrove angst #billy stranger things fic #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x byers!reader #billy hargrove x gn!byers!reader #byers!reader #joyce byers #jim hopper #savannah’s fics

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dorothyrryontour · 9 months

Text

if richie jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend

the people have been banging on my front door, crying, screaming, begging for more carmy content. and i hear you, i do. but anyways, here's this instead x

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he would think you’re so smart. “Babe, you’re so smart,” he would say, all the time.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he would be the worst gift-giver, and always get you really dumb, sometimes mean things, because he takes jokes too far. Even when he’d really try to be sincere, the gift would be impractical, or unnecessary, or just plain stupid, but he’d look at you with such love that you wouldn’t care anymore.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he would be fully updated on all your petty gossip, all the time. “Ugh, this person on Twitter is GARBAGE and their Twitter is LITTER ON THE FACE OF THE INTERNET,” you’d tell him. The next time you mention them, he would be like, “Oh I remember, litter on the face of the internet, right? They always reply to your shit tryna argue and stuff? God, what’d they say this time?”

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he would constantly text you funny online videos with “LOLLLLLLLL” commentary.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, you would quickly accept that there’s a way everyone else spells something, and then there’s the way Richie spells it.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, when you and your mother fought, he’d lean against the wall and listen, arms crossed and face neutral but sympathetic, until finally he’d mouth, “Let me talk to her,” and reach out for the phone. You’d listen as he spoke with her – charming her pants off, as usual – until the two of them were laughing and swapping stories about you. Then he’d say, “Oh, no, she can’t come to the phone right now, she had some crazy hot wings earlier so she’s gonna be in the bathroom for a while.” You’d flip him off from the sidelines. “Of course I’ll tell her. Okay, you too, Joyce. Take care, now. Alright, buh-bye,” and then he’d hang up and grin at you.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he would have no trouble outpacing your dirty mouth, spewing forth creative profanity with such impressive ease that you could do nothing but try to remember it for the next traffic jam.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, you would begin to feel about men in suits the same way you used to feel about men in grey sweatpants.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he’d leave sticky notes with bad jokes on your refrigerator. Stuff like, 69ing is now called 96ing because inflation has made the cost of eating out skyrocket. “You threw my note away?” He’d ask each afternoon, feigning offense. “Yes,” you’d deadpan.

(But we both know that, if Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, you’d have a little shoebox under your bed where you collected them all. He’d find the box one day, giving you a saucy look that would soon turn extremely sentimental once he lifted the lid to see stacks of sticky notes and not a vibrator. (“Where do you keep your vibrator, though, just so I know?”))

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he would order your latte using the dumb Starbucks lingo, even though you know he would much rather just go to the tiny independent coffee shop ten minutes out of the way instead of embarrassing you by arguing with the barista over the word “medium.”

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he would entertain your friends for hours, expertly mixing cocktails like a wise bartender during Prohibition and listening intently to their tales of workplace microaggressions and bad scones. He’d remember all their stupid coworkers, so, whenever they’d gripe again a week later, he’d go, “Ugh, fuckin’ Marie again with the late reports!” and your friends would kind of like him more than they like you.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he would have no problem apologizing to you if he was wrong about something, but you’d know better than to be an asshole about the situation and rub the apology in his face, so you’d give him a little time to settle and wait for him to say, “Quit fuckin’ around and come sit next to me,” while he’s stretched out on the couch.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, you would still play Guitar Hero on a regular basis and he wouldn’t make fun of you for your settings still being on “easy”.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, when something good happened to you, you’d tell him and laugh and say, “God, I don’t deserve this!” and he’d look at you and say, “Fuck are you talking about, of course you do.”

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, he would know what umami means, but he wouldn’t tell you. You’d only know you’re using it wrong when you catch the amused simper he’s trying to hide.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, when you visited the restaurant, Nat would have to tell him off about five times that night for lingering at your table too long. He’d pop back into the kitchen every now and again to “make sure table 6 is getting the real deal” and be forcefully ushered out by a chorus of curses each time (thereafter sauntering straight to table 6 to flirt with you a bit more and assure you that, “Oh, they’re cooking you up the real deal back there, I’m making sure of it.”)

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, you would accidentally catch sight of a sticky note on the fridge while he was still in the room. I saw a buttplug on the street today, it’d read, some asshole must’ve dropped it. And you would unfortunately grant him the satisfaction of laughing out loud. He would never let you live down the fact that you do, in fact, find him funny.

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, pre-s2e7-of-the-hit-TV-show-The-Bear-Forks (when he was just: Richie Jerimovich, your scumbag boyfriend), you’d have let him rant about gentrification as much as he wanted, and you’d have refrained from pointing out that he’s saying the same thing over and over. “I know, babe,” you’d have said, “That’s such a good point.”

If Richie Jerimovich were your reformed scumbag boyfriend, post-s2e7-of-the-hit-TV-show-The-Bear-Forks, he’d take to saying, to his still-scumbag friends: “When fishermen cannot go to sea, they mend their nets.” Then he’d explain, sagely, how, “There will be times in our lives where we may not be able to do things we have always done, in the way we have always done them,” and you’d kiss him all over his face, because you love having a reformed scumbag boyfriend who randomly recites proverbs now.

#richie jerimovich #richie the bear #richie x reader #richie jerimovich x reader #the bear fx #the bear s2 #the bear imagine #the bear #this may not be what you wanted but i assure you it's what you needed #if x were your y #inspired by the toast #i'm not like this because i'm in van halen #i'm in van halen because i'm like this #character study?#if your mum's name is joyce and you're wondering if i made this with you in mind of course i did ily x

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beautyofthend · 2 years

Photo

3.06 | 4.09

#stranger things #st #stranger things spoilers #joyce byers #jim hopper #jopper #joyce x hopper #gifs #sts4 #sts3 #jopperedit #joycebyersedit #jimhopperedit #strangerthingsedit #stedit #winona ryder #david harbour #she is correct #you can't just sit around and wait for a phone call

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sharpesjoy · 2 years

Photo

Will is alive // Hopper is alive

1.05 | 4.01

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rubiehart · 3 months

Note

getting caught in the act with robin by steve who is now scarred for life haha

lol this would deffo happen to them!!

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

deciding that you want to get away from the rest of the party for a little bit for some ‘alone time’ you sneak away together, thinking nobody noticed and slipping into your bedroom, giggling to each other as you lay on your frilly sheets and robin crawls on top of you, grabbing the sides of your face and connecting your lips passionately, tongues dancing together in the perfect rhythm. pulling away urgently and looking up at her with watery eyes, pupils blown out. “need you robin.” you’d whisper between a hiccup.

she’d nod and smirk “yeah? now?” and you nod shyly, reaching down to flip your skirt up to your hips so she can see the little wet spot that formed, biting her lip and looking back up at you, losing composure when she sees the look you’re giving her. “okay. we gotta be quick though okay?” she says finally, making you nod happily as she stands up and strips herself out of her jeans and top as do you, leaving them in a messy pile on the floor and clambering back onto the bed connecting your lips in a desperate needy kiss, spreading lipstick around each others mouths.

you began lifting your hips to create some friction between you and her, making you whine out at the contact into her mouth quietly, she reaches down skilfully to rub your clit rhythmically with your grinding, using her other hand to pull the cup of your bra under your tit, taking it into her mouth urgently and circling her tongue around the little bud, making you whine out.

“you’re doin’ s’ good.” she whispers as she feels you nearing your climax, leaning down to kiss you again when the door flings open, startling the both of you, you reaching for the nearest throw pillow and holding it over your bare tits, robin shrieking and fumbling around. “jesus!” steve’s voice can be heard with a flick of brown hair around the door before it slams harshly against the door frame, rattling the walls a little from the force and the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. “little warning next time would be nice!” he yells, making you both burst out into a fit of giggles.

“robin! that was so embarrassing!” you manage though giggles, robin covering her mouth as her eyes crinkled at the sides, giggling with you. after your giggling died down she sighed. “we’re never gonna live that down.” you just giggle and throw the pillow you were holding over your tits at her face starting the giggle fit all over again.

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pinkandblueblurbs · 2 years

Text

well earned reward

jim hopper x joyce byers x fem!reader

poly relationship, threesome, d/s dynamic, casual dominance, cunnilingus, references to punishment/spanking, dirty talk, male masturbation, light cum play

You’re clearing the table from dinner, carrying a stack of three used plates over to the sink where Joyce stands washing up. Hopper’s standing at the door of the fridge, putting away the margarine. You clear your throat as you hand off the dishes, trying to sound casual.

“You know…” the sweet, demure, lilting tone you use already has Hopper shooting you a questioning look from across the kitchen. You only talk like that when you want something. “I haven’t had a punishment in over a week.”

Hopper lets out a light scoff, grabbing a can of beer from the fridge. Joyce hums thoughtfully as she scrubs at a stubborn piece of crusted on lasagna.

“You have been really good lately, haven’t you?” She observes, turning to look at you as you make another round, now bringing her the used drinking glasses. You offer her a sweet smile and nod, very much liking where this is going. Joyce turns back to the dishes, setting the freshly cleaned plate aside before starting on another.

“She’s due a reward, Hop.”

“Joyce, are you kidding me?” He sounds incredulous as he leans against the counter, cracking open his can. “Didn’t you hear her just now?”

He looks at you, his expression hard, clearly unmoved. “You haven’t been punished in a week, kid. There’s your reward right there.”

You scowl at him, not appreciating his position on the matter whatsoever. You purse your lips, and he raises a brow, and it’s a good thing Joyce speaks up- because you’re seconds away from saying something that would blow your whole good girl claim straight out of the water.

“We aren’t drill sergeants, Hopper.” Joyce sounds almost irritated, but you recognize it as the tone she takes on whenever the two of them start to bicker. You have to bite back a smirk. It’s good to hear them bicker, because whenever they bicker, Joyce always wins. Even if Hopper doesn’t admit it.

“You got that right.” He shoots back, pushing himself off the counter. “If we were she’d get a spanking every week to keep her in line, good behavior be damned.” He gives your cheek a pat and offers you a patronizing look as he passes by you and enters the sitting room to lower heavily onto the couch. Joyce rolls her eyes, adding the last plate onto the drying rack and turning off the faucet. She turns to you as she dries off her hands, her smile genuine and slightly apologetic.

“Ignore him, honey.” She says, tossing the hand towel on the countertop. “Go ahead and tell me what you want. You’ve earned it.”

You beam at her, murmuring a soft “thank you” before you make your request. “Can I have your mouth?”

“Of course.”

You let out an excited squeal and rush to the bedroom, practically skipping in your excitement.

“You’re spoiling her!” Hopper’s booming voice calls from the living room.

You ignore him in favor of stripping down your lower half and climbing onto the center of the mattress, legs spread and waiting.

She moves to crawl up between them, but you stop her when you say “wait.” Your cheeks warm a bit, feeling slightly shy despite everything. “Will you take your shirt off?”

Joyce smiles at your sweetness and offers you a nod, grasping the hem of her shirt and lifting it up off of her head in one easy, graceful motion. You have to remind yourself not to gawk at the sight of her bra clad chest- no matter how many times you see it, her body never fails to send a wave of arousal through you.

“You’re so sweet,” she praises when she sees your awed, adoring expression. She finally makes her way between your thighs- amused by the way your eyes follow her cleavage- and settles there, her face inches from your bare folds.You shiver at the feeling of her warm breath.

“Ready, honey?”

You nod immediately, hands clutching the sheets in anticipation.

That’s all the pleading Joyce needs to lean down and lick up your slit, her tongue just barely grazing your hooded clit and making you whimper. Her fingers come up to gently pull apart your swollen lips, further exposing your bud so the next lick has you reeling at the direct stimulation.

You allow the feeling to wash over you, basking in the sure, well-practiced movements of Joyce’s soft tongue and lips. She knows exactly what to do, has all the techniques that make your toes curl committed to memory. She flicks her tongue over your clit, occasionally latching on and sucking gently. Her eyes have fallen closed in her focus, and you reach down to gently hold the tresses of her hair.

Somewhere in your lust clouded mind you pick up on the sound of approaching footsteps- heavy and steady against the hardwood floors. You look to the doorway just as Hopper’s form appears in it. Beer can still in hand, he leans against the doorframe, looking unimpressed as he takes in the scene.

You shoot him a shit-eating grin, feeling very smug that you’re getting a reward despite him expressing that you don’t deserve one. Hopper shakes his head at you, mouthing “fucking brat” before taking a sip of his beer.

Still grinning, you turn away from him, closing your eyes and focusing once again on the pleasure of Joyce’s mouth. You lose yourself in the sensations, feeling as though you’re practically floating in ecstasy.

You’re unaware of how much time passes before you’re snapped out of your bliss by the sound of Hopper’s empty beer can swishing into the wastebasket in the corner of the room. You open your eyes to see him stepping away from the doorframe, stalking towards the bed.

“Take off your shirt,” He gruffly tells you, gesturing at the obscuring clothing. You fix him with a confused look, and he raises his brow at you, daring you to argue. “Go on. If you’re gonna get some bullshit reward, I might as well get to enjoy the view.”

Your confused expression morphs into a scowl. “It’s not bullshit,” you assert. Hopper’s brows shoot up, making his surprise at your rebuttal clear. Before you can say more, Joyce lifts her head.

“Just do what he says, sweetie.” She instructs, trying to keep the peace. “Take off your shirt for him, then I’ll keep going and make you cum. How does that sound?”

You tear your gaze away from your staredown with Hopper to meet Joyce’s eye, and she offers you a pleading smile. You huff, not wanting to disappoint her.

“Fine,” you grumble, sitting up just enough that you can raise your top up off your abdomen and toss it aside. You hadn’t been wearing a bra, since you’d just been hanging around the house, so the removal of your shirt leaves you completely bare.

“Attagirl,” Hopper mutters as Joyce leans back down to continue eating you out. “At least you’ll listen to one of us.”

Maturely, you stick your tongue out at him as you settle back comfortably against the pillows. You’re determined to enjoy your reward despite Hopper’s brooding presence, so you do your best to ignore him where he stands beside the bed. Joyce is still working magic on your pussy, and you let out a soft moan at the feeling.

She expertly works you up towards your orgasm, her dainty hands snaking up to hold you at your waist, her thumbs rubbing tenderly at the skin there. You arch against the mattress, moaning lewdly when her tongue slips inside your entrance and sweeps across your inner walls just right. You hear Hopper let out a chuckle as well as the clinking of his belt as he frees his cock from the confines of his pants.

“Yeah, she’s real good with her mouth, isn’t she?” He starts loosely fisting at his cock, eyes flicking back and forth between Joyce’s face buried in your cunt, and your face thrown back and contorted in pleasure. Your hands knead idly at the bedding, fists clenching and unclenching, toes curling and uncurling as you approach your peak.

“Gonna come soon? Gonna make a mess on Joyce’s pretty face?”

So close to orgasm, you’ve entirely forgotten about your internal vow to ignore Hopper, and a moaned response of “yes” spills freely from your lips.

“I better hear you thank her as you do, brat.” He growls, his hand picking up its pace. He’s standing right above you, jerking off over your chest. “Thank her for being so damn good to you.”

You start to spiral off the edge, your hips rising to meet Joyce’s mouth, and Hopper’s free hand plants firmly on your lower stomach to keep you still.

“Thank you,” you gasp out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you-” it’s a mindless mantra as Joyce works you through your orgasm, your brain short circuiting with the overwhelming pleasure.

Right as you’re starting to come down Hopper lets out a low groan above you, the sight of you cumming bringing on his own release. Thick ropes of cum shoot from his cock and paint your breasts, feeling hot even against your balmy skin. You blink lazily up at him to see his pinched brow and parted lips before he lets go of his cock and closes his eyes with a breathless yet satisfied sigh.

Joyce raises her head up from between your legs, wiping your release from her chin with the heel of her hand. She glances from you, to Hopper, to Hopper’s cum on your chest, and a small smirk makes its way onto her face.

“Still upset about her reward there, Hop?” She taunts. “Because it sure looks like you enjoyed it.”

“I still don’t think she fucking deserved it.” Joyce rolls her eyes. “Come tomorrow she’ll be acting up again, now that she’s gotten what she wants.”

“No,” you pipe up, voice bleary but firm, a pout settled on your lips. “I won’t. I’ll be good.”

Joyce gestures to you with a sweep of her arm, looking at Hopper with a look that says “see? What’d I tell you?”

Hopper scoffs. “Don’t buy that shit, Joyce. She’s always like that after she comes.”

#Jim hopper smut #joyce byers smut #Jim hopper x reader #Jim hopper x you #Jim hopper x y/n #Jim hopper x joyce byers #Jim hopper imagine #joyce byers imagine #Jim hopper #joyce byers #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #joyce byers x reader

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