#POV Jim Hopper

[imfinereallyy]

Father Figures

pt. 2 here, and full version on ao3 here

The first time James Edward Hopper meets Steve Harrington is when Steve is thirteen years old. It is back when he is still pushing everyone to call him Chief Hopper, or at the very least James to sound more professional. It is mostly a lost cause, as he has just returned to Hawkins after his daughter Sarah's death and most people can't help but call him Jim and Hop in familiarity, in sympathy.

It didn't mean they didn't take him any less seriously though. In fact, his cold, grieving demeanor gave him quite the reputation around town. Made assholes like Lenny Byers and troublemakers like the little twerp Munson turn in the other direction when they see him. So Jim doesn't try to push the professional name too much. He knows people around here respect him.

They respect him enough to follow his word, they respect him enough to turn a blind eye when he takes an extra pill or two.

Jim doesn't think too deeply about his reputation until he meets Steve Harrington for the first time.

He gets a call from Benny. It's directly to his line at the station, instead of a general 911 call. He doesn't think much of it when he answers, most likely it was a non emergency from an old friend from high school. That's the only reason people call him most days.

"Chief Hopper. Make it quick."

"Jimmy." A deep, worried breath comes from the phone.

Jim immediately straightens. "Benny, what's wrong?"

Benny usually only calls for a laugh, or to invite him out for a drink. The guy doesn't care about too much, or ask too many questions. Hearing concern in his voice was alarming, to say the least. "Listen, Hop, there is a kid here. And normally I don't care, cause business is business, but it's two in the morning, Jimmy. And despite the kid wearing the most expensive pair of sneakers I have ever seen, he only has two dollars on him for a meal. He got all skittish when the plate landed too loudly. And I don't know..." Benny takes a deep breath before he continues. "...I just don't want to be at fault if this kid's trouble and some fancy parents come looking for him."

Jim can tell Benny wants to say something else, he doesn't push though. Jim Hopper tries to never ask too many questions.

"Alright Ben, I'll be there in ten."

———

When Jim arrives at the diner, Benny notices him and nods in the direction of the corner booth. And there, sitting with his head low and scarfing down a plate of fries is Steve Harrington.

Jim has never met the kid personally, but he knows his parents. Cold, calculating, and pretty much owns half of Hawkins. Jim is starting to understand why Benny has called him.

Jim slides into the booth across from the young boy. He's prepared to take the kid by the back of his shirt and drag him out of there. He doesn't need these kids to be causing hard-working people any trouble. But when Jim makes a thump in the booth, the Harrington kid's face snaps up in fear, and Jim's plan for an angry monologue just drops.

Because there, on Steve Harrington's jaw, is a bruise the size of Indiana itself. Jim's face remains gruff, but his body language softens. "Hey, kid. What are you doing here so late?"

Steve's posture remains stiff and small. "Sorry sir, I was just hungry and it was the only place open. I wasn't—I wasn't trying to cause trouble."

It's then, for the first time, Jim thinks that his reputation isn't one of respect. Instead, his reputation might something worse. Fear.

"Didn't think you were. Just wondering what a rich kid like you, is doing on this side of town, at this time of night." Jim doesn't say it like a question, just fact. He tries not to take it too personally when Harrington turns his bruised side in on himself.

"Would have uh—gotten something from home but we—I didn't have any food left. And by the time I was able to eat, everything else was closed."

"Able to eat—kid what are you rambling about. Let me call your parents to pick you up." Jim makes his way to stand but Steve grabs his wrist to pull him back.

"No! I mean—" he clears his throat "—not necessary sir. My parents left for a work trip tonight. I uh—don't have a number for you to call them anyway. They call me instead, they never have a solid line to contact. Nothing bad happens in Hawkins anyway, so it isn't something to worry about." The last line sounds practiced, like it is something repeated to Steve religiously enough it's become his own mantra.

Jim is starting to put it together. The waiting all day to eat. The bruise on his jaw. The lack of money for food. God, the kid probably walked six miles to get here.

Jim isn't stupid, he can connect the dots. But Jim also knows when not to push things. When not to rock the boat. When sometimes, even if it pains him, helping someone would be a lost cause. He thinks of Sarah briefly.

It's even worse when that lost cause is just a kid.

Jim decides maybe the best thing he can do for Steve at that moment is to ignore the obvious problem and offer him a bit of kindness. "Well, I can't have ya here this late. Could look bad for Benny. And we don't want to get Benny in trouble do we?"

Steve shakes his head immediately. "No Sir."

"Didn't think so. Why don't I drive you to the station? Don't worry I'm not arresting you. But we got a nice cot there, and you can get some rest. Then I'll drive you back in the morning when I clock out. Cause I'm still on duty and all. Can't be driving you back Loch Nora quite yet." Jim doesn't mention how he can see bags under Steve's eyes. He doesn't mention how it would be quicker to his house than to the station either. Jim maybe, just a little bit, wants to keep an eye on him. Even if it's only for a short time.

"It's okay I can walk—" Jim levels Steve with a look "—actually that sounds great. Thank you, Sir."

Jim nods with finality and starts to stand. "Oh and kid? Enough with that sir crap. I ain't Mr. Harrington." He almost says I'm not your dad. But that felt wrong somehow, giving Harrington senior that title.

"Okay, sir—I mean Hopper. Okay, Hopper."

---

As the years go by, James Edward Hopper keeps an eye out for Steven James Harrington (Yes he looks at his file for his full name. Yes, it makes him feel some sort of way he has his name as his middle name and not his father's. Richard would make a horrible middle name anyway). At first, it's drive-bys to see if anyone's home. Giving the kid a ride if he sees him walking. Swinging by a basketball game or two, to see how he's playing.

Then it turns into busting his ragers. Hauling him in for the night not to arrest him but to sober the kid up. Pulling him over for driving while intoxicated with that dumb Hagan boy.

Jim wants to be mad, he does. He even yells at Steve sometimes. But he can't find in him to be mean to him, not really. Not when he's pretty sure the only thing Steve has consumed in days is alcohol. Not when even though he has gotten much bigger, and the bruises are less visible, Steve never ceases to flinch when Jim grabs him.

So mostly, Jim either just drives him home or brings him in, giving him a sandwich and bed for the night.

Around when Steve is sixteen though, things get worse for Jim. He becomes more frustrated, with Steve, with his job, and with this town. He takes more pills. He neglects his job. He forgets Steve.

Then the Upside Down happens for the first time. Jim tries to better himself for Joyce and the kids. He mainly though does it for El. His second chance, his new reason for trying, his daughter.

Jim knows it's okay to get a little lost in taking care of her. That it's a good thing, and she deserves his full attention.

He does feel a bit of guilt though, after round two of the Upside Down. When Steve Harrington sits in Joyce Byer's living room, looking like he went ten rounds with a semi.

The kids are all over him (including Mike which shocks the hell out of him). Dustin is trying to stop the bleeding on his face, Lucas is holding ice against his head and even El, who Steve met for all of five minutes, is sitting beside him on the couch, holding his shoulder up. There is a look in El's eyes as she stares up at Steve. Like she can see through him, like she knows him. Like she understands him.

Jim feels his heart break a little.

He approaches Steve in a crouched position. "Hey kid, I think we better take you to a hospital. You look like shit." He is sure there is a better way to say it, but Jim Hopper is a blunt man and that was never going to change.

The redhead, Max, snorts. "That's honestly the nicest way to put it."

Steve glares, Jim can't decide if it's at him or the kids. "No. I'm okay."

Dustin shouts, "Steve you are most definitely not okay. Hop's right you look like shit—"

"Language."

Dustin ignores Steve, "—and that's just externally. Who knows what's going on internally."

"C'mon kid, I can drive ya." Jim moves to help him stand.

Steve bursts with anger and pushes Jim away. "I said no. And you're not my dad."

Jim's jaw tightens and he resists the urge to scream back: and thank god for that.

El speaks before he can yell back. "You're hurt." It's soft, it's demanding and it's so very El. Jim watches Steve crumble back into the couch.

His voice is rougher than before, but much more gentle, "No hospitals."

"Okay. At least let Joyce look at ya. She used to be a nurse." Jim puts a hand on his shoulder, careful not to jostle him.

"Okay, Hopper. Okay, Hop."

———

After that, for a little while, Jim tries to look out for Steve again. It's harder this time though. He's more independent and harder to catch sight of. When he does see him, one of the gremlins is around him, and he can't check-in. And Hop has El, and he can't neglect her in favor of Steve. He tries to balance it out, but in the end, Steve isn't his kid.

Jim finds a small loophole though, which is El herself.

He worries about her every she since she ran away and he didn't even notice. And he knows Steve, like him, has a soft spot for the kids. So under the guise of babysitting, Jim gets Steve in his cabin once a week. So someone other than Joyce or Jonathan (or horribly, mike) is spending time with her. Sure, he's not there to keep an eye out for Steve himself, but it's the closest he's going to get.

Besides, biological daughter or not, El is just like Jim. She has a habit of collecting strays. If it's not going to be him looking out for Steve, he can't think of anyone better for the job than his little girl.

———

After Starcourt, somewhere in a Russian prison, Jim thinks of Steve.

Every day, Jim thinks of El. Misses her. Longs to hear her laugh even longs to hear her yell back at him. Every day, Jim thinks of his daughter and mourns what could have been. But Jim knows she's being taken care of. Knows Joyce and the boys will love her, and take care of her. Make sure she knows nothing else but kindness.

He worries though, between those moments, about how there is no one there for Steve.

———

Months later, in Hawkins Memorial, Jim Hopper finds Steve Harrington in a hospital chair next to Eddie Munson's comatose body.

Jim has a lot of questions but doesn't get any of them out because suddenly Steve Harrington is right in front of him, sucking in a harsh "Hop," and then collapsing in Jim’s arms.

Jim holds him close, says nothing, and cries silently with him.

———

During the summer that follows, James Edward Hopper notices a change within Steven James Harrington. Despite the obvious PTSD the boy suffers, and the scars that litter his body, Steve is visibly happier than Jim has ever seen him. He laughs more, he openly cries more, and he loves more.

Steve's now living with Robin in a tiny two-bedroom downtown. He comes to family dinner with the entire party every Sunday. He shares a cup of tea (no more beer for either of them) and a cigarette every Thursday evening on the Byers-Hoppers front porch.

Most noticeably, the biggest difference Jim sees in Steve is Eddie Munson.

Jim once again isn't stupid. And despite being an ex-cop isn't a bigot (he couldn't find himself back at the force, the corruption is too much for him. And he himself, was never very good at his job). So he can easily come to the conclusion that Steve has a massive crush on Eddie Munson.

Dear. God.

It's not that he has a problem with Eddie being a boy, but it's the fact that out of all people he can choose from, Steve had to go and fall for the twerp who used to trip over his laces when running away from Jim for the third time.

Jim feels, after all the years of neglect that Steve faced, he could do so much better.

Steve is happy though for once, and Jim doesn't say anything at first. But it becomes so painful to watch. The lingering touches. The longing gazes. The nicknames (sweetheart, honey, dear god did he just say big boy—).

Nothing ever comes of it though, it's August and neither of them has done anything but pine. And Jim seems to be the only one who notices.

At first, he thinks it's cause everyone is being kind, and giving them room to explore themselves. But with everyone making jokes about Robin and Steve (from the kids) or Steve and Nancy (from Eddie), it seems like no one notices the excruciating flirting between the two.

(Except for maybe Robin, but Jim isn't quite sure Steve and she aren't one organism. He doesn't count her)

Still, Jim ignores it though. He has learned his listen from Mike and El. Getting involved makes everything worse.

That is until, the second week in August right before family dinner, when he finds Steve and Eddie early, sitting on the couch, with Eddie dabbing the blood off of Steve's face.

"What happened?" Jim is over on Steve's other side in an instant.

"Nothing Hop, it's stupid." Steve tries to shrug off, and he looks towards Eddie briefly.

Jim's vision, for a brief brief moment, is filled with unclear rage. It's enough to consume him and makes him impulsive. Jim can't help but think he got it wrong. Maybe the two are together, and Steve had fallen into a bad relationship. He knew that Eddie was trouble, but he didn't think about it being that kind.

And though he is being irrational, and being for once a little stupid, no one can really blame him when he hauls Eddie up by the collar and into his line of vision.

"Munson, did you put your goddamn hands on my kid?"

Jim can hear Joyce, El, and Will (the only other people in the house) all run out into the living room at the sheer volume of Jim's voice.

Steve sits frozen, Joyce and El yell at him to "put him down, oh my god."

And Munson? He starts to ramble.

"No. No! I would never, ever hurt anyone. Haven't we learned this by now? I can barely kill a spider. I have to put them in a cup and put them outside." Eddie chuckles nervously, waving his hands around frantically.

Jim's grip tightens and pulls him closer. He's pretty sure his vibrating at this point.

Suddenly though, Eddie becomes deathly serious. As if he just realizes what Hopper has said.

"Hop, I would lay down my life before I ever hurt Steve. There is no one in this world that deserves kindness more than him. And if I ever do hurt him, whether it be emotionally or physically, I give you full permission to beat me up. Hell, I'll probably throw myself at your fist."

Jim doesn't let go but stays silent as he listens.

"You see, Steve here decided to pull a you when some jerks wouldn't leave me alone at Family Video today. They were throwing around a bunch of slurs. Nothing I haven't heard before. And even though I could handle myself—“ Eddie gives Steve a look “Steve here always has to be the hero and decided to defend my honor. And of course, it just had to turn physical. And Steve decided to take on three guys on his own. Got to say though, he held his own. It was kinda hot honestly—"

Jim hears Steve choke a little beside them, startling him out of his frozen state.

"—And he only got a cut on his forehead from one of the dickwads class rings. I'm a little worried he has another concussion though. Believe me, Hop when I say, I am just as pissed at those guys as you."

At the end of his speech, Eddie calms down and even holds eye contact with Jim. He still doesn't let go of the twerp, despite being considerably less angry. Well, at least at Eddie.

It's Steve though that finally gets him to let go. "Dad, please put Eddie down."

Steve says it like it's nothing. Steve says it likes its the easiest thing in the world. But to Jim, to Jim it's the best thing he's gotten since El.

Instantaneously, Jim drops Eddie back on the ground and scoops Steve into a bone-crushing hug. "You got to stop scaring me like this kid. Can't lose you again."

Steve's almost his height now, so he tucks Steve's head into his shoulder and lays his head on top of his hair. He hears a muffled, wet "I'm sorry" against him.

Jim chokes back tears as he says, "No, no you got nothing to apologize for. Just be more careful. Okay?"

Steve releases himself from his hold and looks at him. "Okay, Hop. Okay, Dad."

Jim ruffles his hair without jostling his head too much. He thinks he would do anything for his kids. Including pushing along this nightmare of a pining contest.

"And if you like him I like him too."

"Huh?" Steve says confused.

"Eddie here. If you like him, then he's okay by me."

Steve goes to stop Jim, but he's already one step ahead. "But if he hurts you even in the slightest, you're watching me dig the grave I'm going to bury him in. Understand?"

Steve blushes from head to toe and nods frantically, knowing if he protests it will only make the conversation longer. The room is silent until Eddie speaks.

"Don't worry Hop, I'll dig the grave for you." Eddie's voice, despite the threat, is filled with delight, wonder, and hope.

My work here is done Jim thinks as he gives the boys one last nod and leaves the room.

And if later, if Jim sees Steve and Eddie holding hands at the dinner table he doesn't comment on it. And if he sees Eddie give Steve's knuckles a light kiss, and whisper something that almost looks like "I love you", he only smiles at the two boys. Because if one more person loves his boy, it's a win for him.

Because James Edward Hopper, thinks his son Steve deserves that and so much more.

———

okay I spent waaaay too much time on this (as per usual) but I wanted to dive in a little more on Steve and Hoppers relationship (and how it impacts Steve and Eddie). I feel like a lot of fics makes them distant friends (which is canonically correct I guess) or surrogate family with no explanation. And I like the idea of them slowing building a father son relationship. Really leaning into you choose your family. I know people have mixed feelings about Steve calling him Dad (honestly sometimes I too think it’s cringey) but sometimes I love it and that boy deserves a good father figure. Even though steddie doesn’t come in until the end, I think it all really blends together nicely. Also in my head either the boys are both out to each other, is at least it’s heavily implied or is a known safe space they are in. We do not support outing people in the house. It’s probably a one-shot, but maybe I’ll add more snippets later on. For now it felt like a good place to stop.

As always I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I just zoned out for like two hours as I wrote it. It kinda made me emotional I’m not going to lie.

part 2 here and the full version on ao3 here

[steddiealltheway]

Hopper has always been fine with El hanging out with what she calls “the whole party” because that means that Max will be there. And if she’s with Max, that means less time with Mike. And less time with Mike, is one of Hopper’s favorite things.

Unfortunately, Hopper comes to find out that “the whole party” also includes Eddie Munson. But unlike most of the idiots in Hawkins, Hopper knows that Eddie’s a good kid who wouldn’t (or more likely couldn’t) harm a fly. On the other hand, he’s also the kid who used to deal Hopper his weed for super cheap in exchange for some fatherly advice and maybe a get out of jail free card every now and then. (Really, the kid just had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Hopper would just happen to turn a blind eye and forget to file the paperwork which was really just unnecessary extra work).

But this all makes it hard to answer El’s question of why she’s not allowed to hang out with the whole party this time. Fortunately, she’s quick to ask more questions such as, “Is it because Eddie is an older boy? Because you were fine with us hanging out with Steve.”

“And Steve would keep you guys in line and safe.”

El crossed her arms. “And what if I guaranteed that every time Eddie was there, Steve would be too?”

And Hopper thought that maybe that was actually a good solution. Harrington was known to babysit a multitude of kids at once, so adding on Eddie to the group wouldn’t be too much of an ask.

Cue Steve and Eddie being practically attached at the hip a few weeks later, and Hopper realizing he accidentally played matchmaker.

[astrobei]

anonymous prompt: “this isn’t byler but do you think you could write some hopper trying to achieve some step-son stepfather bonding time with a reluctant Will?”

As it turns out, in some weird subversion of all of Jim Hopper’s expectations, teenage girls are a hundred times easier to figure out than teenage boys.

El had been a bit of a blank slate at first. She liked Eggo waffles and daytime TV and when Jim put his records on, she didn’t complain. Maybe she just didn’t know that there were other types of music out there, but as far he was concerned, there wasn’t much worth knowing about that wasn’t Jimi Hendrix anyway.

And then things started falling into place a little. El liked Eggo waffles, but she liked them most with the kinds of toppings on top that he wasn’t supposed to technically be eating anymore– whipped cream and candy and enough sugar to induce a heart attack twenty years early.

She liked the daytime TV just fine, but she liked it better when he watched it with her, telling her what all the unfamiliar words meant. Word of the day, he’d said as a joke, when she’d asked what infatuated meant. The irony of that wouldn’t hit him for another year or so.

She liked Jimi Hendrix okay, but he suspects that she actually just liked watching him dance around to the records more than she did any guitar riff, no matter how captivating they might have been. He doesn’t blame her. He’d never claimed to be a good dancer, but he sure could be an entertaining one.

So this is where he stands, currently. Teenage girls are fine. Teenage boys are, actually, a mystery beyond comprehension.

Or maybe it’s just Joyce Byers’ teenage boys that are hard to figure out.

Yeah. That’s probably it.

Jim’s sure he hasn’t been like this when he was younger. He’d been very straightforward about his interests: his dad’s vinyl collection of 50’s rock ‘n roll, the chocolate milkshakes at the local diner, and cutting class to smoke with Joyce Byers under the east wing stairs.

Some of these more so than others, maybe, but they’d been very simple interests all the same. Nicking Marlboros from his dad’s jacket pocket when he wasn’t looking, then slipping them into Joyce’s waiting fingers as she slid into the stairwell next to him. He’s pretty sure his dad knew where the cigarettes had been going, and he’s also pretty sure he didn’t care.

“What are you smiling about?”

Seventeen-year-old Joyce vanishes in a puff of stale smoke, and suddenly, she’s here in front of him again. The real thing this time, not a hazy, memory-worn apparition– faded cotton shirt, plaid flannel pajama pants. Smiling down at him, holding a pan of scrambled eggs in one hand and a spatula in the other.

Jim raises his eyebrows. “Nothing.” He shakes his head as she spoons eggs onto his plate. “I just– I haven’t seen you smoke in a while.”

Joyce huffs out a small laugh as she slides into the chair next to him. It’s early, barely seven in the morning. The kids don’t usually get up until well into the midmorning on summer days like this, so early mornings are for them and them alone. “I’m trying not to. El doesn’t like the smell.”

“Oh. She told you?”

“Will did.”

“Ah.” He takes a careful sip of his coffee. “What about Will? He doesn’t mind it?”

He can’t see Joyce’s mouth behind her mug, but her eyes are definitely smiling. “He doesn’t like it either. He just stopped saying so after a while.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Joyce laughs again, this time as she squirts a generous dollop of ketchup on her plate. “What, you didn’t kick the habit when you were locked up?”

“Oh, no,” Jim chuckles. “No way. I thought I would, for a while, but– it’s true, you know, what they say about cigarettes being worth as much as gold in there.”

“Really?”

They don’t talk about Russia much– at least not out here. Not in the morning, not after a good night’s sleep, not in the kitchen, where things are supposed to be happy and warm and filled with light. This isn’t the place for it– for things that are dark and cold and desolate, for monsters or funerals or death.

He clears his throat. “Hey,” he says instead, “listen, I was thinking.”

“Oh, yeah? About what?”

“I was thinking, maybe,” he starts, speaking more into the inside of his mug than to Joyce, now. “Maybe I’ll take Will out for the day. Do something together.”

If Joyce is surprised at all, it doesn’t show. “Yeah? To where?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admits, and she gives him an amused look. “I wanted to ask you first.”

Now she looks surprised. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jim shrugs, “he’s your kid! I didn’t want to cross any boundaries, or–” He trails off at the look on her face. “What?”

Joyce ducks her head, smiling softly. “No, that– that’s sweet, Hop. If he’s okay with it, then I’d love for you two to do something together.”

“Really? You think he would?”

“I–” Joyce starts, and then gets a contemplative look on her face. “You know he adores you, right?”

“Please,” Jim snorts, “he’s a sixteen year old boy. He doesn’t adore anybody.”

“Except–”

“We don’t talk about Wheeler before noon, Joyce,” Jim interrupts, and then Joyce is throwing her head back in another laugh. It’s a nice look, Jim thinks, maybe not as privately as he’d like. He’s sure she can tell exactly what’s on his mind.

“Okay! Sorry! But yes, of course. Go have a day out, just the two of you.”

“Okay,” he agrees, then takes a sip of coffee. “Okay. Sounds good.”

—-

The issue here is that given Joyce Byers’ infamous overprotectiveness, he’d thought acquiring her blessing to have a bit of adoptive father-adoptive son bonding would have been the hard part. And now he’s standing in front of Will’s room, hand raised to knock, feeling just about as jittery as he had when he had to give the Wheeler kid the shovel talk. 

Both times.

Now or never, Jim, he thinks, because for all of his bravery fighting monsters and Russians and that time he broke his own ankle and ran through miles of snow on foot, this doesn’t compare. This is Will. This is Joyce’s kid. And he doesn’t know why that makes him so nervous, but it does.

You can do it. It’s just a teenage boy.

He sighs, and raises his fist.

“Yeah?” Will’s voice is faint from behind the door. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Jim says, and then steels himself, gathering every remaining bit of courage in his body to say, “you got a minute to talk?”

Will raises his eyebrows. “Sure,” he says. It’s wary, cautious. He sits up further, from where he’d been reclining back on his pillows. “What’s up?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s on edge. Jim supposes maybe this is a bit out of the blue, so he tries to relax, tries to make sure his body language reads I come in peace. “What are you reading?” he tries, nodding towards the book in Will’s hands.

“Um.” Will turns it over, looks at the cover like he has to remind himself. “It’s Slaughterhouse Five. Jonathan gave it to me,” he says slowly.

Jim lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s impressive, kid. Is it any good?”

Will shrugs. “It’s okay so far. I just started though.”

Jim doesn’t know enough about Slaughterhouse Five to keep this conversation going with any merit, so he figures maybe he should just cut to the chase. “Hey, listen,” he starts, and Will’s eyebrows creep a little farther up his forehead. “I was thinking of spending a day out. Go for a drive, grab some lunch. You want to tag along?”

“Oh,” Will says. “Um.” He holds up his book. “I was thinking of getting ahead on this, actually.”

Jim Hopper has braved Russian prisons, secret labs, an underground dimension, his own faked death, and being stood up by Joyce Byers. This is fine.

“Okay,” he says, “that’s fine. No worries.”

“Sorry,” Will adds for good measure, still half-upright on his bed and looking very much like he does not want to be having this conversation.

“Seriously,” Jim says, already backing out into the hallway. “It’s okay. Have fun with the book, kid.”

—-

“He hates me, Joyce.”

Joyce shoots him a look as she climbs into the passenger seat of the car. “He does not hate you, Hop. Maybe you just caught him off guard.”

Jim groans, putting the car in reverse. “I knocked before I went in!”

“Jim.”

“What?”

Joyce pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and drops it into the ashtray. “Please don’t smoke in the car,” she chides. And then, “Well, what did you say to him?”

“I asked him about his book, and then if he wanted to tag along with me while I–”

“Okay, I’d say that caught him off guard a little.”

“How?” Jim exclaims, and then Joyce laughs.

“I don’t know! Will’s just– he needs a second, okay, Hop? Don’t take it personally. I promise he does not hate you.”

“Okay,” he grumbles, as they turn the corner past the high school. “One more shot, and then I’m accepting the fact that both your kids hate me.”

“Jonathan doesn’t hate you either,” Joyce says, but she looks like she’s fighting back a smile. “He just– he doesn’t show affection like that.”

“They hate me,” he repeats, accelerating down the backroad. “They both hate me.”

—-

Attempt #2 goes better. Somewhat.

“Hey,” Jim says as he walks through the door the next evening. Will is curled up on the couch, sketchbook open on his lap. He looks up as the door opens, startling slightly, then relaxes.

“Oh. Hey, Hop.”

Hey, Hop, he thinks. That’s better than Hello, Chief.

“Is your mom home?”

Will shakes his head and looks back down. “She’s at the Wheelers’. She’s having, um. Wine night. With Mike’s mom.”

“Oh, okay.” Jim pauses. “Hey,” he starts, and Will looks back up. “Listen, I don’t suppose you want to watch a movie or something tonight?”

Will blinks. “A movie?”

You’ve come back from the dead, Jim, he thinks. This is just a sixteen year old boy. He shrugs. “Yeah, you know, everyone’s out for the evening. Thought we could make a night of it, just us two.”

“Um.”

“You can pick,” Jim offers, tossing his hat on the kitchen table. “I won’t judge your taste, I promise.”

Will’s lips twitch upwards at the corners, ever so slightly. “I have good taste,” he protests, and Jim shrugs, like sure! Okay! “But I can’t today. Um. Sorry.”

“Oh. Big plans tonight?”

“Actually,” Will starts, pursing his lips. “Mike and I are grabbing dinner soon.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. It’s a bit of a low blow, getting passed over for the Wheeler kid, but it’s fine. Jim can roll with the punches. “Huh. Anywhere good?”

Will shrugs, but he looks like he’s on the verge of a smile. “Just the diner on Main Street.”

“Oh, the diner,” Jim laughs, pulling out a chair. “I used to go there every day when I was your age, actually. Best milkshakes on this side of Indiana.”

“Yeah?” Will puts his pencil down. “What was your order?”

“Ham and cheese. And a chocolate milkshake,” he answers immediately. He dreamt about those milkshakes, thought about them during long, cold nights behind bars, nothing but prison-grade gruel to fill his stomach. Comfort food. The kind of memory you hold on to longer than you’d expect.

“I get ham and cheese too,” Will says, and then he looks a bit surprised at himself, like this was something he didn’t mean to say. “Except I get, um. I get strawberry instead.”

Jim pretends to think it over. “Strawberry’s good,” he admits, “but not good enough.”

“Hey!” Will says, laughing. “Come on. Chocolate is so boring.”

That feels like a win, even if it’s a small one. He’s smiling before he realizes it. Making light banter over milkshake flavors shouldn’t be this exciting, not for someone like him, not for someone who’s been through what he has, but–

“You need a ride?” Jim holds up his car keys, still clutched in one hand. “I can drop you off.”

The smile fades slightly from Will’s face. “Oh, um. Mike’s picking me up, actually. In, like, ten minutes?”

“Wheeler can drive?”

“He got his license last month,” Will says, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. Jim’s first instinct is to protest– something about that’s not safe, and I don’t know if that’s the best idea, but he bites his tongue.

If Mike Wheeler can kill monsters, he can drive a car just fine. Probably.

“Okay,” he says at last, standing up and grabbing his hat. “Have fun, kid. Tell Wheeler to drive safe. Five under the speed limit. It’s my buddies on patrol tonight, remember.”

Will looks like he simultaneously wants to laugh and groan. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Hop. I’ll tell him.”

“Have a milkshake for me,” Jim says, then slinks off to his room.

Okay. That could’ve gone worse.

—-

“Okay, I don’t think he hates me.”

Joyce gives him a look like see? “I told you he doesn’t hate you,” she says, reaching across him for the olive oil. “What did you say this time?”

“Something about watching a movie,” Jim says. “I was– God, okay, Joyce, can you take over the onions for me?”

Joyce laughs, and says, teasing, “Broke your way out of a prison but chopping onions is too much?”

“This is why I don’t cook,” he says, then makes his way over to the record player in the corner of the living room. “I’ll take over music duty.”

“Sure,” Joyce calls. “You don’t cook because of onions.”

Steely Dan crackles to life as he turns around. “Oh, yeah,” he grins, “this is it. This is the good stuff.”

“Jim,” Joyce laughs. “What– are you supposed to be dancing?”

Hey, he’s said it before. He’s not the best dancer, but he’s definitely an entertaining one. “Times are hard,” Jim croons along, and Joyce’s laughter grows. “You’re afraid to pay the fee–”

“You’re awful,” Joyce shakes her head, even as Jim grabs a hold of her hands. “And– Hop, my hands are all onion-y.”

He ignores her. “When you need a little bit of lovin’–”

“Ew,” comes a voice from the hallway, and Jim turns around.

“Hey, hon,” Joyce says absentmindedly, dropping his hands and wiping hers on the towel. Onion, she mouths at him. “What’s going on?”

Will shoots him a bit of a strange look. “Sorry. I was just wondering when dinner was going to be.”

“Twenty minutes?” Jim offers, then grins. “Thirty if your mom tries to put me back on onion duty.”

Will crinkles up his nose and turns in the direction of the living room. “What are you playing?”

“I don’t wanna do your dirty work,” Jim belts out in response. Joyce and Will stare, identical dumbfounded expressions on their faces. “Steely Dan?” Jim offers.

Nothing. Apparently he’s dating into a family with zero taste.

“Sorry,” Joyce shrugs. “It’s cute, though!”

Cute! He squints in Will’s direction. “You too?”

Will mirrors Joyce’s shrug. “Sorry. It’s not really my thing.”

“Oh? What’s your thing, then?”

Will stands up a bit straighter. “I don’t know,” he says. “Um. I like The Cure. Stuff like that.”

“The Cure,” Jim muses. “That band, you got the, uh. You’ve got records of theirs, right?”

“Yeah,” Will smiles, then moves forward to sit down at the table. “Jonathan gave me some of his older ones when he left for college so I started, uh. I started collecting them.”

Okay. Okay, he can work with this.

Over Will’s shoulder, Joyce shoots him an impressed look and a thumbs up. You got this, she mouths, and then, aloud: “Hey, I just remembered, guys, I’ve got to go deal with the laundry. Just a second.”

Will frowns. “The laundry isn’t going right now.”

“Okay, then I’ve got to run a load. Be right back,” Joyce says, and then she flashes him another thumbs up and she’s gone, off down the hall.

There’s a moment of silence. Will looks around the kitchen– at the pasta boiling on the stove, the dishes in the sink, the wooden grain of the table. “Okay,” he says after a moment, “I think I should–”

“Hey,” Jim blurts out, “why don’t you, uh. Why don’t you bring one of your records out? You can have a turn.”

Will stops, halfway out of his seat. When he speaks, it’s quiet, a little pleased. “Yeah?” 

Jim nods, spreads his hands out. “Show me what you got.”

Will comes back a couple minutes later with a record in his hands. “Um,” he starts, “so this is their newest one, they released it a couple months ago.”

The red of the cover looks vaguely familiar. Jim’s sure he’s seen this one around in the record shops, something like that. “Very interesting,” he says, as Will drops the needle carefully onto it. “This is, uh–”

He knows the band, of course. He’s not that out of touch. But Will’s mouth twitches as he says, “The Cure,” and then, “um. This is one of my favorites so far.”

Jim doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the guitar. Drums, coming in steady and insistent. He lets out a low whistle. “Alright, wow. Didn’t take you for a rock fan, kid.”

To his surprise, Will smiles. A real smile. “Yeah,” he says, standing awkwardly by the record player. “Jonathan got me into them when I was younger. Um. I guess he liked stuff that had loud guitar and drums and stuff so, you know, I also– I like that stuff too.”

“Loud guitar,” Jim snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like your brother.”

“My dad– um,” Will says, hesitantly. “Lonnie. He hated loud music. The drums and the– I think that’s why Jonathan listened to it so much.”

Right, Jim thinks. Lonnie Byers, an infamously giant piece of work. That checks out. And then, another smaller voice pipes up with You’re the chief of police, Jim. You can get away with–

“Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,” the song croons, “your tongue’s like poison–“

Will’s eyes widen. “Um,” he says, fiddling with the player. “Um, actually, let’s– I like this other song too, so–”

Jim bites back a laugh. “I like it,” he says, which isn’t a lie. It could grow on him. “The guitar. It’s nice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jim nods, and then, as the second song starts to pick up– “Will.”

“Hm?”

“Is this a love song?” he grins. “Your second favorite is also a love song?”

“I– no,” Will splutters, immediately turning a brilliant scarlet. “‘Just Like Heaven’ is not a–”

“–I kissed her face and kissed her–”

“Lots of kissing in these songs,” he points out, and Will groans.

“Oh my God, it’s not–! The album is literally called Kiss me, Kiss me, Kiss me–”

Jim grins. Teenage boys are complicated, maybe, but you can count on them all getting flustered the same way. “I’m just teasing, kid. Could you go get your mom, please, because this sauce is about to burn and I don’t trust myself with it.”

“I wouldn’t trust her with it either,” Will mutters, even as he peers around the corner into the hall. “Mom?”

If Joyce hears him laughing, then– whatever. Jim gets a pass. It was for a good cause.

[sourwolf-sterek32]

Serve & Protect

Summary: You moved to the small quiet town of Hawkins after transferring from the NYPD and reunite with your old partner, Jim Hopper. However, Hawkins isn't as quiet as it seems, and your past follows you there.

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Language, violence, past abuse

Chapter 1- paperwork, coffee & rotten pumpkins

Transferring from the NYPD to Hawkins PD had been drastic. You went from getting paid as a detective working homicide in the big city to working in a small country town as a Deputy on half the wage.

Your co-workers at Hawkins thought you were crazy for it, but they didn't know why you moved. They didn't know the reason behind the sudden shift across the country and you sure as hell weren't going to tell them.

It wasn't all bad though.

You and Hopper used to be partners back in New York in the homicide unit, until he moved away after his daughter died. It sucked when he left town, but you understood why he left, especially after him and his wife got divorced.

However, that understanding didn't make it any easier without him, especially when the boss introduced you to your new work partner a week later and he was a total dick.

"Have I ever told you guys about how much I hate paperwork?" Callahan asked, looking over at you and Powell across the room.

"I think you've said it nearly every day since I started working here." You answered, rubbing your face with your hands trying to wake yourself up as you stared down at the stack of files on your desk.

He was right though, paperwork did suck.

"Try every day for the last three years. It gets annoying, trust me." Powell mumbled, his head down busy working.

Callahan rolled his eyes, and you covered up your laugh with a cough while looking between the two men in amusement.

It had been a couple of weeks since you first stepped foot in Hawkins after leaving the busy city streets of New York behind. You had expected to feel like an outcast at the station. The other officers had all grown up together in this small town. Some had even been in the same courses at the Police Academy. They all had chemistry and strong connections to one another, and they were all men.

From experience, male Police Officers tended to dislike female colleagues, however, your new fellow Deputies had welcomed you with open arms. They were all friendly and treated you like an equal which was more than what any of your old work colleagues had done back in New York.

It shouldn't have been a surprise though because Jim Hopper wouldn't let any discrimination or hate slide when it came to you.

He had your back in New York and stood up for you when no one else would. Even after all these years, nothing had changed.

The Chief had put you on the same shift rotation as Powell and Callahan since your first day. The two Deputies had taken you under their wing without hesitation.

Calvin Powell was an older yet brilliant deputy. He was stern and tough when it came to the law, and was serious about his job, but was always up for a good laugh. He had taught you a lot in your short time with Hawkins PD and was always happy to answer any questions you had.

Phil Callahan was the exact opposite.

He was the jokester of the station and although he was always cracking jokes and acting some would say, childish, he was a damn good deputy. He was constantly the first one out the door whenever a job came up and was always ready to help with anything.

"This isn't a laughing matter, Jim. This is serious."

You looked up from your paperwork at the unfamiliar voice to find Hopper walking into the station followed by a balding guy with a beard who you had never seen before.

Hopper groaned dramatically at the stranger's words and hung his coat up on the rack by the front door.

Well, whoever that guy was, the Chief did not like him.

"I really got something here. I'm telling you." The guy insisted.

"Morning, Chief." Powell greeted, actually looking up from his desk as he spoke before he spotted the other guy and grinned, "morning, Murray."

"Got any proof on your butt probin' aliens yet, Murray?" Callahan asked causing your head to snap towards him.

"What? Who the hell is this guy?" You asked.

"Murray Bauman. Used to be an Investigative Journalist in Hawkins, now he's some kind of Private Investigator, but he believes all these weird conspiracy theories and stuff." Callahan whispered, leaning over your joined desks towards you as he spoke.

"That sounds... interesting." You answered, choosing your words carefully.

You looked back over at Murray just as Hopper grabbed one of the donuts from the bench, but Flo was hot on his tail and snatched the glazed donut from his hand and replaced it with an apple.

Hopper glared at her, and you tried not to laugh at the annoyed look on his face, but he accepted the fruit anyway and took a bite out of it.

"I believe there was, and may still be, a Russian spy presence in Hawkins." Murray continued to say.

"Russian spies?" Hopper asked, amusement clear in his voice as he began pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Are the spies in cahoots with the aliens? Or how do they fit in here? I'm confused." Callahan commented causing you to snort softly.

Hopper just smirked and filled up another mug of coffee before grabbing both and walking over to your desk, placing the second mug down in front of you.

You smiled, "thank you. I needed this."

"I could tell. You look tired."

"Just what every girl wants to hear." You mumbled into the coffee cup as you took a sip and sighed at the warm taste of caffeine.

"I'm talking multiple reports now." Murray continued to say, his voice raised a little louder. "Multiple reports, okay? Of a Russian child in Hawkins."

"A child? What are you talking about?" Hopper questioned, now suddenly interested in what this man had to say.

"A girl who may have psionic abilities."

"'Psionic'?" Powell asked in confusion.

"Psychic." Murray corrected.

"Hey Chief. What about that girl that made that kid pee himself?" Callahan asked and okay, what? Now you had questions.

"It was just a prank." Hopper answered, dismissing his Deputy quickly before turning to Murray. "You got five minutes. Not a second more."

You watched as Hopper led Murray across the room into his own private office, closing the door behind him. You glanced over at Callahan and Powell who both shrugged their shoulders and went back to work, like it was normal for a man to walk in and start talking about Russian spies and kids with powers. Maybe it was normal for Hawkins.

Within 60 seconds, the Chief's door opened and a rather pissed off looking Murray stepped out. He spared one glance at the rest of you before he turned and walked out the station before Hopper emerged from his office.

"Who wants to get out the office for a bit? We got a job."

"Me!" You and Callahan both quickly said at the same time.

Hopper looked between the two of you, "Y/N, let's go."

"Oh, come on!" Callahan whined. "You always choose her."

"Maybe I like her better than you. Ya ever think about that?" Hopper asked, grabbing his jacket from the rack, and slipping it on.

"We all know why you like her." Callahan mumbled under his breath causing Powell to kick his feet under the desk.

You looked between the two of them suspiciously, Hopper just bluntly ignoring them before you chugged the last of your coffee and followed the Chief out the station.

You jumped into the passenger seat of his Chevy Blazer, instantly reaching for the dial of the heater and cranking it up as Hopper reversed out the parking lot.

"So, what's the job?"

"Pumpkins that have been contaminated by a vengeful neighbour." He answered causing you to look over at him in disbelief.

"You're shitting me, right? Pumpkins?"

He chuckled softly, "I shit you not."

"How'd I go from investigating murders to investigating pumpkins?" You asked aloud causing him to laugh.

"You're the one who put in your transfer to Hawkins. This is on you." He reminded.

Yeah, that was true.

You nodded, knowing he was right, and you glanced out the window as Hopper drove, the faint music from the radio filling the silence.

"Why did you transfer here? Not that I'm complaining, I just... I thought you loved it in New York."

This wasn't the first time he had asked. Hell, it wasn't even the second, but you kept dodging the question.

"Just needed a fresh start. A change of scenery I guess." You answered, which wasn't a total lie.

You could feel Hopper staring at you out the corner of your eye, but you kept your head forward, knowing if you looked at him, he would be able to see straight through you. After all those years working together, you had gotten to know each other really well, to the point where you knew when the other was lying.

Hopper just hummed in response, despite knowing there was more to the story, but to your relief, he didn't try to pry, and you were grateful for that.

It didn't take long to reach the small pumpkin farm on the outskirts of Hawkins. If you were being honest, you forgot these kinds of farms existed. But of course, they did, you just never really thought about it until now.

The farmer was adamant that his neighbour had poisoned his crops. Stating that the pumpkins were perfectly fine yesterday, but when he woke up this morning, they were rotten.

After inspecting the large fields of pumpkins, every single vegetable was in fact rotten and Hopper told him that he was going to look into it before you both climbed back into the car.

"There is no way these pumpkins turned rotten like that overnight." You said, the second your car door was shut. "What do you think happened?"

"I honestly have no idea. It's been cold, maybe frost got to them."

"Good theory. Try telling that to him though." You said, nodding at the farmer who was still standing by his ruined crop.

Hopper grunted, "he can accept whatever I tell him."

He turned the key in the ignition, bringing the old Chevy to life with a roar before tapping it into gear and driving back down the dirt road to Hawkins.

Instead of going back to the station like you assumed he would have, Hopper instead pulled up to the diner on main street and before you knew it, the two of you were sitting inside and eating breakfast.

"I missed this." You found yourself saying before thinking better of it.

Hopper looked up at you from across the booth, his fork halfway to his mouth, "missed pancakes?" he asked in confusion.

"No." You chuckled, shaking your head. "No, I missed this. Us. Working together. It feels like old times."

Back in New York, you were the first woman to join the homicide unit. All the guys hated it. They didn't believe a girl could do the job as well as men and they despised you for it. They all treated you like garbage despite the fact that you were better than half the team, but they still hated you, except for Hopper.

He was the only one who treated you like a normal person. At first, he was a little apprehensive, but that was because he had been used to working solo and wasn't expecting the Superintendent to suddenly give him a partner, especially not some random chick he had never met before.

The two of you had hit it off straight away though. You didn't take any of his crap and he respected that, and you made quite a team.

"Ah, yes. Because we used to deal with crime scenes of rotten pumpkins and eat in diners all the time back in New York." He said sarcastically, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Well, if you replace pumpkins with dead bodies. The farmer with a serial killer and these pancakes in this diner for a packet of candy in the stakeout van, then yes."

Hopper snorted, taking another bite of his pancakes as he shook his head with a smile.

"I missed working with you too." He admitted once he finished his mouthful. "I still can't believe you transferred here though."

"I'm starting to regret it after that thrilling morning on the farm." You joked, but Hopper shook his head.

"Nah, you don't. You'd miss me too much if you left Hawkins."

Yeah, you would.

"In your dreams." You said instead because like hell you were going to admit that.

You liked Hopper. You even had a crush on him back in New York when you first joined, but after finding out that he was married with a kid, you quickly pushed your feelings aside and the two of you became best friends.

"You seeing anyone?" He randomly asked causing you to nearly choke on your coffee.

"What?" You asked, covering your mouth as you coughed.

"Are you seeing anyone? You got a boyfriend or anything?" He clarified.

"Oh, no, no. I'm single." You answered, shrugging your shoulders hoping it looked casual. "What about you? Have you found someone in this town to settle down with?"

Hopper opened his mouth to answer before his eyes widened like he just realised something, and he quickly rolled up his sleeve to look at his watch.

"Shit. Shit. I was meant to meet Joyce at the lab ten minutes ago."

Joyce? Who was Joyce?

"I need to go. I'll drop you off on my way." He said, throwing down some money on the table and eating his last pancake before the two of you left the diner and climbed back into the car.

"Hawkins lab?" You asked, looking over at him as he pulled out the parking lot and sped in the direction of the station. "What's at Hawkins lab that's so important?"

"Nothing. It's nothing important. Just promised Joyce I'd help her out with something." He dismissed, not going into any detail.

You wanted to push for an answer but decided against it. He would tell you if he wanted to and frankly, it wasn't any of your business, but you couldn't help but feel a little sad hearing about Joyce.

Was she his girlfriend? He never did answer your question earlier.

Hopper dropped you off back at the station and the rest of your shift was mainly just sitting behind the desk doing paperwork, until an old lady called about a noise complained, so you went out with Powell and Callahan to deal with that.

The day went by surprisingly quickly and before you knew it, you were standing back in that pumpkin crop the following day with Hopper because now it wasn't just one person's crop that had turned rotten. It was several.

"Now, you try telling me with a straight face that cold did this." The farmer said, pointing at his destroyed crop.

Yeah, he had a point.

Frost might have gotten some of the pumpkins, but not this many and this quickly. Plus, for October, it hadn't been super cold yet, so it didn't make any sense.

"How far does it go?" You asked curiously, wondering if whatever was destroying the pumpkins was hurting other plant life in the area.

The farmer just motioned for the two of you to follow him as he walked towards the woods by the boundary line of his crop and your jaw dropped when you realised that the trees and bushes on the edge of the woods had turned rotten too.

Okay, this was definitely not the cold. What the hell did all this?

"What the fuck?" You whispered to yourself, lifting your hand, and touching the rotten tree trunk to find this gooey slimy substance all over it.

Hopper appeared beside you and quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from the slime.

"Hey, Chief, you copy?" Powell's voice called over the radio.

Hopper grabbed his radio from his belt and held it to his mouth. "How's it looking over there?"

"Like a giant pissed all over Jack's bean field. Smells, too. It smell over there?"

"Where doesn't it smell?" You questioned, grimacing at the gross rotten stench that covered the entire farm.

You'd nearly rather the stench from old dead bodies than this... okay, no, that's a lie. There was nothing that smelt worse than that, but this was a close second.

"Yeah, little bit. Listen. I want you guys to track the rot, see how far it goes. Just, uh, mark anything that's dead." Hopper instructed through the radio.

"That's gonna take some time." Powell pointed out.

"So take it. And look, we don't know what caused this. Could be poison. So don't touch anything without gloves." He ordered, pointily staring at you with the last sentence and you gave him a guilty look.

"Copy that, Chief."

He slipped the radio back into the pouch on his belt before turning towards you with a questioning look, "you good to work some overtime?"

"I got no plans tonight. Let's get started." You said and Hopper nodded his appreciation before the two of you got to work.

The farmer had supplied marker flags, so you and Hopper spent the next few hours walking through the woods and placing a flag by everything rotten while Powell and Callahan did the same at the other farm.

By nightfall, it was finally finished, and Hopper gave you all permission to start late tomorrow morning so you could actually get a decent night's sleep.

"I have to basically drive past your house to get home, want a lift?" He asked, climbing into the Chevy.

"My truck is at the station. I won't be able to-"

"I can pick you up in the morning."

You nodded, "that would work. Thank you."

You climbed into the passenger side of his car before Hopper started the Chevy and began to drive away. He barely got a few metres down the dirt driveway before he suddenly slammed on the brakes and put the car into reverse.

"What are you doing?" You asked, figuring he must have forgotten something.

He didn't answer though, instead he rolled down his window and stuck his head out and called out to the little kid walking towards the farmhouse, his Halloween outfit on and bucket full of candy in his hand.

"Hey, kid. Give me some of that candy, would you?"

"No way." The boy answered and you saw that coming from a mile away.

Kids cherished their Halloween candy. But why did Hopper want some?

"Alright, how about now?" He asked, pulling out a couple dollar bills from his wallet.

The kid hesitated a little before nodding in agreement and jogging up to the car, taking the money and handing over his bucket of candy. You just watched, assuming Hopper would explain why he needed the candy, but he didn't say a single word before he tapped the car into gear and continued to drive.

"Umm, is there a reason you bribed the kid for his candy?" You asked curiously.

"Forgot it was Halloween, I don't have any at home. Wanted to be prepared in case any kids came trick or treating to my front door."

You glanced over at the clock on the dash which indicated that it was nearly midnight, and you raised your eyebrows, "how many kids do you think will be trick or treating at this time of night?"

Hopper glanced over at the clock and seemed surprised by how late it was but shrugged his shoulders.

"Can never be too prepared."

Guess he had a fair point. But you didn't plan on getting any candy. You planned on going straight to bed and if anyone knocked on your door for trick or treating at this time of night, you were not answering it.

"What's your address?" Hopper asked a few seconds later, turning out onto the main road.

"Thought you said my house was on the way to yours. Don't you know it?"

Hopper didn't say anything for a moment, "I lied. I have no idea where you live."

"Why?"

"Because you haven't told me your address."

"No, I meant why did you lie? I could have driven home myself, you know?"

He sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand, "maybe I wanted to spend more time with you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling.

"Aww, you really did miss me all these years, didn't you? That's sweet." You responded in a teasing tone as you leant over and nudged his arm with your elbow.

"I hate you." He muttered, but the small smile on his face told you how untrue those words really were.

"You love me."

"Love is a real strong word. More like tolerate."

"Ouch." You said, resting your hand over your heart dramatically causing Hopper to stifle a laugh as he shook his head at you.

"But, seriously, where do you live because I have no idea where I'm driving."

"Oh, take the next two lefts and I'm number 32." You answered.

Within a couple of minutes, he was pulling up in front of your house and you climbed out the car, pausing as you held the door open.

"What time will you pick me up in the morning? Just so I'm awake and ready."

"I'll swing by around nine." He answered and you nodded, about to close the door before he continued talking. "Oh, and Y/N? Stay out of the woods, okay?"

You frowned a little but nodded, "wasn't planning on going for a stroll through the woods, but alright."

He nodded and you gave him a friendly wave before closing the door and watching him drive off.

You made your way inside the house kicking off your muddy boots by the door and making a mental note to clean them in the morning. You dumped your duty belt on the back of the couch before noticing there was a little red light flashing on your answering machine.

Who had tried to call you?

You didn't keep in touch with anyone from New York and the only people you knew in Hawkins were the ones you were with today. So, who was it?

Pressing the play button, you made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water but froze in the doorway when the voice spoke through the machine.

A sickening wave of terror welled in your stomach. Your body grew tense to the point of shaking as you grabbed hold of the wall listening to the voice you had hoped to never hear again.

"You think moving to Hawkins will save you? It won't. I'll be seeing you again real soon, sugar."

Blood drained from your skin and breath caught in your throat as you slowly slid down against the wall and sat on the carpet. You buried your face into your hands trying to remember how to breathe as you thought back to the last time you heard that voice... the voice who was the reason for your transfer to Hawkins.

-

Next Chapter

A/N: Why did I write this? Well, I wanted to read a Hopper x Reader fanfic that consisted of more than 1 chapter and wasn't just pure smut with no plot… however, upon scrolling through AO3 I discovered that is hard to find. So, I wrote my own.

I know this chapter was a little heavy in dialogue which I'm not happy with but bear with me for the first few chapters because I promise it gets better. 

Thank you for those that are reading this new story. I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments below! The next chapter will be posted within the next few days but until then, stay safe everyone and have a great day xx

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[bigboysteveharrington]

Argyle and Jonathan talk on the phone almost every day after the Byers move back to Hawkins

They talk more often than Jonathan talked to Nancy and are better at keeping in touch long-distance, but that’s really more a testament to Argyle’s dedication than anything else

Jonathan expects their friendship to drift away the longer he’s gone, but Argyle’s calling him all the time… Slow shift at work? Better call Jonathan and catch him up on what’s been going on in his life (and get the second hand scoop about people in Hawkins from Jonathan when he runs out of new things to tell him about because it’s only been 20 hours since their last phone call)… Argyle has very important high thoughts that are as deep as they are urgent to share? Better call Jonathan and share every last one of them that exact moment… Someone insults pineapple on pizza? You can bet Jonathan’s going to hear about it

The only problem is Argyle keeps forgetting about the time difference between California and Indiana so he regularly calls when it’s not that late in California, but it’s 3 hours later for the Byers

When Joyce is the one to answer the phone, she tries to politely tell him that it’s nice that he and Jonathan are still so close but maybe he could call back in the morning and try to keep his calls to earlier in the day from now on and Argyle always promises will do, Mrs. B only to forget all over again within a few days so she tries to work on getting Jonathan to convince him to call at more reasonable hours instead

When Will answers the phone, he rolls his eyes at how often he’s calling (while he’s also a little jealous that Jonathan is getting way more calls from Argyle now than he got from all his friends combined while they were in California) but he listens for a little bit as Argyle excitedly jabbers away at him and asks him questions until Will decides it’s getting annoying and either hands the phone over to Jonathan (or if it’s too late, he doesn’t listen to him at all and just says to call back tomorrow and hangs up before Argyle had a chance to respond)

El doesn’t answer the phone, but she’s not so bothered. She thinks it’s nice that Argyle calls so much and doesn’t see why Will rolls his eyes about it so often

When Jonathan answers, he stretches the phone cord as far away from the bedrooms as he can and stays up talking with Argyle with his voice low to try not to wake anyone else up

But Hopper? Hopper cannot stand losing sleep because some idiot from California can’t remember that it’s 2 in the morning for them (and honestly why is he trying to call to talk for an hour and a half at 11 pm his time anyway???) Every time, he forces his exhausted ass out of bed, whether he’s the first to the phone or not because it could be official police business and there could be a crime scene he’s needed at or some other kind of emergency putting them all in danger, but nope it’s just Argyle calling to catch up again

Hopper grumbles about it to Joyce when he gets back to bed and ends up unintentionally making sure that she’s just as awake now as he is with his tired bitching and Joyce is getting a bit fed up with it too, but she plays devil’s advocate and says I know the times he calls aren’t always great, but I don’t know. I think it’s kind of sweet he wants to keep in touch so much. It’s nice that they catch up on everything going on, even while they’re living so far away and Hopper gets back in bed as he grumbles how much could they possibly have to catch up on? They talked for hours two days ago

Argyle unintentionally and unknowingly becomes near Mike Wheeler levels of annoying to Hopper and Hopper grumbles nearly daily about how the phone line is always busy and he can’t get any consistent kind of sleep to save his life and could Jonathan please tell his friend to stop calling so late at night

From the moment it becomes clear that the long (and often late night) phone calls are going to be such a regular thing, Hopper is a little passive aggressive and huffy whenever he’s the one who answers the phone, but Argyle doesn’t mind and just brushes it off

It takes until one night when Hopper’s particularly sleep-deprived and grumpy and he gets to the phone first and full on yells into it that the time zones aren’t that hard to remember and that if he’s going to call, he can’t do it after 8 pm his time for Argyle to finally stop calling so late (but that doesn’t stop him from calling at a reasonable hour and him and Jonathan staying up talking until an unreasonable hour)

[prettyboy-like-you]

.

Jim sees himself in Billy. How could he not?

Hop, he fought against anything and everything as a young man. Especially himself. He broke the law. Plenty. He definitely raged against the world, in all manner of ways. Difference between him and this kid though—the reason Jim didn’t end up lashing out specifically at those around him—he always had people looking out for him who gave a half-damn.

Unlike the Hargrove kid. He had nobody. Has nobody.

Well, not anymore.

Nowadays, Billy lives with Hopper and El in their weird little world. Jim, he put that scurge on humanity, Neil Hargrove, behind bars where his kind belongs.

So.

Billy isn’t an outsider looking in anymore. He isn't alone. He’s accepted, warts and all. Billy is shown he can change the ways he interacts with the world around him, if he wants to—and he does. He’s allowed to try; allowed to explore who he his; allowed to make mistakes and learn from them.

And he soon finds out he’s loved for it, actually. Billy is loved, just for being Billy because as it happens, in a sort of strange (it's not really) turn of events, the kid is kind of a sweetheart.

Hop does attempt to uphold the 3 inch gap rule whenever the Harrington kid comes over at first but yeah, no. That ain’t happening. And honestly, fair play to them. Because Billy's not a kid anymore, he’s eighteen years old and Hop? Well, he understands. Just like he now gets his teen daughter El deserves her correct amount of privacy, too. Boundaries, Joyce calls it. So, yeah, Jim knows that Billy’s a man now, a man with a right to set his own boundries and hell, Hop can respect that.

But.

If he hears so much as a peep—anything at all he and Joyce or El don’t need to be hearing? It’ll be sleepovers at the Harrington residence only.

Billy, he says, “Fairs fair,” when Hop tells him that. And, also, a little quiter, says, “Thanks, man. Really.”

And the three of them? (Well, seven, if you're counting Joyce and Steve and Mike and Max when any or all of them are over), they’re doin' okay. Better than okay, actually.

They're pretty damn great. 

.

[idyllicwillowtree]

A Good Pair (of Skates)

Genre: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, afab!reader, rollerskater!reader, y/n

Summary: Steve’s in love with his childhood best friend and he does everything he can to keep his feelings a secret from you. A roller skating injury might change that.

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: swearing, friends to lovers, injury, broken bones, mutual pining, road rage, he want you to have his babies, hurt x comfort, use of y/n

Author’s note: My first fic! I broke both my arms while roller skating (but I was by myself) so this is loosely based on true events!

part 2 | main masterlist

Part 1:

“Hey! Settle it down, you’re gonna scare away all my customers,” Steve ordered in his signature “dad tone” as he whipped open the glass door at Family Video.

Mike and Will were seated at the dark green bench outside the store while Dustin was standing and waving his arms frantically. They were all arguing about different Dungeons and Dragons strategies, a game Steve will never understand. It’s not like he hasn’t tried playing before but he just couldn’t get into it, much to Dustin’s disappointment. 

“I don’t think you want us to leave, Steve,” Will commented, sharing a knowing smile with Mike and Dustin.

“Oh yeah, Byers? And why not?” Robin said, popping out from behind Steve. The working duo didn’t really want them to leave, though. They were in desperate need of a distraction so they could survive the last hour of their shift.

Dustin raised a brow, “because our ride happens to be your favorite customer, Steve.”

Steve finally took the time to look up at the mostly vacant parking lot, surprisingly quiet on this nice summer evening. A beautiful golden color lit up the end of the day as the sun was getting ready to set. The sharp ka-thumps of a basketball caught his attention next. Lucas was patiently teaching El how to dribble and pass the ball a few yards away from them. She was taking it very seriously, eyebrows pinched in concentration as she listened to her friend.

“Yeah, well as much as I like those two, I don’t think-” Steve abruptly cut himself off, realizing they don’t have a car, they can’t even drive yet, duh. His eyes slowly widened as he heard his favorite sound in the world. 

Your laughter filled the air as you zoomed past the group at an alarming speed, Max gliding quickly behind you. 

“Hey! You’re cheating,” the redhead exclaimed with a laugh.

“There’s no rules in drag racing, Mayfield” you teased. 

“There’s no rollerskating in drag racing either,” she quipped back.

Steve realized Max was on her skateboard and you were wearing your famous roller skates, the tan and worn out boots you’ve had ever since your feet stopped growing. He once offered to get you new ones for your birthday, fearing for the safety of your ankles, but you had declined. It’s not like you couldn’t afford new skates, he just thought you deserved something new and nice. But you liked what you were familiar with.

We’ve been together for so long! If I were to get new ones it would almost feel like cheating! You laughed, trying to be serious, but even you knew how silly that sounded. 

Fine, just don’t come crawling to me when your ankles snap in half!

Okay fine, I guess I won't! You playfully shoved at his chest.

Wait, wait, you can come to me. I'll just have to give you a lot of shit for it though.

Deal. 

Stubbornness was an ugly trait in most people but you managed to make it beautiful. You did that with the majority of the things in Steve’s life. No matter how horrible his day is, one look from you and all the ugliness of the world would simply melt away. Every look, every shoulder graze, every embrace, he’d treasure it. He treasured you.

Steve was brought back to reality by an uncomfortable intrusion in his ear. 

“Damn it, Robin!” He swiped at the pencil she was trying to stick there, “I told you to quit doing that.”

“But you make it so easy,” she teased, basking in the validation of the other kids’ snickering.

Robin started messing with Steve when she realized he would fall into a bit of a trance when he was busy admiring you. Placing small pieces of trash in his hair, sticking candy up his nose, things like that. It made his blood boil, mostly because it was frustrating to be stuck in a hypnotic-state of love without actually being with the person he’s in love with, and all his friends were there to witness it. This was made worse by their incessant teasing. He hated himself for being so obvious, that meant it was only a matter of time before you figured it out and would hate him for it. Steve figured you’d want nothing to do with him if he tried to change the dynamic that you already had, but it was getting increasingly difficult to mask his affection for you.

“Hey guys,” you said breathlessly as you rolled over to the group. He did the quickest glance to your heaving chest, hoping his eyes were fast enough for no one to notice. “Hi, Steve,” she added, causing Steve to send you a dopey smile.

“Hey, Y/N, what are you guys up to today?” Steve said, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady and casual.

“Oh you know, just lugging the crew around,” you gestured towards your trusty yellow ‘67 Volkswagen Kleinbus. Giant enough to fit all your friends. How’d he manage to miss that? Every time he hears the gentle purr of your car’s motor he’d come running, but the walkman he was listening to earlier must’ve drowned it out. “Thought we’d pay you guys a visit and maybe pick up a movie.”

“That’s good ‘cause we’ve got plenty of those,” Steve awkwardly jokes. He missed the door frame as he moved to lean on it but he’s hoping he saved it well enough for you not to notice.

It took only a second before a loud laugh bubbled up from your throat, causing you to let out more of a snort than the dainty giggle you were going for. Everyone else stayed quiet, not appreciating the joke as much as you did. Mike looked downright disgusted by Steve’s attempt at humor, but that didn’t matter as long as he got a chance to hear you laugh.

“You guys should come over after work and watch with us,” you said excitedly. “My parents are gone for the weekend so we get the whole place to ourselves.”

“We would just LOVE that, wouldn’t we Steve?” Robin gripped his shoulder and shook it with more force than was necessary.

“Y-yeah that sounds like a great idea, we’re definitely in.”

“Great,” you beamed at him. You pulled out a couple of bucks out of your jean short pockets and handed them to Will, “Will makes the final call on the movie decision, no exceptions.” Dustin and Mike groaned in response. “Don’t give me that! Unless you two can finally agree on something then you can choose, but Will’s the only one who actually thinks about what the group would want. They don’t call him Will the Wise for nothing.” The boy’s ears and cheeks turned a bold shade of pink, embarrassed by the positive attention he was getting from someone he looked up to so much. 

“Will calls himself that,” Dustin grumbled.

“No talking back Dustin,” Steve added cheekily.

You sent Steve a goofy smile as Dustin harrumphed in protest. 

Max got impatient by the lack of attention you had on her. Instead of using her words she hooked her fingers into your back belt loop and started wheeling you away. “Make sure they stay in line, Harrington,” you said, ignoring the redhead as you continued being pulled backwards.

“I’m on it, Y/L/N,” he saluted. You giggled and turned around to playfully scold Max about her manners.

You and Steve had always had this good-natured mom and dad role in the group. The younger of the kids appropriately nicknamed your bus the “mom-mobile” as you’ve taken it upon yourself to carpool them around the entire town whenever they asked. When Steve had work, you were the driver but Steve made sure he was the one behind the wheel whenever he was around. It’s not like you were a bad driver, he just wanted you to relax and focus on picking the music. 

He would imagine being an actual dad with you by his side whenever he was in the driver's seat. Steve couldn’t help but fantasize about how you’d be as a real mom. So supportive and sweet, but strict and protective when you needed to be. You took your role as group mom very seriously. Going as far as to remember and plan everyone’s birthdays, making sure everyone ate food and drank water, and you would even volunteer to make extravagant Halloween costumes for them. Steve would chastise you for spoiling them too much but you’d just shake your head at him and smile. It was just as nice for you to spread the love as it was to be on the receiving end of it. 

You and Steve grew up near each other and have been friends since he saw you skating around in circles on his street. It was a warm spring day when he saw you out his window. You stumbled every so often but never managed to fully fall. His parents weren’t home and he decided to just start biking alongside you. When you spotted him you lit up and shyly asked him his name. 

‘I’m Steve, do you want to be friends? I have a pool!’

Relationships were so much simpler back then.

Your parents, much like Steve’s, were never really around. You both bonded over your lack of parental supervision. Birthdays and holidays were always spent making sure the other one wasn’t alone. Even when Steve started to become more focused on popularity, he always made sure to find time to make you feel loved and special. Steve felt so lucky that they were both welcomed into their new group of friends together. This ‘found family’ would not be the same to him if you weren’t a part of it.

You were always one step ahead of Steve, anticipating everyone’s emotional needs before he could. He knew for certain that he wanted someone like you for his future children. Steve convinced himself that there had to be other women out there who were just as equally thoughtful and patient as you, but deep down he knew no one could compare. The longing he felt for you was resting heavily on his heart, but he had to resist so he didn’t ruin your friendship. It was 10 years in the making, all you had were each other. He couldn’t risk losing the one thing that anchored him just because he was having romantic feelings.

He stood there in the Family Video doorway for a few more minutes, watching as you gracefully circle Max, making it look like you were walking forward while actually moving backwards. He admired the way the golden sun spread across your body and the way it magically transforms your eyes into a whole different color. 

Steve used to be nervous about your lack of safety gear when you would go out skating but once he saw you in action after you practiced more he loosened up a bit. The skates were like an extension of you, anyone who watched you would see that. Your passion shining through as you glided around the parking lot, occasionally flowing into a beautiful spin. Those were Steve’s favorites to watch, your hair would splay out with the movement, the colors of your outfit blending together, and your arms pumping you around and eventually being placed in a delicate pose as your momentum picked up. 

You’d make it look so easy and smooth that even Steve believed he could emulate the grace you possessed on wheels. He has tried before, much to your delight, but it was definitely harder than it looked considering he ended up with two bloody elbows and a fat lip. At least you were there to patch him up afterwards. Hating the sting of the alcohol wipes but enjoying the excuse to be close to you and to have your delicate fingers on his skin. 

Robin managed to get a Red Vine part way up his nose without him noticing before he dramatically smacked it away. He spun towards her ready to give her a piece of his mind when suddenly your terrified voice broke through the peaceful evening.

“MAX! LOOK OUT!”

Steve turned just in time to see you yank the young girl backwards by the back of her bright blue t-shirt. You successfully pulled her away from a pick up truck that was going way too fast in the parking lot. You weren’t able to save Max’s skateboard as the car drove right over it, splintering it to pieces. You both landed on your backs, Max not hitting the ground as hard as you did since you were still on wheels. The man driving continued on at the same speed and even had the audacity to stick his hand out the window to flip the girls off.

El’s instincts took over and she stopped the truck with her powers, causing steam to smoke through the front of the vehicle. The man stepped out in a rage.

“What the FUCK?!” he bellowed in anger, confused by the sudden damage to his precious car.

“Robin, call Hopper!” Steve called out before sprinting towards you two. He needed to make sure everyone was protected from this angry man so he could focus on making sure you and Max were okay, he could trust Hopper to do just that. 

He ran as fast as he could, Lucas trailing closely behind him, basketball forgotten. Max sat up slowly and looked at you with worry in her eyes, you were still laying in the same spot on the ground, frozen.

“Shit! Are you guys okay?” Steve panted as he came to stop in front of you. Lucas was already helping the redhead up and gently brushing the dirt from her clothes. “Y/N?” Steve questioned gently. Your eyes were open, at least you were conscious. It looked like you were processing what had just happened, “Hey doll, are you hurt?”

The nickname made your eyes snap to his brown ones, with a shaky voice you said, “oh, uhh, hi Steve…I don’t think so…”

That wasn’t very convincing.

“I’m gonna sit you up now, okay?” Steve communicated clearly.

You nodded slowly at him, giving silent permission for him to help you. He reached behind your upper back and gripped your hand gently.

“Shit,” you hissed as he pulled you to sit.

“Shit - sorry - shit! What hurts, doll? I’m so sorry,” Steve said, chastising himself for not being more careful.

“It’s okay, Steve. I think I just landed on my arms wrong.”

His eyes scanned your arms, he stopped himself from touching you in case he caused you more pain. Your limbs were at their normal shapes, no bones sticking out at unnatural angles or anything obvious like that. But the way you sat there with your arms still, making sure you didn’t jostle yourself, indicated to Steve that you weren’t okay. He had participated in enough sports over the years to recognize the panicked look of someone who had just broken a bone. Steve’s big hands were hovering around your upper body, unsure of what to do. You missed the warmth they transferred to you when he helped you sit up.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Max told you quietly, kneeling down to your level.

You plastered a big smile to your face and in an overly patronizing tone you said, “oh little Miss Max, you’re so silly. Of course I had to.” 

She rolls her eyes with a soft smile, appreciative of your selfless act but still nervous about your condition. You tried to reach out to her but your arms weren’t responding, this caused your smile to drop and Steve’s anxiety to spike. 

Robin was dealing with the irresponsible driver after getting off the phone with Hopper, who was thankfully on his way. The man was convinced that you and Max had something to do with his car breaking down and was yelling at Robin about it. Mike and El stood behind her as back up in case she needed it before police could arrive. 

“Shitshitshitshitshit...” The familiar sound of Dustin’s repetitive cursing became louder and louder as he got closer with Will by his side.

“Are you guys okay?” Will said, brows pinched in concern.

Max responded, “I’m fine, but Y/N isn’t.”

“SHIT,” screeched Dustin, causing Steve to flinch slightly. He swiped a hand over his face in frustration.

“I’m fine guys, seriously. I just…I just can’t really move my arms, no big deal,” you mumbled the last part, still trying to diffuse everyone’s worry.

“Alright that’s it, we're going to the hospital,” Steve said sternly, making the call to get you professional help. He began untying the frayed laces of your skates and sliding them off your feet. Will silently went to retrieve your Reebok sneakers that you had stashed in your Volkswagen. 

“What?! No Steve, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Steve was already lifting you to a standing position by your hips, not wasting any more time. “You’re hurt and we have to get you help.” 

“I’m fine, Steve, I just need to sleep it off and I’ll be good as n-new,” you said as you tried your hardest to straighten your right elbow, your left wrist not doing any better. There was blood and dirt into your palms, evidence of where you landed. As a skater you know that you’re not supposed to stick your arms out when you fall but your instinct to protect Max took over.

You were actually convinced it wasn’t that big a deal. Adrenaline was still coursing through you so you weren’t able to fully feel how messed up your bones felt. You assumed it was at most just a sprain that you could easily nurse on your own at home. You barely ever get hurt, this is a whole new experience for you. Even when the group was out fighting monsters and Russians, you had managed to make it out mostly unscathed every single time, much to Steve’s relief.

Steve’s grip stayed planted on your hips. If anyone said anything he’d claim it was just to make sure you didn’t tip over, and that might be the case but in reality it was mostly to keep you close to him. “Sweetheart, your arms could be broken. We have to go,” he stated gently.

 “I don’t-...broken?” You had a rebuttal already queued up in your mind before processing what Steve had said. Once he mentioned the “b-word” your nerves started seeping in to replace the adrenaline in your veins and it became more real. Will handed your shoes to Steve and he bent down to slip them on your feet, carefully making sure you didn’t fall in the process. You tried placing your left hand on his shoulder to steady yourself but instead you winced at the dull ache in your wrist.

Steve stood at his full height and was prepared to counter your arguments so he could get your stubborn self to the hospital, “we need-.”

“Okay,” you surrendered softly, glancing up at his eyes before looking down at your shoes. They were equally as worn out as your skates. 

Steve allowed himself to be surprised for only a second before jumping into action. He plucked the “mom-mobile” keys out of your pocket by the colorful braided lanyard that was sticking out of your jeans and started escorting you towards his BMW, hands back on your waist.

“Give these to Robin, she’ll drive you guys home” he said tossing your keys to Lucas. That was the first time since you fell that he took his gaze off of you. 

He wished he hadn’t. 

Steve witnessed how upsetting this was for the group of young teens which made his heart hurt even more. 

Dustin wore his heart out on his sleeve so he was openly letting the tears flow down his cheeks into his quivering chin, while Max was trying her hardest to keep the tears from escaping as she watched you carefully. Lucas looked at how gentle yet strong Steve was being towards you and tried to mirror that with Max. Poor Will looked like he was going to yak all over himself. Sure, they all have the shared trauma of fighting actual monsters, but this was so normal that it almost scared them more. Almost. Seeing a man who is just a man, not some sort of evil supernatural creature or mad scientist, do something so inhumane was very alarming.

Now wasn’t the time to comfort the young teens, as much as Steve might want to, but his focus had to be on you. He knew they could handle themselves, they’ve proven it time and time again. 

Steve was leading you towards his BMW but unfortunately, you two had to walk past the man from the truck in order to get there. Luckily, Robin had been defending you and giving the driver a piece of her mind. Robin’s tactic was to just keep talking at the man, leaving him angry and confused, not able to get a word in. Steve trusted that Robin could handle it until Hopper arrived.

“Robin, you’re gonna have to close up. I’m taking Y/N to the hospital.”

El gasped but you sent her a reassuring smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes, but it was enough to let her know you’ll be fine.

Steve made eye-contact with the driver, sending him the most intimidating look he could muster. He couldn’t stop the rage from building inside his chest as he looked at the poor excuse for a man. He wore grimy overalls that strained against the pressure of his beer-belly. There was a sweat stained t-shirt underneath the denim that Steve assumed used to be white. His patchy beard, that was filled with crumbs, barely hid his excitement at seeing you hurt. 

“That’s what happens when dumb broads like you mess with my truck,” he commented gravelly, still convinced that you and Max were at fault for breaking his clunky vehicle.

Steve felt you tense beside him and before Steve could launch himself at the man, he heard sirens in the distance and decided to let Hopper handle it. His focus needed to be on getting you medical help.

Steve continued with you towards his car and opened the passenger door, gently helping you settle in the familiar spot. The smell of leather and stale coffee would usually envelop you in comfort, sending you into a calm and relaxed state. Being in this spot meant you were with your best friend, but for now all you could focus on was the pain continuing to blossom throughout your arms

Before closing the door Steve knelt down on the ground next to you, trying to catch your eye. They were dancing across the dashboard, not really focusing on it. He could see all the bad thoughts swarming through your head by the look in your eyes alone. 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do that. Everything’s going to be okay, I’m right here.” Steve placed a warm hand on your knee and it grounded you immediately. Your wide eyes moved to look over at him. You sniffed before nodding, not trusting your voice at the moment. 

Without thinking, Steve used his unoccupied hand to hold your cheek softly and planted a tender kiss on your forehead, hoping to scare away the demons swimming around in your mind. 

His heart plummeted when he realized what he was doing. It might have been a little too intimate to just kiss you like that without even asking first and he was nervous that he broke some sort of boundary with you. Steve anticipated a headbutt for crossing that line as he slowly pulled away, he would’ve expected a slap if your arms had been working. 

But what Steve did not expect was for you to let out the gentle breath you had been holding and for the tension in your shoulders to dissolve.He looked into your eyes and saw nothing but relief.

“Thanks, Stevie.” You smiled sweetly at him. 

“No problem, sugar,” he breathed out, overwhelmed by the love blossoming in his chest. Steve couldn’t help but blush violently when you called him ‘Stevie’. He still had your cheek in his hand so he began to stroke it softly with his thumb.  He didn’t miss the way your gaze stayed on him. He watched you back and noticed a new freckle on the bridge of your nose that caused the butterflies in his stomach to flap even more aggressively. 

Suddenly, remembering the task at hand, he cleared his throat and helped you with your seatbelt. He closed the passenger door and ran around to the driver’s side. Wasting no time in pulling out of his parking spot and driving towards the town’s emergency room, carefully avoiding Hopper’s cop car on the way out.

part 2 | main masterlist

[steddilly]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers, Jason Carver, Jason Carver's Parents Additional Tags: Steve Harrington Whump, Hurt Steve Harrington, Protective Eddie Munson, Vampire Eddie Munson, Werecoyote Steve Harrington, Werecreature Steve Harrington, Werewolf Jim "Chief" Hopper, Hawkins (Stranger Things), Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, POV Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Kidnapped Steve Harrington, Grumpy Jim "Chief" Hopper, Minor Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Pre-Relationship Summary:

Eddie thought he was going to have an easy day, but when a group of hunters intrude on his lunch with their pet werecoyote, he calls for backup to save the guy in the form of resident werewolf Chief Hopper. Together they're able to get him away from the hunters and to Hopper's cabin, but what do they do with him now that he's safe?

[wibble-wobbegong]

can we talk about how mike and hopper are constantly parallels for the entire show. can we talk about how they’re like the exact same person and it’s why they don’t get along at all but at the same time they care about each other. can we talk abojt

[kedreeva]

ooooh, the haunting of harrington house looks interesting!

Everyone loves a good ghost story lol

WIP Wednesday | Make me write | Haunting on AO3

-----

After a particularly large, heavy chest, the children return the following day with a thick, knotted rope. Dustin tells her she isn’t allowed to bite through it, but that she must simply hold onto one end. They stand in the yard, all of her children and their adults, and they take turns holding the opposite end of the rope. She catches on quickly, that they are testing their strength, and allows them to twitch and squirm and yank on their end of the rope to little avail.

[gerbu]

Honestly kinda mad Billy never got to really meet Hopper. It would’ve been lovely if Hopper turned into a real father figure for him and they both helped each work out their shit

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the wall between us

kinktober, day sixteen

a/n: ...yeah, this one is weird, but also kinda wild

summary: pov, you live in a cult where there is an impregnation ritual on your 18th birthday

warnings: steve harrington x reader, smut, cult au (they are both members), cult leader!jim hopper, weird birthday impregnation ritual, public sex, fem gloryhole, breed kink, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, forbidden romance

word count: 773

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“Always a blessed day when a flower blooms and becomes ready to expand on our wonderful family,” you heard Jim, your charismatic and adorn leader boast from the other side of the thin wooden wall, “now, gentlemen, let us bow our heads and pray, please, grant me the power to deduce who will bless this girl with a babe….” after a moment of dead silence, Hopper broke it with a loud, “ah! I can see it!” the others in the audience rumbled as he finally revealed, “it is you!”

“Me, sire?” a voice in the crowd cut through, sounding completely taken aback. 

“Yes, you bear the seed she needs, my child,” his proclamation prompted the other members to cheer loudly as you heard footsteps near. 

Laying on your back, legs resting up against the wall, you felt a gust of wind kiss your bottom that stuck out of the meticulous cut-out, indicating that a person had stepped up.  

“Hi,” he greeted in a hushed tone, the crowd still bustling from behind him. 

“Hello,” your fingers apprehensively fiddled with the fabric of your white dress, crumbled and gathered at your waist. 

“Uh, happy birthday.”

“Oh,” you blinked a second, surprised by his demeanour, “thank you.”

“Can I ask you something?” his low voice was clear, though his touch hadn’t found you yet.

“Sure.” 

“Are you nervous?” 

“A little, yeah,” you gnawed at your bottom lip, “I’ve just waited for this for a very long time… are you?”

“I know I shouldn’t be, but he’s just never picked me before, so…” he admitted, staying quiet a moment before checking, “is it alright if I begin?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you rushed to say, adrenalin pumping through your veins. You sucked in a sharp breath as you felt his touch ghost over your skin, just your hip, the exposed part of you that was the furthest away from your core. Your fingers tightened their grip on your dress as his gentle touch slowly fluttered closer to your presented pussy, “is it strange that I wish I could see you?”

“Not at all,” he nearly chuckled, “I feel the same way,” his broad thumb came up to brush over your glistening folds, his touch staying ever so light as he tickled your clit. 

Just then, you heard a heavy pair of boots come near, “come on, son,” you heard Jim whisper into the man’s ear, “you haven’t got all day,” a threatening aura laced his tone, “complete the ritual,” a callused hand suddenly crept over your skin, “look,” and without warning, a finger plunged into you causing you to gasp, “she’s practically begging for you to pump her full,” momentarily curving his digit, he tickled a spot inside of you that made you shiver, “don’t make me pick somebody else,” though his controlling touch then faltered, parting ways by swiftly landing a sharp slap across your bottom, a hushed yelp bubbling from your lips. 

“I’m sorry, sire,” the man quickly apologised, hastily rushing to bury himself in you. 

Turning his attention back towards the crowd, Jim then roared, “and the ceremony has officially begun!” boisterous cheers promptly erupted, “soon we will be blessed with more abundance!” 

Keeping his voice low, you heard the man whisper as he bucked into you, “I’m sorry, I really wanted to do this differently, take our time…”

“It’s alright,” you breathed, “it’s how it's done…” your whole body rocked with each of his efforts to fulfil his duty. Planting your palm on the wood parting you two, where you presumed his visage was, you couldn’t help but imagine what he looked like… exactly the way his hips snapped into you… had his hair fluttered down to obscure his vision? Was he looking at you and you alone? Because if he looked anything like how he sounded or how he felt, then you couldn’t even begin to comprehend what that could mean, but what you did know was that it enticed you in a way you’d never felt before, “…maybe one day we’ll meet again and there won’t be a wall between us. Will you show me then how you had wished to do it?”

With a low and strangled moan, you felt him twitch inside of you and his movements quickly slow as he filled you up. 

“What’s your name?” he asked breathlessly. 

“Y/n,” you felt your heart flutter as you stared at the wall, “and yours?”

“Steve,” he whispered, his touch warm as his fingers fluttered over your goosebump-ridden flesh, “I’ll find you, Y/n. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I promise I won’t stop till I do.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[sourwolf-sterek32]

Coming Soon…

Summary: You moved to the small quiet town of Hawkins after abruptly transferring from the NYPD and reunite with your old partner, Jim Hopper.

However, Hawkins isn't as quiet as it seems, and your past catches up with you.

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Deputy!Reader

-

I will be posting this series in the near future so if anyone wants to be tagged please let me know 💜

[eupheme]

Sweet Summer Lemonade

Jim Hopper x F!Reader

Rated E - 7.8k

Tags: dub-con (because of sex pollen) (but with very mutual attraction), use of alcohol and cigarettes, age gap, mentions of death, fingering, oral sex (f rec.), size kink, PiV, mult. orgasms, grump + sunshine, mutual pining, loose pov

Summary:

“So… you and the chief, huh?”

“Oh!” You clear your throat, fingers covering your mouth, “No, not really. I don’t think he sees me that way.”

“Uh huh.” Murray answers dryly, his legs crossing neatly at the ankles as he leans next to you, “Are you sure about that?”

(Or - when you go to Murray’s for some help, you end up with a little more than you bargained for)

Your nose crinkles as the truck finally slows to a halt on the packed-dirt path, just outside the industrial-sized garage door. Debris lines the concrete building, a busted office chair, turned on its side - mechanical parts cushioned against the tall, barbed-wire fence by overgrown tufts of knee-high grass.

“You sure this is the right place?” Your words are directed slowly at Hopper, throwing your shoulder into the door as you open it - the old hinges creaking with the effort.

He’s already out of the truck, the piece of paper crumpled in his hand, shoving it into the back pocket of his light jeans, “This is it.”

Here goes, you think, making for the door, but a hand is catching your elbow, dragging you back. Glancing back at the frown on Hopper’s face, as he leans down to your level, letting you go so his hands can brace on his thick thighs.

“You stick close to me,” His voice is low and hushed, a rough edge to it, “And don’t touch anything inside unless I say so. Got that?”

Annoyance prickles at you - you were in the tunnels last year, same as the rest, and you had come out just fine. Whoever this man was had to be a cakewalk in comparison. He didn’t need to pull the macho-cop act, you weren’t a teenager like the others.

“Nancy said he was nice.” You counter, lifting your sunglasses, perching them on top of your head as you fix him with a look.

The crease between his forehead deepens, the edges of his lips turning down, “Just do what I tell you, okay?”

Your head tilts, his eyebrow raises in response. And fuck - the way he’s seeming to loom over you, big and broad, prickles at you in a different kind of way.

“Fine.” You blink, averting your eyes.

“Good.” He straightens, giving you one last weary look before heading to the front door.

Secretly, you had been hoping this trip would be a little more... interesting. For weeks now, the two of you have been exchanging lingering looks, finding half-hearted excuses to move just a little bit closer.

And when this short trip had come up, you had jumped at the opportunity. Because of the reason it was being taken, of course - and selfishly, for the chance to spend a little more time with him.

But so far today... nothing.

Unless you count the brush of an elbow against yours as it sat on the armrest. Not exactly the steamy encounter you had daydreamed about.

His fist raps a pattern on the rusted metal door, once - twice. Finally, a face peeking out as it cracks open, the room behind dim, curtains pulled tight.

The man’s face pulling downward when he sees who it is, eyes narrowing behind glasses, mouth twisting, "Oh, not you.”

Hopper's foot quickly jamming in the space, preventing it from shutting all the way, “We need to talk to you. It’s about what happened.”

There’s a long pause before the man nods - Hopper’s foot pulling back so the door can shut, the chain latch undone before it opens again.

You follow behind into the house, the inside not a far cry from the outside. But it’s fascinating in a way, the wall of televisions, the man himself - an old robe worn open like a cardigan over a tight white tank, grey sweats.

“Thank you, Mr. Bauman.” You step around Hopper, your hand extended, “We’re hoping you might be able to help us, please.”

Murray’s eyebrows lift when he sees you, the downturned edge of his lip kicking up, “And who is this?”

His handshake is firm, and you smile as you give your name, explaining, “One of Hopper’s friends.”

“Hm. Didn’t think the old grump had any friends,” He gives Hopper a sidelong look, Hopper’s hands jamming in his pockets as he scowls back.

“Just in case you were wondering, that is how you ask for help,” Murray tells him, amusing himself, before he turns back to you, “What can I do for you, sunshine?”

Throwing a look at Hopper for confirmation, you start, “Well, we wanted to see if you still had the original copy of the tape Nancy and Jonathan brought you.”

“Something is happening again,” Hopper cuts in, easing himself into the circle of conversation, arms crossed over his chest. “Maybe with the gate, maybe with El. We wanted to see exactly what they said.”

Murray shoots both of you a puzzled look, “Why’d you come out this way? Can’t you just ask them?”

You fidget, the same thing already discussed in the car. Hopper handles this one again, ”We don’t want to cause any… unnecessary panic. If we ask either, it’s going to spread. We want to do our own digging first.”

Murray thinks about that, plucking the glasses from his face, polishing them slowly on the edge of his robe.

“Please Mr. Bauman?” You ask, your hands clasped in front of you, the sound of your words drowning out Hopper’s annoyed grunt.

“God, please - Mr. Bauman was my father. It’s just Murray.” He looks back up after a long pause, slowly nodding, “But, fine. I can make you a copy. Have to find it first, but I will.”

Your answering smile is relieved - how long could that possibly take?

———

The three of you have been searching for hours now, sifting through beat-up boxes of hastily-labeled tapes in one of the side rooms, taking turns checking possibilities.

It’s slow going - you were quickly relieved of checking duty after you found a tape that leaned towards the illicit. Gasping as Hopper moved in front of you to shut off the high-pitched, recorded moans as he growled out a “Jesus Christ Bauman, she doesn’t need to hear that.”

“It was research for a story!” Murray had insisted, rolling his eyes, hands spread wide.

Now, you were on sorting duty, making stacks for Hopper to check, sweat beading on your brow as you dug through the piles. Even with the drapes drawn, hiding the summer sun, it was warm in the stuffy house - the nearest fan just out of reach as it rotates slowly.

Finally giving up, your arms stretching over your head as you rise, winding your way over to where Murray was working on his own stack.

“Murray, is it okay if I grab something to drink?” Your palm fans your face, the slight gust of air barely soothing the heat.

“Sure, sunshine. Help yourself,” He wipes his own brow, glancing up from his place on the floor. “I’m almost done. Grab a glass for me, too.”

The single bulb flickers in the kitchen, an ancient fridge tucked between two countertops. You revel in the blast of cool air as you open the door, stooping to peer inside.

It’s relatively clean, the shelves clear on one side, jars and condiments lining the other. There’s some beer cans half-way back and you reach for one, dragging it out. When you go to grab another, your fingers knock against a rounded glass bottle, the label curled and worn.

It wobbles dangerously, the cap loose on the narrow neck. The liquid inside - a thick, viscous pink - sloshes onto your knuckles as you catch it with the back of your hand. Trapping it between another container before you carefully nudge it upright.

Your hand withdraws, setting the second can on the counter before you bring it to your nose. The bright residue smells like summer, fresh fruit. Sticky sweet and cloying.

Without thinking, you taste it, licking up the drop that tracked across your knuckles. It seems to soak into your tongue, the taste almost familiar. Reminding you vaguely of the prickly pear lemonade you had on vacation a couple years ago.

Bright and sweet as bubblegum, the tart bite tickling your throat as you swallowed. No worries back then - just summer and sunshine ahead.

You blink, a funny tingling on your tongue, the rest rinsed off in the sink - dried on the dingy dishtowel.

The crisp crack of the can opening is music to your ears. The beer is cheap but you’re not complaining, it’s cool going down your throat - the can pressed against your forehead after you swallow.

Murray joins you a minute later, and you offer him the second can, but he shakes his head.

“Should have specified,” He tells you, dragging a bottle from the freezer, filling the bottom third of a glass.

Drinking the vodka like it’s water, nose scrunching as he swallows. You side-eye him, as you against the counter, elbows pressing against the stained laminate.

Taking your own sip much more slowly, his head turning to look at you.

“Helps me think.” Murray offers, though you weren’t about to ask. There’s a long pause, before his head tilts, “So… you and the chief, huh?”

You choke on the mouthful, coughing as you swallow. Hopper had warned you that he was blunt - a good guy, but not one to mince words.

But it’s almost refreshing, after the passive aggressive tip-toeing around you so often get at work. Right to the point, nice and neat.

“Oh!” You clear your throat, fingers covering your mouth, “No, not really. I don’t think he sees me that way.”

Facing him, you miss the way Hopper’s head tilts in your direction as he listens to a new tape, eyes dragging slow over the cocked curve of your hips - but Murray does not.

“Uh huh.” He answers dryly, his legs crossing neatly at the ankles as he leans next to you, “Are you sure about that?”

You wonder if he’s teasing you, or if he knows something you don’t.

The prospect makes your heart thud, a wishful anticipation in your chest as you answer, “Well, I don’t really know. Sometimes I think there’s something, and then other times he doesn’t notice me at all.”

Not telling him that a part of you thinks he’s hung up on someone else. And the worst part is you get it, it makes sense - they have all that history. And you’re just tripping after him like a lost little puppy.

“Jim’s a pretty direct guy.” Murray interrupts your thoughts, and your answering nod is slow, a little unsure of his meaning.

A pause - before he pats your shoulder, draining the rest of his glass, “Just something to think about.”

Okay, I guess, you think - finishing the remnants of your own drink, finding what looked like a recycling bin for the empty can. After a moment, taking the extra beer you had grabbed over to Hopper. Offering it to him wordlessly as you lean over the back of the couch, next to his shoulder.

He takes it, a thankful curve to his lips, fingers overlapping yours as his hand wraps around the can. For a second, you almost forget to let go - too focused on the way your skin seems to buzz under the brush of his fingertips.

“Thought you forgot about me.” He nods towards the kitchen, cracking it open with a hiss.

You watch the bob of his throat as he swallows, a curl of heat creeping up your neck, your cheeks. Trying to keep your voice from sounding too much like a sigh when you reply, “Never.”

Clearing your throat, trying to keep on track, “Any luck?”

“Not sure. Think we’re getting close though, these are from the same time.” He sighs, leaning back against the cushion, arm trailing along the back - swapping the tape out for another.

The voice that plays from this one is familiar - the recoding caught mid-sentence.

“-you mean without shutting us up?-”

You’re grabbing at his arm, swinging around the edge of the couch to take the seat next to him. Leaning into him to listen, “Wait, wait, that’s it!”

His eyes flash to yours, the recording playing just long enough to confirm it. A relieved smile flashing across his face, before his arm drops to curl around you - a squeezing half-hug of victory.

The tape is handed off to Murray to make a copy, and you stay selfishly seated on the couch. Nothing to do but wait until the copy is made, the edge of his arm still brushing your shoulders.

But the more you sit - the denser the air feels, humid and sticky hot. Your pulse seems to thud in your ears, a steady, dull pattern.

“Is it warm in here?” You ask idly, fingers plucking at the neck of your sundress, peeling it back to get some air against your skin, “Like, more than before?”

He frowns, his eyes averting when you glance his way, his legs shifting, “It’s warm. But it’s cooler than outside, that’s for sure.”

It doesn’t seem that way to you - you’re not sure how he’s able to wear jeans in this heat, even with the beachy, button-up shirt. The sleeves stretch tight across his biceps as his arms cross, your eyes slow to pull away as he adds, “Maybe you just need some fresh air.”

You nod - that makes sense, and you silently wish for Murray to hurry up, as much as you’re enjoying the current seating arrangements.

Now that the tape has been found, copying it goes quickly, the audio conversation as short as it was. Hopper tucking the tape into his shirt pocket, patting his chest as you push yourself to your feet.

It takes an effort, your limbs feeling not quiet coordinated. Your mind a little fuzzy, skin buzzing and tilting towards oversensitive. Maybe the beer wasn’t as cheap as you thought - maybe it was your empty stomach.

Hopper’s eyes narrow when he notices the slight sway in your posture, as Murray not-so-subtly herds you towards the front door. You still manage a thank you, and even a hug that you’re surprised that he accepts, “Thank you for helping us, it means a lot.”

“You’re both welcome back anytime.” Murray tells you cheerfully, the words almost cut off as the door shuts, the latch chain sliding into place immediately.

Leaving the two of you alone, blinking into the sunlight - the slight breeze welcome on your face. You’re still looking dazedly at the door when Hopper’s hand brushes your back, a gentle nudge towards the truck.

His words slow, eyeing you as you start to move, “Let’s get you in the truck”.

You’re compliant, unprotesting as he opens the door, climbing in. Slumping against the seats rolling the window down as he gets in on the other side.

The truck roars to life, reversing out of the lot, dirt kicking up from the driveway as he pulls back onto the main road.

Time seems to lose its meaning as the miles tick down, you’re not sure if it’s been minutes or an hour - the heat in your face and neck starting to feel like it’s moving downwards.

It should be a moment to remember, just the two of you, a beautiful summers day. A warm breeze on your face as the radio rolls through favorites - Springsteen, Rolling Stones, Tom Petty. Songs you know by heart sounding faded as thoughts you kept buried deep inside push to the surface.

Sideways glances that linger a hair too long, eyes drifting over his light, patterned shirt. The extra couple buttons popped at the neck, the coarse hair beneath.

The thick muscle of his arms, large hands that you think would span the space between your shoulder and jaw. The perfect size to cup your face. Fingers drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel.

You like looking at his hands, thinking about what they could do. How they would feel. On you. Maybe even in you.

The path of your gaze slowly shifts downwards-

You blink - catching yourself, eyes facing forward again. Going rigid as you recognize the curl of arousal in your guts, where the heat has settled. Stronger than you’ve felt before - the aching need for pleasure so sharp it almost hurts.

“You okay, kid?” He breaks the silence, “You’re usually talking my ear off.”

The nickname is unintentional - it’s one he’s picked up from his time looking after El. You know this but it still bristles at you, a dull ache in your stomach causing your words to come out snappish, “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh,” he draws the word out with a scoff, “What, would you prefer ‘sunshine’?”

He’s being petty, defensive - glancing your way with brows pulled low, expression changing when he sees the way you’re sitting, tense and uncomfortable.

You flinch when his hand reaches across, the back of his palm brushing your forehead. Something blooms in your stomach, and you have to fight back a moan at his touch, the feeling between your legs almost like a pulse.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He’s frowning, eyes darting your way, “You’re burning up. We need to get you home.”

All you can do is nod, your face pressing against the glass again - trying to ignore the instinct to press your thighs together.

��——

It’s become almost unbearable by the time you find yourself among familiar roads - the long winding dirt path through the woods to the cabin. Somewhere along the drive, Hopper had offered to take you home, but his was a good 15 minutes closer.

You just needed some water, to sit down for a moment. You were sure it was nothing.

He shifts into park, legs taking him around to your door before you can fumble with the handle. Almost knocking the old wooden door off the hinges as he ushers you inside - the water still lukewarm from the tap as you gulp it down from a glass.

It soothes some of the heat that warms your face, but not the one that roils in your guts. You can’t hold back the groan that wracks your chest, hand splaying across your lower belly.

His hands almost feel cool on your cheeks as he cups them, worry clouding his blue eyes as he angles your face up to look at him.

“How are you feeling? Talk to me, baby.” He coaxes.

“Hurts.” You manage, blinking as you try to concentrate.

“Where?”

Silently, your hand slips lower, until it’s all but cupping your mound. The slightest brush of fingers making your eyes flutter shut, a soft needy groan falling from your lips.

Hopper goes still, unable to breath. Not even knowing what to say for a moment - trying to come up with something, anything, to help figure it out.

“Uh- did you take anything today? Try anything funny this morning?” He stammers, and your eyes flicker open.

A small shake to your head. And then, you pause, remembering.

“At Murray’s. I-It was pink. I didn’t mean to.” You tell him, and he’s nodding - it’s not much, but it’s something.

Leading you to the couch, your body slumping onto it as he heads for the phone. Digging through his pockets for the scrap of paper, silently hoping that Murray will actually pick up.

Your hands wander on their own, brushing across your thighs, up, and then up. A pad of your finger pressing against the thin cloth covering your clit, and fuck - it feels good. Maybe the best you’ve ever felt.

But somewhere in the fog, you know the couch is not the place to do this. With an effort you push yourself up, his eyes flicking worriedly to your wobbling gait as the phone rings.

The bathroom door creaking shut behind you - the wood muffling your moans as your fingers press against yourself again. Easing the ache, just for a moment.

His fingers wrap around the phone cord until it hurts - eyes trained on the closed door, foot tapping as he waits for answer.

“Hello?” Finally there’s a voice on the other end, and Hopper feels like he could strangle him.

“Murray? Jim.” He barks out, not waiting for a reply. “Something is wrong, she’s not doing well. Said she had something pink at your house.”

There’s a beat, before he’s cursing - his questions not quite making sense, “Jesus Christ. She didn’t, right? When did-?”

“What was it?” Hopper interrupts, his voice firm and low, one that he always seems to pull out during his interrogations.

“Let me think. I need to make sure.” There’s a crackle on the other end, the words chosen carefully. “How is she? What are her symptoms?”

Hopper blinks, “Uh, hot. Forehead is really warm. She seems distracted.”

“She um, said it hurts.” Not knowing how to word the next part, heat creeping across his own face, “Down there.”

He makes a face as he waits, scrubbing a palm across his forehead, and there’s an agonized groan on the other end.

“Okay. Can you ask her how much she had?”

His patience is running thin, worry and anger making his chest feel tight, “What the hell was it?”

Another beat of silence.

“It’s an… aphrodisiac. I was doing a story on it.”

He had the phone pressed so close to his ear that it creaks in his grip, “A what?”

“You know…” Murray hedges, and then sighs. “The tape you heard? The one that pissed you off so much? That was part of my research.”

Hoppers mouth feels dry, remembering the lewd, rhythmic moans. The word clicking into place in his mind, things starting to make a little more sense.

“Does it go away?”

“That’s why you need to ask her.” His tone turns serious, “You need to, right now.”

With a frustrated sigh, he sets the phone on the side table, crossing the room to the bathroom. Knocking, then calling out for you.

Listening, not meaning to hear your panting breaths, the stifled moans sliding out from between your teeth. He doesn’t mean to picture what you’re doing either - but the images pop into his mind, his fist tightening around the door handle.

Inappropriate. Get it together.

“Sweetheart?” He calls out, and he hears your sounds stutter. He hopes your listening, “The pink stuff. How much did you have?”

A moment as you think, the words slow from your lips, “Just a bit. It spilled on my hand.”

He’s back on the phone a second later, “She said just a little bit.”

“Thank god.” There’s a sigh on the other end, but Hopper doesn’t know what there is to sigh about, “I didn’t want to tell you, but the reason I was doing the story was a couple guys took too much. It uh, turns out it can cause cardiac arrest.”

The implication hangs in the air - he wants to ask more, but fears the answer. Murray presses on, “But if she just took a little, she should be okay. She needs to…”

There’s a pause as he sucks in a breath, “She needs to work through it to make it go away.”

“Work through it?” He echoes, brows furrowing.

“Yes. If she doesn’t, it hurts like hell. I tried it myself, just once.” Murray confesses, his voice low, “Drank some like a shot. It took twelve hours to go away. I was chafed red, Jim. Red.”

Hopper makes a face at the overshare, lips pulling down over clenched teeth, “That’s disgusting.”

“That’s what happens.” Murray answers firmly, “I’m just telling you, you might have to help her. Or find her help - don’t let her go through that pain.”

He doesn’t know what to think about that either. Doesn’t even want to think about it, helping you. Not like this, not when you’re not in your right mind.

The next call is quick, just to cover his bases - a call to the school. A message for El, asking is she can spend time with Max tonight. Hopefully you didn’t need the twelve hours, but he had no idea what to expect, or if he could move you.

Then the back of his knuckles are rapping on the door again, three short, sharp knocks. He calls your name, listening - his mind going a mile a minute. Opening the door when he hears you say his name, the two syllables drawn out in a soft whine.

Even with what he knows now, he’s unprepared. The bathroom in his cabin had always been small - barely enough room to squeeze in a tub, a toilet, the chipped sink with a mirror.

Small enough that he’s hit with the scent of your shampoo, perfume. Then, the sweet musk of your arousal, completely unmistakable. Combining into something that made his pants feel tight, his breath catching in his throat.

Pheromones, maybe - something he saw once on a nature documentary. Murray didn’t warn him about that part. His back sags against the door as he closes it.

Fuck, he can’t do this.

He’s already thinking things he shouldn’t be - because he knows you don’t see him the way he sees you. That your sugar-sweet smiles and nudges are the same you give everyone else.

Trying on occasion to put some distance. An act of self-preservation - he’s always been shit at love. Always on the wrong side. But then you drag him back in. Bright and stunning and blinding.

Sunshine in human form, after all.

You’re sitting, back against the wall - tucked in the far corner, opposite the tub. Elbows resting on spread knees, your dress dipping down between the soft curves of your thighs. The navy blue flash of panties as you shift, the light glinting off the wet gleam of your fingers has his eyes darting away - flushing as he clears his throat.

Your eyes glassy as you look up at him, the way he fills the doorway - even bigger and broader than usual from your spot on the floor. Another sharp throb shoots through you, and you moan out loud.

His brow furrows, and then he’s moving, crouching down to your level. Fingers reaching out to brush your forehead again, your skin burning hot against his fingers.

“Talked to Murray. You drank some experiment he’s been working on. Says you need to, uh-” His hand rubs the back of his neck - lacking the eloquence of his new friend, completely out of his depth. “Finish. To get rid of the uh, symptoms.”

This close, the throbbing increases, twisting in your guts into you ache. The smell of leather, tobacco, aftershave sending another pulse down your spine, your thighs pressing together in an attempt for release.

Your nod is sluggish, the fingers twitching again, “I tried, Hop. I can’t-”

“Is there… someone I can call for you?” His voice is gruff, trying as hard as he can to think with his brain and not with his cock, “A…boyfriend, an ex?”

There’s a thud as your head tilts back against the wall, as you fix him with a long look.

“Is my flirting really that terrible?” You ask, with a huff of a laugh that borders on delirious.

There’s a long pause as Hoppers mind trips to catch up, to interpret your words.

“Nevermind.” The smile that stretches your lips is resigned, your chest heaving in a panting breath as your hand waves dismissively, “That wasn’t fair of me to say. Just forget it, I’ll be okay, Hop. Really.”

“Wait, back up.” Hopper’s hands raise, his voice taking on an edge, “What the hell does that mean?”

Each word feels like an effort now, your tongue feeling heavy, your heart thudding between your thighs, “It means-, it means the person I’d want to call is… you.”

There’s silence for a long, agonizing moment.

“You don’t want me,” He rasps out, eyes flickering between your half-lidded ones, the glossy sheen of your parted lips where your tongue had flicked over them. “It’s the drug. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Jim.” The name punches out from your chest, your eyes locking onto his, the pretty splash of blue, “It’s not. I’ve always wanted you.”

Realization making him sway - the wooden floor crashes into his knees as he rocks forward. His head ducking down as you push yourself up to meet him.

A whimpering moan that shoots straight to his cock when your mouth meets his, one of his thick arms curling around, a palm pressing flat against your back. Your tongue already swiping at his lower lip, pressing closer until your breasts are crushed against the wide barrel of his chest.

His hands dropping, as he groans in response - cupping the globes of your ass, your thighs opening further for him as he yanks you up and onto his lap.

Fingers fly to the meat of his broad shoulders for balance, the fabric of your dress bunching under roaming hands. A clashing of teeth and tongues as you devour each other, your panting gasps as your core bumps into contact with the thick curve of his jeans.

Electricity flickering down your spine, a seam catching on your clit. The burning in your core turning into something closer to relief. Your hips jerk again to chase the sensation, just as a hand comes up to palm at your breast, the tight peak of your nipple.

“Hopper,” You’re moaning into his mouth, your fingers fisted in his shirt, trying to tug him even closer. Hips rolling, grinding down against the thick curve of his jeans, “Please.”

His last ounce of self-control leeching from him as he accepts what you’re asking. What you’re needing from him.

Begging, even - something he’s only ever dreamed about.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He promises, shifting - your thighs wrapping around his waist, a low whine from your throat as he tries to move.

Hopper gives up on untangling your limbs, instead pushes himself unsteadily to his feet; your arms encircling his shoulders. Lips dropping to his neck, pressing against skin.

Walking you through the door, until he can drop you onto his bed. You scoot backwards to make room for him as he lowers himself down next to you, crowding you closer to the cabin wall.

Fingers trailing up your shin, your thighs falling open, just as your eyes shut with another cramp of discomfort. Halting at your thigh, at the curving hem of your dress.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He asks, leaning over you, letting you call the shots the best he can.

“Touch me.” You beg, hand reaches for his, dragging it up between your thighs. Hips rocking into his fingers when they press down against your core.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, feeling the damp cotton, your own hand going limp at your side as his flatten, rubbing at the fabric.

His other hand pushing your skirt up to your hips. Letting himself look now, the dark, wet stain of your panties under his fingers. Realizing they were never navy in color - the soft fabric cutting across your hips a light, sky blue. So similar to the shade of his eyes.

Your hips buck again, and his fingers slide beneath the fabric, slipping against soaked skin and soft curls. Another fresh wave of relief, pleasure curling over the pain, your fingers twisting around the pillow behind your head.

“Jesus. You’re soaked, sweetheart.” He grits out, fingers sliding up until they bump against the swollen bud of your clit, your response no more than a whimper.

Stroking against you, again and again - his fingers slick with your arousal. Sliding easily over your skin, making small, messy circles that have your breath catching in your throat.

A litany of pleas and moans falling from your lips, soft “oh, god-” mixing with his name. The sweet build of pleasure barreling down as his fingers touch you.

He’s impatient, the tight fabric limiting his movements, blocking the pretty sight of your pussy from his vision. The thumb of his other hand hooks on your waistband, tugging it down your thighs - your hips grinding into his hand as they rise to help.

A rough exhale of breath, the word “fuck” ground out through gritted teeth. Torn between wanting to keep going just like this - and knowing if you wanted more, that he’d have to use his fingers somewhere else.

His hand shifts, thumb rubbing over your clit, the middle sliding down, pressing against your entrance. Glancing at you for your nod before it sinks in, his fingers so much thicker and longer than your own.

Pressing down to the knuckle before withdrawing, starting a slow thrust that stretches you out. He’s so fucking hard, cock straining in his pants as he watches his finger disappear into you, your pussy so warm and tight around him. Thinking about how you’d feel wrapped around his fat cock, how good you’d feel coming on it.

Biting back a groan as he adds another, your own low whine as they press deep, finally itching at the ache of needing to be filled. Your words are slurred with drunk pleasure, your brain a messy fog.

“Make me come, Hop. Please-“

Fingers curling, each thrust of his wrist a loud, wet squelch in the small cabin. He shines with you, coating his fingers, leaking onto your inner thighs.

“I will baby, I promise.” He coaxes, trying to remember how it goes, fingers dragging against your inner walls until he feels you clench down around him, a ragged gasp in your throat.

His eyes flickering up again to yours, doing it again, again - watching the way your breaths grow shorter, tension coiling in your thighs.

The small rocking of your hips as you chase the movements of his thrusts, fucking yourself on his fingers, the soft pants of breath as you moan out “please” again and again.

Hopper shifts, pushing himself up - though you’re too close, too far gone to notice. Your eyes shut are shut, concentrating, when there’s the swirl of something hot and wet and soft against your skin.

Better than his thumb, eyes cracking open to see the way he bends over you, the pink flick of tongue as it presses against you, a low groan as he tastes you.

The scratch of his mustache, sending goosebumps across your skin. When his lips kiss against your clit and then suck, it becomes your undoing.

Unable to form words as the blinding pleasure peaks, instant relief flooding your system as you find your release. Soaking his fingers and tongue with a hoarse cry, limbs trembling with the effort.

The sounds you make when you come are prettier than he’s ever imagined - loud, panting moans, the heave of your breasts, head thrown back, eyes screwed shut in concentration.

Tight as hell around his fingers, he swears he can feel each pulse, the thud of your heartbeat in your clit as his tongue presses against it.

Devouring you until you finally go limp, before sliding his fingers from you. Bringing them to his mouth, unable to resist tasting the release that coats his fingers.

The sweet tang of your cunt as he sucks them clean, a low groan as his hips shift, pressing against the mattress.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, the fog starting to wane with each throb, though the desire still remained. The immediate pain quelled, but the deep ache of want and need was still burning in your veins.

Pushing yourself up, grasping at his shoulders until he’s hovering over you - your mouth tilting to meet his. His mouth tasting like you when your tongue darts against his, the rumbling groan as your hips shift up to rub against him.

“Thank you,” you moan into his mouth, and he almost wants to laugh, if the situation hadn’t been so disconcerting.

The thought about being thanked for something he’d dreamed about doing, never thinking he’d get the chance to bury his face between your legs.

He kisses you until you feel dizzy, until your hips are moving again, the damp spot darkening on the front of his jeans.

“More,” you break the kiss to beg, plucking at the buttons of his shirt, revealing inches of skin, greedily soaking him in.

“You need more or you want more?” He asks, hand curving to cup your jaw - a perfect fit, just like you imagined.

Lips feeling kiss-swollen as they scrape against the stubble of his jaw, down to his neck. Feeling the thud of his own pulse, “Both.”

He groans, loud and low, letting you tug at his belt, fingers working open the button. Hips shifting into your hand as you cup the hard bulge, your other hand tugging at the zipper.

A noise of disappointment as he rolls off you, the smallest hint of a smirk as he rids himself of his pants, boxers, “I’m right here. It’s okay.”

And he is, your fingers skating over his thick shaft, barely able to circle around it. It’s big, the fat head glistening with a bead of precum, and it smears across your thighs as he settles between them.

You wiggle against him, lining your hips up, but his hands are gripping onto your waist to hold you still.

“Easy, baby. Gonna hurt yourself.”

Taking a moment, his fist wrapping around the base. Sliding himself against you, you body flexing against the hand still holding you as he lines himself up.

Making sure he’s soaked with you before he starts to press in. Eyes bouncing between your face, trying to see if it’s too much, and unable to resist seeing the tip disappear into you, stretching you wide.

Your moan breaks his concentration, the feeling of him splitting you open almost too much. He feels even bigger than you imagined - making room for himself as he nudges into you. Stealing your breath with every small flex of his hips.

So much of him still left as he carefully thrusts his hips forward, the delicious slide of his cock against your walls before he withdraws. Breath heavy as he does it again, each time sinking a little deeper into you.

Almost flush now, his hands on your hips again. Keeping you pressed to the bed so you don’t try to take too much. Perhaps also to keep himself in check as well.

It’s overwhelming, how warm and tight you are around him. Squeezing him already, even with your come coating his cock, slicking him up. He’s afraid to move, thinking that if he starts thrusting, starts fucking you - that this will be over before it’s started.

His lips part as you wiggle against him again, trying to ignore your pretty pleas. The rough gravel of his voice drowning your sighs out, “Hold on, baby. I just need a minute.”

Fingers flexing against your skin, where the flesh pillows between them. But you need more, and you take matters into your own hands.

Your hand slides down, one lingering at your breast, cupping and squeezing the soft skin, pinching at a nipple. Sending a jolt racing down your spine as your other hand follows, drifting until you’re brushing between your thighs again.

Some of your wits now back, maybe enough that you can get yourself off - just like this.

Eyes on his, watching him watch how the tip of one circles your clit. The small rock of your hips that just barely causes him to move, buried in you. But it’s enough.

Your head tilting back as you set a pace, rolling your hips, again - again. Touching yourself, his name peppered in with the panting of your breath.

“Hopper, oh my god-“

And finally he finds his voice, fingers so tight you think they’ll leave bruises. The words skittering across your skin, as his head tilts up to yours, words coaxing, “That’s right sweetheart. Take what you need.”

Eyes fluttering open as the pleasure builds again as pressing your fingers harder, circling faster.

He’d been worrying about you dying earlier - just for a moment. Now he’s worrying about himself, heart pounding in his chest, listening to each little mewling gasp from your lips as you use him.

Fucking yourself with shallow thrusts on his cock, your pretty face screwed up in concentration. Each breath growing shorter and shorter - he can feel you starting to tense underneath him, the clench of your pussy around him as you squeeze in anticipation.

Keeping himself still, letting you get off on him - thinking that he’ll throw you off your rhythm if he moves, desperately wanting to see how it feels when you come on his cock.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Your eyes all but roll shut as your release hits you. The heavy shudder of your body, surprising him with the sharp jerk of your hips. Taking him even deeper - almost all the way as you flutter around him.

Even better than how you felt on his tongue, better than he’s imagined. The sounds you make louder and rougher when you’re stuffed full of him - as he lowers himself down, hands easing off you.

Letting you wrap your arms around his shoulders, face buried in his neck as you drift back down. Holding you until your hips stop moving - waiting until you relax before he slips from you.

You frown, not understanding until he rising up, nudging at your hips. Giving you room to flip over, his palm warm as it slides down your back.

“Hands and knees, baby.”

Wobbling only a little as you push yourself to your knees, back curving as your torso slips back down, pressing against the mattress.

Shifting until your ass rests flush against his front, letting you feel the thick curve of him pressing against your swollen lips.

“You want more sweetheart?” He asks, a thrust of his hips nudging his cock against you. “Or are you all worn out?”

Again putting the choice in your hands, though he wants nothing more to bury himself in your tight cunt again and fuck you proper.

“More.” You sigh, pressing back against him. Feeling and sounding more lucid - the desire more firmly situated in your thoughts, feelings, rather than chemical stimulation, “Want you to fuck me, Hopper.”

“Yeah?” He growls out, thumbs digging into the curve where your ass meets your thighs, spreading you wide.

“Yeah.” You confirm, the word turning into a moan when you feel the tip press against you again, and then he’s slowly sliding back in.

It’s still a stretch, even though you’ve already taken him, the angle so much different. He can see so much more like this, the tension strung tight in your back and shoulders, your fingers fisting in the sheet.

“Relax, sweetheart.” His hand smooths across your hip, thumb rubbing across your skin, easing forward until his thick thighs are pressing against yours, the curve of his stomach flush with your ass.

His first thrust is experimental - shallow, fingers gripping onto your waist. Rocking you with his movements as you groan, so sensitive that you think you can feel every vein, each ridge.

Again, and then again - until your cheek presses against the mattress so you can look at him, your eyes heavy lidded.

The peek of pink tongue between teeth as he concentrates, a hitch in his chest when you clench down around him. Shoulders flexing as your lips part, the words moaned out - a plea, “Harder. I won’t break.”

Fingers digging into your skin, as you add a soft, “Please.”

It tips him over, hands jerking your hips back - all but impaling you on his cock. Sinking himself deep, filling you completely.

Your gasp is low and loud, head tilting back. Urging him to do it again, and so he does. Gripping your hips as he starts thrusting, your panting moans mingling with the wet squelch of your pussy as he pounds into you.

Shifting, his thighs bumping into yours, lifting your hips, pressing you further into the mattress.

Changing the angle, his cock dragging along your walls. His forward thrust nudging against a spot that makes you cry out, muscles clenching, pleasure flooding your senses.

“Yeah?” He asks through clenched teeth, voice like gravel.

Finding it again, and then again. Your fingers gripping the sheets, lips parted as the moans are pushes out of you. Hurtling towards the edge, your hips rocking back to meet him the best you can.

And when his hand moves, fingers pressing against your slick, sensitive clit, it only takes a few flicks of his wrist until you’re trembling, your words a jumble of begging pleas.

“Oh god yes, Jim, please, please-”

Soaking his cock as you start to flutter, tight and hot and almost overwhelming him. His name sounding so goddamn good on your lips as you chant it, the little jerks your hips make as his fingers keep moving.

Your eyes shut as you ride out the waves, your body relaxing into his grip. Realizing he’s still thrusting, drawing your pleasure out, still pressing against your clit.

“Come on honey, one more.” You just catch the rough rasp of his voice, raising goosebumps across your skin, “Let’s get it out of your system. I want to be the only one helping you.”

Quickly working you up again, until his own thrust starting to stutter. Your tight heat too much, he’s not going to last much longer. Trying to hold himself back a little longer, but it’s he thinks he already too far gone.

“Fuck baby, I’m close,” Hopper pants, and thinking about him coming makes you moan. “Where do you want me?”

“In me.” You beg, already close again - from his touch, his words.

“Fuck.” He repeats, “Goddamn-”

His groan low, hips snapping forward, the slap of his balls against your pussy before he grinds himself deep. The sharp thrusts sending you over with him, your own orgasm washing over you as you feel the hot pulse of his ropes painting your walls.

Basking in the sweet feeling release as he ruts against you - until you’re filled - until his hips finally start to slow.

Chest heaving as he catches his breath, fingers carding through his hair, brushing it back. Your thighs burning in a nice, used way - your head pressing against the mattress so you can peek up at him.

Taking a long minute, and then another. Until your breathing finally slows, until the tension melts from both of you. A hand rubs your lower back, above where you are still joined.

“More?” He asks, his gaze heavy as he meets yours.

You clench down around him, squeezing him as his release gets pushed out, dripping down your thighs. He twitches inside you.

“More.”

———

Evening has fully settling in when the two of you finally collapse - his head hitting the pillow with a heavy, satisfied sigh. Your body going limp against his, pressing yourself flush against him.

Your cheek scrubs against the hair sprinkled across his chest, your movements slow and sated. The fire - finally, completely - quenched, the only warmth now coming from your sweaty, sticky skin.

The humor returning, now that the danger has passed. A rumble of laugher beneath your ear, the click of a lighter, his voice a low rasp before he takes a drag of his cigarette.

“If you wanted me that badly, sweetheart, you could have just asked. No need to go through all that trouble.”

Unbelievable.

Your head tilts upwards as you fix him with a glare, “You’re lucky I’m too tired to move.”

His hand lifts to cup your chin, thumb scrubbing tenderly across your cheek. Another breath that takes you with it, rising and falling as you sag against him.

“‘Lucky’ is goddamn right.” He tells you, his teeth flashing with his smile.

And with that, you find yourself smiling, too.

[tastefulstars]

-----MASTERLIST-----

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ ONLY

updated July 2023 // primarily writing for stranger things

Please heed all content warnings on each individual story before reading. I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere.

writing tag

blog nav

dividers by @firefly-graphics

The Boys Next Door - 1 / 2 / 3 / boys pov

Eddie Munson x F!Reader x Steve Harrington | Your cat decides to adopt the boys that live next door, which would be fine if they weren’t so damn pretty.

Of Wolf and Man - 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 /

Eddie Munson x F!Reader x Steve Harrington | You have a secret, one that’s a little more wolfish in nature.

Get In Line - 1 / 2 /

Billy Hargrove x Eddie Munson x F!Reader x Steve Harrington | Your words come back to haunt you and now Billy, Eddie and Steve are making it their personal mission in life to ruin you.

The Colder the Night, The Warmer your Hands - 0 / 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 /

M!Werewolf x GN!Human!Reader | Everything changed with a buzz of your intercom, a lawyer and a dead relative.

Sea of Flames - 1 / 2 /

Demon x F!Human!Reader | “if anyone here knows a group of evil insane cultists looking for a cute girl to give as a slave to a huge scary insatiable sexual demon in sacrifice during their ritual in exchange for riches and eternal life please let me know, you can give them my number"

Higher and Higher

Billy Hargrove x Eddie Munson x F!Reader x Steve Harrington | Steve and Eddie want Billy’s girl, it’s a good thing Billy knows how to share.

It's Better with Three

Eddie Munson x F!Reader x Steve Harrington | You get high with Eddie and Steve, only, your plan for a relaxing night doesn’t quiet go to plan.

Love Me Deep

Eddie Munson x F!Reader x Steve Harrington | smut

Steve has a Bad Day

Eddie Munson x GN!Reader x Steve Harrington | Steve has had the worst day, you and Eddie help him relax.

Fever

Eddie Munson x F!Reader x Steve Harrington | Eddie and Steve are out late, you decide to entertain yourself while you wait for them to come home.

Wanted U

Eddie Munson x F!Reader x Steve Harrington | A night out on the town ended in the arms of two handsome strangers.

Pretty Girl

Eddie Munson x F!Reader | An encounter at a bar leads to a one night stand, that leads to a spending the weekend, which just may lead to more.

Kiss the Stars/Kiss my Scars

Eddie Munson x F!Reader | angst

And I fell, I fell

Eddie Munson x F!Reader | You interview Eddie and fall in love.

First Class

Steve Harrington x F!Reader | Steve fucks you in his car.

He's with the Band

Steve Harrington x F!Reader | You intimidate Steve a little but that doesn’t stop him from wanting you.

Keep me Close

Billy Hargrove x F!Reader | You get to see a side of Billy that no one else has.

You and Me

Billy Hargrove x F!Reader | request fill soft!billy following around r wherever she goes.

(If this ain't love) Why Does it Feel so Good?

Billy Hargrove x F!Reader | You get fed up and put Billy in his place.

Gimme Love

Jim Hopper x F!Reader | You’re fed up with being ignored so you decide to make Hopper notice you.

The Hunt

M!Werewolf x F!Reader | Running barefoot through the forest was probably a bad idea, but the adrenaline coursing through your body didn’t give you time to regret your choice. 

The Summoning

M!Demon x M!Reader | A scholar attempts to change history by summoning a demon, only it doesn’t go as planned. 

Bite

F!Vampire x F!Reader | A moment between a Vampire and her human lover.

Captured

Hellhound + Captured

Billy Hargrove

Eddie Munson | gen

playing with Eddie's hair Eddie's habit of poking his tongue out defending Eddie against bullies playing d&d with Eddie rockstar with fanboy Eddie Eddie falling in love with a badass waking up with Eddie eddie taking care of you massaging eddie nervous eddie talking about your plans

Steve Harrington | gen

waking up with Steve Steve not wanting you to get involved

Billy + Eddie + Steve | gen

confessing to wanting all of them your asshole parents confront you

Eddie + Steve | gen

being sandwiched between them they take care of you when sick doing Eddie's makeup Eddie and Reader choosing chaos realizing they all love each other reader decking someone in front of them labyrinth au

[rafescurtainbangz]

SCREAM x Stranger Things

(Chapter 3 & 4; drop 2 of 7) +18

Harrington | Hargrove | Munson

Minor DNI

Billy Hargrove x OC

Steve Harrington x OC

Eddie Munson x OC

4.8 K

written with my beautiful wifey and bestie @voyeurmunson

dividers by @xxbimbobunnyxx

Warnings: Graphic violence/gore, SMUT, swearing, drinking, major character death, drug usage

Public oral sex (male receiving), rough oral, boot riding, pet names, semi-public oral sex (female receiving), cheating, unprotected p in v, fingering

Chapter 1 - 2 LINK

Chapter III - The Barn

Heidi's POV:

The Monday before Halloween...

"Jim... we need this," you meet his hardened gaze. He shakes his head and sucks his teeth, turning his attention to the open window. "Just let us stay open until ten at least, Hop. This is our busiest time of the year. This is how we make money. Do you know how many people we have on payroll?" You ramble; your voice coming out a little more manic than you would've hoped.

"Heidi..."

"Yes, Jim."

"Three people died here... He killed a Cunningham. And, a Carver... Those names hold weight in this town. People aren't just gonna forget what happened to them overnight."

"No one is asking them to forget, Jim." You shut your eyes softly, taking a deep breath; pressing your air out slowly.

The judgment is so apparent in his eyes. Jim doesn't understand, and if he doesn't; no one else will.

"I know this is callous. And, I know that those families just lost their loved ones. I'm a mom, Hop. I couldn't imagine losing my kids... like that." You swallow stiffly, clearing the lump in your throat. "I saw them... All three victims. And, I'll never get that out of my head... But, you have the guy, Jim. You have someone behind bars. Our business can't just stop..."

"We all know Alfie didn't do it. The man's a lunatic; but, he's basically harmless. He just got released this afternoon."

"Why?"

"Because there was CCTV footage of him stumbling outside of Melvald's at the time of the murders, Heidi."

"Jesus Christ," you sigh.

"You've known that man for twenty-plus years. He's a fuckin' kook; but, he's no killer."

"Please..." You ask, pitifully. Hopper shakes his head, quickly burying it in his hand; grumbling in frustration as he tries his best to stay firm. "I have a plan, Jim... We're still going to lose a lot. I mean a lot of money... but, it will be something. No hayride... No haunted house."

Jim peers at you with weary eyes; rolling them away. "And how are you gonna manage that, Jones?"

You hold back a hopeful smile; bringing out a slip of paper with your agenda, sliding it his way. "No one can get into the grounds without coming through the main gates. We will account for everyone that comes in and out; body searches, heavy police presence, closing at ten."

"You said no hayride; no haunted house, Heidi."

"We'll shut them down. Our scare actors can walk through the main area after 7 PM when most of the young families have left an-"

"The killer was a masked man... Did you forget that part? You can't be serious? He cuts you short, irritation ever-present in his tone.

"I am," you snip.

"Unbelievable. He slumps down in his seat, pitching his head back; mumbling in vexation yet again.

"Jim... You need to understand that I'm playing nice because you and I are best friends. I have known you for thirty-four years..."

"Best? And, Thirty-three," he huffs; resting a dart between his lips, striking a light.

"Well, that's rude... And sorry, thirty-three," you mumble. "But, you know as well as I do, the second this was no longer an active crime scene, I was given the green light for business as usual. All I had to do was stick to the eleven PM curfew just like everyone else."

"Heidi-"

"I'm working with you, Jim. Why aren't you working with me?"

He crosses his arms tightly across his chest, yielding his gaze to the window once more. You can see that he wants to tell you off. If you were anyone else, he probably would.

"I will personally pay for security, Ji-"

"Fine!" He shouts; tossing his hands up in defeat. "Where the hell is your husband by the way?"

"I don't know where Alex is. He's your partner, Hop. Aren't you supposed to know?" You challenge; taking your paper off his hands. "So, we're on for tonight?"

"You're killin' me, Jones," he murmurs.

"That a yes?"

"Yes," he bemoans through his exhales; two steady streams of smoke pouring through his nostrils. Hopper stamps out his cigarette dramatically as he shoots you a side-eye. "I'll send a few cars over at sunset. And, we may be best friends; but, you are at the very top of my shit list."

"Thank you," you beam; quickly reaching for your phone and schedule, mentally preparing yourself to call back all the staff you called off.

"Like you said, Heidi... You can do whatever you want," he clips as he slides his arms into his leather sheriff's jacket. "You're just playin' nice," Hopper mocks your tone; eyes, slicing in your direction.

"You pushed me," you chuckle; gliding your finger along the row of names to call.

"Bullshit."

You give him a sweet smile; making him look back at you annoyedly.

"What?" He scoffs.

"Nothin' Hop. I appreciate you helping me out. I just wanted your support on all this-"

"I support none of this!" He clamors; fishing for another cigarette. "Just so you are aware."

"Nothing is going to happen," you assure; glancing at the first name on the list. Billy Hargrove. "Can I walk you out?"

"Why are you tryin' to be sweet to me now, Jones," he backchats; trudging toward the exit.

"That's what best friends do, Jim," you chuckle; taking the lead, drawing the door open for him. "Plus, I need to talk to the grounds crew." He gives you a little nod, stepping into the hallway.

"Seven nights, Jones..."

"Seven nights of frights, Hop. Then, we're on to Christmas trees."

"What about Thanksgiving?"

"Nobody gives a shit about that," you breathe, making Jim chuckle as you tug open the front door.

Leaves roll across the porch; a crisp fall chill drifting through the air. Hopper's right. We have seven nights... Seven nights to avoid another disaster. Seven nights to make up for the financial hit we already took. Seven nights to prove that that was a fuckin' fluke.

"She works here?" Hopper questions; pointing his lit cigarette toward the barn. The two of you watch as a leggy brunette wanders up the hill. "What about those two over there?" He gestures in the opposite direction; the pair of you watching as a couple disappears, heading toward the woods. "Welp. Looks like people are already comin' in unaccounted for," he grunts. "That one's Heather Holloway, by the way. No way she could have done it. And, those two. That's-"

"Nancy and Jonathan," you finish his sentence, watching as they change course; hiking toward the haunted house.

"Tighten your ship, Jones," he warns; flicking his cigarette butt to the pavement. Heather rounds the corner, disappearing inside as you try your best to mask the emotions.

"You doin' okay, Heidi?" Jim queries; making your stomach sink.

"Mhmm... Just trying to think of ways to keep that from happening," you subsist; flicking your eyes back in his path.

"I'll send over a car to sit at the gate, Heidi," he gripes; climbing back into his patrol truck.

"Thank you, Hop." You shout; walking back inside. "Seven days!"

"Can't come soon enough, Jones."

Heather's POV:

"Billy? Billy Hargrove!" You sing, breathily.

There's a rustling aloft, the shuffling of work boots against the weathered wooden floor. "Holloway? That you, sweetheart?" He croons; voice reverberating through the airy space.

Fuck... That voice.

"Hey, Bills." You walk across the creaky foundation, following the sound of his voice. Grabbing the rungs of the ladder, you look up. The warm sun pours through the little window, limiting your view.

"I'll be down there in a sec."

"I can come up," you smile; climbing carefully up the old loft ladder.

"Be careful, sweetheart. This barn is old as shit."

There he is. You rise into the loft, trying your best to fight your smile as you take him in; Billy's blonde curls disheveled; a well-loved white tee and blue jeans practically painted on his frame, hugging him in all the right places.

He looks different... Better even. I mean, don't get me wrong, seeing Billy in red swim trunks was a sight to see; but, this is next level... You let out a dizzy giggle; cheeks pinched pink.

He turns around, meeting your gaze; his blue sparkling eyes set on yours. Billy wipes his arm across his brow, rubbing out a lick of sweat.

"Well, shit. You're prettier every time I see you, Holloway," he flirts; grabbing a hay bale by the strings; muscles flexing tight as he drops it to the bottom floor. "I got two more. Then, I can take a break. Alright?"

"Want some help?" You ask, sweetly. He lifts an eyebrow in your direction, chuckling lightly.

"It's like fifty pounds, Heather. And, dressed like that? You look too good for this shit." He gives you a cheeky wink before lobbing another bale. "Whatcha doin' here? I thought you had class."

"You don't wanna see me?" You sigh; putting on your best puppy dog eyes. He shakes his head and laughs; finishing off his job, the last bale landing with a thud.

"We both know that's not true."

"It's Monday, Bills. I don't have classes on Monday."

"Damn," he grumbles in exhaustion; grabbing a seat close by. You slide to his side, making his smile spread wider. "There's been so much goin' on here I lost track," he softens his tone; eyes falling to your glossed lips, nipping his own.

"That why you're not textin' me back, Bills?" You whisper.

Billy matches your gaze, making your heart race. "I'd never ignore you, Heather."

"Never?"

"I thought we were casual, Holloway," he teases. "You don't have a couple guys at ISU takin' up your time-"

"No. I do," you taunt, cutting him short. Billy gives you a little scowl; scrunching his nose. "Jealous, Hargrove?"

"Nah." You rest your hand on his thigh, leaning in slightly; letting it glide a little higher. He lets out a gravelly laugh, throwing his gaze down to his body as he slips off his work gloves. "I'm pretty dirty, Heather. You sure?"

"I don't give a shit about that, Bills."

"Get over here," he rasps.

You sling your thigh over, following Billy's lead as he takes hold of your hips. He guides you down onto his lap, eyes traveling slowly up your body before landing on yours.

"A little bit," he mumbles.

"A little bit, what?"

He looks away, dimples popping in his cheeks. "Jealous. Yeah... Sure. I'm a little jealous, Heather. I can't lie."

Your tongue pokes through your smile as you take in his words. Billy's hands roam your curves, circling your ass.

"Why do you care anyway, Heather?"

"Got a little jealous myself, Bills."

"I missed you, Heather."

"I missed you too, Billy," you whisper; lessening the distance between the two of you.

Your hands rest lightly on his chiseled chest, taking in his familiar scent as your eyes follow his silver chain. You let your fingers fall down his body; tracing over the thin cotton, feeling the ripples of his abs underneath.

You yank at his shirt. Billy quickly takes the hint, flicking off his hat before tearing off his shirt. His lips collide with yours; his rough hands wrapping around the back of your neck, towing you in. His tongue slips between your lips, swirling effortlessly with yours.

Billy's strong hands slide down your shoulders, pinching the collar of your jacket; drawing it back slightly. "This okay?"

"Mhmm," you pant between kisses. The jacket slips off your shoulders, falling to the barn floor. You save him the breath, twining your fingers around the spaghetti straps of your tank top. Peeling it off your body, bunching the material around your waist; breasts bouncing free. Billy, instantly takes a fistful for himself. Palming your skin as you start to grind on top of him. Billy leaves your lips, kissing you messily on your neck. You lean back, giving him better access.

It's been a while... A few weeks since the two of us had been together. I lied... There is no one else. No one but him. And, nothing about this is casual for me.

His hand dives between your thighs, rubbing your clothed clit through the fabric of your leggings.

I missed his hands too... All of the things they would do to me; driving deep inside, wrapping around my throat.

"Heather," he groans; making you release a hushed moan. "Missed me?"

"Yeah," you answer, needily; as your hand rests lightly on his cock, feeling his bulge through his Levis.

"Gonna need more than 'yeah', baby," he mutters between sloppy kisses, making you smile against his mouth.

You let your fingers work up his body again. He takes a heavy handle on your hips pressing the two of you together, moving with you as you work. You can feel the friction between your thighs, quenching just a fraction of your thirst; making you wetter by the second.

"I missed you so fucking much, Billy."

"That's a little better," he chuckles as he slaps your ass; the familiar sting left behind even through your clothes. "Wanna show me?"

You let out a lust-drunk laugh; easily working him out of his belt and jeans.  "I wanna make you feel good, Billy."

"Get on your knees for me, baby. Suck my fuckin' cock."

You suck off his bottom lip, nipping and tugging; pulling a moan from him as you sink to your knees, complying with his demand. You run your nails along the deep indentations of his v-lines, kissing the top of his cotton boxers; hooking your fingers underneath.

"I can't wait to have you in my mouth, Billy," you groan as you tug his boxers past his hips, letting his dick spring free. "Looks like someone missed me," you whisper against his swollen cock; precum leaking from the tip.

He looks down at you; his light eyes, hooded, framed with inky black lashes. They flutter wildly as you glide your tongue along his head, collecting him on your tongue.

"Of course I did," he grunts; raising his hand toward you. Billy glides his rough finger along your jaw, drawing his tongue along his bottom lip. "No one sucks cock like you, Heather. You know that," he rasps. "Open up." Billy slips his thumb into your mouth, pressing down your tongue; spit seeping slightly out of the corners of your lips instantly.

He stands over you; jeans gathered around his feet, work boots still on as he holds his thick cock by the base. You relax yourself, moaning softly as you take Billy in your mouth. Swiftly reminded of his size as you seize as much as you can, gagging slightly as he pushes himself against the back of your throat. 

"Fuck, baby," he whines; tossing his head back as your wrap your lips around his length. "Feels so good."

Praise flows freely from his parted lips as he lets you have your way with him; bobbing back and forth quickly, pushing yourself to your limit.

You sink on your knees, letting out a drawn-out groan on his cock as your throbbing pussy lands on the toe of his boot. You start to wind your hips, sucking as you grind. Billy takes notice; eyes rolling back; head, tilting to the ceiling. "God damn. I missed you," he moans a little louder.

You lick a stripe up his fat cock, swirling your tongue around his head as you continue to ride his boot; feeling your pleasure spurring between your thighs. Your brows knit tightly; looking up at him desperately.

"You gonna cum, baby," he mumbles; raking his fingers into your hair; taking hold of the back of your head. You nod, gagging on his dick in the process; tears rolling down your cheeks as you feel the knot in your stomach coil tight. "Shit..." He bites his bottom lip, doing his best to hold back his pleasure. "Me too."

You feel the chill of your slick between your thighs, surely wetting the toe of Billy's leather boot as you drip with arousal.

"Bet that pussy's so wet for me," he pants. "Cum for me. Huh? Cum for daddy."

Your orgasm overtakes your body, thighs trembling uncontrollably as your pussy flutters; muffled cries around his cock as he takes control, bucking into your mouth. "So close, Heather. Shit." Your body relaxes; eyes, rolling back in your head at the sound of his pleasure.

You lock eyes with Billy as he fights to keep his open; nails running up his legs. You sink them into his thick thighs causing him to suck in a breath. You feel his dick throb on your tongue. Yes. His muscles clench under your grasp; fingers pulling at your strands.

Billy moans your name, lowly; drawing out quickly. You shut your eyes, pressing your breasts together; as ropes of cum hit your tongue and tits.

"Mmm..." You hum; gliding a finger between your breasts, cleaning up some of the mess, taking it between your lips.

"Now you're just showin' off," he huffs; reaching for you hastily, pulling you off the floor and into his strong arms. You tip your forehead against his, scratching your nails into his curls; drawing him to your lips again.

"Billy? You in here?"

Your eyes widen on his. Billy matches your gaze; holding back a laugh, completely unbothered. "Shh..." He cautions you nonetheless. You button your lips shut, silencing yourself with your mouth against his. "Come over tonight," he whispers against your kiss.

"I can't. I have volleyball practice."

"No..." He mumbles; brushing his plump lips against yours. "So, you came here just to talk to me, Holloway?"

You let out a breathy laugh, completely caught in the act. "Pretty full of yourself, Hargrove?"

"Well, did ya?" He smiles; nibbling on your bottom lip.

"Billy!" You hear her call again.

"Be down in a second," he shouts.

"I need to talk to you in my office before you head out for the night. Okay?"

"Yup. Sounds good, Heidi. I'll be up there in a bit."

You grab his cheeks, forcing his attention back on yours as you continue your conversation. "I did. I came here for you."

"Well, shit." A smile pulls on his lips as his eyes fall down your body. "When can I see you next, Holloway?"

"Text me back."

"I will. I will. I promise," he chuckles, softly. "Hey. Wanna go to a party?"

"Duh," you giggle, excitedly. "When?"

"Thursday... You gonna dress up for me?"

"Of course. I'd love to, Bills."

"Mmm... Can't wait."

Romeo's Diner, Hawkins...

Thalia's POV

"Tonight? They're already reopening?" You hear his deep voice from behind the counter.

Eddie Munson...

You peek over at the big clock hanging on the wall. Right on time.

It's Tuesday, which means Eddie just finished his shift at Frank's Auto Shop. He's here for his usual... Coffee; two creams, one sugar, and a slice of pie. Peach is his favorite; apple, a close second, more sentimental than anything else.

Eddie used to come here every Friday with his Uncle. Both of them ordered the same thing. Coffee and pie. Wayne would get the apple and Eddie the peach. They'd sit for hours sometimes; Eddie, always talking dramatically with his hands. Wayne shaking his head in bewilderment at Eddie's wild tales, cherishing every moment.

The Munsons weren't exactly the community's favorite family; but, they didn't care. The two of them were happy. And, that's all that mattered.

Wayne Munson was a kind man. He had a smile that warmed your heart. You knew he didn't have a lot of money; but, he always made sure to tip you a little extra.

Two years ago he got sick. You watched as he slowly deteriorated. Every week, his already slim form began to waste away into an empty shell of a man. The one thing that remained the same was his smile. It never changed; but, Eddie's did.

And then he was gone.

Eddie stopped coming to the diner for a few months after his Uncle's death. Every time the bell would jingle you would check to see if he had finally come back.

Curiosity got the better of you, wanting to know if he was safe; wanting to know if he was okay.

You followed him, steering just close enough that you wouldn't lose him. Eddie drove with his windows down, blasting Johnny Cash. Wayne's favorite. He rode all the way to Lover's Lake, parking in a shitty little parking lot; overgrown with weeds.

Eddie walked out to the boat launch, stepping onto the rickety dock; wandering to the end before taking a seat. He stayed there for hours, just sitting in silence.

I could see he was okay... But, I knew he wasn't alright.

When Eddie returned to the diner, he plopped down in their normal booth and ordered his usual. His visits became more routine. Still, every Friday; but, also in between his shifts or simply on the days he was missing Wayne a little more.

You didn't mind. Seeing Eddie was something you always looked forward to. Hoping it might be the day when he would see you as more than just a waitress at the dingy local dive.

You watch as he tilts back against the bright red booth, spreading his legs widely. His familiar leather jacket lies in the spot next to him. He runs a dirty hand over his face, an audible groan escaping his plush lips as he presses the phone to his ear.

"I just think it's a little insensitive, given everything that just happened." His usual warm tone is ridden with frustration. Something's wrong. "Sure..." He grumbles as he runs his hands over his tired eyes. "I need the money, Heidi. I'll be there." Eddie ends the call swiftly, tossing the phone on the table.

You reach behind your back, tugging the strings of your checkered apron a little tighter, smoothing out the wrinkles in the front before heading his way with a fresh pot of coffee.

"Eddie, hey!" You greet him with a warm smile.

His biceps flex against the fabric of his gray mechanic's shirt; Munson embroidered in cursive on the front pocket. A white tank top covered in grease fits firmly against his torso. Eddie's hair is drawn back in a low messy bun; his big brown eyes incapable of cloaking any emotion.

"Thalia," he greets you simply; forcing a small smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"Umm... I have your coffee. Freshly made," you chirp.

"Thank you, darlin'." He avoids your gaze as he looks down at his greased-covered hands. You notice his fingers tapping rapidly; his rings, clicking against the hard tabletop.

"Eddie..." You ask, softly; pouring his cup of coffee, watching as the steam rises into the air. "Are you okay?"

Eddie finally meets your gape, doing his best to hold back tears. His eyes are red; dark bags painted underneath. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. After everything that happened with Chrissy, I'm sure he didn't.

"Not really."

You take a seat across from him, reaching for the center caddy; plucking out two plastic cream cups, and a packet of white sugar, dumping the contents inside. "I'm sorry," you whisper; sliding the mug a little closer to him.

"Thank you... How did you know I take my coffee this way?" He asks, curiously; his hardened exterior softening slightly.

"Been workin' here since I was fourteen," you smile. "You're a creature of habit, Eddie Munson."

"That I am," he mumbles; swirling the metal spoon in his cup, before taking it to his lips.

Eddie sips slowly, shutting his eyes. You rise to your feet, bellying up to the bar; grabbing the pie off Romeo's hands before he can even ding the bell, resting it in front of Eddie. His eyes open, looking at the dessert before he looks at you. This simple act of kindness making his sleepy eyes glass with tears.

"What's goin' on, Eddie?"

He draws a deep laborious breath, pressing it out slowly.

"Well," he mutters, "Jones is openin' up tonight... Again... Already," he pushes the word out before taking another sip. "It's all about money. Fuckin' greed. I thought that Heidi was above that; but, she's just as bad as the rest of 'em. This town is fuckin' disgusting."

"I'm sorry about Chrissy."

His Adam's apple bobs; eyes fluttering at the sound of her name. Eddie's nostrils flare as his tears threaten to break free. "Chrissy Cunningham was a good person. She was a friend of mine... Chriss meant somethin' to me. I heard her, Thalia... I called her right before she died. I heard her final words. She was so fuckin' scared," he rattles. Eddie lifts the collar of his shirt, quickly brushing the tears away.

"That's awful, Eds. Chrissy was always so sweet. I only had a few classes with her, and we never talked; but, I saw the way she treated others."

"You went to Hawkins High School, Thalia?" He asks as he sinks his fork into his pie.

"Yeah," you answer, cheeks reddening with embarrassment. There was a part of you always hoping that he saw you in some way or another; this clearly was not the case. "I was homeschooled until freshman year."

"Did we have classes together-"

"Mhmm..." You buzz; taking a cup for coffee as well. "Mrs. O'Donnell's class."

"Oh, shit," he sneers. "Yeah, I blocked that shit outta my memory... I can't believe I never noticed you."

You bite your lips, trying to think of what to say next.

"I'm sorry, Thalia," he respires. "I'm crazy to have missed you."

You draw your lips to the side, holding back a nervous smile. "I wasn't exactly the Queen of Hawkins High or popular in the slightest."

"Neither was I," he snorts; swirling a sugared peach in his melted cream, before taking it between his lips.

The little bell tinkles overhead. You glance over your shoulder, watching as Nancy and Jonathan walk in; creatures of habit themselves. It's Monday... Which means they'll sit in the diner for hours, draining coffee while they work on stuff for the news station.

You turn your attention back to Eddie. "Well, sorry to take up so much of your time, Eddie. I know you usually like to unwind when you come in here."

"Don't apologize, Thalia. It was nice getting to know you." Your stomach floods with butterflies as you take in his words; Eddie, using a deep tone he's never used before. There's a slight sparkle behind his pensive eyes that wasn't there before too.

"You as well. Talk to you soon?" You ask, hopefully.

"Yeah... Um... Here." Eddie reaches for a little napkin scratching down a note, passing it your way. "Umm... Text me? Maybe we can get together. I could take you out if you'd like?"

You bite your lip, screaming internally as you stuff it into your pocket. "I'd like that a lot," you manage; keeping your elation at the proper level. "I'll text you later." You turn around quickly, beaming from ear to ear as you walk over to Nancy and Jonathan.

Her eyes flash up, catching Eddie across the way. She whispers to Jonathan who turns around as well.

"Hey, you two. What can I get you?"

"Coffee," she answers, hastily; before moving closer. "Did you get to talk to Eddie about Chrissy at all?"

You look back at Eddie, finishing the last bits of his pie; a slightly different man than when he walked in. He looks happier. I'm not gonna let Nancy ruin that. She takes out a pen and paper, looking at you hopefully as she waits for a response.

"Leave Eddie alone." The words leave your lips quietly; enough venom laced in your tone to make even Nancy Wheeler shift in her seat.

"Oh... Okay." She fumbles over her words, slipping her notebook and pen away.

You hear the clinking of Eddie's chains as he walks toward the door. He looks at you, giving you a smile.

Heidi's POV:

You stand at the window, staring out onto the field at the barn in the distance; watching as the sun sinks behind it. Reds and oranges wash the sky, night closing in around you.

There's a steady flow of cars spilling into the parking lot again, business as usual. As Hopper promised, a heavy police presence is here as well; red and blue lights flickering in the distance.

A few guests walk past the office, smiling and laughing. Guilt creeps in almost immediately... I'm not totally heartless... I haven't forgotten what I saw. I can't imagine what the families think of me; opening the doors so soon after.

Greedy. Money hungry. Heartless.

And, those aren't the only terrible things I am.

I hate myself for going in there after him... I tried my best to let it go; but, when she didn't come out of that barn I knew exactly what they were doing.

I could hear their little whispers. Heather's breathy giggle made me physically ill. It's absolutely classless for him to do that here. This is his fucking job... He's on the clock.

That's not why I was upset.

Every fiber of my being wished that it was me.

"Knock. Knock," he rasps; you hear his fist rap against the door, making your heart race. Stop, Heidi... I talk to him every morning, every afternoon; late at night when he's shuffling out to his Camaro after a long day. He was probably doing this all along... with her. They're most likely together.

I've never had to see it before though. Ignorance is bliss.

"Heidi? You in there?" Billy tries again.

"Yeah. Umm, yeah. Come in."

"So, we openin' or what?" He meets your watch, smiling at you happily. You purse your lips; masking your feelings as you try your best to match his.

"Y-Yeah," you force the word past your lips.

He narrows his gaze on yours. "Everything okay, Mrs. Jones?"

Mrs. Jones?

You cover your face slightly; turning away from him as you walk toward your desk. Billy lowers himself in a chair; you, taking the one across from him. A silent conversation shared between the two of you.

He knows.

Chapter IV - The Rendezous

Heidi's POV:

Hawkins Pool, Summer 2002...

Flashback...

"Cassie," Billy chuckles, lightly.

"Mhmm," she peeps; continuing her little dance on the pool's edge, as focused as a five-year-old could be after an hour-long lesson; listening to her favorite song blare over the speakers.

"If you don't focus. I'm gonna have to turn down the music. Alright?" He smiles; tousling her brunette mop of curls.

"I think we're done, Coach Billy."

"You're not havin' fun?" He pouts; looking down at her sadly.

"Ew. You're bad at that," she giggles. "Gotta go like this." She shows him her best pouty face as well.

"I'll remember that for next time. One more, Cass. Then we're done," he assures. "Mom said, 'If you listen really well she'll take you to Scoops'.

"Did I?" You ask; lowering your sunglasses on your nose.

"Mhmm... And I think I'll join ya. 'Cause it's hot as shi-" He stops himself, his beautiful blue eyes broadening as he catches himself.

"Were you gonna swear, Coach Billy?"

"Me?" He scoffs; looking down in her direction with his hands on his hips. "Never. Now stop stallin'."

"Fine." She mimics his stance, poking her tongue out at him; making him gasp.

"Alright. Alright. Acceleration Drill. You remember?"

"'Course," she huffs; starting her little dance again as a new tune starts.

"Cass..."

"Ugh. Sorry, Coach," she soughs.

"Alright. Eleven position." She lifts her tiny arms high, mimicking Billy; her little tummy rounded in her yellow swimsuit. "Good work. Now, this is how we start. What do we do next?"

"Push."

"You got it," he beams. "Then?"

"Two dolphins."

"Yup. Two dolphin kicks. On the third, bend your elbows and throw the water to your-"

"Piggies."

"Bingo... Throw the water to your toes and sneak back to eleven. Great job, Cass. So, I'm gonna go first, then you. Alright?" She nods merrily in response, taking a seat on the fringe of the pool as Billy dives in. He breaks the surface, paddling toward her with a smile. "Count me down?"

"Three, two, one; go!" She squeals in delight. Billy presses off the wall effortlessly, moving through the water while Cassie counts aloud.

He makes his way back to her, keeping pace; focusing more on showing off his form than beating his last lap. He pops his head out of the water, chuckling as he brushes the water from his face. "It's not a race, Cass. Not yet at least. Okay?"

Cassie jumps high, tucking her legs into a cannonball; hitting the water, making barely a splash. "Stinker," Billy teases; wiping the pool water from his eyes. "Alright. You ready, Jones?"

"Mhmm."

"Three, two, one; go!"

Cassie pushes off the wall, kicking as hard as her little body can; moving at a snail's pace compared to Billy. He cheers her on all the same, watching her carefully; coaching her along the way. She catches the other side, quickly returning where she started.

"Nice work, Cass!" He praises; reaching out for a high five. She smiles proudly, looking back at you. "You see that, mommy?"

"Of course. You're doin' amazing, baby."

The two of them bob to the ladder; Billy waiting behind, letting Cassie crawl out first.

"Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!" She cheers, instantly; skipping toward the rack of towels.

Your focus shifts, knowing what will come next; eyes set on the edge as Billy grabs the rungs of the ladder. His muscles flex as he pulls himself from the pool.

He shakes out his blonde hair; eyes shut gently. You watch as the water falls down his body, the little trails flowing like rivers through the divets of his abs. His red swim trunks cling to his burly thighs, gripping them tightly; leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Nothing.

He smiles, coyly; making you blush. You look away, fast turning your attention to Cassie as she paws the water from her hair.

You can hear his steps nearing you; his presence this close, making your heart race a little faster.

"We still on for ice cream, Mrs. Jones?" He asks; eyes, setting on yours.

"Call me, Heidi, Billy. Please. You're making me feel old."

"Alright," he chuckles. "Heidi." Billy tries on your name. His low, dark voice sends a warmth across your body. "Are we still on for ice cream?"

"Uhh... Mint Flare, Chocolate Pudding, and Oreo Dream," Cassie orders; nose pressed against the glass.

"And, I'll have U.S.S. Butterscotch. Billy, what do you want?" You smile; glancing back at him. He rumples his brows, shaking his head 'no'.

"That's not how this is working, Mrs. Jones." You widen your eyes playfully. "Heidi..." He corrects himself. "I can't let you buy my ice cream; but, thank you."

"A true gentleman," the worker gripes, completely unenthused that you're taking up her extra time with your little exchange.

"Billy, just tell Erica what you'd like," you sharpen your tone, playfully; handing her your credit card.

"Umm... Chocolate Pudding. Thanks." He stuffs his hands in his back pockets, digging his heel into the checkered floor. "Thanks, Heidi."

"Of course."

"Avery!" Cassie squeals; yanking you out of your daze. She runs over to their table, hugging her friend.

The two of you step to the side, waiting for your ice cream. You can feel his stare out of the corner of your eyes, sending tingles through your body; feelings that you haven't felt in years, bubbling to the surface.

He steps a little closer, moving aside for another family; brushing against you slightly; fingers grazing over the top of yours.

You look over your shoulder, watching as he notices the same thing; eyes working back up to yours. He's closer than expected; the smell of his rich cologne blurring your senses. You focus on the sound of his breathing, soft and slow as his fingers toy with yours ever so slightly.

"Here you are."

You're startled yet again, flinching as you're flung back into reality.

"Uh... Umm. Cass." You lift the cone, motioning for her to retrieve it.

"Can I sit with Avery? Please," she gives you a sweet smile.

"Y-Yeah, baby. We only have about fifteen minutes. Alright?" She nabs the ice cream, quickly turning on her heels; leaving the two of you alone.

"Wanna sit?"

"Yeah... Sorry about Cass," you sigh.

"We got ditched by a five-year-old," he shrugs and laughs.

"Mhmm... That we did, Coach Billy."

"Coach Billy?" He lifts a dark eyebrow. "We're gettin' fancy now. I'm gonna have to start callin' you Mrs. Jones again."

"Not necessary." You roll your eyes and smile.

Billy follows your lead as you walk past a row of tables to a booth. You glance to your side, watching as a smirk sets on Billy's lips.

He knows the two of you could have sat in any one of those; you, settling on a more private option, dismissing your rational mind. You slide in, moving to the middle; looking out for Cass. She grins back at you, Mint Flare a mess on her chubby cheeks.

"This was a great idea, Heidi," Billy teases; sinking into the booth. He moves a little closer, not too close; not where I want him to be.

"Mhmm," you give him an airy laugh.

He relaxes into the seat slightly; thighs widening. There it is. You feel the warmth on his skin against your bare leg; his knee resting lightly against yours. Contact. You don't draw away, making a smile stretches across his rosy lips.

Your untouched ice cream rolls over your fingers landing in a little puddle on the table. You draw the sugar cone to your lips, gliding your tongue across the melted butterscotch.

"Good?" He rasps.

"Delicious," you smile before taking another lick.

"Looks like it." He smirks; his hooded stare lost on your mouth, waiting for you to do it again.

"So, Billy... Are you excited to get back to California?"

"I'm not," he winces; looking at you shamefully.

"You're not what?"

"Goin'." The word barely clears is lips.

"Why?"

"Um..." He shifts nervously in his seat, pulling farther away. No.

"If you're not comfortable telling me, Billy, you don't have to-"

"I had the scores and grades to get there; but, when I got there, I just fell apart," he blurts; cutting you off.

"I'm sorry..."

"It's alright. My childhood was tough. I didn't have anyone who cared about me like you care about Cass and Trent. Not even close. Nobody reading with me; makin' sure I wasn't cheating. And, I know I'm making excuses for myself; but, I tried. No matter how many tutoring sessions I went to or office hours I attended it just wasn't enough..."

"Billy... Truly, I'm so sorry."

"Turns out you need to be more than a good baseball player to go to college... News to me."

"Are you gonna go back? No judgment. Just curious."

"I don't really know," he sighs; sadness driven in his tone. Billy gives you a soft smile. "Thanks for hearin' my sob story, Heidi."

"Thanks for telling me."

"You're easy to talk to. You know that?  You're the only person who knows. So, keep my secret for me?"

"I will. I promise... Well, Coach Billy. If you ever want a job on a farm, just let me know," you smile.

"Can't really imagine myself doin' that," he scoffs; running his fingers through his freshly dried curls.

"You might like it." You draw the ice cream to your lips again. "Farm work would look good on you, Billy." He smiles brightly, taking in your compliment.

"So, Officer Jonsie's not a farm work kinda guy?" He asks passively; watching intently as you clean the sweet cream off your bottom lip.

"No... I mean it was his family's. When his dad passed she handed it down to Alex. Alex didn't want to leave the force. He wanted nothing to do with it. He just wanted to sell the land for some fast cash. I didn't... It means too much to me. That was my first job-"

"Were you a monster?" He bullies.

"No," you chuckle. "I just sold concessions. That's actually where I met Alex; "Officer Jonsie"."

"Shit... So you run that whole thing by yourself?"

"I do pretty much everything by myself," you answer simply. He cocks his head to the side, putting the pieces together.

"That sounds like a lotta work, Heidi."

"It is... But, I have great kids. And, my mom moved in with us when my dad died so I have the extra help."

"Do you ever relax?"

"I don't think I've relaxed in years, Billy," you sigh.

"Well, gotta get you in the water too then. You'd love it; very relaxing.

You drop your head, shaking it as you dismiss the thought. "I could never get in a pool with you, Billy," you snort through a laugh.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" His mouth falls open in faux disgust as he throws his arm on the back of the booth.

"I haven't put on a swimsuit in five years. And, I'm definitely not going to put on a swimsuit in front of someone who has washboard frickin' abs. No thanks."

The tip of his rough finger brushes lightly against your shoulder, making goosebumps run down your arms; the added connection lighting you on fire.

"Why?" He asks. You can tell from his stare what he'll say next if you push this conversation any further...

Fuck... I wanna hear it.

"Nobody wants to see that," you groan, laughing lightly.

He looks at you in bewilderment; his strong hand squeezing your shoulder. "You're joking?"

You bite your cheek, holding back your smile as you relish the first morsel of praise you've had in years.

His hand skims along your arm as he returns it to his side. "I'd personally kill to see you in a swimsuit, Heidi."

Oh...

Shit.

Alright... Wait. You feel the loss of contact between the two of you, craving more.

"Stop," you flirt; slapping his thigh, keeping it in place. His eyes lower to your hand on his body. His cheeks are sunkissed from the pool deck; a light wash of freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose, even still you can see him blush. He bites his bottom lip as the wheels turn in his mind.

"You know, Heidi. If you ever wanted to relax; I could give you some private lessons if you'd like?" He softens his gaze. "You could put on your swimsuit again... Make my fuckin' day. That's for sure," he mumbles.

Make his day.

He wants to meet privately?

He's probably just being nice... Trying to make me feel better about myself; but, what if he isn't?

Your heart starts to thump at the thought of it; mind wandering in an instant. "Umm... I-" You stammer.

"Come to think of it, Heidi," he starts again, drawing you in deeper. "There's a good pool out at Motel 6 on Cornwallis."

Fuck.

You take a little breath, looking out at Cassie as a flood of questions pour in.

Is he bullshitting me?

How could he want me?

He's almost half my age.  I'm a mom... I'm married.  Why am I considering this?

You sit there silently, feeling the ice cream roll down your fingers again; landing on your thigh, as your mind spins slowly.

Billy grabs a napkin off the table, cleaning you up. His lust replaced with genuine concern as he searches for your eyes. "Heidi? I'm sorry if I made this weird. I love coachin' Cass. I hope I didn't fuck that up. I'm sorry if I misread-"

"You didn't," you cut him off breathlessly. "You didn't, Billy," you repeat yourself with a little more conviction as you meet his gaze.

"I didn't?" He asks, gently.

You shake your head no, watching as an unholy grin spreads on his face. Billy wraps his arm around the back of the booth again, leaning in a little closer. "Alright... Well, what do you say, Heidi? Eight o'clock?"

Later that night...

You cut off the engine, looking to your left as you feel yourself at the crux between shame and desire. Billy's Camaro is parked at a distance, the sight of it making it all that more real. You glance down at your body; breasts pressed into lingerie you haven't worn in ages, a black satin dress hugging your curves.

Why did I wear this? Who am I kidding? What am I doing?

Heat rises behind your eyes, tears pricking at the corners. You snag a Kleenex from the center council, blotting your eyes.

The car clock switches to eight. Without thinking you thrust your hand into the passenger's seat, grabbing your overnight bag; jarring the door open before you can talk yourself out of it.

Your heels snap along the asphalt; eyes lowered as you stride through the building, heading hastily toward the elevator. "Good evening!" The receptionist sings as you blow past her; jamming your finger on the up button. You feel your stomach sink, blood draining from your face as you step into the lift.

I haven't thought this through... This hotel is so close to home. So many eyes on us. What if they recognize me? What if they know Alex?

You bury your head in your hands, feeling yourself in the throws of a panic attack.

DING.

The door floats open. All the noises roaring in your head falling to a hush. The door starts to close again. You reach out, batting at it; making it stop in a beat.

Alex doesn't want to be with me... He said it himself, more times than I can count. Remember? He was cheating on you, and he still is; even when he swore he wouldn't. 205... 207... You count the numbers as they rise. Even when he swore he would be a better father; a better husband, he couldn't. That's probably where he is right now, with her. Karen Wheeler... That cunt. Her with her white picket fence; mother of the year bullshit. It's all a sham. She was a bitch in high school and she's a bitch now. 215... 217...

220... You stand outside the door, staring at the number etched into the cheap plastic sign as you strain to slow your breathing.

I deserve to be happy; to feel wanted.

Closing your eyes you draw a deep breath; knuckles rapping against the wood. You can hear Billy's heavy feet on the other side.

The door fans open.

Before he can say an utterance you throw yourself into his arms; fingers raking through his hair, kissing him deeply. The air flees your lungs as he lifts you effortlessly, pushing you up against the wall.

"Fuck, Heidi," he mumbles. "You came. You look... Mmm... Fuck. You look so damn good," he pants between kisses as you pull at the buttons of his blood-red button-down. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, as his broad body presses flush against yours; hips grinding with yours making you moan into your kiss. He's assertive; animalistic; hungry for your lips.

Billy draws away slightly, leaving you reaching for a breath; searching for him. He rests his forehead against yours staring deeply into your eyes. You can feel him trembling with excitement, that same adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Fuck me," you whisper. "I-Is that okay? Do - Shit. Do you want that? Is that why you asked me here?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Flashback ended...

"Is this about Heather?" He mumbles; crossing his arms across his strong chest.

You bite your cheek, feeling your emotion welling in your eyes. "You can't... Y-You," you stammer. "You can't just do that at work, Billy."

"Do what, Heidi?" He grunts. "Huh? I have an hour-long break... I only took twenty minutes and I went back to work. You gonna scold me for that?"

"No. Fuck, Billy! You know what I mean."

"I don't."

You grit your teeth, feeling a tear roll down your cheek. Billy's demeanor changes as he catches sight of it, softening his tone.

"I don't know what you mean, Heidi," he whispers; averting his gaze.

"Don't lie to me, Billy. I know what I heard..."

He nods slowly, taking in your words. "What do you want from me, Heidi?" He asks, defeatedly. "You can't expect me not to do anything with anyone else. You didn't want to be with me."

"That's not true, Billy... You know that's not true," you whimper.

"Then why aren't you?" He sharpens his tone, narrowing his piercing blue eyes on yours.

"Have you two been together for a while?"

"We hook up, Heidi. We have for years. And, that stopped the night that you showed up to the motel. You were the one that broke it off with me. And, you avoided the question, Heidi. Why aren't you with me? If you wanna be with me, why are you still in your pathetic fuckin' marriage? Huh?" He spits.

"Because, Billy..." You growl in frustration; banging your hands against the desk. "None of this shit is in my name... This farm is my life. It's how I make my money. Once Alex and I are done, everything I've worked for the last ten years is gone. How am I gonna support Cass and Trent? This is the Jones Family farms. Jones... Not to mention if he even got a sense that you and I were together, Billy. You'd be gone too. And, that's the last thing I want. So pardon me, if I need a few months to figure my shit out."

"You could have at least told me... He doesn't need to know, Heidi," he shouts; face reddening with irritation; fists clenched tightly.

"We were getting too sloppy, Billy. You know that... It's too much of a risk."

"You didn't even give me a chance to try, Heidi. You just iced me out." You see his eyes haze with tears, his jaw tightens; pushing those feelings down deep.

He's right... I'm just another person that let him down. But, I knew he could talk me out of anything...  I thought it was my only option at the time.

"Heidi... I appreciate this job more than I can say. After everything that happened with school, this is exactly what I needed. But, what I wanted was to be closer to you."

"Me too."

"It's been hard... Watchin' you walk around like what we had was nothing; seeing you with Alex-"

"I'm just playin' nice, Billy... Nothing more," you interject. "I either need to get him to sign this place over to me. Or, buy it outright from his mom. I really needed this season to go well, Billy and after everything that happened this past weekend, I've already lost so much."

"Well, Heidi, It doesn't make it any easier for me."

"I know... Billy, I'm sorry."

He nods slowly; his reflective eyes lost in thought.

"Billy, I don't expect your life to stop; but, just don't do it in front of me. Okay?" Your voice is barely audible; ridden with sadness.

"Well, if you would have just told me what was goin' on -"

"I know... I messed up, Billy."

"I'm sorry you heard that, Heidi," he rasps.

"You said 'you two have been hooking up for years'... Do you like her?" You ask, timidly.

"'Course I do, Heidi. Heather means a lot to me." His words hit you like a shot to the heart. "It's casual. Just sex."

"Anybody else?"

"Heidi..." Billy cautions.

"Billy..."

"Yeah." He throws his gaze away. As much as it hurts to hear... He's being honest with me now. What we had was something. It was everything; far beyond sex.

I'm jealous...

Billy should be mine. I want to be his. I want to know that he missed me; if what we had was as good as I thought it was, if I was better.

I need to know.

Grabbing the collar of your blazer you pull it off your shoulders, exposing your satin top; red lace peeking out. His favorite.

Billy furrows his brows in confusion; his perplexed-state quickly fading as he sees the look in your stare.

"Thought we were gettin' too messy, Heidi?" He groans; sinking in his seat slightly, making himself a little more comfortable.

"Were they as good as me, Billy?" You purr as you lean in closer. He lets out a sinful laugh; snatching a dart from behind his ear.

"What do you think?" Billy mumbles as he blazes his cigarette, pulling a deep inhale. Smoke pours from his mouth as he runs his tongue along his pouty bottom lip. "I've never had anyone as good as you, baby. Never."

Baby... You close your eyes, drinking in his words as memories come pouring in.

"What about you, Heidi? Have you been with anyone but me?"

"No," you respire; eyes drifting open.

"You think about it?" He smirks; pinching his blue jeans, adjusting slightly.

You bite your lip and smile. "Every night."

"Every night?"

"Mhmm..."

"No one's been takin' care of you?" He asks, darkly as he pushes himself out of his chair.

"Just me." Your eyes follow him as he walks around the desk; boots shuffling along the floor.

"Just me. Huh?" He echoes.

You nod as he grips the armrests of your swivel chair, jarring you closer. You can see the print of Billy's long, thick cock; pressing against his jeans.

"I'm gonna take care of you, Heidi. And, you're gonna let me." He takes hold of your chin with a heavy hand.

"We gotta be careful, Billy. I can't-"

"I'm gonna take care of you," he cuts; using his grasp to lift you out of your seat and into his arms. "When I say I'm gonna take care of you, Heidi, I mean it. I'm gonna be careful. You don't need to worry about me. I got you. Alright?"

"Okay, Bi-" He steals your words, claiming your lips with his. Billy catches your moan in his mouth, answering with his own.

You let out a little gasp as he lifts you, bringing you closer. "I missed you... Fuck, Heidi," he mutters.

"I missed you too, Billy." You hold on tight as Billy swipes his palm across the desk; making the items tumble to the floor. He lays you on top; lips, barely losing contact, kissing you roughly.

Your hands drift down his chest, slipping under the hem of his shirt; meeting his warm tight skin just above his belt buckle. You rake your hands back up, feeling his muscles; even more pronounced than before; resting on his chest feeling his heart pound underneath. You dig your nails into his skin making him hiss out a breath.

Billy reaches for the bottom of your silk top, lifting it up; flipping back the cups of your bra. He squeezes your tits, shoving them together. "Jesus fuck, Heidi," he mutters; locking down on your nipple, swirling and flicking, leaving you a whimpering mess below him.

"You look good... So fuckin' good," he babbles; running two thick fingers between your thighs, shifting under your skirt; grazing over your panties. "How are you so wet?" He growls.

"Please," you whimper, desperate for more.

"Want me to eat your pussy, baby? Hmm? Bend you over this desk?"

"Yes, Billy. Fuck," you sob.

He lowers himself between your legs, looping his arms under your thighs; pulling you toward his face. You slink your hands down your body, pinching your skirt; pulling it around your hips as Billy tugs your panties over your curves; falling to the floor.

He spreads your legs, kissing you deeply; marking you in a way that'll surely leave a bruise, teasing you as his digits slip closer.

You take a grip on his sandy-blonde mullet, pulling him nearer as you buck your hips, craving more friction between the two of you. Billy breathes warmly against your clit making you melt into the table.

"Billy-" You beg, your words turning into a cry as he plunges his tongue deeply; drawing out slow, licking a line to your clit that has your body reeling.

He sucks your bud, releasing you with a pop. Doing it again and again, leaving your thighs quaking uncontrollably. He brushes his tongue side to side on your clit, making you see stars.

Billy slings your legs over his broad shoulders, working deeper than before. You grip the edge of the desk, teeth clenched; muscles firing hot as you hold back your cries of pleasure. "Cum for me..." He grunts; driving his fingers into you as you nod rapidly. "Can ya?"

"Y-Yeah," you shudder; chasing your climax as he pounds into your dripping cunt.

"Do it." Billy curls his fingers inside of you; tension, snapping as you cry out his name. "Fuck... Say it again. Say my name again," he moans; looking down at you in a drunken haze as he works you through your orgasm.

"Billy," you breathe as he slips between your legs, cleaning the mess he made.

"Tastes so fuckin' good," he mumbles. Before you can even think straight you hear the clinking of his belt and the splaying of a zipper. "Need to be inside you," he mutters.

You let out a gasp as he stuffs his cock in your pussy; hips flush with your ass, balls deep; pushing even further. "B-Billy..." You whimper; tears running down your cheeks as you feel the pressure you've been missing.

"Tell me what you we're thinkin' about last night, Heidi. Gonna fuck you just like that." He brushes your tears away with his thumbs as he kisses your lips; dick buried deep. "Mmm... Heidi, this pussy was made for me."

BANG. BANG. "Hey, Heidi. You in there?" Alex booms behind the door causing the two of you to freeze. Billy snares your hips, holding you in place.

"Can you go out the window?" You whisper.

"Of course." He rolls his hips slowly, not wanting to stop. "Meet me tonight..."

"I c-can't. My mom is out of town until Thursday-" You whisper, biting back a moan.

"Thursday it is," he sighs; cupping your breast in his hand. He leans down, giving you a soft bite; eyes focused on yours. You watch as the shadow shifts underneath the door; Alex, walking away. Billy notices his leaving as well, starting right where he left off.

"Billy, you said you were gonna take-"

"Care of you," he finishes your statement. "Aren't I?"

"Billy..."

"I promise; but, can you blame me?" He groans; pulling out reluctantly; eyes, rolling back at the feeling. "Thursday..."

"I promise."

"I knocked. You said 'she was in there'?" Alex darkens the door again, talking to someone.

Billy plucks your panties off the floor, stuffing them into his back pocket; giving you a wink. He slips out the window as you turn on your heels, grabbing the phone in an attempt to look busy.

Alex meets your eyes, ending a call of his own. You gesture toward yours, giving him a silent apology.

"It's okay. Just wanted to let you know we have a few squad cars out front," he whispers.

You give him a warm smile and a nod. Alex strides out the door, into the dark hallway; leaving you alone again.

BUZZ.

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