#jim hopper imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eupheme · 2 years

Text

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.

#please mind the tags!#been working on this for a bit - hope you like it! 💕#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #jim hopper imagine #hopper x reader #hopper x you #jim hopper smut #jim hopper

3K notes · View notes

starcourtsteves · 2 years

Text

18+, nsfw, mdni

i just think it’d be cute if you were the new secretary, a pretty young thing says flo, in the hawkins’ police station and jim takes a shine to you right away, calling you ma’am and blushing a bit and liking the way you squirm when he tips his hat to you first thing in the morning and last thing in the evening

you don’t show too much skin at work but god the way your shirt pulls up when you reach for something or the way your skirt is a bit tight some days has jim wanting to smack himself for lusting after such a sweet thing like you

you don’t mind it, this big bear of a man (who grins stupidly when you call him chief) always saying please and thanks when asking for copies and offering to walk you to your car or carry in the groceries you buy as snacks for the station

(and the way he looms over your desk has you crossing your legs tighter. you shouldn’t have heat spreading across your chest and down toward your thighs because of your superior, the police chief, but his broad frame and gruff voice do something salacious to your mind)

it’d be even cuter if you both end up working late one evening and you poke your head into jim’s office to check on him, startling him and making him curse. he immediately backpedals with a “sorry, sweetheart” in that soft voice he only ever uses with you

you playfully chastise him (“I don’t tolerate any sharp words toward me, chief, even in a police station”) and innocently bend to pick up discarded trash, making him audibly groan with the thought of having you bent over his desk

to cover, he finally plucks up the courage to ask you out for dinner, “or at least a coffee in the mornin’ if you’ll let me”. you accept with a grin, perching on the edge of his desk and fiddling with your hands in your lap

“i was wondering if you were gonna steal a kiss one of these days,” you venture. jim wouldn’t do something so brash, both of you know it, but you also know that your innocent little comment will open the floodgates.

you can’t be that close to him, radiating all the sweetness he thought he never deserved again — and offering a kiss while you’re at it — and not have him take action

“god, honey,” he chuckles, slowly standing and crowding into your space, grazing a thumb along your cheek, “yeah, anything you want.” with his index finger he tips your chin up into his waiting mouth

his lips are warm and you grin into the bristles of his mustache and beard, kissing back fervently and slowly spreading your legs wider to accommodate jim standing between them

he pulls back to murmur how beautiful you are but you slide your hands up his shoulders and pull him in again, already drunk on the sensation of having him pressed against you. his hands fall heavy onto your thighs, softly kneading and bringing a gasp to your lips

a laugh rumbles from you both — the giddy disbelief that all the stolen glances and passing touches have finally led to this. “you gonna let me?” jim prompts, sliding his hands slightly higher up your thighs, bunching up your skirt

you nod eagerly, whispering yes please as you wriggle the skirt up the rest of the way. he’s mouthing at your neck and chest and all you can do is whimper when he finally drags a knuckle over your panties, down and up and finding right where it makes your noises extra high-pitched

it’s all a bit feverish after that, you’re fiddling your shirt buttons open and nipping at his neck and he scoots you back further on the desk with a gruff “attagirl” when you get settled, finally slipping his fingers underneath your panties into the wet heat that’s been waiting just for him. in and out of you in a shallow fashion and up to the bundle of nerves, sending shocks of heat down your legs

“still good?” he mutters into your neck as your head has tipped back in pleasure. but it’s your answer that almost knocks him off his feet. “so good, chief, it feels so good” in the most angelic voice he’s ever heard

it ignites something in him and his slack-jawed mouth scrapes teeth along your neck while he fumbles to get his pants down. soon your panties are yanked fully out of the way and you cling to his shoulders while he shuffled to readjust and align himself

thank god it’s late, thank god the station is empty, and thank god for jim’s steady hands holding your hips, because the sensation of him filling you rips a choked whine from your throat that echoes down the hallway. the stretch burns just right and jim lets out a string of curses at how good you feel around him — just as good as he’d always dreamt

“stay with me, baby, i got you,” he coos, finding a steady rhythm with his hips and keeping his thumb pressed just right on your clit. it’s already too much and you feel yourself getting embarrassingly close but jim eggs you on, begs you to let go and let him have it

you do, spilling onto him and feeling his hips stutter with release a moment later. you’re messy and disheveled and jim pets your cheek again, grunting out praise. you’d never seen him so boyishly handsome

“so should i pick you up tomorrow?”

“for work or dinner, chief?”

“anything you want”

#jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper imagine #jim hopper smut #stranger things #welcome to my fave fantasy from my secretary days

3K notes · View notes

stranger-nightmare · 2 years

Text

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 | 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐏𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫

requested by @eddiesquinn

A/N: this is kinda filthy I can’t lie lmao I hope you like it! thank you for the request!!

“Tough day at work?” You hum with a smirk as Jim collides his body with yours almost as soon as he’s through the door.

“You have no idea,” he grumbles against your mouth.

His lips are hungry and dominating on top of yours. His hands quickly find their way to your hips, giving them a squeeze and signalling for you to jump. You oblige, jumping up and hooking your legs around his waist. He walks you over to the closest piece of furniture, which just so happened to be small table you guys ate dinner at.

He drops you unceremoniously onto the table top, slotting his hips between your open legs. He grunts as he makes quick work of his belt and fastenings, quickly pulling free his hard cock. He doesn’t even bother with taking your panties off. He simply hikes up your dress, pulls your underwear to the side, before he’s roughly pushing into you. You bite you lip at the slight pain of the stretch. Jim was was clearly in need of fucking out his bad day and you were always more than happy to oblige.

He doesn’t take his time, he goes right to setting a brutal and ruthless pace as he fucks into you. You moan out loudly as he grunts deeply in your ear. You have to put an arm behind you to support yourself as he fucks you with enough force to have the table banging against the wall it was leaning against.

The most sinful of moans escapes your lips when Jim suddenly dips his head down, pulling your panties even more to the side with his fingers, and spits right onto your aching clit. Your head flies back with pleasure as he starts to work his spit over your bundle of nerves, rubbing with his thumb, setting a brutal pace to match that of his cock thrusting inside you.

“You gonna cum for me babygirl?” He asks gruffly, his voice even deeper than usually.

You nod incoherently as you cling onto him frantically, fingers scrambling to find purchase on his broad shoulders.

“Yeah? Cum for me sweetheart, I need to feel it. Need to feel you squeeze me so good,” he grunts as he thrusts into you harshly a few more times.

His words tip you over the edge, your pussy squeezing him tight as your body convulses through your high.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it,” he grinds through gritted teeth as you feel him spill inside you.

He spurts rope after rope of his seed inside you, continuing to fuck you harshly through both your climaxes. He keeps his cock moving inside you until you can start to feel the warm, sticky mess of his cum dribbling down the back of your ass as he essentially fucks his own cum out of you.

Without warning he’s suddenly pulling out of you, his eyes instantly locking on your exposed and ruined pussy. You feel your pussy clench again with a final remnant of pleasure and you can feel even more of his release pool out of you.

“Mmm,” he hums darkly with a smirk, “now that’s a sight to cure any bad day.”

Your face flushes with the heat of embarrassment as you look down to where his gaze lay.

“Oh my god Jim!” You chastise. “It’s on the table, we eat here!” You smack his shoulder lightly.

His smirk only grows, “well I didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago.”

Main Masterlist // Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

#stranger nightmare #kinktober 2022 #jim hopper #jim hopper smut #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #jim hopper imagine #hopper smut #hopper imagine #hopper x reader #hopper x you #stranger things smut

1K notes · View notes

wannabespacesmuggler · 9 months

Text

J.H. | The Duality of Jim Hopper

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

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Reader

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

Word Count: 4.5k

“How are you settling in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s she doing?”

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

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

“Oh. With the Chief?”

Apparently not.

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

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

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

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

You shrug before giving him a verbal answer.

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

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

“Meet you at Benny’s? 7:00 o’clock?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re a lifesaver, Hop.”

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

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

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

“Hopper’s working tonight.”

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

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

“Get off of him!”

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

“This has nothing to do with you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir, you can’t smoke in here!”

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

“Hey, Hop.”

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

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

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

“Hop.”

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

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

“Who did this to you?”

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

“Sweetheart, who hurt you?”

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

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

His brow furrows immediately at your response.

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

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

“He didn’t mean to hurt me.”

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

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

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

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

“You scared the shit out of me!”

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

“Hey, Hop. Wait.”

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

“Please don’t go.”

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

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

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

“I was actually at the library.”

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

“You’re joking.”

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

“You know Marissa?”

Hopper raises a brow at you once more.

“The librarian?”

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

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

“Trust me. I know.”

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

“This explains so much.”

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

“What are you talking about?”

“She asks about you all the time.”

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

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

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

“Why wouldn’t she like you?”

“Because she believes what everyone else does.”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“Did you think about it?”

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

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

“How hard did that kid hit you?”

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

“Jim.”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“I thought about it too, that night.”

Hopper’s head rises and he meets your gaze.

“You know -- you and I.”

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

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

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

“Just kiss me, Jim.”

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

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

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

“Sorry. Got a little carried away.”

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

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

“It’s Joyce isn’t it?”

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

“Joyce.”

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

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

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

“It’s fine, Joyce. How’s Jonathan?”

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

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

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

“Shut up and kiss me, Hopper.”

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

216 notes · View notes

huntingingoodwill · 2 years

Text

noise complaint

masterlist

pairing: hopper x reader

desc: hopper finding you drunk at a party, throwing you over his shoulder, driving you home and helping you sober up by holding your head up and holding the glass to your lips while you drink water and ramble about the ginormous crush you have on him is simply something so special to me

a/n: first hopper fic!! i do hope you enjoy. there’s hints of crybaby reader and an implied age gap. p.s. while searching for a gif for this fic i saw a fic description that had some similar elements to this one. i haven’t read the fic itself but i wanted to just apologise if my fic seems too similar! that was completely not my intention and i hope i don’t come across as offensive as i hadn’t known about the fic before writing this one.

A warm, happy buzz thrummed through your body as you smiled up at the ceiling blissfully. You had been drinking, the edges of the world becoming soft and blurry, a sweet warmth blooming in your chest. The music blaring through the speakers and the chatter of the party around you sent gentle vibrations through the plush couch you were lying on. Your smile grew wider. You felt good.

“Oh, shiiit!” You giggled, watching as a couple of party-goers raced past you, laughing at the way they tripped over themselves as they ran.

“Oh, shit.” Your voice lost all its tipsy amusement, becoming deadly serious as Hopper’s face appeared above yours.

There was no use in running now. He had caught you red-handed, a little drunk and spacing out on the couch at a house party that was probably a little too loud for the host’s neighbours’ liking. Still, you turned over, sliding off the couch in defeat, shielding yourself from his condescending expression. Maybe if you tried, you’d be able to roll under the couch and hide from him forever.

You heard him click his tongue above you in annoyance.

“What’re you doing here, kid?” His gravelly voice held a flat tone, and you could feel his eyes burning into the back of your head.

“I’d ask you the same question, but I assume you aren’t here to party-arty-arty.” You mumbled into the rug.

You rolled over onto your back, now looking up at him. Of all the house parties, in all of Hawkins, in all the world, he had to walk into the one you were at.

It was bad enough that the chief of police caught you less than sober, rolling around on the rug at a house party, but it was even worse that he lived right next door to you. You’d get the mail in shame for the rest of your life.

“I’m not here to party-arty-arty.” He grumbled, words sardonic as he rolled his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile at his distaste for your phrase. “We got a noise complaint.”

“Bummer.” You mumbled. Your hand crept up to his heavy boot, tugging on one of his laces absent-mindedly. He scowled, pulling his foot away. You dissolved into giggles, abruptly stopping as you saw the glare he gave you. “Lighten up, Hop.”

“I’ll lighten up once you get the hell outta here.”

You smiled up at him sheepishly. “I… don’t have a ride home.”

He blinked at you incredulously before letting out a low groan, digging his palms into his tired eyes. “Shit.”

“That’s one for the swear jar!” You sang, holding out your hand as if expecting him to drop a dollar in it. He lightly smacked it away and you pouted defensively. “Government wage that bad, huh?”

He shushed you irritatedly, prompting you to let out another laugh. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if deep in thought.

He couldn’t just leave you there. You were his neighbour’s daughter, for God’s sake.

“You’re cute when you’re thinking.” You whispered.

He opened his eyes, ignoring your comment and the heat creeping up his neck.

He exhaled sharply, crouching down next to you as he slid his jacket off, wrapping it around your waist. Then, in one movement, he hauled you up onto his shoulder.

You exploded with laughter, your dizziness worsening as you hung upside down, thrown over his shoulder.

He paused, taking care to pull his jacket down over your butt as your skirt rode up. He locked his arm around your thighs and made his way out of the house, boots clomping on hardwood and then gravel as he approached his truck.

He took a second to breathe in the night air. His free hand snaked into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it nonchalantly, as if you weren’t slumped over his shoulder, ribcage shaking as you struggled to stifle your laughter.

You raised your arm behind you, toward his face, index and middle finger extended, asking for a drag. He pushed your arm away.

“Nice try.” He scoffed, opening the door and helping you into the passenger seat.

“Worth a shot!” You grinned. He shook his head, letting out a low chuckle.

He leaned over you, pulling your seatbelt over your chest and buckling you in with a satisfying “click”. His eyes flickered to your face as you smiled dreamily up at him.

He felt his lips turn up in response, unable to control himself.

“What’s got you smiling, huh?” He asked, curious.

“You look rather handsome tonight, Chief.” You whispered, your voice lilting, sing-songy in your inebriation. You tugged his hat off his head, twirling it between your fingers.

He looked at you, your shy gaze avoiding his as you clumsily handled his hat.

His heart thumped. He turned away, clearing his throat, trying to mask his flustered expression.

“You look rather drunk.” He replied, giving your reddened cheeks a tap.

He rounded the truck, sliding into the driver’s seat, watching as you kicked your legs up on the dash with a loud thump, placing his hat over your face as you settled into your seat.

His eyes travelled over your leg propped up so close to him, bent upward onto the dash. He grabbed your knee and shoved it back down, and he could tell you were giving him that mischievous smile, even through the hat that obscured it. His lips quirked upward.

As he drove you back to your house, the bump and sway of the truck on the poorly paved roads lulled you to sleep. Slowly, the hat slid off your face as your temple dropped against the window. You held the hat in your arms, keeping it close to your lap as you dozed, the drinks you had earlier sending you to sleep quick enough.

He turned to look at you, taking a drag of his cigarette as the other hand gripped the steering wheel as he navigated the roads. He slowed down, attempting to steer past the potholes so you could sleep in peace. Still, your head would knock against the glass every once in a while, causing you to frown in your sleep. He chuckled, watching your sleepy pout lit up by the streetlights that flashed by overhead. It was cute.

He faltered for a moment, hesitating, before reaching over to hold your shoulders, trying to push you back onto your seat.

Gonna give herself a damn concussion.

Instead, you slumped toward him, your head, heavy with sleep, falling upon his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment, glancing at you. You nuzzled into his side, lips parted gently.

He swallowed thickly, trying to stay as still as possible, awkwardly tapping his fingers against the steering wheel though. Slowly, he relaxed, getting used to the weight of your body pressing into his shoulder.

Eventually, he pulled into his driveway. He hated having to wake you up, pausing to gaze at your peaceful, sleeping face before gently shaking you awake. He held back the urge to smile as you rubbed your bleary eyes, glancing around you as you realised where you were.

“Alright, run on home, now.” He said, nodding toward your door.

Your eyes widened, and you swivelled back toward your seat, yanking down the passenger side mirror.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You mumbled, panic tinging your voice.

You smoothed down your dishevelled hair inelegantly, pressing the backs of your hands to your still inflamed cheeks in a futile attempt to cool them down.

You huffed hopelessly, setting your forehead against the dash, letting out a little whine of despair.

“Okay, cut the dramatics…” His heart softened as you let out another pitiful whine, but he pressed on. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door-”

“Hop, please don’t make me go home yet.” You pleaded with him, holding onto his arm. “I’m still buzzed, my parents are gonna be able to tell-”

He opened his mouth to refuse once more, but began to panic when he spotted the glimmer of tears welling up in your eyes, your lip wobbling.

“Hey, hey, don’t cr-”

You gave one last convincing sniffle.

He sighed, caving in. “Okay, okay-”

You gave him a toothy grin before lunging at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a grateful hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You squealed.

“Alright, alright.” He sighed, patting your back awkwardly, feeling reluctant when it was time to break away from you. “Just until you sober up.”

He opened the door for you, letting you hold onto his shoulder for balance as you hopped down from his truck, making sure you were walking steady as he led you to his porch. You plopped down ungracefully, and he draped his jacket over your shoulders.

The wood of the porch was cold and uneven beneath your thighs as you sat on the ledge, fiddling with Hopper’s hat in your hands. He returned from inside with a glass of water, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he sat down next to you.

You looked at your feet as you sat in silence, the night breeze ghosting your face gently, crickets chirping in the distance. You heard the click of his lighter and turned to watch as Hopper’s face was illuminated by the fire as he lit another cigarette, his features bathed in the golden light.

You put on his hat, adjusting it so you wore it just like he did. He peered over and chuckled, flicking the brim.

“Cute.” He muttered, before clearing his throat and turning away, awkwardly drumming his fingers on his thighs.

“You think I’m cute?” You asked, looking up at him through your wide eyes.

A blush crept up his cheeks.

“Drink.” He said gruffly, holding out the glass to you.

You ignored his gesture. You felt your cheeks warm even further, the effects of the liquid courage you’d had earlier taking hold now, stronger than ever. Your lips became loose, and you could tell you were about to be a little too truthful and that you’d regret all the words that were about to leave your mouth. Still, you spoke.

“Because, I think you're cute.” You blurted out.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before regaining his feigned unfazed expression.

“You’re drunk. Drink.” He spoke.

“Like, really cute.” You swayed toward him. “Like, really, really-”

His hand splayed on the back of your head as he held your head up towards him, holding the glass to your lips, making you pause and take a sip.

“Cute.” You finished.

“I think I like you.” He made you take another drink of the water, the smooth, refreshing liquid sliding down your throat, a little slipping down your chin as he held the glass to your mouth. He used his thumb to wick the droplets away. “Like, really like you.” Another drink. “Whenever I see you-” Another sip. “I get all these butterflies in my stomach and I-” Sip. “Just can’t describe it. Like, I-” Sip. “I think-” Sip. “I think I like everything about you.”

You went on like this for ages, Hopper holding the glass to your lips and interrupting you with sips of the water, as you rambled on and on about the huge crush on him that you’d been nursing for ages now, completely oblivious to the smug smile that was now gracing his face as he held you.

After a good while of pouring your heart out, you seemed to run out of steam, panting a little at the rapid speed you had been talking at.

“Feeling better?” He asked, you nodding in response. You were sobering up, but the burn in your cheeks still hadn’t subsided. You were blushing for an entirely different reason, now.

He nudged the small of your back, urging you to stand up.

“Walk in a straight line.” He called out, prompting you to laugh as you did what you were told.

“You gonna ask me to recite the alphabet backwards now?” You turned to him, smiling cheekily as he approached you.

He hummed, as if in deep contemplation. “I think that won’t be necessary.”

He threw his arm around you as he walked you to your door, pulling his jacket tighter around you.

You stopped in front of the door, taking a deep breath of anticipation as you both stared at it.

“Hop?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll wave at me from your window if I end up getting grounded, right?”

“Of course, kid.”

1K notes · View notes

alloftheimaginesblog · 9 months

Text

just let it go {jim hopper}

plot: jim wants to try something new in the bedroom but you let your insecurities get the better of you.

character: jim hopper x plus size female reader

warnings: mature, sex, insecurities

requested by venusk2000

His hands roamed your body but you couldn't think of anything but negatives about yourself. Jim had asked to do something new in the bedroom, something that you were dreading him asking. He wanted you to ride him.

"I just wanna see you like that, in control and just using me to get as much pleasure as you can handle."

You had agreed because you got caught up in the fantasy but when you thought about it, you realised that he would see you. See all of you. Yeah, he had seen you naked many times before but not like this, not in that position. The thought of it made you swallow hard and made you wince. You knew that Jim loved your body, your curves drove him wild. He loved the soft overhang of your stomach, loved the way your thick thighs wrapped around him and how warm your body always was. He loved every inch of you but he'd be seeing you from a different angle and you were rather nervous about it.

You knew it was silly to be so self-conscious about it, the man had seen every unflattering angle of you and you were just worried about it. You were heavy and you worried that you would end up hurting him or something. You were worried about stupid stuff like how would you sit, how would you move, what if you did it wrong? It was stupid but the thought of it made you spiral.

"Hey," Hopper said, nudging your neck with his nose, "where are you?" Of course he knew that something was off, he knew you were distracted, "Talk to me."

"I-It's silly," you said shaking your head, "keep going."

Jim's lips continued, kissing and sucking on your neck but a few seconds later he stopped and pulled back completely, "Alright," he said, clearing his throat, "talk to me."

So you told him.

"I... I want to please you, I do. I want to try new things with you but I'm a bit... I'm worried that I'll hurt you or be too heavy or you'll see me at an unflattering angle."

Jim wanted to laugh but he knew how serious you were by the way you refused to meet his gaze and the way you fidgeted with your sleeves, "Sweetheart, c'mere," he beckoned you into his warm arms. You moved into his embrace, welcoming the comfort of his arms, "You shouldn't force yourself to do something because I want it especially when it comes to sex. You don't wanna go on top, no big deal, you don't have to. Doesn't matter. I just want you to be comfortable." You sniffed and listened as he continued, "You won't be too heavy, I'm strong and I can handle your weight. Hell, I like feeling all of you on me, it's sexy-"

"It is?!"

"God yes," Hopper groaned, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "you're so damn sexy and I would love to see your body from that angle, I wanna feel the weight of you, I want to see you ride my cock for your pleasure..." You couldn't deny that the most he spoke, the more into it you got, "Sorry, I'm getting myself all hot and bothered again. We don't have to do-"

"I want to," you said quickly, "god, I really want to."

"But what about-"

You cut him off again, "I just might need you to talk me through it?" You suggested, "A lot of praise... A lot of compliments... Just talk me through it."

"Can do, sweetheart," Hopper grinned before kissing you hard. His hands were on your hips and the more he kissed you, the more your worries faded away. Jim loved you. You were hot. You'd barely started kissing and already his cock was rock hard against your thigh as he pulled you to straddle him.

"Off," Hopper murmured against your lips as he pulled at your underwear. You rolled off of him, shimmying out of your underwear as he shoved his trousers and boxers down, letting his hard cock spring out of them. He took your hands as you positioned yourself over him, "You sure?" He asked.

Your worries weren't there anymore and you slid down on his cock, letting it stretch and fill you. Jim gasped, head rolling back as he cursed. You took the opportunity to pull your t-shirt and bra off and when he looked back up at you, he groaned loudly, "Fucking hell," he whispered, "I could cum right here just staring at you."

You smirked as your hips began to rock back and forth. It felt different having sex this way but god, it was good. You loved the way he was watching your body, eyes roaming over your chest to your stomach and back up to your face, "Like what you see?" You asked in a hushed, breathy voice.

Hopper could see your confidence, could feel the way you rocked harder, arching your back to moan, "God, you're so perfect," he moaned out, hands reaching our to palm at your breasts, "so fucking beautiful."

Jim's fingers pinched your nipples, catching you by surprise, causing you to moan loudly, as your hips grinded on his throbbing cock, "You're doing so good," he panted, "feel so fucking good." He grabbed your ass, squeezing the plumpness of it hard, and he began to rock you up and down, helping you by thrusting his own hips upwards. Your moans were louder and louder. He couldn't stop staring at you, seeing you like this, on top and just riding his cock to get the most pleasure you could... fuck, it was hot.

You could feel that familiar feeling like a coil being wound up, tightening and tightening. Your hands shot up to your breasts, tweaking and pinching your nipples as your head tilted to the ceiling as your moans grew louder and breathier. One of Jim's hands snaked up your curves of your torso to wrap around your neck, squeezing gently, as his other hand was still helping you to bounce up and down on his cock, "You gonna cum for me, baby?" He grunted out, "You gonna cum on my cock?" You moaned at his voice. You were getting quicker and quicker until all at once, your body stiffened and convulsed, walls tightening around Jim's cock, "That's a good girl," he purred, "what a good girl." He didn't stop, he kept thrusting pushing his full length into you as you reached your high. You were so fucking perfect and the feeling of you tight around him and the way you looked sent Jim over the edge as well. His thrusts grew sloppy as his chest heaved.

"Cum for me," you mewled softly as you came down from your high as you continued to rock on his cock. "cum deep inside me. Cum for me-"

"Fuck!" He hissed out, pushing your hips down to press down on his cock as he exploded inside of you.

Panting and sweaty, the two of you stayed in that position for a few minutes until Jim opened his eyes and looked at you, "You're a fucking Goddess," he breathed out, taking you all in again, "fucking stunning." He helped you to climb off of him and pulled you down to lay beside him.

"You liked it?" You asked him softly.

He kissed your forehead, "Babygirl, I was being serious when I said I could've came immediately at seeing you like that. You're just fucking gorgeous... You have nothing to feel self-conscious over ever because my god, (y/n), you're so perfect. I love your curves, I love your stomach and thighs... You're so beautiful... Did you enjoy it?"

You nodded quickly, "I felt really confident. I liked the way that you were looking at me. You made me feel so sexy... You felt so good as well, different than usual but so good."

"You'd want to do it again?"

You grinned, "Yeah," you said, leaning into kiss him, "I'd love to."

Jim's cock twitched, usually it took him a few hours to be ready for a second round, but there was something about this new position and your newfound confidence, "Ready for round two?"

#jim hopper smut #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper #jim hopper imagine #jim hopper x you #jim hopper one shot #one shot #os #stranger things imagine #stranger things

207 notes · View notes

eufezco · 2 years

Text

WE – Seeing your dad, Jim Hopper, for the first time after thinking he was gone forever.

Hopper!fem!reader x Steve Harrington

english isn't my first language

"Where's Steve?" You were so sorry to interrupt the conversation Robin and her crush were having, but you needed to find him. Robin's eyes opened wide and her hands stopped working on the peanut butter sandwich when she noticed how desperate you looked. If it wasn't because of that, she would've stabbed you with the knife covered in peanut butter right at that moment. Vicki was surprised to say the least thanks to your sudden interruption. "Robin!" You bit down your lower lip as you waited for her answer, starting to feel the metallic taste of blood coming right from where your teeth were sinking. Your friend shook her head, coming back to herself and looking to where she saw Steve for the last time. "He's–" Robin didn't get to finish because your eyes followed hers and you left quickly without saying anything else.

"We need to leave." Steve stopped folding the laundry when you appeared in front of him. "Shit, you're bleeding." Steve frowned, noticing the blood on your lower lip. You sucked on the tiny wound making it stop bleeding. "We need to leave." You repeated, grabbing his arm and starting to walk towards the door of the gym. Steve and Robin shared a look and Steve shrugged his shoulders to her, not knowing what was going on either. "Wait y/n, what happens?" He noticed that your hands were shaking yet your grip on his sweater sleeve was strong as he let you drag him out of there. "Please Steve, we need to leave. Now." You turned to look at him, Steve nodded once he saw your face. "I need you to tell me at least where are we going." You both got into his car, your legs bouncing non-stop and you playing with your own hands while Steve started the car. "You remember the cabin in which we used to live with El?" Steve nodded, not needing you to say anything else to start driving there.

The drive was silent, anything that involved you being quiet scared the shit out of Steve because you were always talking. He hoped nothing bad had happened. Once you got there, there were two cars already parked: the yellow pizza van, which you expected to be there because you knew El and the rest of your friends would be getting the cabin ready and one black car you didn't recognize. You almost jumped off Steve's car before he finished parking and he was forced to do the same to not leave you alone.

"Okay y/n, you need to tell me what's going–" You were so determined to go into the cabin that the only thing Steve could do was to follow you.

"Oh my god..." You mumbled as you stopped walking all of a sudden when you saw who was coming out of the house. Your eyes filled with tears as one of your hands went to cover your mouth in disbelief.

"Holy shit..." Steve said, both of his hands went to the back of his head. Also in disbelief.

You ran to your father's arm, hugging him and making him have to take a few steps backwards to not fall. Hopper smiled, his eyes also with tears. His big arms wrapped you up as his head rested on top of yours when you suddenly pushed him away. "Are you–? Is this–?" You squeezed his cheeks and ran your hands down his arms, Hopper nodded, the big smile never leaving his lips as he went to kiss your forehead. You were still in denial, eyes wide open and quickened breathing. You've dreamed so many times of being in between your dad's arms again that you needed to feel the warmth of his body and his arms around you to believe it. When Jonathan called the gym asking for you to get on the phone, you couldn't believe what you were hearing from him, resulting in you almost insulting your brother and hanging up the phone. But Jonathan wasn't a man of jokes. You didn't see Joyce coming out of the cabin to go and hug Steve because you were so lost sobbing in your dad's arms.

Steve couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing. He understood at that moment why you were in such a hurry. Joyce came out of the house after Hopper and went immediately to hug him. Steve hugged the woman back, they could not hide how happy they were to see each other again. The last time they did, you were also a sobbing mess, not ready to leave for California, not ready to accept that your dad was gone, and not ready to separate from Steve.

"It's okay, baby. It's fine." Hopper made you separate from him to wipe your tears using his thumbs. "No! It's not okay, I thought– I thought you– I thought I lost you." You smacked his arms, hot tears still rolling down your cheeks. You went through a whole grief during these last eight months, thinking you'd never see him again, thinking he was gone forever. Out of Joyce and El, you were the most hopeless. "I thought I lost you too, baby." Hopper confessed, pulling you into another hug as you sobbed uncontrollably against his chest again. "But we are together again, and this time I'm not leaving." He let you hide in his arms for a couple of seconds more, caressing your back and kissing your head until you came down. Then, he cupped both of your cheeks and wiped your tears once more.

"You promise?"

Hopper nodded. You noticed his glossy eyes were focusing on someone else behind you so you turned to find who it was.

"Thank you, thank you so much." You went to hug Joyce, the woman hugging you back tightly and caressing your back. "There's nothing to thank, sweetheart."

"It's good to see you." Steve confessed, and Hopper showed him a little smile. Should Steve shake his hand? Should he–? It was too late because Hopper already pulled him into a hug. "Thank you for taking care of her." Steve hugged him as well as your dad patted your boyfriend's back. He shook his head. "I'd do it all again."

Hopper raised his eyebrows. "You mean, the part where I die too?"

"No! I–" Jim bursted out laughing. Steve did too out of nervousness, thinking that he had already screwed up. Their relationship before all the russian thing happened wasn't the best and you had not yet formalized your relationship at that time, but he caught you and Steve kissing once and that was when your dad didn't want to have anything to do with your boyfriend even before he was your boyfriend. Avoiding Steve when he was home, the door open three inches thing and only talking to him when it was strictly necessary. But he never hated Steve, he was just scared of you getting hurt. It was so comforting to see them hugging.

Steve threw one of his arms over your shoulder and pulled you closer to kiss your forehead, you closed your eyes and snuggled into the side of his body.

"Have you something to tell me?" Hopper looked at Steve by your side. You arched your eyebrows. "Have you something to tell me?" You pointed with your head at how your dad's arm hugged Joyce's waist, making the woman you were not afraid to call mom blush.

You realized that the rest of your friends were looking at the scene from the porch of the house with big smiles on their faces, especially El who did not waste a second more to approach you along with Jonathan and Will. You hugged the girl against your body while Steve hugged you. As you tried to relax, enjoying Steve's arm around you and getting your sister closer to you with your arm over her shoulders if possible, you noticed your dad's weight loss, not wanting to point it out because you could imagine the hell he had gone through. His mustache was also gone, so no more tickles in the good night kisses. And he was wearing a cap. Wow. A cap? You swore it was the first time in your whole life you saw him wearing a cap, and when he took it off, your mouth hung open. "Wow! Is this some type of Hopper family haircut? Should I go bald too?" Your hand went to ruffle El's shorthair and you all laughed.

This was your we. Two brothers that came out of nowhere but you loved as if you shared blood with them. A loving mom who loved you and took care of you as if you came out of her womb. The best boyfriend in the entire world who was everything you ever asked for. Your sister with whom you shared a feeling of mutual admiration for each other. And of course, your dad, that above everyone else, was your person.

1K notes · View notes

pinkandblueblurbs · 2 years

Text

old fashioned

jim hopper x fem!reader. mentions of masturbation, sex toy use, dirty talk, praise, light degradation, implied age gap, period typical sexual ignorance??? ig?, “kid” as a petname

a/n: i haven’t written in so long this is ass i’m sorry. apologies for the glitchy repeating paragraphs, tumblr won’t let me fix them.

word count: 1.1k

When you pass through the doorway of your bedroom to see Hopper crouching by your bedside dresser, the bottom drawer pulled open, you stop on your tracks. Your blood runs cold, all your heat rushing to your cheeks. He turns his body to look at you, and things only get worse when you spot the bright pink rod in his hand.

“The hell is this for?” He scowls at it in his hand, as if staring hard enough might make the answer pop out at him. You nervously play with your fingers.

“Y-you really don’t know?” Your face steadily warms up as he passes you a dumbfounded glance. His thumb finds the button situated at the vibrator’s hard plastic base, and you cringe when it starts buzzing in his hand. There’s a brief pause, the gears turning in Hopper’s head, but after a moment he looks up at you with a faint smirk on his face.

“Actually, I think I might have an idea.” His smug expression and the low timbre of his voice makes your stomach flip excitedly. You swallow.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen a vibrator before.” Hopper rises to his full height and stalks towards you, his footsteps resounding in his heavy boots. He shrugs.

“Call me old fashioned.”

You let out a puff of air through your nose in a half-assed show of amusement. Hopper holds out the toy- still buzzing away in his palm- and raises a brow at you.

“So this is what you do when I’m not around, huh? You lay all sprawled out and pretty in your bed and use this on yourself?” Your cunt throbs, and all you can do is nod, averting your gaze.

“I didn’t take you for such a dirty little thing.” He murmurs lowly. You worry your lower lip, and he reaches out to cup your chin, thumbing over the soft cushion and pulling it out from between your teeth. You blink up at him, eyes wide, and his heavy gaze keeps you distracted, leading you to gasp when he brings the vibrator down between your legs. The sensation is muted, muffled by two layers of clothing, but its enough to make your clit tingle.

Hopper smirks. “That feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Hopper’s hand moves down from your chin, smoothing across your throat and moving around to grip the back of your neck. The hold grounds you. “Good.” He nods behind him, motioning to your bed. “C’mon, I wanna see what else this thing can do.”

You look at him in shock for a moment. You’re not sure why, but part of you is surprised that he’s so accepting of your toy- that he isn’t angry or wounded, that he doesn’t feel threatened. You’d always imagined that, should a partner find your vibrator, there would be some long winded conversation assuring them that they aren’t inadequate. You suppose that Jim just isn’t that insecure.

While you were lost in your thoughts Hopper had backed you up towards the bed. You scramble to take off your shorts and underwear before climbing back onto the mattress. Hopper doesn’t bother to disrobe at all, he just crawls right up so he’s above you, leaning down to envelope you in a heated kiss. Your legs fall open automatically, well versed in this position, allowing his body to slot in between them.

You’re so caught up in his lips against yours that when cool plastic presses once again against your now bare clit, you yelp into his mouth. The buzzing sensation is intense without the barriers of fabric, and you can’t help the pleasured moan that you let out.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re never so quick to moan like that with me.” Again, he doesn’t sound accusatory- a bit teasing, sure, but the grin on his face tells you that more than anything he’s happy to see you so feeling so good.

He experiments a bit- tries different levels of pressure, noting the way you exhale with the reprieve of light contact and the way your toes curl with the intensity of firm force. He tries drawing circles on your clit the way he would with his finger, and that’s what makes you cry out the loudest, the steady rhythm dragging your body up towards the crest of release.

“There it is,” his low murmur heightens your arousal. “Getting close for me already, hon?”

“Yes,” through your mounting pleasure you suddenly feel a surge of doubt, a surge of need for something you don’t have. “Hopper- please, I want-“

“Easy, kid,” he soothes, smoothing a big hand across your shoulder, holding you down to the mattress when you lift up to grab at him desperately. He’s smiling smugly, and a bit of arrogance seeps into his comforting tone as he reads your desire perfectly. “Just let go. I’ll fuck you afterwards, don’t you worry. You can have my cock as soon as you show me how pretty you look when you cum.”

That’s all it takes to sate you; the assurance that if you finish now you won’t be left empty for the night. With that you’re allowing your body to fall right over the edge, your orgasm coming on hard and fast and so strong that you can’t even hear the loud moan that escapes you.

Hopper keeps the vibrator pressed against you as you tremble through it. Gentle encouragement spills freely from his lips, keeping his presence known even as your eyes squeeze shut. “That’s a good girl, sweetheart. There you go. Bet that feels good, doesn’t it? Fuck, look at you. Prettiest little thing ever.”

He pulls the toy away the moment your hips twitch away and your whines turn from blissed out to pitiful. You’re left panting, clit still throbbing, gaze blurry as you open your eyes and look up at Hopper’s smirking face.

“You back with me now, hon?” He asks gruffly, turning off the vibrator and tossing it aside then bringing his big hands down to knead at your limp thighs. “Goddamn, that thing does a number on you.” You nod, letting out a content hum.

“Still want your cock, though.”

Hopper laughs, shaking his head at your insistence. “I know, kid. I know.”

#hopper smut #jim hopper smut #jim hopper #hopper stranger things #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #jim hopper imagine #stranger things imagine #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #jim hopper x y/n

2K notes · View notes

luveline · 1 month

Note

need need NEED more hop x reader w el they are the CUTEST

“So she’s coming?” El asks.

Hopper pushes a glass of orange juice in her direction. “Mm-hm.”

“And she wants to see me.”

“Yeah, kid, she wants to see you.”

Eleven’s hair curls just under her ears. Hopper hadn’t suspected her hair would be curly once it began to grow, but it waves gently, and tighter the longer it becomes. He doesn’t know how to take care of it. He only just taught her how to use shampoo and conditioner without leaving all the suds in.

She scratches it. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” He ruffles her hair. “Eat your breakfast. You can get changed when you’re done. You need me to help you find something?”

“No. I like choosing.”

Hopper knows. She isn’t good at matching yet, but she’ll get there.

She eats her breakfast too quickly, doesn’t drink her juice, and doesn’t put her plate in the sink before she goes, but Hopper doesn’t bother getting mad. He’s trying to be less moody. He’s also trying to be understanding; she’s learning to be a normal kid. Most normal kids are slobs.

“Can we have dessert?” El shouts from her room.

“You can have a snack later.”

“Please?”

“You can have some chips once you get dressed. Are you still hungry, or–?”

“Snacks,” she says, turning on her radio.

Hopper nods, laughing to himself when there’s a knock at the door. He’s been waiting to see you all weekend, and he walks to the door with a terrible smugness about him to let you in.

“Hello,” he says, wedging the creaky frame open with his shoe.

“Hi, handsome.” You look up into his eyes, fresh-faced like you’ve had a good scrub and dressed for a day in the house in cuffless sweatpants and a hoodie he thinks might be his. “Wow, nice shirt, hotshot. What is that? The Hawkins Police Department fun run of eighty two? That’s vintage.”

He leans down to kiss you hello.

“Oh, hi,” you flirt.

You’re confident when you know you’re loved, he’s found. Still the homespun woman he knew you to be, but affectionate once you’re comfortable. He smiles into your mouth and pulls you tight to his chest, lifting you off of your feet for a millisecond before placing you back down.

“Where’s my girl?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“El?” you call. You slide around him to find her but turn back, “Did you ask her about the hugging?”

“She says it’s fine.”

“Like, she wants to?”

It had been a strange conversation. Hopper is used to telling El things, or being told things by her. He didn’t ask her what she likes for breakfast, he just kept guessing until he found the right stuff. She never asked him if she could sit in his side during movies, she just inched closer until he put his arm around her.

“She wants to,” Hopper says. She’d seemed perturbed by the question, sure, but it ended with her happy little smile through a handful of popcorn.

“El?” you call again.

“Kid! Your best friend is here!” Hopper shouts.

Thunder from her bedroom, a door swung open and slapping the wall. “Y/N?” she asks, the skirt of her dress swinging as she pauses in the doorway.

You smile and step forward. You’re tentative but excited all the same, laughing as you wrap your arms around her shoulders, and pat her back. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Where have you been? It’s two weeks.”

“Yeah? I didn’t mean to not see you for so long, I’m sorry.”

“Hop says you have lots to do.”

“There’s a leak in my bathroom,” you take her by the shoulders. “Aw, this is nice. When’d you get this? It’s light and summery.”

“Hop… from a catalogue.”

You raise your brows at him, grinning. “That’s nice. How many did you get?”

“We got five.”

“Five! From the catalogue!” You hold her hand. “Hop must really like you, huh? Who can blame him?”

El looks down at your joined hands. Hopper feels his skeptic heart softening. “He likes you, too.”

“But do we like him?” you joke, letting go of her hand to put your arm behind her back instead. You give Hopper a look.

“What?” he asks.

“I was thinking we’d go out for milkshakes?”

Hopper bites his tongue. El has a birth certificate now, she’s his daughter, she can’t be taken, but going out with her into the world draws stares and derision alike. People can tell she’s abnormal, and he can’t stand that. She doesn’t deserve to be gawked at for talking a little slowly, or messing with stuff she doesn’t understand.

But he doesn’t want her feeling punished for those things either.

“Get your jacket, El.” She beams, rushing for her room. “She’s gonna love the jukebox,” Hopper says.

You meander back into his arms, kissing his stubbly cheek. He pretends to nudge you away.

#jim hopper x y/n #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper #jim hopper imagine #jim hopper x you #jim hopper x fem!reader #dad!jim hopper #dad!jim hopper x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #jim hopper fanfiction #jim hopper fandom #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #jim hopper fluff

364 notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 1 year

Text

Plain Old Man - Jim Hopper x Reader

Summary: Jim can't figure out why you love him. After all, isn't he just a plain old man?

Contents/Warnings: hop's self-conscious :(, consensual + legal age gap, fem!reader

requested: hopper x younger really feminine reader. he think she’s the cutest thing ever and that she’s too good for him so he’s kind of upset, but she figures it out and sits on his lap and kissing all over his body </333 // slightly deviated from, but i hope you still enjoy it!

WC: 1.47K / navi

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You love Fridays, because when Jim swings by the pizza place for your dinner, he stops into the boutique next door, and always brings you something. Last week it was a pair of dangly earrings, shimmery and green in the shapes of fairy wings. The week before that it was a silver necklace with a pearl charm, to match a set of earrings he'd gotten before that.

You're buzzing with excitement as you hear his car pull up outside, and you bypass the hand he's balancing the pizza on to wrap your arms around his waist. They interlock behind him and you squeeze, wishing you could latch yourself onto him forever and hang off of him like a sloth.

"Hop!"

"Hey, sweetheart." You feel a kiss placed on the crown of your head, his mustache prickling the skin there, "Let's get inside, okay? Pizza's gonna get cold."

Your nose is, too, so you let him nudge you back inside before it starts to ache.

"I baked us muffins," You inform him, taking the box from his hands and watching him toe off his muddy work shoes by the door, "They're blueberry, but I added that topping over them that you liked last time on the banana ones. It's a little sticky, and kinda clumpy, but it tastes the same!"

He nods through your ramble, eyes lighting up at not only the prospect of muffins but of the special crumble you lay over top. He ushers you into the kitchen, but when you reach for the lid of the pizza box he sets a hand on your waist.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he pats the breast pocket of his jacket, and you visibly brighten.

"Oh! Oh," You gush, reaching eagerly for the bag that he hands you, crinkly plastic and purple-tinted, "Thank you, honey."

Your nails pry at the tissue paper that's wrapping whatever present you've gotten, and when you rip the tape away it reveals two barrettes, one pink and one blue. they're beaded, shimmery under the light, and they'll look adorable tucked into your hair.

"Hop," You gush, surging forwards to face-plant into his chest, "I love them! I can use them to twist my hair back like I've been doing lately."

"I know," He nods, leaning forwards to bump his nose into your own, his eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile, "That's why I bought them. I know the pins haven't been holding it."

You'd stolen two worn-out, dented bobby pins from Jim's nightstand, that you're fairly certain he'd used to pick locks with. It concerned you, but he hasn't asked for them back, so you're sure his lock-picking days are behind him.

"Put 'em in!" You urge him, unclipping the barrettes from the card they're on and dumping them into his large, rough hand, "You know how to do it, right?"

"I know how to pull your hair back," He scoffs, sticking one clip between his teeth so that his words muffle as he uses his hands to twist a chunk of your hair away from your face. He pulls it back and secures it with the clip, a snap letting you know it won't fall out.

"Perfect," He praises you (though you think it might be aimed at himself), and pops a kiss to the metal clip.

Your smile is infectious as he uses the other clip on the opposite side of your head, thick fingers twisting your delicate hair carefully. When it's pinned he kisses that side, too, and backs away to look at you head-on.

He smiles, but it's strange. It doesn't fade, per se, but the look in his eyes shifts, and your gut churns with nerves when they seem to be sad.

"Hop?" You tilt your head, watching him try and fail to focus on you instead of whatever's happening in his head, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," He nods, pressing a mediocre kiss to your cheek as he rushes for the pizza box behind you, "Yeah, sweetheart. You look real pretty. Let's eat, okay?"

He plates his pizza in silence, so you do too. But it's strange, because he always complains about the cheese not being gooey when he pulls slices apart, and there's not a peep out of him today. Just a downcast glance that tracks his feet all the way to the couch. He typically spreads out, eager to relax after a day of work, but he sits proper, plate on his lap and eyes on the tv.

You reach down to flick it on when you pass, and you sit closer to his side than you normally would. You feel his thigh tense up against your own, and you frown, glancing over at him.

"Jim," You croon, setting your hand cautiously against his thigh, "Are you okay? The truth this time, please."

"Yeah, honey, I.. I don't know." He shakes his head slightly, blinking rapidly and sighing, "It's fine, really. I like your clips, sweetheart, they look good."

He goes to take another bite of pizza, but you pull it out of his hands just before he can. It means that his teeth clack together instead of meeting the bread, and he looks bewilderedly at you, hand still outstretched.

"Hey," He frowns, "That's my pizza."

"I know it's your pizza," You plop it back onto the plate, setting it on the coffee table and taking its place in his lap, "It'll still be your pizza when you tell me what's bothering you."

He sighs again, and this time you feel it where your hands are braced on his belly. You smooth your hands over it, tracing your thumbs from the dip of his navel out to his sides.

"Tell me, Jim," You plead, "I'm worried about you."

He looks at you for a moment, head-on, eye to eye and face to face, and breaks. He murmurs a gruff 'fuck,' under his breath, head drooping down so that his chin meets his chest.

"Jim," You whine, tucking your fingers under his chin and lifting it so that he can't avoid your eyes, "Just tell me, honey. I need to know."

"You are.." He pauses, cupping your cheek and smiling sadly at you, "Gorgeous. You know that?"

"You tell me all the time," You promise him, shimmying your hips slightly to press your tummy further into his, "What's that got to do with anything?"

"I think you're too gorgeous for me. And sweet, and nice, and perfect. I'm a plain old man," He gestures to himself, his beige uniform and scruffy stubble, "That's it."

"You're not a plain old man," You chide him, pinching at the pudge of his belly, "You're the man I love. You know that, don't you? That I love you."

"I'd like to think so," His smile stays sad, "I just can't think of a reason you would."

"Well because- because you're.. you! Jim," Your brows furrow and you lean closer, nose-to-nose, "I love you because of who you are. Not because of any one specific reason, the reason is just you. I love you, Jim Hopper."

His hand cups the back of your neck and pushes you forwards. It's not a kiss, but your lips meet, as do your foreheads as your noses smush together.

"You're too good to me," He murmurs, his voice slightly raspy.

"No," You protest, pecking his lower lip in a sweet smooch, "I could never be too good to you. 'Cause you deserve the best."

"You are cheesy today," He chuckles, but you know it's not an insult as much as it is an observation, "Did those muffins have extra sugar in them? Something's got you all sweet."

"It's you," You grin, knocking your nose into his once more and digging your hands into the soft chub of his belly, "I'm glad you're home. I missed you all day, I wanted to call you a bunch but I didn't wanna bother you."

"You wouldn't bother me," He promises, smoothing a hand down your back, "But it's probably not good to hold up the line at the police station."

"Yeah," You hum sadly, and lean down to tuck your face over his shoulder in a much-needed hug, "It's better when El's here. She keeps me company."

"Speaking of," He glances at the clock, patting your back gently, "We need to go get her soon. Max's mom said she can't stay another night, she's got chores to do."

"Finish your pizza," You clamber off of his lap and rush for your own plate, "Because before she comes back, you're going to make me happy scream."

"Oh, yeah?" He laughs as you settle yourself back against him on the couch, attention finally turned to the television, "We should brush our teeth first, then. I'm not kissing pizza breath."

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

1K notes · View notes

marvelsgirl616 · 2 months

Text

Jim Hopper Icons | Season One. Episode One. | ‘Chapter One: The Vanishing of Will Byers’

#jim hopper #stranger things #stranger things icons #david harbour #David Harbour icons #Jim hopper icons #jim hopper imagine #stranger things series #stranger things s1 #James Hopper Icon #netflix stranger things

49 notes · View notes

ijustwanttoreadfanfiction · 11 months

Text

Working Lunch

Jim Hopper x AFAB! Reader

Plot? What Plot? It's straight up Hopper porn. It's not alluded to in this story but Reader is younger than Hopper like late 20's to his mid 40's as I'll probably string this, the Dirty Dancing story and others to come into a linked series of oneshots.

Warnings: Smut with a capital S, explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (F receiving), p in v sex, creampie, rough sex, rough Hopper, size kink - we live for Dad bod! Hopper, semi-public sex? Light choking? Do better warnings shithead.

It’s a slow day at the diner, mostly due to the beautiful day outside, sun blazing in through the windows, making the vinyl booths almost too hot to the touch. You let out a huff, it’s bad enough that you’re missing the sunshine, but you’re also missing Hopper. The two of you have been super busy with work, helping Jane study, trying to fix up the cabin, most evenings you’re both so tired you crawl into bed with only a small kiss or two before succumbing to exhaustion. You thrive on affection, something that Jim was usually only too eager to give, so you’re feeling significantly touch-starved and needy.

You wonder what Jim is doing right now, it’s almost lunchtime, you knew from Flo that’s he’s barely been stopping to eat and when he does it’s usually from the station’s giant tray of donuts. A devious little idea starts to form in your mind, you could take Jim some lunch and maybe, just maybe get some attention whilst you’re there.

“Hey Donna, would you be ok for half an hour if I take some lunch over for Hop?” You ask your colleague, who is currently overfilling the sugar dispensers in a daze.

“Oh, sure sweetie take the time you need, it’s not exactly Grand Central.” She smiles, gesturing to the empty tables as you quickly make up a BLT, shoving it into a paper bag.

“Call me at the station, if it picks up.” You say, pressing a grateful kiss to her cheek.

The midday sun hits you in a stifling wave, heat gathering about your ankles from the burning sidewalk, you’re glad to be wearing your light pink work dress as you skip across the street towards the station.

It’s barely cooler in the building, despite the numerous fans humming and grating on every available surface, Flo has her nose pressed into a gossip magazine when you clear your throat.

“Hey there hunny, you here to see the Chief?” She smiles indulgently at you.

“Just thought I’d bring him some proper lunch for once.” You say shaking the bag.

“You’re too good to him, you know that?” Flo reminds you affectionately.

“I know.” You laugh, heading down the corridor, waving at Powell in greeting from where he’s stood by the xerox machine.

The door to Jim’s office is shut, no doubt to keep Callahan from bothering him incessantly, you knock smartly on the wood, buzzing with excitement to see the man on the other side.

“Yeah?” Jim grunts and you roll your eyes at his manners opening the door, he’s pouring over some paperwork, head in his hands not having bothered to look up, the air stale with cigarette smoke and coffee.

“Special delivery for Jim Hopper.” You chime, shutting the door with your butt.

His head shoots up straight away, the deep frown of concentration on his face morphing into a beaming grin that makes your heart swell and sputter.

“Well this is a surprise.” Jim says happily, pushing his chair out, moving quickly around the desk. His large hands envelop your waist pulling you close, you wouldn’t be surprised if the heat from his palms burn a hole through your dress.

“It’s lunchtime, can’t have the big, strong, Chief of Police going hungry.” You smile, holding the paper bag aloft.

“You’re too good to me.” He murmurs, giving you a quick peck on the lips.

“You know it’s funny, Flo said exactly the same thing.” You tease, chasing his lips for a kiss of your own.

“She did huh?” Jim asks, eyebrow cocked, hands drifting down past your waist to cup your ass. “Well I can’t have my best girl going around thinking she’s underappreciated can I?” He teases, bringing you flush to his body, kissing you hard.

Your head is spinning as his tongue licks into your mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, moaning softly as he manhandles you, lifting you to sit on the edge of this desk. Jim hitches your dress up, hands disappearing under the fabric to rub along your thighs, his lips quirk up in a cocky smile when he coaxes another soft moan from your throat.

“So eager baby girl.” He croons, sinking to his knees in front of you, finger hooking at the waistband of your panties dragging them down slowly revealing your wet core. “Jesus baby, I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping for me.” Jim groans, placing heated kisses to your inner thighs, up and up, until his nose nudges at your sensitive clit, tongue swiping through your creamy slick before pushing in.

“Jim!” You gasp, head thrown back, fingers tugging at his short hair.

He growls against your cunt, hands grabbing at your ass, dragging you forward so his tongue fucks you deeper. You bite your lip to keep from crying out, aware that the majority of the Hawkins’ Police force is just on the other side of the door, but it’s hard to concentrate when Jim is lapping at your pussy in such a sinful way. Two thick fingers replace his tongue, stretching and scissoring, making you ready for his cock, the tip of his tongue now firmly focused on your sensitive clit, circling insistently.

Your body seizes, shivers wracking up through your spine as your orgasm pulses from your belly down to your curled toes and back again.

Jim is on his feet, frantically unbuckling his belt, unleashing his thick, girthy cock from the straining confines of his uniform, the tip ruddy and leaking heavily with pre-cum. You can only reach for him, with hooded eyes, head tucked into his neck as he leans over you.

“Fuck.” Jim grunts, lining himself up with your weeping slit, pussy stretching with a delicious burn as he works his way in. You already feel impossibly full, whimpering with each thrust, the edge of the desk digging into your back, your nails biting into Jim’s shoulders.

“You feel so fucking good baby.” He groans, hauling you up to his chest, capturing your lips in a messy kiss.

“Hop, fuck, want you to bend me over your desk.” You whine, licking the sweat from his exposed throat.

“Oh fuck, you’ll be the death of me.” He says in awed disbelief, pulling out, flipping you over and slamming back in, in one fluid motion, flicking your dress up over your ass so he can see his cock piston in and out. His large hand strikes the back of your thigh, leaving a welting red mark that makes you squeak, the sting only sending you closer and closer to your climax again. Papers, pens and clutter falling to the floor with the force of Hopper’s movements, fucking into you without hesitation, drunk on the tight, wet heat of your pulsing cunt.

“Jim, baby, I’m so close.” You whimper, tucking a hand between your legs to rub at your clit, feeling his heavy balls slap against you.

“Oh Jesus.” He huffs, his grip on your hips sure to leave bruises, there’s a knock at the door but Jim doesn’t stop if anything he drills into you harder than ever. “Go away - I’m busy!” He yells, breathing heavily.

“Yeah - Chief I have a question abou-”

“Callahan - if you don’t step away from my fucking door right now - I will fire your sorry ass!” Jim shouts and you have to stifle a giggle, which cuts off abruptly into a strangled moan as Jim presses against throat, hauling your back to his chest. “Something funny baby girl?” He growls in your ear, biting down on the sensitive lobe.

“Jim -” You whine brokenly, he bats your hand away from your clit, circling with his rough thick fingers.

“That’s it doll, come on my cock, lemme feel you squeeze me.” He encourages, voice rough and low.

The tight band in your stomach snaps, wave after wave of burning pleasure coursing through you, making your legs shake.

“God fucking dammit!” Hopper chokes, snapping his hips in staggered thrusts, his cum filling you to the very brim, leaning heavily against your back, trying to put his weight onto the desk, panting from exertion.

“Jim -?” You murmur weakly.

“Yeah baby?” He asks breathlessly, rubbing soothing circles over your back.

“We squished your sandwich.”

297 notes · View notes

welikeimagines-andfandoms · 3 months

Text

Kinktober Day 19: Uniform- Jim Hopper

Word count: 2,012

Summary: Youre the new police station receptionist and you can’t help but love how Jim looks in his uniform.

“Benefit of now living in a small town is you guys always have my favourite cereal. Living in a bigger city it was always gone by the time I’d get to the store after work.” You lightly laughed with Joyce as you held up the cereal in question.

“Well im more than happy to keep it stocked for you. Since that new mall was built I haven’t had much to do, it’s pretty much just you, some parents and the elderly of Hawkins.” Joyce replies warmly.

Since moving to Hawkins three months ago, Joyce has been such a big help and a great friend. She was just under twice your age but that was fine, she has been like a cool Aunty to you.

“Hey, Joyce.” You heard a gruff voice say as the heavy steps of none other than Jim Hopper walked in.

“Here’s my other regular.” She smiled warmly at her old friend. “I was just telling y/n that she’s keeping the store open since that mall was built.” She joked with the man.

He smiled at you as your eyes met.

Even though Hopper was technically your boss, he still made you feel comfortable and taken care of. Well when you saw him out of work he did, when he was in his uniform it was another story.

“She’s keeping the station together too since Flo semi retired. From Wednesday to Saturday things seem to run a bit smoother.” He complimented you with a warm smile.

“Oh I don’t know about that, I think Flo just organises it so well the rest of the week that she makes me look good.” You joke back, hand lightly touching his forearm.

Though you didn’t speak loudly your volume of voice seemed to shock him a bit. To be fair it was because at work you were a lot more shy and quiet, but you couldn’t help it.

Here out in public in his regular clothes, Hopper still looked amazing to you but he was on equal grounds. Hell if Joyce hadn’t been standing there you might have even flirted with him a bit, but at work, when he was in his uniform, it was a different story.

The way he looked and the power he held in that uniform just made you clam up, you turned into a horny school girl again. If Hopper knew how he made you feel though, he’d probably fire you, or so you thought.

Hopper definitely noticed your change in behaviour at the store compared to work, sure everyone was a little different in and out of work but this was something else. The way you freely chatted and laughed with Joyce and himself made him eye you suspiciously. However your behaviour wasn’t the only thing that made him eye you.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about flipping your skirt up, unbuttoning your blouse and seeing what lay beneath your clothes but here in your regular clothes, he couldn’t help but stare a little more.

When at work you wore long skirts and quite full covering blouses, but here, on a hot summers day, your beautiful legs were on full display and your basic t-shirt seemed to sit nicely across your chest. Luckily for him he could be subtle enough to not be noticed staring.

******

Seeing you back at work the next week and you were back to your shy and closed off self. Surely it was just you being professional at work and wanting to focus on your job, but there was something about it that felt off.

Wanting answers he decided to do some semi police work and try to see if he could discover why. Making sure to pay attention to when you became more nervous and where your eyes fell. Though he tried to be subtle, you definitely noticed his extra attention and tried hard all day to stay focused and not stare.

You especially tried hard not to stare when his strong thighs came to sit on your desk, or when he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up. Though you tried hard to keep your eyes on your work, you couldn’t help but stare and the blush that creeped up onto your cheeks.

By the end of the day Hoppers ‘police work’ had seemed to have paid off and he believed he had found his answer. His self conscious thoughts came out when he came to his conclusion but there was no way around it, it was his uniform.

His uniform got you hot.

****

Now he’d found the reason surely he could just move on, he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but then it got worse.

The next day you seemed to be even more on edge. As soon as he saw you shuffling around in your seat and crossing your legs each time he came over to your desk, he couldn’t help but play with you a bit.

“Y/N could you come to my office, I just have something I need you to look at.” He asked that afternoon, walking right up to your desk for what felt like the thousands time that day.

God he was driving you mad. Your skin was hot, your heart raced and every time he came into view in that uniform, your core couldn’t help but flutter. Walking to his office, you tried hard not to stare at his ass and instead tried to focus on keeping your shaky legs from failing you.

Walking through the door to his office and of course he’s sitting behind the desk with his legs spread out beautifully. You swear the second you get home you are going to need a cold shower and some time with your favourite ‘back massager’. Standing in front of his desk your eyes nervously follow him as he begins to stand and walk behind you.

Usually Hopper couldn’t see much with the clothes you wore but today your skirt was a lighter fabric and colour, being able to see the curve of your ass a lot better than usual. Standing behind you he had a perfect view of your ass and his fingers itched to reach out and grab it.

You were confused as to what he needed from you but not wanting to be rude, and not wanting your voice to falter, you waited for him to speak first.

“You know, Y/N, I wasn’t lying the other day with Joyce, you truly do work very well here and help the station run so much better.” He complimented in a deep dominating voice.

Your breath and heart rate began to pick up as you could feel him stepping closer to you.

“I love coming into work and seeing you sit there. First to come to work and last to leave, you work so hard.” He now breathes down your neck, a hand coming to rest on your hip.

A gasp makes its way past your lips at the contact, surprised at the touching but hoping he wouldn’t stop just there. Stepping closer your gasp turns into a moan as his other hand lays on your other hip and you can feel just how hard he is.

“I was beginning to worry that you didn’t like working here, you seemed so quiet and so nervous, but that’s not it is it, Y/N?” He asks, his lips now right by your ear.

You want nothing more in this moment then to grind back into him but you force yourself to stay still.

“You like how my uniform makes you feel don’t you, Y/N? Like how dominant I look? Is that it, sweetheart?” He asks hotly whispering in your ear.

His breath now on your neck causing you to moan and your head fall onto his shoulder. His grip on your hips tightens at the contact.

“Yes. Yo-you look so good in your uniform, I can’t stop thinking about you when you wear it.” You moan out to answer as he now presses hot kisses to your exposed neck.

“It gets you hot doesn’t it? I bet you think about me bending you over this desk and fucking you, don’t you? I mean you’ve been doing so well here, I think you’ve earned a good fucking. Would you like that, baby?” He asked hotly in your ear, one of his hands now feeling your breast over your blouse.

“A-aaah, ye-yes. I want you to fuck me, Hop.” You moan back, now fully grinding against his quite large bulge.

“Mmm, that’s what I like to hear.” He praises you, nibbling at your ear before he roughly shoved you onto the desk.

Landing chest first with a small grunt, you can’t help but stick your ass out a little further, hoping he’d get the hint.

“Take off your shirt and bra, sweetheart, let me see what I’ve been thinking of these past few months.” He orders, standing right behind you and caging you in with his strong hips.

Doing as he says, you quickly straighten up, now being consumed by his large frame behind you.

“Have you been thinking of this, Y/N? Have you touched yourself to me, baby?” He teases, his large fingers making their way under the front of your skirt, finding you soaked through your panties and to your tights.

“Oh fuck, baby, feels like you have.” He chuckles deeply as he begins to play with your clit, his other hand roughly squeezing your now very exposed breast.

“Aa-aaah, ye-yeesss, Hop. Oh fuck! I touch myself to you! Oh god! I want you to fuck me do badly, Chief.” You pathetically moan, practically humping his hand now.

Deeply moaning he harshly pushes you back onto the desk, another soft grunt leaving you, followed by a whine at the loss of contact.

“Ooohh ‘Chief’, I like that.” He smirks by your ear, his whole chest pushed fully onto your back.

Stepping back briefly, he pulls down your stockings and panties all once. Quickly shoving your legs apart you hear him unwrapping and putting on a condom.

“You ready for me, baby?” He asks as you feel him lining his tip up with your soaking entrance.

“Yes, please fuck me, Hop.” You pathetically moan out.

Feeling a harsh slap on your ass you loudly yelp out.

“That’s not what you call me.” He growls in your ear as his grip on your hip tightens.

“I’m sorry, Chief! Please fuck me.” You plead out.

“Good girl.” He praises sweetly in your ear as he kisses your cheek.

Feeling him fully thrust into you all at once, your body lunges forward and you let out a loud moan.

“Fuck, baby, lucky no one’s here today.” He chuckles as he grips harshly onto your hips and fucks you into the desk.

He fills you up so perfectly and his thick cock manages to hit the perfect spot each time. You can’t control your loud moans as your head drops between your folded arms.

“Oh fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight! God your pussy feels amazing around me. Squeezing my cock so good.” He growls as his harsh thrusts continue.

You can feel the coil in you begin to tighten and your walls begin to flutter.

“Oh fuck! Chief I’m gonna cum! Please make me cum!” You shout out as you push your hips further back.

One of his large hands leaves your hip as his arm wraps around the front of your hips, and his other hand makes its way to your clit, lightly rubbing you as he continues to fuck into you.

“Cum for me, darlin’, I’ve got you.” He whispers surprisingly sweetly into your ear.

With the added pleasure your body begins to shake as your orgasm washes over you with a loud moan. Hopper closely follows behind you as he grabs onto your hips and thrusts harshly into you.

Lightly pulling out of you, Hopper readjusts your stockings and skirt as he lightly turns you around.

“You did well, gorgeous.” He gently praises as he strokes your hair.

#jim hopper #jim hopper imagine #jim hopper x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine

78 notes · View notes