#david x steve

[stevesgother]

I Don't Want You Like A Bestfriend - S.H

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.3k

Warnings - mentions of anxiety, reader not liking large gatherings, swearing, alcohol (reader works at a bar). As always, let me know if I missed anything!

AN - Part 2 of the Dress mini series! This could technically be a standalone fic, but for the full context I would recommend reading part 1 :) 

Dress Series - Pt 1, Pt 2

December 1987

2 bowls of popcorn and 4 movies later, you’re laying on opposite ends of your twin bed with your best friend; gossiping lazily with droopy eyelids.

“I cannot go to their wedding without a date, Rob.” looking at her exasperated, “That’s like, totally embarrassing! Steve’s gonna have this Madonna-ey, bombshell blonde and with giant boobs and I'm gonna bring who? My cousin? Not happening.” You say with finality.

“Well forgive me,” Robin deadpans. “I only know like,” She gestures dramatically, trying to count in her head, “7 boys!”

May 1985

Immediately upon opening your eyes, you’re met with the blinding pain of your too big brain bouncing around inside your skull and a foreboding sense of dread upon recalling the way you behaved the night before.

You could only remember bits and pieces of the wretched night, but you were humiliated nonetheless. Had you said something you shouldn’t have? Your stomach churns at the thought and briefly you fear you might yak again.

A few weeks later, you were walking the stage, diploma in hand. Steve had broken up with Nancy Wheeler the week following prom. Feigning some bullshit about him leaving for college; not wanting to do long distance. Those cliche, overused excuses that everyone knows loosely translate to “I don’t love you anymore.”

Steve didn’t even get into tech, unbeknownst to Nancy. He was dodgy when you asked him about their breakup. “I just felt like we didn’t make sense anymore, you know? But it-” he sighed, “it’s just, it’s not like I could say that to her.” 

You didn’t want to push the subject further, despite your bewilderment. Part of you felt desperately guilty at the idea that you may have been the catalyst for what happened to their relationship. You didn’t dare ask, though. Maybe you didn’t want to know, or maybe you just didn’t want to make it about yourself. 

December 1987

The Wandering Dog was especially busy tonight. Folks trying to escape their in-laws for a few hours during the holiday season, college kids home for break trying to get wasted; and all of it was your problem. The pay was nice, you made good tips bartending. Right as you watch someone knock over an entire tray of drinks, a familiar head of hair makes its way to sit in front of you at the bar. Distracting, but not enough to suppress the groan that leaves your throat when it dawns on you that those drinks are your mess to clean up later.

“Steve-o,” you force a smile at him, “what can I do for ya on this..lovely evening?”

“Can’t a guy visit his favorite lady without needing a reason?” He lilts.

You try not to let on how flustered you feel at his usage of ‘favorite lady’. 

“You hate this bar, you’re also technically banned-” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand “Still? Seriously? It was one time-” Your turn to interrupt, “No actually, year prior? That was your first warning.” You’re met with a roll of the eyes, forgetting how utterly sassy he’s become in the last few years. You can’t decide whether you love or hate the development.

“I actually uh,” he runs a hand through his hair- a nervous habit, “I wanted to ask you something,”. You look at him quizzically, unable to pinpoint what's caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Okay…” you draw out the last syllable, more confused than unkind. “Spill it Hairspray, you’re kind of freaking me out.” you give an awkward chuckle. Your friendship is hardly what you’d consider serious. Sure, you’ve had your share of late night, existential conversations; but you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve made the other actually nervous.

He clears his throat, “sorry yeah, sorry. I was wondering uh, ifyouwouldbemydatetojoyceandhopperswedding.”

The rest of his sentence comes out as one jumbled word. You do a double take when you finally process what he’s asking, and you choke a little on the Coke you were sipping. “What?-”

“-As friends!” he blurts loudly as his hands shoot out in front of him in a defensive gesture, “obviously, as friends. That’s- what I meant.” his words lose confidence every time he opens his mouth.

You stare for a little too long, mouth hanging open like a trout. “You don’t..already have a date?” You hope he doesn’t take offense to the inquiry. Steve Harrington can most certainly find a plus one to a simple wedding.

“Yeah I- something like that,” his mouth opens like he’s going to explain further before deciding against it; settling on a lopsided smile instead. He’s terrified he’s blown his cover. If he had given any effort at all to the endeavor, surely he would’ve been able to find a date. Fancy car, rich parents, million dollar smile and his infallible charm. The problem was that he didn’t want to go with another Heidi. Another Jessica. Another Stacy.

He wanted to go with you.

Even if it meant just as friends. You two were just friends.

-

Joyce and Hopper’s wedding was at Pokagon State Park, and the drive up was less than stellar. 3 hours stuffed inside a cramped BMW with Robin, Eddie, and Vickie. You were fortunate enough to be riding shotgun next to Steve for the trip, Eddie muttering something about ‘date privilege’.

When you arrived at the cabin you’d be sharing with your 4 friends, you were a little mortified. There was a room for Vickie and Robin, and Eddie claimed the pullout couch almost immediately. This leaves one more room. With one bed. For you and Steve Harrington. It’s possible Joyce may have misinterpreted the reality of your situation when booking the rooming accommodations.

If it bothered Steve, he didn’t show it. You guys had had sleepovers before, but almost never in the same bed. His house had a plethora of guest bedrooms, and your father would be found dead before he let a boy sleep in your room, even at the ripe age of 20.

We’re adults, you think. We can be mature about this.

There isn’t much time to dwell on it before you’re being stuffed by Robin into a too tight, wine red bridesmaid dress.

“I feel sick,” you say, groaning. “Do not barf on me,” she warns with a stern look, though you can tell she’s not really annoyed. “I really like these shoes.” Despite the itchy fabric of the dress and the obnoxiously loud color, you do look breathtakingly beautiful. Red has always been your color. 

“Hey dingus! Stop gawking and zip me would you?” Robin lightly kicks you with her bare foot, taking you out of your own head. When you exit the bathroom, you’re immediately met with the 2 boys. Even Eddie, who you don’t believe you’ve ever seen not in ripped jeans, cleans up nice.

Steve looks…strapping. Not handsome in the boyish way you’re used to. He’s all slicked hair, cufflinks and well-pressed wool. He meets your gaze and you swear his pupils dilate just slightly. An arm is offered to walk you to his car. He smells like cinnamon and cedar, woodsy and spice. He opens the passenger door for you and God, he’s a gentleman.

It’s going to be a long night.

- 

The venue was terribly charming. Floor to ceiling windows highlight the snow falling outside in big, fat flakes over the water. The room was lit entirely by yellow string lights, casting a permanent warm hue over the lodge.

On a table clad in lace, there were 5 notecards scribbled on in cursive ink. The one that adorned your name was directly adjacent to one that read Steve Harrington. They were paired with party favors wrapped neatly with a white silk bow.

Steve wanted to pull out your chair for you. He wanted to sit beside you with his hand in yours. Hell, he would’ve bought you a corsage if he thought it appropriate. A death by a thousand cuts; he was again reminded of the fact that you were not his, and he was not yours.

You were unable to identify the source of the nagging anxiety you felt. You were never partial to big gatherings like this, but the unease you were experiencing now was different. All you could do was relax, and try to enjoy the reception. Try not to pay mind to the stark, masculine presence sitting beside you.

The newlyweds’ first dance was to the beloved ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ By INXS. You think about how remarkably fitting a song it was for them and everything they had endured together. The restlessness you had previously felt started to steadily fade after that; laughing and chatting with your friends. It started to feel..normal, for a while.

Just then, like some sick esoteric joke, you hear the unmistakable beginning notes of ‘I’ll Be Over You’ by Toto. When you turn to your left, Steve has a poorly concealed, shit-eating grin on his face.

In the most sober tone he can muster through his unseriousness, he asks, “Can I have this dance?” while extending his hand to you. He prays you don’t notice it trembling slightly. It’s the undeniable corniness of his request that manages to strangle a laugh out of you.

 “I thought you’d never ask.”

With one hand delicately placed on your hip, he threads the other one with your own fingers as he starts to sway. You clumsily try to match his rhythm; so nervous that you’re becoming uncoordinated. His chest is nearly touching yours, and your noses are a hairsbreadth apart. It feels profoundly intimate.

'as soon as forever is through, I'll be over you.'

He leans his head down so his lips just brush your ear as he whispers, “You okay?”

You scoff, unconvincingly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You know he can see right through you. It’s fruitless to try and deceive him.

“You just seem,” he gives your waist a small squeeze, “a little tense.” You swallow hard.

“Just say the word and I'll take you home.” ‘Home’ meaning back to the cabin. Not the comforting safety of your own bed back in Hawkins. You appreciate his earnestly either way.

“I know, Steve.” you lilt, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment with a teasing tone. You rest your head against his shoulder, if only so you don’t have to keep holding his all-consuming gaze.

-

Despite the thermostat being set at a comfortable 75 degrees, you were still shivering slightly. You always ran cold. You stood in front of a dusty vanity mirror trying to extend your arms behind your back far enough to unzip this godforsaken dress.

You felt him more than you saw him. Steve’s presence displaces the air in the room as one does to water when they sink down into a steaming bath: noticeably, and comfortably. You pay him no mind as you continue to struggle with the zipper. Mulling around the same room; busy with your separate tasks, this was familiar to you. Not often did you have to acknowledge the other for them to know you were grateful for their company.

“Need a hand with that?” he asks, slightly amused as he saunters over to you.

You hesitate for a moment before looking over your shoulder and offering him a shy smile, “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” You know he doesn’t.

His scent envelopes you like a thick fog when he approaches you. His calloused fingers pinch the clasp and pull it down its tracks slowly. The sound is piercing in the quiet of your shared room; your senses dialed up to 11. You can feel his warm, freshly minty breath fan over your shoulders and the nape of your neck. Your arms erupt in goosebumps at the sensation.

He stands there, he realizes, longer than he needs to. 

“Okay I’m gonna-” “There you go-” you both speak at the same time. 

You huff an awkward breath of a laugh before you finish your thought, “I’m gonna..go change.” you throw a thumb behind you in the direction of the ensuite. “Right, yeah,” he shakes his head as if to escape his own thoughts; his turn to act shy.

-

Lying in bed, you’re suddenly grateful that Steve has always been something of a personal space heater. The warmth he radiates makes you want to curl into him, against your better judgment. The silence in the room is deafening; the only sounds to be heard are rhythmic breathing and the creaking of the ancient plumbing.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve’s voice is hoarse, no doubt from the boisterous singing he’d been doing earlier in the evening. Still, you’re grateful for the crack in the wall that's been plastered between you.

“I like secrets,”

“I hate weddings.”

The stiff fabric of the pillowcase crinkles as you turn your head to look at him.

“I am happy for them, it’s not that,” he starts, “it’s just, what if it’s never me up there ya know?”  It’s not that he’s scared he’ll never marry; it’s that he’s scared he’ll never marry you.

You want to reach out for him then. Hold his face in your hands and tell him you understand. There are so many unspoken words between you. Things unsaid, but implied. The desire to yell and scream and confess how much you love him is overwhelming.

“Steve. You’re only twenty,” smiling lightheartedly, “there’s so much time for you. There are plenty of women out there that would be delighted to swear themselves to you for eternity. Believe me.” You chuckle and pretend like the reason you know that to be the truth isn’t because you’re one of them.

“I know, I know,” he brings a hand up to card through his bed mussed hair, “you’re right, it’s silly.”

“I didn’t say it was silly,” you elbow his side gently, consequently moving your body closer to his.

He doesn’t say anything then. Instead, his hand cautiously moves over the bed until it’s touching yours; intertwining your pinkies. He doesn’t breathe, as if any sudden movements might scare you like a frightened doe. If he breathes, you might remember you’re not supposed to be doing this.

“If we’re not married by the time we’re,” he pretends to ponder, “32, will you marry me?”

You laugh, the unexpected loudness of it making you cringe a little, “yes,”

“Promise?” He sounds deadly serious.

You tighten your pinky around his, “Promise.”

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Okay. Okay. No, Hopper doesn't go back to being a cop. No. He wants to settle down a bit while also still looking after the kids. He becomes Hawkins High new basketball coach, partially to make sure those dumb jocks don't mess with the kids. He hires Steve as his assistant, and honestly, Steve finally learns what it's like to have a dad. Meanwhile, Joyce and Eddie are in the bleachers gossiping while also talking about how good their guys look. They're watching them both yell with their hands on their hips when Eddie and Joyce realize they sort of have the same taste in men.

[missingthemantaray]

new to small town life, steve harrington, who has been cut off from his family, told to make something of himself for once, yelled at about how easy his life is, how little they ask of him and how ungrateful he is, exiled to hawkins (the town his dad bought drunk one night as a gag).

there he meets robin, the sarcastic, mean, and wonderful owner of the motel steve is staying at (ew.)

and eventually eddie, the patronizing, unaware of personal space, and lovely (god, so lovely) guy who is going to help steve acquire the permits and grants to renovate the motel with robin, bit by bit who has big brown eyes and wild hair and wears basically the same tight, ripped jeans and loose button down with rolled sleeves everyday, while steve primps and styles and steams.

they fall in love, obvi, but not without a healthy dose of reality check for steve, family drama (boo, harringtons!), the best friendship (with a couple moments of shudderworthy attempts at more), steve cringing at eddie’s musical inclinations, meeting the rest of the town (mayor hopper, his wife, joyce, the gang of children steve is unsure of which parent they each belong to, and who make sure he never eats at benny’s alone (though he would maybe like to, just once!), the workers of the town-staple that is benny’s, jonathan (cook, high always) and argyle (waiter, high always, slightly more functional, but with more insane storytelling where you can’t tell if he’s making it up or telling the truth), the editor in chief of the hawkins paper, nancy, who has taken over the paper and declared that serious journalism must prevail in hawkins (think rory gilmore taking over the gazette and everyone going crazy because she took out the poem (i know, too many AUs at once))), an open mic, demolition in the motel with sweaty, gorgeous, hairy steve, lots of skin car routines, mental health crises, full blown disownment, happiness, love, friendship, joy, community, and small-town loving!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(steddie, ronance (robin helps nancy learn to love the mundane, nancy helps robin deal with change) (😭), lowkey jargyle (ive only heard of the drama of FoH and BoH star crossed loving and i live, but this would be decidedly less drama, they would simply be dating, like no labels but they love each other and kiss and hang out), lesbian eleven (she’s everything), a flirtation with byler (why not!), steve finding family, gayness, etc.)

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Perv!dark!Jim Hopper x fem!reader x Steve Harrington • This is a very long chapter • But it’s worth the read, I promise! The cliffhanger at the end is… 😱🤯😯

PART ONE

Jim Hopper woke up with a headache so intense, he wasn’t sure he could open his eyes. He did anyway, cursing under his breath at the sunlight streaming through his bedroom curtains, despising it. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the morning’s intrusion, yet his splitting headache persisted. He’d consumed far too much alcohol the night before, more than he usually did most evenings. As the fuzzy events of the past eight hours rose to his consciousness, he felt a wave of dread and vomit battling in his stomach.

What had he gotten himself into, Hopper wondered? The sound of footsteps echoed from the bedroom doorway. Hopper turned to see the woman he’d apparently brought home last night, smiling at him and carrying two mugs from his kitchen, steamy and smelling of fresh coffee. “Morning, handsome.”

She appeared to be naked except for one of his plaid flannel shirts, which she’d (obviously intentionally) left unbuttoned most of the way down her body.

Hopper felt nothing in regards to this woman at the moment besides annoyed. Her neon pink lipstick was missing, but her smile and demeanor still held that pathetic desperation which made Hopper’s skin crawl. She was standing there, waiting for Hopper to say something.

“Well?” she started, her tone slightly bothered as if expecting a compliment of some kind. “I thought maybe you could use this.” She walked closer and gently handed Hopper one of the mugs. “I know I sure can. Last night was…” She tilted her head, attempting flirtatiousness but it fell flat. Hopper watched her silently, waiting for a description of the night before, as he was genuinely in the dark. He realized he must have been blackout drunk, a state Hopper had somehow managed to avoid for the majority of his years drinking.

The woman sighed wistfully, and playfully tapped her mug to Hopper’s. The sound of the ceramic clinking together pierced Hopper’s ears through the filter of his hangover. She sat down on the bed beside him, snuggling close. “Cheers,” she said, and at this proximity, Hopper could now see the residue of neon pink staining the corners of her lips. Hopper grimaced. He watched her take a sip, then place the mug on his nightstand. Her hands began to wander over him, massaging his shoulders, moving along his back. Her right hand lingered below Hopper’s waist, and he realized what was happening. She wanted him to fuck her.

As Hopper expected, the woman’s cheaply manicured fingers slid beneath the sheet over Hopper’s waist, finding his cock. She bit her lower lip, eyes flashing up at Hopper expectantly. A new worry itched at his brain, and the roiling in his stomach returned. Had he fucked this woman last night? He couldn’t remember. And Hopper hoped that if he’d come inside her, it hadn’t been in her pussy. The last thing he needed was another pregnancy scare to add to his list of irresponsible sexual behavior.

“Remember what you said?” the woman asked, gently stroking Hopper under the sheet. His eyebrow lifted. “Refresh my memory?” he murmured, his voice gravelly with fatigue. Hopper turned from her, reaching for a cigarette on the nightstand.

She paused, slightly irritated, before answering. “You said you’d make it up to me.” Hopper glanced down at his semi-soft cock, which refused to fully harden even as she continued to work her hand around him. He took a drag from his cigarette, and cleared his throat. “Make what up to you?” he asked.

She forced a polite, playful smile. “When you fell asleep, silly.” Her grip around Hopper’s cock tightened, pulling a deep, lazy groan from his chest. “You said you’d make it up to me in the morning…” Her eyes were cast downward, the disappointment in her voice poorly masked. “…That you’d make up for not fucking me…”

Hopper sighed heavily, both in relief and at the pleasurable sensation tugging in his belly as the woman pumped him in her hand. He was fully hard now, that familiar, aching throb in his cock attempting to eclipse the throbbing in his head.

Hopper had a busy day ahead of him. He didn’t have much time to waste before diving deep into learning every single thing he could about Steve fucking Harrington, the only thing standing in his way of having you. But for now, Hopper decided he might as well take advantage of the hand around his cock, regardless of how little he regarded the woman the hand was attached to.

Hopper smiled slightly, giving her the impression he was interested in her continuing. She needed little motivation from him, dipping her head to take his tip between her lips. Hopper’s chest dipped slowly as he exhaled. He knew he was using this woman, whose name he couldn’t even recall. Hopper had no intention of fucking her. He’d come down her throat and then tell her to take off his shirt, and get out. It was simple as that; a one way transaction. And he never wanted to see her or her disgusting neon pink lips again once he was done using them.

She could take Hopper deeper at this angle than she’d been able to sucking him off in his car. Hopper closed his eyes and mentally replaced her with you. As his fantasy deepened, Hopper’s hand at the back of her head closed tighter. The soft sucking sounds she made on his cock shifted to deep, guttural grunts as he forced himself further down her throat. Hopper steadily rocked his hips upward, fucking against the back of her throat. With every thick, chortled sound he forced out of her, Hopper’s fantasy of you in her place grew stronger, more intense.

He felt himself already getting close. Hopper clamped his hand around the back of her neck, shoving her as far down his shaft as he could without breaking her. God how he wanted to throat-fuck you like this. The image in Hopper’s mind of you on your knees before him was intoxicating, your eyes weeping mascara down puffy, reddened cheeks, his hands firmly clutching fistfuls of your hair, skull-fucking every thought out of your pretty little head…

The woman whimpered uncomfortably on Hopper’s cock, attempting to pull away as he locked her mouth in place, her nose pressed into the wiry hair of his bush. Her hand smacked Hopper’s thigh in protest, as warm streams of cum shot against the back of her throat. Hopper groaned deeply before releasing her neck, his eyes still closed. In Hopper’s fantasy, you were licking your lips up at him, thanking him. In reality, the woman in his bed was coughing and looking at Hopper with nothing but contempt.

Her palm striking his cheek brought Hopper out of his fantasy, his eyes flashing open. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” she spat, her voice thick, eyes red and tearful. Hopper reached beside him for his cigarette, then stared at her blankly before mumbling “…too rough?”

The woman’s eyes widened, but she composed herself quickly. Shuffling off the side of Hopper’s bed, she hastily pulled his shirt off over her head, and threw it at him, a little disappointed when he barely flinched. “You know, I’d heard a lot of rumors about you,” she said, picking her own clothes off the ground. Hopper watched her dress herself, enjoying his cigarette in silence. A light sheen of sweat covered forehead and chest, rising and falling slower as his breathing returned to normal. At this point, the only thing he wanted from the woman standing in front of him was her absence.

“That you’re a real piece of shit,” she continued, her voice like acid. “That you use women; fuck one and then move on to the next best thing, I guess.”

Hopper exhaled a cloud of smoke in her direction as she stared him down, defiant. “You know what I’ve heard some of the women in town call you, Hopper?” she asked, and he shrugged disinterestedly.

“Hop on and Hop off, that’s what they call you,” she replied. “Because that’s what you do. Like I said-.” She tucked her shirt into her pants aggressively. “-A real piece of shit. And now-.” Her fingers dug through her purse, finding her car keys which she removed and held onto. “-I know all the rumors are true.” She turned on her heel and left Hopper sitting in his bed, his cock softening against his thigh.

Hopper showered and had something to eat before leaving for the station. He wasn’t on duty today, not officially, at least. But he certainly was going to be working, albeit on a private case opened exclusively by him. He intended to learn everything he could about Steve Harrington, the man you’d introduced yesterday as your boyfriend. The man who was allowed to fuck you, whose too-happy smile and boyish charm had irritated Hopper beyond measure.

Hopper had experience as a detective from his years spent in New York. He’d returned home to Hawkins of course, after the death of his daughter and subsequent breakdown of his marriage. Those years felt like a lifetime ago now, but Hopper planned on putting the skills he’d learned as a detective to good use in his investigation of Steve Harrington. As Hopper pulled up to the station, it occurred to him that his craving for you was about to descend even further into obsession. But it was your fault, he reasoned, for introducing him to Steve in the first place…for dangling that relationship in Hopper’s face, unwittingly playing a role in strengthening his need to have you…

────────────────────

Hopper made a generic excuse to those at the station about coming in while off duty to finish some paperwork he’d neglected the previous week. He entered his office and got straight to work, using every resource at his (ample) disposal to learn everything he could about your boyfriend. And by the end of the day, when the sun was beginning to set warm and amber over Hawkins, Hopper knew Steve Harrington’s life story by heart. The profile he’d compiled of Steve was depressingly positive. Steve was a good kid, rebellious at times but he’d never been in any serious trouble with law enforcement. No arrests, no charges, a basically spotless record with few indications that your boyfriend was anything less than…perfect.

Hopper grit his teeth behind his lips. He stared down at the considerable information in front of him, notes he’d compiled from interviews conducted via phone to everyone Steve knew and had known, spanning his entire life. Nearly everyone in Hawkins was fond of Steve, and the Harrington family in general. Steve’s mother in particular was a very respected member of the community, mainly due to her work with various local charities. The Harrington’s were wealthy, and used their prosperity to help those less fortunate than themselves.

Steve had worked as a lifeguard at the Hawkins Community Pool, and his coworkers had fond memories of their time knowing him. The only people who did seem to have any grievances with Steve were some of the former students he’d interacted with in high school, who said he could be a bit of a bully at times, if you rubbed either Steve or his group of friends the wrong way. He’d apparently been christened the obnoxious title “King Steve,” during his time at Hawkins High; but otherwise, Steve seemed to have completed school without much fanfare. In total, all of Hopper’s evidence painted a picture of Steve Harrington as a good hearted young man with a bright future ahead of him. And Hopper would have approved of Steve, could maybe even have been fond of him, if only Steve hadn’t had you. Hopper leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. The hours he’d spent sitting behind his desk had left him cramped and fatigued, a cruel reminder of his age and that a young man like Steve Harrington probably never experienced these sorts of aches and pains that Hopper occasionally found himself victim of.

He looked behind him through the office window, noting the sunset. A thought occurred to Hopper, and maybe he should have squashed it as soon as it appeared, but…he didn’t. Instead of leaving it, Hopper let the thought roll around in his brain, and it didn’t take long for him to be consumed by it…

It was a Sunday night. You were very likely with Steve right now. If Hopper was lucky, he could probably find the two of you together, and…Hopper wasn’t sure where he’d go from there. But he needed to see you, needed to know how you interacted with Steve when no one else was watching. If you were really, truly happy with the boy…?

Hopper left the station with a spring in his step. He felt a glimmer of hope in an otherwise fruitless day. Sliding behind the wheel of his Blazer, Hopper decided to begin by visiting the two places you were most likely to be this evening: Steve’s house, and yours. His visit to the Harrington home proved unhelpful, as neither your car or Steve’s were there. Hopper drove through downtown and found your house easily. He’d never been there personally, but he of course knew the address. Your car and a vehicle with plates matching Steve’s were parked in the driveway. Hopper slowed the Blazer quietly to a stop a couple of houses down, and peered through the windshield, hoping for even a glimpse of you.

Unfortunately for Hopper, he couldn’t see anything from such a distance. So he left his vehicle and walked closer to your house. Hopper was grateful for the darkness concealing him now, the dull streetlight allowing him coverage while he (admittedly) stalked you and Steve. Hopper waited beside a tree in your front yard, hoping it would further conceal him. Growing restless and frustrated, Hopper was considering walking back to his car and leaving for home. But movement in one of the upstairs windows gave him pause. With no curtains and a light illuminating the room from inside, it was easy for Hopper to notice if that light was interrupted. If someone walked between the light and the window, Hopper would be able to tell; and someone did…you. Wearing an adorable sundress, you were obviously dancing to a melody Hopper couldn’t hear from his place outside. You were…enchanting. Hopper found himself smiling while he watched you, twirling and moving your lips to the lyrics, looking so sweet and happy. Hopper noticed the shift in light again, and how your eyes seemed to focus on something else in the room. Your smile shifted, becoming flirtatious, your teeth settling over your bottom lip. Teasing. Seductive.

Hopper tried to see around the edge of the window who you were looking at, although he already knew it was Steve. As if proving him right, your boyfriend entered the frame through which Hopper was viewing you, and gently pulled you in for a kiss.

Hopper’s jaw tensed, the knot in his stomach tightening. The scene in front of him was supposed to be private; but Hopper had no intention of turning away. He’d never seen you so…exposed. The soft curve of your shoulders in that dress, the way they trembled slightly as Steve gently removed the straps…Nuzzling his nose against the soft skin revealed there, Steve pressed his lips to your shoulder in another, more intimate, kiss. Hopper swallowed, a conflicted mix of jealousy and arousal stirring within him. He realized he’d inadvertently placed his wrist against the growing tent in his jeans. Hopper pressed himself against his wrist, testing the feeling. Would he be able to come watching another man fuck you? A man that wasn’t him?

His breath was shallow, lips pressed firm in a tight line as watched. Watching…that’s all Hopper was doing. While Steve’s hands and lips explored your shoulders, your neck, the only person Hopper was able to touch was himself. Pathetically, frustrated, he reached for his zipper and tugged it down. The moment Hopper’s palm wrapped around his cock was also the moment Steve went to his knees before you…

From Hopper’s vantage point, he couldn’t see Steve’s face, only the back of his head and hair, which your fingers had laced through tenderly. Steve’s face was pressed between your thighs, his head bobbing rhythmically as he ate you. Hopper exhaled deeply, a heavy breath leaving his chest. How he longed to taste you, to feel your sweet, ripe cunt gliding up and down along his tongue. Hopper imagined what you must taste like, how wet you became when you were being licked, if you got off like this? His cock twitched in his fist, a pearlescent bead of precum blooming at the tip. Hopper’s eyes were drinking you in as Steve drank at your cunt.

Your head tipped back, the soft smile on your lips replaced by concentration, your eyebrows knitting together in pleasure. Steve’s big hands groped up your thighs, lifting the back of your dress, giving Hopper a full view of your ass. Hopper groaned low in his chest at the sight of you, exposed for him, so vulnerable yet unaware of your vulnerability. You’d never guess your boss was watching you right now, tugging his cock in the darkness, behaving like an animal and not like a man worthy of the power and position he held.

Steve’s face appeared from between your thighs, his chin slick with cum. Hopper swore he could taste you on his tongue, the warm heat of you, candied maple sweet. You shook your head at Steve and the boy grinned, saying what Hopper interpreted to be “more, baby?” And you nodded, your hands going to Steve’s shoulders as you leaned into him. Hopper’s cock pulsed against his palm as he imagined you requesting more from him, more of his tongue, licking places inside you no other man ever had. His knees felt weak, his stomach knotting at the scene unfolding before him.

Your right leg was wrapped around Steve’s face now, fully obscuring him from Hopper’s view, which Hopper was grateful for. Your body trembled, the muscles in your thigh tensing where you had draped your leg over Steve’s shoulder. Your fingers gripped the fabric of Steve’s shirt, clenching it in fistfuls. How Hopper wished he could hear the sounds you were making as you came. He groaned watching your body shiver and convulse through your climax, the way you curled your hips upward and humped Steve’s face as hard as you could, the way your mouth opened in a perfect O as you uttered what Hopper could only imagine were the prettiest moans to ever spill from any woman’s lips…

Steve remained on his knees a moment longer, letting you grind and rut against him till you were fully sated. He then rose to his feet and took you in his arms, letting you melt against him, your legs weak and mind gone soft. Hopper watched as Steve kissed the top of your head, your hair sticking to the sides of his face. Steve was completely soaked in you, from his forehead to the neckline of his shirt. Hopper wanted to be drenched in you, for you to rub your cunt on his uniform so he could have your scent with him all day long. He seethed inwardly with jealousy, longing to know what the room smelled like right now, with your cunt so wet and dripping down your thighs. Steve took your chin in his hand and gently tipped your face to his. “Open,” he said, and you parted your lips obediently. Hopper felt himself edging closer as he watched you accept your own cum from Steve’s mouth as he spit it into yours.

“Fuck yes,” Hopper growled softly in the darkness. “Take it, baby, take your own cum like a good little girl…”

Steve took advantage of your mouth being open for him, pressing his tongue between your lips. Hopper watched the muscles in your face and Steve’s move as you explored each other, tongues wrestling together as deeply as possible in the deepest, dirtiest kiss Hopper had ever witnessed. He watched as you sucked the tip of Steve’s tongue, not letting him go, and the mischievous grin that pulled your lips. Steve said something to the effect of playfully scolding you, likely for being greedy, Hopper imagined.

Steve whipped you around by your shoulders and bent you over at the waist in front of him. Steve’s cock was visible now, long and thick, his tip wet and ruddy. Hopper was relieved to see that he and Steve were similarly equipped; you’d be able to take a dick as big as Hopper’s without the discomfort he’d been afraid of potentially causing you. Steve placed one hand on your back, forcing your head down, obscuring your face from Hopper’s view. Since he could no longer see your face, Hopper watched your ass, the way Steve spread your cheeks apart and spit between them. Steve held his cock at the base and rubbed it up and down between your thighs, spreading your slick over your hole. And when he penetrated you, sinking into your ass, Hopper swore he could feel you gripping him, too.

Steve rocked his hips back and forth gently at first, gliding in and out slowly to adjust your hole to fit him. When he’d opened you up sufficiently, Steve’s thrusts came harder. Hopper’s forehead creased, a grunt of pleasure falling from his lips as he increased the speed at which he was fucking his fist, keeping in time with Steve’s thrusts. God he wanted you, needed you. Hopper imagined your ass bouncing back against him, his heavy balls slapping your cunt while he took you from behind. He wanted to fuck you every single way Steve ever had, just to do it better.

Steve’s fingers dug into your hips, leaving indentations in your flesh that Hopper wanted to soothe away with his tongue. Steve stilled inside you just long enough to remove his shirt, pulling it over his head and discarding it to the floor before resuming his pace. The perspiration whetting Steve’s tanned skin shimmered in the darkness, matting the thick nest of hair covering his chest. He reached forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair, arching your back, tilting your chin toward his. “Open,” Steve ordered again, spitting into your mouth before releasing your hair and letting your head fall forward.

Hopper felt weak as he watched you, the way you behaved so well. He wondered if Steve was a good master to you, if he rewarded you often for being so submissive and obedient? Hopper knew that he would give you whatever you wanted, for being such a good girl, for accepting his cock in your ass and his spit down your throat like the dirty little whore you were…

The tension in Steve’s face increased, his lips parting. Hopper watched your ass bounce against Steve as he slammed into you with a few final thrusts that had him fully buried inside you. As Steve ejaculated up your ass, Hopper came all over his hand. Cum dripped down Hopper’s fingers and slipped between them, and he couldn’t stop. The burn of overstimulation should have forced his hand away, but Hopper was still hard somehow, the cum covering his fist only facilitating his need to keep going. Hopper’s eyes were heavy-lidded, vision hazy, his mind completely awash in the sensation of his over-stimulated cock in his hand. He watched through bleary eyes as Steve pulled out of your asshole, cum dripping from his tip and between your cheeks, down the backs of your thighs as you rose to a standing position. Hopper’s cock ached, angry, hurting and yet still he needed to fuck himself, drunk on the image of you, your tits hanging out over your sundress, your hair a disheveled mess framing your face, the sweet and sinful expression of pleasure spreading your lips into the most beautiful smile Hopper had ever seen…

His cock was red and taut in his fist, slick with cum as he used it like lube to fuck himself. Hopper came again, growling into his teeth, spilling more cum onto his fist and the ground beneath him. Gasping for air, he fell against the tree beside him, releasing his spent cock, finally satisfied, from the white-knuckled grip he’d had on it for the past thirty minutes. Hopper panted against the tree, grateful for the cool night air that filled his lungs, replenishing him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and pulled a pack of Camel’s from his pocket. Removing a cigarette, Hopper placed it between his lips and prepared to light it, his eyes casually flicking up to the window again. He was hoping to see your body one more time before putting his cock away, and having his cigarette on the drive back home.

But Hopper’s stomach dropped when he looked up at the window, his heart thudding to a brief standstill when he saw you, looking down at him. Your chest was still bare, still peppered with sweat and heaving softly from sex. Your eyes were wide but not alarmed. Hopper tried to read your expression beyond that, but…after all, how could he possibly guess what you were thinking in a moment like this?

What even was this moment, Hopper wondered? How could he face you at the station tomorrow morning, knowing that you were aware of his secret? That he’d watched you getting fucked in the ass through your bedroom window? How long had you known he was there, Hopper wondered? Were you aware that he’d just come all over himself because of you, that his semen was beaded on the grass in your lawn?

Glancing past you briefly, checking for your boyfriend, Hopper was grateful at least that Steve wasn’t there. Backing away, Hopper readjusted himself into his jeans, forcing his eyes away from yours and that impossible-to-read expression they carried. He practically ran to his car, lurching himself inside and speeding away as fast as possible, not caring how much noise he made. Hopper just needed to get out of there, away from your house, your street, your eyes, NOW.

He drove home recklessly, shame chewing at his gut. Hopper wondered if you’d tell Steve, if you’d tell everyone in Hawkins? He questioned if life as he knew it was over?

Hopper stepped inside the shower and turned the water pressure as hard as it would go, and as hot as he could stand it. Letting the water wash over him, Hopper imagined he was melting away the sin he’d committed. But in reality, he couldn’t wash away what he’d done. He’d have to face you tomorrow, look you in the eyes…and accept whatever fate you presented him…

PART THREE

[ungoliantschilde]

"Alex... tell me about your brother.", by Joe Quesada, with Inks by Al Milgrom, Letters by Richard Starkings and Steve Dutro, Colors by Marie Javins, and a Script by Peter David.

[i-spit-on-your-garage]

Somebody needs to write for (actually inclusive) x black reader fics. Too many "neutral" fics are written (often unintentionally) as white coded far too often. I can't even always relate to the x black!reader fics because I'm half black and half white so there still plenty of descriptions and such that are almost as unrelatable for me. If any body has some good author recs send them my way please 🙏🏽

[giallo4ver]

Found this on TikTok and yeah basically this is it. It's true.

Real endgame.

[serperioranimations]

An angel and a demon. I think they’re gay or something

[lovelydrusilla]

me, whenever i rewatch schitt's creek and get to season 3 episode 8

[infinite-orangepeel]

the only constellations that matter are the ones on this man’s body (specifically the double cheek one aka little dipper) ✨

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Welcome to my master list :) This will hold all of my works from all of my fandoms

A/n: Any art that is made is made by me, so please be kind and do not take them. Images come from Pinterest, I do make them on Canva if anyone wonders.

Supernatural masterlist

Mavel masterlist

The lost boys (1987) Bad moon rising masterlist

Obx Masterlist

Stranger things Masterlist

One Piece live action Masterlist

A/a/n: Please feel free to make requests from any of these fandoms. I try to write for as many characters as I can; romantic, platonic, etc. I also have many more fandoms, so if yall have any other fandoms yall would like me to write then by all means don’t be afraid to message me. Because I really need something to do in my spare time. ;)

[stevesgother]

The 4th - S.H

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI NSFW, cursing, drinking, characters are all of age, takes place after the events of ST3, slight exhibitionism only bc they’re technically outside, it’s that slightly awkward but endearing sex you have when you fuck someone you like for the first time. It's realistic. Sue me.

AN: first time writing smut, i'm so nervous. fast times au?? If you squint?? the last half isn't proofread bc i simply cannot bring myself to read my own smut

‘American Woman’ by The Guess Who blares loudly from a twin pair of Hitachi speakers stationed on Steve Harrington’s back deck. On the hottest day of the year, The Party had decided to congregate at the only non-public pool they had unlimited access to.

To his relief, Steve had been assigned to grill duty again. The cherry red bikini you had sauntered through his sliding glass door wearing was starting to seriously inconvenience him. He had his Ray Bans on, albeit low on the bridge of his nose, to disguise where his gaze had been lingering all afternoon; the large propane grill hiding his lower half.

Lounging poolside on your towel, you hear before you feel a large ‘SPLASH’, and suddenly you’re soaked head to toe in overly chlorinated pool water.

“Ugh! Henderson!” you scold as you stand to replace your now drenched towel. The cheeky boy looks up at you from where he floats in the pool and mouths a half-hearted ‘Sorry’. 

“Steve! Would you happen to have an extra towel?” you shout to him as you hold up your ruined one, shooting him a deadpan expression. “Yeah, ‘course,” he sets down the grill tongs and awkwardly shuffles his way inside, keeping his back to you. Weird, you think.

Steve caught one look at you, hair wet and dripping, water beading down your neck and disappearing among the curve of your breasts; nipples taught from the sudden shock of cold water and visible through the fabric of your swimsuit, and he was grateful for the reprieve inside would offer him.

After close to 15 minutes of no Steve and more importantly, no towel, you decide to venture into the spacious house yourself. “Steve! – Oh!-” you startle as you run chest to chest into him, both turning a corner. “You scared me,” you say with a hand to your racing heart, “I was just wondering where you went,” you chuckle awkwardly.

“Yeah no, sorry, I just uh- got distracted,” he says, avoiding contact and handing you the fresh linen. You glance down, and notice the slight tent in his maybe too-tight swim trunks. You feel the heat of a rosy blush crawl up your cheeks, and a sudden flip of your stomach. Were you really the reason why he was acting so strange? That felt incredibly presumptuous of you.

“Well um…” you trail off, trying to keep your cool, “thanks. For the towel, I mean.” Steve had never made you feel so bashful and uncertain before. Something about the newly exposed skin and the salty smell of sweat mixed musk that radiates off of him from this proximity making your mind short circuit.

 –

When the cookout had dwindled down to just the adults and the sun dipped just below the trees, a joint had started to be passed around your small circle. “Well, we should probably head home,” Nancy announces in her usual demure tone, grabbing Jonathan’s hand helping him to stand. A chorus of goodbyes echo throughout the group, eventually leaving just you, Steve, Robin and Eddie.

An exaggerated yawn escapes Robin as she declares she’s exhausted and needs Eddie to drive her home in his rinky dink van.

“C’mon man! I just rolled this joi-”

Robin cuts him off with a harsh clear of her throat and an even harsher jab to his ribs.

“I. Really think. We. Should. Go.” She punctuates each word with a forced smile. Why was everyone acting so fucking odd today? You try to send her a panicked glance, fearing the potential awkwardness of being left here alone with Steve.

Being best friends with both of you, she was well aware of the searing crushes the two of you had on each other. This barbeque was her opportunity to light a fire under your asses to do something about it.

“That’s okay, Rob. Go home if you’re tired.” Always the gentleman. Right now you could kick him for it. If Robin notices your glaring, she doesn’t acknowledge it as she rises to her feet and heads toward the gate leading to the driveway.

“Bye losers!” She waggles her fingers at you as they make their exit, sending you a subtle wink that sets your cheeks ablaze. You now know without a doubt that this was intentional.

A hand on your knee as he says, “I can walk you home if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. We can finish the joint at least,” you smile timidly at him. Free weed wasn’t easy to come by these days, what was the harm in staying just a little longer?

–

2 hours later, you’re lying shoulder to shoulder on the rough concrete surrounding the Harrington’s pool. The joint had been snuffed out on the ground between you an hour ago, but with your thoughts dulled like this it was becoming increasingly easy to bask in the space you two had created for each other. The desire to turn heel and run with your other friends had long fizzled out.

“Hey, what was up with you today?” you ask after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “You just seemed really off,”

He looks suddenly nervous, “Oh I uh– I don’t know. Julys’ always a weird month for me, I guess,” he lies, carding a hand through his hair.

Taking the hand that’s not in his hair in your own, you ask, “Are you doing okay?” When he turns his head to meet you, your sincerity makes him blush - neck to ears. Your faces are closer than he thought they would be. He can count every eyelash from this proximity.

“Yeah– you know what,” He clears his throat, “I’m actually really warm,” he sits up clumsily as he pulls his shirt over his head by the collar, ruffling his hair and exposing the constellation of freckles and moles he has spattering the skin on his toned back.

“Okay–” You go to stand with him but he’s already dove into the pool. When he breaches the surface, he shakes his hair out like a dog and grins at you. You can’t help your eyes wandering to the dark patch of hair covering his chest. You’re starting to feel that warmth he had been complaining of.

“You gonna come in? Or just stand there and gawk?” He laughs as he floats over to you.

So you peel your shirt off and watch him stare intently as you unbutton your shorts, letting them drop to your feet. A less than elegant swan dive and you’re disappearing under the artificially blue water. The sudden coolness of it shocks you, sobering you up a bit.

You’re much more graceful than the boy when it’s your turn to come up for air, gently pushing back the hair that sticks to your face. He swims over to you unsuspectingly, then in the next breath and with a mischievous grin he lifts your body over his shoulder and essentially bodyslams you back under the surface.

More than the gesture itself, what shocks you the most is the warm expanse of his broad shoulders caressing you. You both emerge laughing, “Asshole!” you swat at his chest playfully.

When the laughter dies and fizzles out into an anxious energy, the air is filled with a sort of anticipation. The two of you are bobbing in the pool, faces no more than an inch apart.

“You have got to stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, breathlessly.

Just then he surges forward and presses his lips firmly to yours. The kiss is close-mouthed and chaste at first, giving you a chance to pull away. When you don’t take the opportunity, he deepens it. Your wet hands move to hold his face, breaching the water with a small splashing sound and his strong arms hug you at the waist, bringing you impossible closer. Pressed up against him like this you can feel all of him. The scratch of curls on his chest, the bulge of his biceps around your middle, the hard length of him pressed against your thigh.

Gasping into the kiss, you give him the opening he needs to lick hotly into your mouth, eliciting a breathy moan from your chest that sends Steve reeling. He starts to slowly kick his legs, swimming to push your back up against a vinyl clad wall.

Your lips move to lick the vein that runs down his neck, then up to a spot just below his ear. He groans when you take his earlobe gently into your mouth. Grasping your cheek in his hand, he forces your face out of the refuge his neck had provided from his intense gaze.

“Can I touch you?” He shudders when he speaks, having dreamt about this exact moment for years. Your response is an enthusiastic nod and another searing kiss to his lips - plush and pink and made for your own.

Steve’s knee moves to rest bookended between your thighs, keeping you open for him. In the water, he can’t feel how pathetically wet you are beneath your bright red bikini bottoms. You’re thankful for that, but even so, the whine that you release when his swift fingers push aside the fabric and start slowly massaging your clit is enough to give you away.

Your grip on his shoulders tightens, leaving small crescent shapes in his perfect skin. “Oh!-- God, keep doing that,” you pant.

“You like that, baby?” Steve tries to sound suave. Mr. Confident. King Steve. Honestly, he’s terrified. He has half a mind to stop and ask you to pinch him, not entirely convinced this is even real. But the sweet, sweet sounds you’re making are enough to persuade him otherwise.

“Yes! Ah– please, don’t stop,” you beg, even though you don’t have to. Steve’s positive he would do just about anything you asked of him right now. You have the sudden urge to return the favor, reaching down between your two bodies and palming him through his swim trunks.

“Oh -- my God, don’t,” he warns, the sheepish smile on his face signals to you that he’s not actually uncomfortable, “I’ll come in my pants like a damn teenager,” he gives an embarrassed chuckle.

Growing desperate for more, you say, “I want you to fuck me.” with an impossible finality. It makes Steve’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Wh-what?” He needs to make sure he heard you correctly.

“Steve. I need you to fuck me. Now.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you begin to press open-mouth kisses to his neck again.

“Oh my God,” The boy sounds absolutely wrecked already, barely able to contain himself. His hands fumble blindly for the ties on your bikini bottoms and he pulls when he finds them. Unwrapping you like his very own Christmas present.

You pull his trunks down and over his hips, just enough to fish his red and swollen cock out, careful to not let them fall to the bottom of the pool lest someone have to dive and retrieve them. You line him up hurriedly with your entrance, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Are you sure about this?” His brows furrow in that way they always do, when he's unsure. He has a crinkle above his nose.

“Yes” you half moan before getting a look at his face, “Wait, are you?”

“Yes! Yes– of course. I just– want you to be sure,” He kisses you softly after he asks

It’s so tender, you feel so safe with him like this. You fear you might be falling in love.

“I promise, I’m su–Oh!” he slides into you without warning, nearly knocking the breath out of you. He lets out a guttural groan into the space where your shoulder meets your neck as he starts to keep a steady rhythm.

“God, you feel so good,” he pants into your open mouth, “i’ve wanted this for so long,”

His words have you keening. He wraps his broad arms fully around you now, hugging you close as he pistons his hips into you. Repeatedly hitting that spot inside your walls where you need him the most.

“Oh, Steve!” you moan loudly, no longer concerned about the neighbors hearing you. The pool water begins to form waves from Steve’s thrusting and splash up onto the concrete beside your head.

“Fuck, say my name like that again,” you can feel his hips stuttering slightly.

“Steve!” He whines directly into your ear when you say it, you never would’ve thought he’d be so vocal.

“Touch yourself baby, I’m close,”

You do as you’re asked and start to keep a frenzied pace on your sensitive bud. Having both kinds of stimulation, mixed with Steve’s sweet praise, is sending you closer and closer to your edge.

As you reach your high, Steve can feel your warm pussy clench around him, making him hurtle towards his orgasm with you.

With a strangled cry, “fuck- I'm cumming,” You finish together as hips slow and he rides out his orgasm with you. His body curls in on itself and he trembles slightly. You run a warm, soft hand through his hair and down his back, soothing him through the intensity of it.

“Shit- my parents are going to kill me,” he laughs and kisses you again.

Maybe you did like swimming. Just a little bit.

tags: @daisy-munson, @megxplryxb

[jadewritesficshere]

AU where Robin is going to the local community College for an arts degree. Convinces Steve during her second semester to sign up as a model so they can hang out during class. Robin convinces him its a win win situation, he gets paid to sit and look pretty and gets to spend time with her (that was previously interrupted by classes).

Eddie signs up for the class because he wants to get better at drawing for his DND meetings (plus for his degree he needs to have one artistic class and it was either this or theater, and he isnt sure if he'd have to perform but after getting accused in a hit and run that killed the local cheerleader, he isnt the most liked even though he was proven innocent). Eddie, who is late to class and the only seat left is next to Robin. The two start chatting and ignore the teacher going through the syllabus on the first day. This continues for the first three classes as the teacher goes over different techniques.

Fourth day of class, Steve is there. And Eddie is convinced he's seen an angel. He's seeing one of them sculptures by the ninja turtles come to life. The most gorgeous human he's ever seen. The imperfections make him more perfect. The freckles like constellations on his skin. The scars showing a fight that he undoubtedly was strong enough to survive. Robin clocks it in all of two seconds as Eddie is as red as a firetruck and hasn't said two words. Meanwhile, Steve is standing there feeling a little bad that Robin's new friend is so uncomfortable at the sight of him and his scars.

[finalgowrl]

“he’s insane” and it’s just a photo of joe keery

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Perv!Dark!Jim Hopper x fem!reader | This is a very long chapter!!! | I don’t even know the word count, but it’s a LOT…

PART ONE | PART TWO

The previous night had been one of the worst in Jim Hopper’s life. He’d endured the long hours till morning with the company of cigarettes and alcohol, ruminating on the way he’d potentially ruined his life the night before. How could he have allowed his obsession with you to sink this low? To the point of revealing his secret in the most damning way possible, literally caught with his pants down (or at least, undone). Hopper had gone to your home last night with the plan of seeing you and your boyfriend, Steve Harrington. To satisfy his curiosity about the relationship the two of you had together. Was Steve really as perfect as he seemed? Were you genuinely happy with him? Or, more pressing on Hopper’s mind, was Steve Harrington able to satisfy you?

Hopper had gotten more answers than he’d expected however, when he’d accidentally stumbled upon you and Steve sharing an intimate moment together. Nothing, especially Hopper’s barely existent sense of shame, could have stopped him from watching. He’d certainly felt shame after being caught, however. The expression in your eyes when you’d spotted him was…impossible for Hopper to read. You hadn’t looked embarrassed, or horrified, or even surprised, at least as Hopper had perceived. It’s possible, he told himself, that you were exceptionally good at hiding your emotions. Or maybe…maybe you’d known that Hopper was watching all along…?

The thought had occurred to him at some point during the night, after yet another failed attempt at sleep. Hopper stared up at the ceiling of his trailer, naked and drunkenly sprawled on his couch. He was surrounded by empty beer cans, a cigarette burning down between his lips. He watched the smoke rise to the ceiling, coiling above him in an almost hypnotic spiral, at least to his alcohol-soaked perception. The image above Hopper perfectly mirrored his life spiraling-out-of-control, and he chuckled darkly at the irony of it. Hopper thought again of your eyes, their expression which completely eluded him. And then…a new possibility occurred to him. What if you hadn’t been shocked at all by his behavior, Hopper wondered? What if the secret of his obsession was something you already knew about? Had you realized Hopper wasn’t what he seemed, that Hawkins’ Chief of Police was actually less a servant of the community, and more a slave to his own perverted impulses?

Hopper found a sick sort of comfort in this new theory, in the idea that you might have already known his secret. If you’d known he was watching you last night, along with the reason why, perhaps you’d have less reason to be shocked at his indecent behavior? Your expression had appeared so vague to Hopper, maybe because you’d known he was there watching all along? Hopper lay on his couch, wondering…if maybe you’d left your curtains pulled on purpose? Had you wanted Hopper to see your boyfriend fuck you?

The character profile Hopper had constructed of you was of an innocent girl yet to be corrupted. If he’d been wrong all this time, and you were actually as deviant as he was, then the possibility of Hopper having you became more real to him. Maybe you liked the idea of being watched, of being obsessed over? Had your innocent behavior around Hopper been an act this whole time, a game you were playing at his expense? Did you get off on knowing he wanted you, but couldn’t have you?

The sun was rising, reminding Hopper of the time. He checked his watch, realizing he’d have to leave for the station soon. Facing you would be much easier if his theory about you was right. Part of him knew it was a long shot, but fuck, Hopper needed this fantasy, the hope that you secretly liked his lusting after you, that you wanted to be wanted by him…?

────────────────

The drive to the station was relatively easy for Hopper, considering the fact that he’d had zero sleep the night before and his hangover was getting progressively worse. Regardless of how awful he felt, Hopper was impatient to receive some kind of feedback from you, whether negative or positive. Not knowing how you were feeling about last night was tying a knot in Hopper’s stomach. And as soon as he entered the station, that knot in his stomach tightened.

A young woman Hopper didn’t recognize was seated at your desk. He stopped in his tracks, surprised and growing increasingly worried. Where the hell were you?

Hopper approached the secretarial desk. “Uh, hey,” he began tentatively. “Where’s (y/n)?”

The young woman smiled back at Hopper, and in spite of his anxiety, he couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was.

“(y/n) called in sick this morning,” the young woman replied. Hopper took a deep breath; his fantasy that you’d be alright with his deviant behavior was more than likely only that: a fantasy. You probably thought Hopper was the lowest scum on Earth, and couldn’t bear the thought of coming into work today and having to interact with him.

“Did she-uh-.” Hopper paused, clearing his throat. “Did she say what’s wrong, exactly? Anything specific?”

“No, but maybe she caught the flu?” the young woman replied. “I mean, her voice sounded okay over the phone. But you never know with the flu; it could be affecting her stomach-.” She looked away awkwardly, flustered and embarrassed for rambling.

Hopper took a few seconds to consider the new layer of shit he found himself in. At this point, he was sure you’d told Steve what had happened. Because, after all, Steve was your boyfriend. Why wouldn’t you tell him?

Then again, if you had told Steve, why wasn’t he at the station right now kicking Hopper’s ass? Maybe you’d begged Steve not to tell anyone, afraid you’d put your job in jeopardy?

The temporary secretary cleared her throat to get Hopper’s attention. Her big, expressive eyes drifted up and down his body, a curious smile on her face. Hopper tried to focus on her smile and not his anxiety, grateful for the distraction when she extended a pretty hand to him. “We haven’t met before,” the young woman said. “I’m Mary.”

Hopper took her hand, which disappeared in his. “Jim,” he said, adding, “Mary. That’s a beautiful name, Mary.”

She dropped her eyes bashfully, a light pink blush coloring her cheeks. Hopper already knew Mary wanted him to fuck her; it was more than obvious. Having her would be easy for several reasons. Mary was obviously young, likely nineteen or twenty, Hopper guessed. And from experience, he knew that younger women were easier conquests, because they tended to be inexperienced and therefore, attracted to someone mature and in a position of authority like Hopper.

One of the reasons Hopper was so enchanted by you was the fact that you were the exact opposite of a girl like Mary. You were young, but not so young that you automatically came with the prepackaged naïveté Hopper had grown so bored with after years of fucking women barely old enough to drink. Women who’d maybe had one or two partners, if any. Virgins were easy for Hopper to fuck, but they bored him. He needed a woman who would let him do unspeakable things to her body, not teach her how to fuck in the first place. He was too lazy for that, too selfish. Hopper wanted you, a woman who looked sweet and innocent in public, but could handle the dicking-down he intended to give you in private…

Hopper realized his thoughts were drifting again, so he forced himself to focus on the distraction in front of him: Mary. Secretary Mary. The fact that her name rhymed with her job might help him remember it for a change, Hopper realized. Usually, he didn’t waste time cataloging information about the women he fucked; it was too much of an effort for Hopper to keep track of them all.

He’d likely never see Mary again, after today. You’d be back at the station tomorrow, and Hopper could make things right with you…at least, he hoped you’d come back. The possibility of never seeing you again was something Hopper couldn’t handle right now. He needed to see you, to talk about what happened.

Mary’s pleasant voice pulled Hopper from his thoughts. “It’s nice to meet you, Jim,” she said, and he knew she meant it. “If you need anything…” Mary held the pause in her statement long enough to make sure Hopper understood the full extent of her meaning. “…You know where to find me.”

Hopper nodded politely. He knew he’d have her in the backseat of his Blazer by lunch.

“Likewise, Mary,” Hopper smiled, his voice soft and authoritative, laying the charm on thick. Mary’s subtle change in posture, the way her shoulders went back slightly, accentuating her breasts in the most innocent way possible, confirmed Hopper’s suspicions. He leaned forward, narrowing the space between them. Mary’s breathing changed instantly; Hopper could practically hear her pulse quicken. “Hey,” he whispered, a friendly grin on his lips. “I take my lunch at eleven; you wanna get out of here for awhile?”

Mary’s answer, predictably, was yes.

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Hopper had assumed correctly that Mary-the-Secretary was a virgin. She’d blurted it out as soon as he touched her, as if confessing something. Hopper didn’t react, because of course he’d already known. And he may have been compulsive when it came to sex, but he wasn’t a monster; Hopper never planned on putting his dick inside Mary. He knew she wasn’t ready for that, and he had no desire to make her first time a painful one. His only purpose in doing anything with Mary, or any woman at this point, was to use her body as a substitute for yours…

Mary had a pretty pussy and tasted sweet, so it was easy for Hopper to pretend she was you. He ate her for twenty minutes or so, and didn’t pull her panties back up for her till she’d come twice. He looked at his watch, noting that his lunch break was nearly over. Hopper gave Mary’s thigh a hearty pat and informed her it was “time to head back,” walking around to the front of the car and waiting for Mary to do the same. She of course took a bit longer than Hopper, being unsteady on her feet. Climbing into the passenger side, she closed her eyes and leaned to rest her head against Hopper’s shoulder. He grimaced, frowning at the road ahead, but Mary didn’t see his expression.

Another problem with virgins, Hopper was reminded: They get too attached and usually, right away. Especially the younger ones, who seemed to demand a dual role of Hopper that he wasn’t willing to waste time or effort to play: the role of a father figure as well as a lover. There was nothing about any of these girls that Hopper wanted to nurture, and he tried to convey that message early on with his behavior. But sometimes, the message wasn’t received, and Hopper had a broken heart on his hands that he’d never meant to break. He didn’t mind the slight guilt it caused his conscience this time, because Hopper knew he’d probably never see Mary again. Broken-hearted girls were easy to ignore when Hopper could avoid interacting with them.

He caught a glimpse of Mary’s face in the passenger side mirror. She was positively beaming, glowing… Hopper realized she’d probably never had an orgasm before today. He sighed to himself; she was definitely attached. Hopper didn’t want a puppy, but he seemed to now have one on his heels. Mary tried to get Hopper’s attention all day after lunch, making frequent trips into his office with one excuse or another, cheeks flushed rosy, giddy with excitement at just being near him. By the time Hopper got off duty, he was more than happy to be parting ways with Mary. She saw him leaving and trotted after Hopper to his car, asking if she could see him later tonight.

Rather than give her illusions of anything further happening between them, Hopper decided to rip the emotional bandage off quickly, and be done with it. “No, Mary,” he said over a cigarette. She watched him turn his key in the ignition, her smile softly fading. “I can’t see you tonight,” Hopper continued flatly. “I have a date.”

Mary’s sweet features melted into a look of sorrow that Hopper was familiar with. He didn’t enjoy hurting young women, but delivering a well-intentioned lie was better than handing out false hope. He backed out of the parking lot and onto the main road that ran through downtown Hawkins. It would take less than three minutes for Hopper to get to your house. He was tempted. The urge to know what was going through your head right now was eating him up inside.

As usual when it came to Hopper, temptation did get the better of him. He began to feel angry at you for denying him a response. How could you not let him know where your mind was at, after what happened last night? The anxiety of not knowing was making Hopper miserable, emotionally sick. His dick had barely gotten hard when he was eating out the temporary secretary, even though he’d mentally replaced her with you.

An ugly sense of rage began to boil in Hopper’s gut. How dare you avoid him…how dare you pretend that everything was okay, that the world wasn’t caving in, making up some absurd excuse about being sick to avoid Hopper? His grip on the steering wheel had tightened to the point of discomfort, but as with his obsession, Hopper couldn’t. let. go.

The sun was setting as Hopper pulled down your street. It reminded him of where he’d been exactly twenty-four hours ago, driving from Steve’s house to yours, and how everything about his life had changed in the hour following. Hopper saw Steve’s car in your driveway, but that didn’t stop him. He was determined to get an answer, to get some kind of reassurance from you that everything last night was real, and not the result of a drug-induced dream his subconscious had conjured up. Hopper knew he had to control himself, to stuff his rage deeper lest it take hold of him and guide his mind in a direction that would cause even more harm than he already had.

Hopper pulled to a stop in your driveway, rather than parking further down the street like he had last night. What was the point? Hopper planned on being confrontational, on getting the answers he was owed. A thin line of sweat dripped down his chest as he put the Blazer in park. Hopper’s deep blue eyes were darker than usual when he checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. He was reminded briefly of those cheesy horror movies where a character in the film becomes possessed. Their eyes were always depicted as changing color, going a darker shade, as if the demon that had overtaken them was seeping through the very windows of their soul. Hopper’s reflection was slightly jarring. He wondered what was possessing him? His answer came easily; Hopper was possessed by you.

He threw open the driver’s side door and slammed it shut. Hopper wiped the sweat from his forehead, then reached into his pocket for a cigarette, quickly deciding against it. He didn’t want anything distracting him, not even a cigarette. Hopper decided he could smoke after he’d handled you. He could have rang the doorbell, but opted for the more aggressive option, banging his fist against the door in three firm, thudding knocks. A muffled voice from behind the door called out, “just a sec,” and Hopper cursed under his breath. It was Steve.

The front door pulled back and Hopper found himself once again in the presence of “King Steve,” Harrington. “What an honor,” Hopper sarcastically muttered. Steve didn’t hear, as he was too busy adjusting the t-shirt he’d obviously pulled on in a hurry to answer the door. It was on backwards, tag visible on the neckline. Steve looked less like a king and more like a pauper at the moment, his shorts crooked and hair a mess. Hopper took in the sight of the younger man, the rapid pace of his breathing, perspiration glistening on the end of Steve’s nose.

Except, it wasn’t sweat. Hopper could smell sex all over Steve, and he swallowed, hard. That was you…your sweet scent radiating from Steve’s body, covering his face and neck. Steve must have realized he looked a mess, because he quickly pulled up the bottom of his shirt and wiped his face, and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix it. “Uh-hey Chief,” Steve said distractedly. “What’re you doing here?”

Hopper chewed his tongue so hard it hurt. How he wanted to end Steve Harrington, to shove past him and into your house. Hopper would find you and finish the job for Steve. And he’d do it better, too…

Hopper realized you must not have told Steve about last night, and that the time to confront you was not now. He took a deep breath before speaking. “I heard (y/n) called in sick today,” Hopper said quietly, then cleared his throat to speak more clearly. “Just checking to make sure she’s okay.”

Steve leaned an elbow against the doorway, nodding quickly and assuring Hopper in a flurry of words that you were “fine-just fine,” and “I’ll let her know you uh-you stopped by-.” And then, the door closed in Hopper’s face…

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Hours passed.

Hopper drank.

The Hideaway stayed open till three AM on Mondays. It was a clever business move designed to entice customers in after what was typically the most stressful work day of the week. Right now, Hopper was just grateful to have a drink in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. The location didn’t matter; he would have gladly laid his cash and self respect on the bar of any nearby watering hole. Luckily for Hopper, The Hideaway was only a few minutes drive from your house, which made it the perfect place to kill time.

He checked his watch more often than he needed, drinking shot after shot of whatever contained the highest percentage of alcohol. After his encounter with Steve that evening, Hopper needed this. If he was angry before, he was furious now. That bastard had literally been fucking you in the next room right before answering the door. Hopper threw back another shot of vodka, sucking the last of it from the glass. The bartender had been watching him for some time now, taking note of how much alcohol Hopper was consuming. He’d known Hopper long before he was ever an officer, or an adult for that matter. Randy had known Hopper his entire life. He understood the pain Hopper had endured, from his time in Vietnam to the death of his daughter, and the eventual breakdown of his marriage. Randy understood how a man like Hopper could be motivated to drink in excess, turning to alcohol to quiet the memories that haunted him, like so many others who visited the bar. Although Hopper was an adult now, Randy still kept an eye on how much alcohol he had while in his establishment. It was one small way Randy could still take care of him. And he decided that Hopper had had enough.

“Hey Jimmy,” the old man said, approaching Hopper from behind the bar. He had a glass in one hand and a towel in the other, drying it as he spoke. “You driving tonight?”

Hopper shook his head ‘no,’ and then laughed. Why should he lie? He was the Chief of Police, after all. But to spare the old man any worry, Hopper didn’t retract his lie. Instead, he doubled down on it, telling Randy through a series of slurred words that he’d walked there tonight, and planned on walking home. Randy wasn’t convinced; he knew Hopper’s trailer was all the way out by Lover’s Lake. Too far for anyone to choose walking into town over driving. But there was nothing else the old man could do besides refuse Hopper anymore alcohol. “Regardless,” Randy said. “I think it’s time for you to call it a night, Jimmy.”

Hopper groaned, rising from his barstool. He opened his wallet and removed more than enough money to pay his tab, leaving it on the bar. “Keep th’change, Randy,” he drawled, adding “Thanks for always lookin’ out for me.” Hopper staggered to the front door, leaning on it for support as he pushed it open. The night was beautiful; the cloudless sky an inky canvas, sprinkled with stars that were easily visible. Hopper stood in place but swayed on his feet, staring up at the moon. He wondered if your bedroom curtain was open tonight, letting the moonlight in? Hopper decided to find out for himself…

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You’d said goodnight to Steve around eleven that evening. After a long bath, you’d climbed into bed with a good book, read for awhile, then switched off your bedside lamp to go to sleep. Your mind, however, had different plans for you.

It had been nearly impossible to stop thinking about Hopper since last night. He’d been on your mind so often throughout the day, you’d swear he’d taken up residence inside your head. You knew he’d stopped by earlier that afternoon, claiming he wanted to make sure you were feeling better, or something to that effect. But you knew the real reason Hopper had shown up at your door, and that he was also worried you’d told Steve, maybe everyone, about last night. Your absence at work must have confirmed Hopper’s worry.

The truth, however, was much more complicated. You knew Hopper was sick. You’d known for awhile now. You’d seen the way he looked at you, sensed the energy coming from him. You’d recently become aware of Hopper’s compulsive masturbation in his office, ever since you’d taken his trash liner out (as you did with all the bins at the station before clocking out every night). At first, you’d been shocked by your discovery…but you quickly became intrigued. You wondered why Hopper needed to come so often…if maybe the way he looked at you was an indication of where his need was coming from?

The possibility of Chief Jim Hopper wanting you that desperately was…intoxicating. You’d had a crush on him from the moment you met, and in spite of your relationship with Steve, your crush had flourished into a kind of obsession. You knew exactly which cigarettes Hopper smoked (Camel’s, that was his preferred brand) how he liked his coffee (black with a spoonful of honey on the side), that his beer of choice was Schlitz. You’d purchased an aftershave that smelled like Hopper and made Steve use it. You’d snuck a peek at the tag on the navy jacket Hopper wore, and purchased one for yourself.

A favorite ritual of yours was to lay in bed wearing Hopper’s jacket and nothing else. You’d sprinkle a few drops of his aftershave onto your chest, and touch yourself. It wasn’t the same as having Hopper, but…it was enough to get you through the nights when Steve couldn’t satisfy you. Of course, your boyfriend made you come, and often. Steve was amazing in bed, and the sex you had with him was nearly perfect. The one fault you had with Steve (and it was major) was his sex drive. He simply didn’t need sex as much as you did, as often or as rough. Sometimes, you’d convince Steve to play rougher and he would, but not without asking a million times afterwards if he’d hurt you, if he’d made you feel cheap or used, or unloved? Steve was sweet, but his sweetness often got in the way of pursuing rougher intimacy, the kind you craved.

Like last night…Spitting into your mouth, and fucking you in the ass, were acts Steve never would have initiated himself. He preferred gentle, tender sex over anything. While Steve was content to be making love, you needed to be fucked. You wanted a man like Hopper to hurt you and not apologize for it. You wanted him to pump and dump you, leave you split in half and covered in his cum, and to never once say sorry…

You knew Hopper was sick, and you didn’t judge him for it. Because what no one else knew, not even Steve, was that you were sick, too. You couldn’t get enough sex, and Steve wasn’t meeting your needs. You’d kept your crush on Hopper a secret, resigning yourself to good, not great, sex.

When you saw Hopper standing outside your house last night, you made the spontaneous decision to dance for him. And when Steve appeared in the doorway, you realized an even better opportunity to ‘perform,’ for Hopper had presented itself.

Making sure to stand directly in front of the window where you knew Hopper could see everything, you’d let Steve fuck you. Knowing that Hopper was watching in secret made you unbelievably aroused. Seeing him coming all over himself afterwards was the confirmation you needed that Hopper wanted you. The visit he’d made to your home earlier had only been the beginning. You knew that if Jim Hopper wanted to fuck you…he’d be back.

The sound of your front door being unlocked startled you. It must be Steve, of course, since your boyfriend is the only other person with a key to your house. At least, that’s what you thought…

“Steve?”

The door slammed shut. Footsteps on the stairs told you immediately that this was not Steve. You knew his gait, the sound of his walk. You’d heard your boyfriend go up and down those stairs dozens of times. These steps were heavy, uneven. The intruder paused at the sound of your voice, when you called out “who’s there?”

Hopper stepped through your bedroom doorway, making you jump. “S’okay, it’s alright,” he said, lifting his hands to show you he meant no harm. “I just wanna talk, okay? We need to fuckin’ talk…” Hopper sat on the end of your bed, his weight shifting the mattress under you.

“I don’t want to talk,” you told him, to which Hopper immediately replied, “I understand. You’re probably very confused about last night, but you don’t have to be embarrassed.” You tried to interrupt, but Hopper wouldn’t let you get a word in. “I just wish you would have fucking talked to me.” His voice was intense, darker. “You don’t show up at work- What am I supposed to think?!” Hopper slammed his fist against your bed, making you jump. “That my life is over? That I’m never gonna see you again?” Hopper’s speech was slurred, but you understood exactly what he was saying.

He was staring you down, his eyes lingering over the sheet concealing you. Hopper wanted so badly to rip the fabric back and see your body beneath it. All of his strength was focused on controlling himself, because despite the alcohol slurring Hopper’s words, he was very much aware of what was happening, and where he was. He was sitting on your bed, the most intimate place in your home. The place where you laid your head each night and dreamed, where you likely touched yourself. You were so vulnerable like this, Hopper realized. If he lost control right now, and let his darker impulses take hold of him, he might do something even worse than he’d done last night…

“I don’t want to talk,” you repeated, and Hopper laughed darkly. “Well that’s just fine, because I AM gonna talk and you’re gonna fucking LISTEN-.” Hopper grit his teeth, his jaw tensed. He wanted to punish you right now so badly, for making him endure the torture of your silence, your absence. You sat forward in bed, the sheet concealing your body falling aside. Hopper’s features softened, his lips parting slightly, eyes fixed on your exposed breasts. You watched as Hopper’s body language shifted, the muscles in his neck contracting as he swallowed. He was obviously aroused by your nakedness, and for the first time all night, Hopper was at a loss for words.

Taking his hand, you placed his palm over your breast. Hopper drew in a deep breath, staring at his hand cupping your tit, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. You repeated the same words, but slower. This time, Hopper knew precisely their meaning: “…I don’t…want…to TALK…” Hopper understood. You weren’t interested in talking. You wanted him to fuck you.

Hopper’s lips replaced his hand over your breast. Latching onto your nipple, he pressed the tip of his tongue against it before circling and sucking. Your surprised whimper at his intensity made Hopper’s cock stiffen, throbbing against the confines of his jeans. He sank his teeth lightly into your breast, grunting into your tit when a low moan escaped your lips. The sounds you made were divine, even prettier than Hopper had imagined.

His hands gripped the flesh at your hips, groping along your belly to your thighs. His lips crushed against yours as he used his hands to spread your thighs wide open. Hopper felt your cum on his fingers, and put them to his lips. His tongue swept over your slick once, twice, three times, because to Hopper, you tasted like God. The scent of you hadn’t done justice to the divinity of your taste. Hopper sucked his fingers clean before grabbing your legs and tugging your ass down the bed toward him. You gasped, smiling, that smile Hopper could never get tired of seeing, all innocence and corruption at the very same time; a smile that looked angelic on a mouth built for nothing but sin…

Nestling between your legs, Hopper rested his cheek against your inner thigh. He wanted to savor these sensations…your cum slicking his cheek where it rested against your thigh…your scent vanilla sweet, just inches from his nose…the view of your soaked pussy glistening wet and warm…

Hopper lowered his face and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to your clit. Your skin tasted so sweet, like a ripe peach waiting to be bitten. Hopper couldn’t go a second longer without your cunt in his mouth. With his big hands clenching your hips, Hopper pulled your cunt over his lips. Your back arched as Hopper flexed his tongue inside you, curving it around your g-spot.

Your fingers latched onto Hopper shoulders, bracing yourself as your body shivered. No one had ever licked your cunt like this, eating you from the inside out. You twisted and writhed, your lower back lifting off the mattress. If your hips hadn’t been anchored down by Hopper’s hands, you were convinced you’d be floating by now. It already felt like you were. Hopper was licking places so deep inside you, he forgot to breathe. His nose was pressed flush to your clit, his chin rutting against the curve of your ass. Hopper never wanted to leave the warmth of your cunt, not even for air. He pressed two fingers inside you and with an almost hypnotic pace, Hopper expertly fingered your cunt. He spread your slippery lips apart with his tongue, honing in on your clit. Wrapping his mouth over the raised pink bud, Hopper sucked in time with the thrusts of his fingers inside you.

Your eyes were on the ceiling, but you didn’t see it. You were floating, melting, dissolving under Hopper’s lips and around his fingers. The sopping wetness of you sprayed over Hopper’s face, your pillowy walls sucking and contracting around his fingers as you came. Hopper lapped at your cunt like a thirsty animal; he’d never been so drunk on a pussy that he’d blacked out like this, lost track of time and space and everything in between. Your cunt in Hopper’s mouth was like a strong hit of the best drug he’d ever tried. He was addicted instantly. No other pussy would be able to satisfy Hopper after this; he was sure of it. Hopper rubbed his face into your cunt, smearing your cum all over his face. He knew now why Steve was always covered in you; Hopper understood completely. Your cum smelled like every good pussy Hopper had ever had, combined.

As your hips stilled, Hopper lifted his face to look at you. Your eyes were glossy, a thin sheen of sweat coloring your cheeks ruddy, eyebrows cinched together. Your voice was weak, but you managed to softly whimper “more…” and pressed Hopper’s face into your cunt again. He took another hit, another drag, another shot of you. That euphoric bliss went straight to Hopper’s cock, and his climax took him by surprise, filling the crotch of his jeans with cum. You came harder this time, losing yourself for a moment in a black pool of pleasure, your eyes on the ceiling but not in this world anymore.

Hopper rose up from between your thighs, cum dripping off his chin as he hovered over your body. He smacked his palm against your pussy and you choked back a sob, a pain that Hopper was as quick to rub away as he was to dole out. He alternated between spanking your pussy with a force so brutal it shook the bed frame and made you cry, then rubbing his palm against your abused cunt till you were crying in pleasure. Hopper forced three fingers from one hand inside your sopping cunt and hooked them around your insides, ramming into your pussy as hard and as deep as he could, his knuckles disappearing inside you, fingertips nudging your cervix. All throughout this beautiful torture of your insides, Hopper continued to spank his other palm against your cunt. Your lips were already swollen but now, they were twice as puffy and twice as tempting to suck. Hopper removed his fingers from you and pushed his face between your legs again, growling into your plump heat, his spent cock stiffening again inside his cum-soaked jeans.

He pulled your lips between his, suckling at their pillowy softness. Hopper gulped your cum as you squirted again, sealing his open mouth over your pussy so he wouldn’t miss a drop. His stomach was full of cum, his tongue thick and heavy, and Hopper had never been a happier man. You pressed his shoulders back, and he let you climb on top of him. You rubbed yourself against Hopper’s crotch, the bulge in his jeans wet with both his cum and now yours. Speeding your lips around the outline of his cock, you humped Hopper through his jeans. The weight of you on top of his cock made Hopper groan, the rocking of your hips as you rutted over and over again along his clothed erection pushing Hopper over the edge. He came inside his jeans again, grunting through his climax as you never stopped humping him, as you drained every drop from Hopper’s cock and refused to climb off till you’d come again, too.

Despite the fact that he’d already come twice, Hopper couldn’t stop getting hard again within five minutes of coming. He pulled his cock from his jeans, shaking it by the base, letting his cum fall off his dick and onto your stomach. Hopper grabbed your hips and flipped you over, spitting on your asshole and rubbing his fat tip against it. Without warning, he buried himself inside you, splitting you open just like you wanted. You yelped in pain; Hopper’s hand found your mouth, cupping around your face from behind. “Bite down,” he ordered, shoving his fingers between your lips. Hopper fucked you harder as your teeth sank into his skin. The pain in your asshole began to subside as you braced your teeth around Hopper’s fingers. His cock was stretching your asshole beyond its capacity to hold him; but with every punch of your guts, the pain got easier and easier to take.

“I’m gonna come-,” Hopper panted over your back. “I’m gonna come again-FUCK!” Hopper emptied his third load inside you, painting your asshole with semen. His body shivered, trembling, and you felt the vibration through his cock, still hard as a diamond in your ass. Sweat dripped from Hopper’s chest onto your back. He pulled his fingers from your mouth, sucking the small bit of blood off of them. Hopper lazily humped the soft curves of your ass, pushing his cum deeper as his cock softened inside you. “You did so good,” Hopper murmured against your ear. “Such a good fucking girl…”

You tilted your head back, lips parted in a contented smile. Your hair was drenched in sweat, wispy strands sticking to your forehead. Hopper took his time kissing each one, letting his cock linger inside you, making sure every single drop of his cum was deposited there. When he did pull out, Hopper trailed kisses along the curve of your back, gently removing his cock from inside you.

“Is there a mess?” you asked, and Hopper smirked, looking down at his dick.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he replied, reaching for a tissue box on your nightstand and using them to wipe his cock clean. You realized the sun would be coming up soon, and that you’d both have to get ready for work. “How about a shower and some breakfast?” you asked, and Hopper smiled. “I’d like that,” he said.

After showering, you showed Hopper where the kitchen was and he made you both scrambled eggs and toast. He needed to leave a little early to go home and change into his uniform. You kissed Hopper goodbye and watched him walk to his vehicle through your front doorway. And it occurred to you that this…all of this…was absolutely going to happen again.

@mrshopper84

[sakuraswordly]