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strangererotica · 10 days ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Jim Hopper x Reader | angsty smut | includes infidelity, Reader is married to a different public servant of Hawkins (can you guess who, @umnitsa ? 😉) Hopper is married as well, death of Hopper’s daughter mentioned, Hopper is a real ass here, unprotected p in v sex, vaginal fingering, ANGST ANGST ANGST…

@mrshopper84 @travelingtwentysomething @beefrobeefcal @braincell-pingpong @skye-44 @midwest-princess @riotrhythm

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“This isn’t right.”

At first, Hopper didn’t hear you speak. He was too distracted by the taste of your soft skin on his tongue, his mouth pressed to your neck in an open kiss. When your words did register in his mind, he disregarded them. Who gave a fuck whether what the two of you were doing was right or wrong? Hadn’t you both earned some happiness? You, with a husband too absorbed in his work to pay you any attention, and Hopper, whose wife had grown so cold and distant after the death of their daughter that she barely let him touch her anymore?

“This isn’t right, Hopper,” you repeated, insistent this time. His grip on your hips tightened, almost hurting. You were sitting on his lap in his office, after hours at the station. In the darkness, just the two of you, just how you liked it. How you needed it to be, to avoid a scandal that would turn the small town of Hawkins upside down...

You became frustrated at Hopper’s disregard for your words, pulling back from him. His jaw tightened, his lips a thin, hard line. “And what makes you think I fuckin’ care if it’s right or wrong?” he asked, his voice husky and impatient. “I want you.” Hopper bounced his knee under you, making you gasp as your cunt settled against the thick outline of his cock. Hopper exhaled as you shifted on top of the erection painfully straining against his uniform. “I want you,” he reiterated, speaking through grit teeth. “I want you and that asshole you’re married to doesn’t.” Hopper’s words stung already, but they were about to get worse.

“That new secretary he just hired? Remember her?” You braced yourself for what you already knew was coming. “He’s fucking her, did y’know that?” Hopper didn’t waste time softening the blow of his words with pretty euphemisms. Why should he? You’d come this far, let him touch you already. You were straddling Hopper’s lap for fucks sake. You wanted this as much as he did, and he’d be damned if he let you pretend to have grown a conscience between the time you straddled his lap and now…

Hopper knew you were a smart woman. You must have known your husband was having an affair, that he’d been unfaithful for as long as the two of you had been married. “Mrs. Kline,” Hopper uttered your name through a cruel smirk. He reached for the strand of hair spilling down your shoulder, gently tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as Hopper’s thumb grazed your earlobe, his skin warm. “Don’t let this time we have go to waste,” Hopper told you. “We both know things aren’t going to change anytime soon, for either one of us.”

You shifted a little on top of his thighs, Hopper’s cock pulsing against your cunt in response. You’d already soaked through your panties, a wet patch leaking through onto Hopper’s pants. He’d have to wash those himself, later. Couldn’t risk his wife finding them in the laundry and asking questions. But a bit of deception was a small price to pay if it meant finally getting inside you.

“Larry is-,” you began, but Hopper bucked you on his knee again, silencing you.

“Mm-mm,” he chastised, shaking his head. “Don’t say the bastard’s name. Not when you’re with me.”

Hopper swallowed any words you may have had left in a kiss. His tongue licked back the apprehension sitting on the edge of yours, the things you knew you should say, but didn’t want to. Mainly, the word “no.” You didn’t want to tell Hopper no.

His large hands held you down against his lap, thumbs finding purchase in the space where your hips and thighs met. Being the mayor’s wife, you’d interacted with the Chief of Police several times over the years. But never like this. The time you’d spent together had been social, limited to local events. Always public, always within the gaze of the people of Hawkins. The eyes of the public on you had forced both you and Hopper to keep your desire for one another a secret. But now, years later, you’d both grown weary of pretending, of keeping things professional. His hand slipped between your legs, gliding under the waist of your panties. You gasped as Hopper inserted two of his thick, calloused fingers inside you without warning. A cocky little grin pulled at his lips. “Just warming you up, sweetheart,” he drawled confidently, adding “Christ you’re fuckin’ tight…Might send you back to Lare a little broken, y’know…?”

You moaned into Hopper’s chest as he fingered you, humping against his palm. No matter how fucking good his fingers felt inside you, he was still Jim Hopper. The same man who’d developed a reputation for drinking and drug use while on the job. The same man whose wife was presumably sleeping soundly right now, at the home she shared with Hopper, having bought the lie he’d sold her about needing to stay late at the station for ‘work.’ He was working, but not the way he’d implied. Hopper’s fingers working inside you were an altogether different kind of work, the way he manipulated your cunt yet another form of manipulation he was very skilled at, in addition to lying to his wife.

“You’re so close,” Hopper gloated at your ear in a low, smug voice. The fact that he was getting you off with nothing but his fingers was stroking Hopper’s ego, just like his fingers were stroking your insides. He held a misplaced sense of pride in being able to do for you what your husband couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do. It was something Hopper could accomplish, something he could succeed at, in contrast with his crumbling marriage. Maybe instead of thrusting his fingers up another woman’s cunt, he should have been at home with his wife, working on repairing his marriage. But Hopper wasn’t interested in what he should be doing. All he wanted to do, was you.

The sound of Hopper’s chair creaked loudly in the small office at the impact of you grinding on his lap. He smacked your ass with the hand that wasn’t between your legs, then carefully removed the one that was. You whimpered at being suddenly empty, pouting up at Hopper in frustration. He didn’t deny you for long, quickly working his belt and pants undone, his cock springing free and smacking thick and wet against your cunt with an audible slap. Hopper lifted you by your hips, guiding you onto his plump, leaking tip and letting you sink onto him at your own pace.

Hungry, greedy, your cunt swallowed Hopper with minimal difficulty. You managed to take him whole, your clit pressed against the coarse dark hair above Hopper’s cock. He growled behind grit teeth, as the sensation of being consumed by you overtook him. It had been years since Hopper had been with a woman besides his wife. The grip of fresh pussy moving up and down his shaft caused Hopper’s brain to temporarily glaze over. He was lurched back into awareness by the harsh ring of the telephone sitting on his desk.

“Ignore it,” Hopper panted, speaking to himself as much as you. A moment later, the phone ceased ringing. When the shrill sound began again less than a minute later, Hopper pulled his lips from your throat and cursed. He knew there was only one person who would be trying to reach him here at this time of night. Hopper reached for the phone, gently lifting it from the receiver. He brought his index finger against his lips, instructing you to remain quiet. Forcing his voice as steady as possible, considering you were grinding up and down on his cock, Hopper spoke: “Diane?” You nuzzled your face into Hopper’s neck, muffling your own sounds into his shirt. A woman’s voice on the other end of the line spoke, but you couldn’t make out the words. You didn’t want to. All you wanted was to keep riding Hopper, moving closer and closer to your peak.

“I can’t-I uh-,” Hopper stammered, swallowing. You could feel the heat radiating from his chest, the sweat blooming beneath the hair peeking out from his shirt collar. “I’m gonna be a little longer, sweetheart,” Hopper managed, clearing his throat. He closed his eyes in an attempt to remove the image of your breasts bouncing in front of him with every descent you made on his cock. His wife’s voice chattered away on the other end of the line. “Thirty minutes,” Hopper said, and inwardly, you grimaced. You wanted all night with him, but under the circumstances, both your options and Hopper’s were limited.

“Yeah,” Hopper grunted, followed by a rushed “love you too,” before he quickly replaced the phone on top of the receiver. You paused, meeting his eyes in the dim light of his office. “Is that true?” you asked tentatively, your voice breathless. Hopper’s hands were all over you again, as if the phone call had never happened. His expression conveyed annoyance as he sorted out what you were asking him, his response a confused “what?”

“She said I love you,” you explained. “Your wife. And you said it back.” Hopper’s eyebrows lifted incredulously. “Yeah,” he said. “What’s your point?”

“Did you mean it?” you asked, despising how pitiful and small you sounded in this moment. Hopper exhaled, the cruel smirk returning to his lips. “How is that any of your fucking business?” he asked through a humorless chuckle. His smile evaporated as a darker look replaced it. “Now you listen to me, because here’s how this is gonna work-.” His hands slid down your thighs, squeezing a little too hard. “-You’re gonna keep these legs spread till I come in between them and then we’re gonna part ways like this never fuckin’ happened, understand?” You nodded, forcing the tears behind your eyes not to fall. You wouldn’t give Hopper the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt you anymore than he already had.

Hopper nodded, satisfied with your compliance. “Good girl,” he said, without any sentiment behind his words. Hopper’s arms crushed you against him as he bucked up into you. His shoulders tensed, the muscles in his stomach tightening. Hopper’s grunts of exertion grew sharper, till his body stilled tight against yours, his cum spilling inside you. With his forehead pressed to your shoulder, Hopper panted hot and labored against your chest.

The absence of sound in the office, apart from Hopper’s breath, was far from quiet. A sick tension hung in the air, his cold words repeating back in your mind on a loop. After a moment, Hopper patted your ass and instructed you to “get up.” He held onto the base of his cock as you slid off it, a thick trail of semen gushing out and landing on his thigh. Hopper cursed, almost as if implying the mess was your fault. He turned his back to you, lighting a cigarette. Feeling unsatisfied and worse, ashamed, your voice was trembling when you quietly asked, “should I…go?”

Hopper’s shoulders moved in small chuckle, and he turned to face you. His cock was still hanging out, as if he was in no hurry to put it away. You, by contrast, had already begun to dress. Hopper sucked a long drag out of his cigarette, exhaling as he informed you flatly, “yeah, we’re done here.” He reached for his coat and made his way to the door. Even though you were fully dressed by now, you felt more exposed than ever. He waved his hand ahead of him, ushering you out the front door of the station. “See yourself out,” Hopper directed. The hurt inside you was beginning to boil over into rage. You’d never felt more used in your life, even after being humiliated by your husband’s affairs for years. “Fuck you, Jim,” you spat at him, your saliva landing on his cheek. Hopper’s eyebrows lifted in a look of amusement. “Well that already happened,” he taunted.

The cold night air was oddly welcoming as you burst through the station door and out into the parking lot. You found your vehicle and quickly got inside, your hands squeezing the steering wheel till your fingers cracked. You left the station and made your way home to your husband, while another man’s cum slowly leaked out of you onto the driver’s seat the whole way home.

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umnitsa · 1 year ago

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You should mess with Jim - 6

Summary: The fun continues!

A/N: There we go, our soft bear having some fun. I hope you guys enjoy it! It'll take longer to post, but I'm still writing it! <3 Banner from @cafekitsune

Written with unholy eagerness and no proofreading!

Pairing: retiredpornstar!Hopper x fem!Reader

CW: Sex, piv, no condoms (this is a loving fantasy and I didn't want to write them, but hey, please do not do that!)

“Hey.” You said as Jim stirred, squeezing you into a bear hug, and nuzzling your hair.

“Hey.” He answered, growling. He chuckled, after a pause. “You really drained me.” You giggled, he continued, “I feel like an old man, who can’t even stay awake after an orgasm, but in my defense, it was a really good one.”

You looked up, at him; he was looking down at you, a huge smile on his face. He licked his lips, and the smile took a predatory undertone. It made you shiver.

“My turn.”

Jim kissed you deeply, his hand covering your breast; he squeezed firmly, then ever so gently brushed his thumb over your nipple. He broke the kiss and moved to suckle on your nipple, fingers brushing gently over the other.

You buried your hands in his hair, scratching his scalp gently; he sighed and you whimpered, as he moved to suck on the other nipple. He pulled his head back and blew air softly on your peaked nipples. You shivered, to his delighted laughter.

Jim slid one thick fingertip around your nipple, enjoying the feeling of your moist skin under him. He hums, playing gently, until you started squirming. You tug on his hair, needing more. Jim stops, pulling back, looking at you with a gentle smile.

“I don’t like pain, so be careful. You should also know no amount of hair pulling will make me speed up, or move.” His expression was soft, but his voice was low and authoritative. Stern. “You can beg, begging goes a long way with me.”

You whined, nodding and feeling yourself getting wetter with the casual display of dominance.

“Good.” Jim said softly, sliding one hand down your belly, still smiling. “You say no, I stop. You say stop, I stop. I want you to enjoy every dirty thing we do together. Ok?”

“Ok.” You said, nodding. You gasped when you felt his hand cupping your pussy. His middle finger gently pressed between your labia, he rocked his hand; sliding his finger along your slit, notching the pad of his finger teasingly.

You combed his hair with your fingers, caressing the back of his head gently. He smiled, kissing your nipple, his fingers sliding in circles over your clit. He played with you until you were on the verge of tears, whimpering and trembling.

With a sigh, Jim stopped, pulling his fingers from you. He moved slowly, getting on his knees between your legs, as he sucked on his fingers. His eyes fluttered close and he hummed, a soft smile on his face.

“I’m gonna take my time, honey. I hope you don’t mind.” He said softly, then lowered himself to lick along your slit. He hummed, clearly delighted. You braced yourself, a fleeting thought reminding you’re about to experience what you only saw in all those movies.

Jim pressed his face against your pussy, grunting, nuzzling your clit while his tongue moved slowly against your hole. He growled, languidly moving against you.

You looked down and you saw him frowning, concentrated, his tongue slithering into your folds, teasing your hole with little pokes and prods. Your eyes rolled back; you moaned, unable to deal with the dual sensations of seeing him and feeling his tongue at the same time.

Jim was lost in sensation, your skin against his face, your smell, your taste. You whimpered, squirming against him, your hands pressing his head, caressing his hair.

He rejoiced in the feeling of your thighs pressing on his ears. This isn’t for show. This is real.

Your hips trembled on his hands, tensing and spasming, your whimpers a distant noise muffled by flesh and skin.

“Jim, please…” You whined.

With a sigh, he raised his head, pushing two fingers into you. His face was wet, glistening, his eyes glassy. He licked his lips, enjoying your flavor, then looked down at his fingers.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mused, in awe. “His eyes met yours, he licked his lips. “Come for me, please, honey.”

His pleading voice hid an order, somehow, and you felt as if you didn’t have a choice. You tightened against his fingers, making him moan and go back to licking your clit.

You came with a racket, whimpering and mewling, your hips pushing against his finger.

“Fuck.” He cursed softly, pulling away, on his knees, watching you. You had never seen him harder, in any of the movies. Precome pulsed freely, making his cock glisten under the lights. He squeezed the base of his cock, throwing his head back with a moan.

You watched, your mouth hanging open, your eyes half lidded. He looked so sexy it rendered you momentarily dumb; not one thought crossing your head.

“Do you want to rest, honey?” He asked, laying down by your side, his hands rubbing and squeezing your waist, your hips, your ass.

“I do need one moment.” You chuckled softly, your legs still trembling.

Jim chuckled, hugging you tight against his body. He rested his cock between your legs, length pressed against your slit.

“How can you stay still like this?” You asked. You felt so desperate, just the feel of his thick cock between your legs was enough to make you squirm and thrust, sliding against his length with languid moves.

“I’m a patient man.” Jim chuckled into your ear and kissed your neck and your shoulder. “You’re so needy.”

“I need you. Inside of me.” You complained.

“I thought you needed a moment?” Jim teased, still chuckling.

“I changed my mind!” You whined, pushing against him.

Jim kissed you, deeply, slowly, lovingly. You felt yourself melt under his attentions, his hands moving all over you. You felt your body stilling, until you just felt your cunt pulsing against his length, your body completely relaxed.

He watched you, smiling as he caressed your back, your hips, your ass, his hand smoothing and grabbing every inch of skin he could reach. You sighed, closing your eyes.

Jim moved, slowly, laying you on your back, one of your legs propped over his folded thigh. He kneeled, massaging your ankle down to your thigh, as he straddled your other leg. He kissed your foot gently as he moved, until the head of his cock was notched into your hole. He then hooked your leg around him, leaving you on your side.

He kept massaging you, distracting you with caresses. You melted under his big hands sighing.

“Relax, honey.” He ordered, as he pushed inside you.

Jim grunted, watching your surprised expression. You gasped, wide eyed, and turned your face to look at him.

“I know, I know… It’s big, but you can take it.” Jim growled softly. “That’s exactly what you came here for, wasn’t it?”

You blinked back tears of pleasure, nodding eagerly.

“Fuck, honey, you’re so tight.” He squeezed your thigh, then pulled back and grabbed your ass cheek, raising it a little so he could see your hole stretched around his cock. “You take me so well… so warm.”

Jim closed his eyes and grabbed your hand, raising it to his lips. He started moving his hips gently, slowly, kissing and licking your palm, suckling on your fingers, every movement of his hips and tongue unhurried, deliberate.

You expected him to move faster, but he never did. He just kept the steady, sedate rhythm, dragging you gently to the precipice of your pleasure.

Jim grunted softly as he moved, moaning against your palm whenever you squeezed him. You wanted to come, you could feel him close, pulsing inside you, his teeth scraping against your palm.

“Please, Jim, please…” You whined, watching him with big, watery eyes. “Please, baby, I can’t take this slow, I want to come!”

“Shhhhh, darling, you can take it.” He comforted you, dragging your hand to cup his face. His beard scratched and tickled your palm, and you dragged your fingernails against his cheek, petting him. “We are so close.”

He didn’t speed up, but his thrusts got stronger, with him grinding against you every thrust, pressing your clit. You felt your legs tense, with the head of his cock dragging against that special spot inside you.

“There. There.” Jim mumbled, and kept torturing you with his unhurried thrusts, watching you closely, his eyes half lidded.

You got lost in the soothing movement, and your orgasm took you by surprise. You tightened around him, making him smile, throw his head back. His hips ground against yours in small pulses; with a roar, he spilled inside you.

Jim crumbled beside you, wrapping his arms around your body and crushing you against him.

“Fuck, honey.” He mused, distracted, his voice low and dreamy. “Been fucking my way through life; never like this.”

“Hm?” You grunted, nuzzling him. “Like this?”

“Yeah.” He yawned. “Exactly he way I wanted.” He kissed your shoulder, your neck, then nuzzled your hair. “ ‘s like you were made for me.”

You smiled, eyes closed, basking in the afterglow.

Jim propped his head on his arm and watched your naked body curled with his. He watched you breathing deeply, his mind lost in a pleased daze.

His mind raced through countless encounters, countless partners, the cameras, everything and everyone demanding him to be a machine. You just took him, however he wanted. You took what he had to give at the moment, and you didn’t complain, didn’t frown, didn’t make him feel bad.

You squirmed and his cock twitched, threatening to rise again.

He had to remind himself he was a patient man.

#maycore #mayb writes #hopper smut #jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x fem!reader #pornstar!jimhopper

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opossumdaddy · 1 year ago

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Fanart for @umnitsa Pornstar!JimHopper AU!! NGL I’m simping 🤭🫣🥵

#pornstar!jimhopper #artists on tumblr #digital artist #fan art #digital art #art #my art #stranger things fan art #stranger things #jim hopper #jim hopper stranger things

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raurquiz · 8 months ago

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#happybirthday @DavidKHarbour #davidharbour #actor #redguardian #blackwidow #thunderbolts #jimhopper #strangerthings #GranTurismo #WeHaveaGhost #hellboy #quantumofsolace #extraction #waroftheworlds #revolutionaryroad #theequalizer #blackmass #sleepless #nosuddenmove #violentnight

#happybirthday #david harbour #actor #red guardian #black widow #thunderbolts #jim hopper #stranger things #gran turismo #we have a ghost #hellboy #quantum of solace #extraction #war of the worlds #revolutionary road #the equalizer #black mass #nosuddenmove #violent night

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twwpress · 2 years ago

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Creator Spotlight #16: imperfectirises

Welcome back to the TWW Author Spotlight! For every spotlight, we’ll ask each featured author the same ten questions (as well as questions you submitted on Twitter!). This week we’re thrilled to be talking with @_alexandrarando (on Twitter, imperfectirises on AO3)!

1) What are your top 5 desert island fics by other authors?

“So It Goes” by nomadicwriter https://archiveofourown.org/works/47601/chapters/62375

“As Long As There Are Stars” by nomadicwriter https://archiveofourown.org/works/49650/chapters/65266

“Tomorrow” by Pollygw https://archiveofourown.org/works/15103847/chapters/35022290

“Rainy Zurich” by jimhopper https://archiveofourown.org/works/37466461

“A Difficult Journey: Bringing Abbey Home” by Babyphd https://archiveofourown.org/works/32342320/chapters/80176279

2) Do you have a favorite character to write? Favorite ship(s) to write? Are there characters or ships you'd like to write more of?

Abbey Bartlet is my favourite character to write. I’ve always been drawn to her dynamic and feisty attitude. I think she’s one of the strongest female characters in the series, and is the backbone of the administration.

My favourite ship is Jed and Abbey. I love how the series explores what happens behind the doors of the White House and the relationship between the President and First Lady. It always baffled me that Aaron Sorkin didn’t write a backstory for Jed and Abbey, he just wrote the episodes as they came. But Martin Sheen and Stockard Channing’s chemistry is so beautiful and enticing, it makes you wonder about their backstory.

I definitely want to write more about Mrs Landingham, CJ, Leo and The Bartlet Daughters.

3) Tell us about your writing process (setup/location? Night or day? Snacks/beverages? Computer/phone/notebook? Music or silence? Anything else you want to share is welcome!)

I usually write on my laptop or in a notebook. I like writing in my room or in other places like cafes. I don’t mind listening to music while I’m writing. I usually make a playlist dedicated to the character I’m writing for and it helps build on the inspiration for the piece.

4) What writing advice do you have for others who may be reading this?

My advice is to write. Keep a journal, or set up a pinterest board for inspiration. The creative process is entirely up to you, but if you set aside some time once a week to write, or even plan your story, then you’ll see where it leads you.

5) From where do you usually draw your inspiration? (Other forms of media, music, tropes, etc?)

When writing a fic, I usually draw inspiration from watching the series or returning to certain scenes which may spark an interesting writing idea. I’m also inspired by the characters and the actors who portray them. For my fic, “Miracle”, I drew inspiration from one of Stockard Channing’s films where she tackles motherhood and postpartum depression. I loved her performance in “Unexpected Family” and “Unexpected Life” and automatically pictured Jed and Abbey in this alternative universe, where they were expecting another child and how it affects the administration and their private lives.

Miracle: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40434726/chapters/101293683

6) What is the fic you've written that you're most proud of and why?

I am so proud of “Miracle”. I originally planned to write a few chapters, but then it expanded to 20 chapters. In this story, Abbey finds herself pregnant and while it’s surprising and joyous news for The Bartlet’s, Abbey’s postnatal period plays a huge impact on her personal and professional life. I’m proud of this story because it shows Abbey continuing to be strong and resilient while her life is constantly changing. It’s taking the “what if” for a spin and exploring how the dawn of the 24 hour media cycle can place pressure on people in the spotlight.

Miracle: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40434726/chapters/101293683

7) What's the fic trope/concept/AU you'd read 1000 of? What's the fic trope/concept/AU you'd write 1000 of?

Love reading CJ and Toby fics, Jed and Abbey prequel stories and stories set after the Bartlet administration.

8) Is there anything you'd like to try writing-wise that you haven't yet?

I would like to attempt a post canon fic.

9) What's your go-to Starbucks/coffee shop/other drink order?

Coffee order varies from Lattes to Mocha. But I usually drink English Breakfast, Peppermint or Chai tea.

10) Do you have any current projects you'd like to promote or anything upcoming you'd like to tell us about?

After “Two Cathedrals” we saw a young Jed Bartlet, but it broke my heart that we didn’t see a young Abbey Bartlet.. After finishing the series for the second time, I was inspired to write their prequel story about how Jed met Abbey and withdrew his ambitions to become a Priest.

I'm enjoying the research stage and going back to certain Jed and Abbey scenes to link back to their prequel story. It’s great to be creative with this story and write about what Jed and Abbey were like in College and how their decisions impacted their lives. What I would love people to take away from “Wait For Me” is to watch the show and think back to this story and see a connection to the canon storyline.

Wait For Me: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40597572/chapters/101714730

Submitted questions:

From @S4MWILS0N:

fave ship, platonic duo, plot arc? Fave ship:Jed and Abbey

Platonic ship/friendship: Jed and Mrs Landingham

Plot arc: Abbey forfeiting her medical license and

easiest character voice to write? Mrs Landingham

funniest one liner? “Can we have a civilisation!”

saddest scene? The montage scene with Zoey’s photos and The Bartlet’s going to Church at the end of Season 5 Episode 1: 7A WF 83429

fave outfit, side character, monologue? Fave outfit: Abbey’s blue evening gown from Season 6 Episode 7: A Change is Gonna Come

Side character: Margaret

Monologue: Jed’s monologue in Season 2 Episode 22: Two Cathedrals

most underrated and overrated eps? Underrated: Season 6 Episode 9: Impact Winter

Overrated: don’t have one

craziest au idea you’ve ever had ? Seeing Martin Sheen in Grace and Frankie just makes me think of Jed and Leo being together.

what media do u think would have a good crossover with tww? Grey’s Anatomy or Veep

From @mlea7675: What drew you to Jed/Abbey in particular? Was there a particular episode or moment that sealed the deal?

While I was watching The West Wing, I was always drawn to Jed and Abbey. I found them so interesting and inspiring to watch, and being a fan of Stockard Channing, I knew I had to explore more of Abbey and her relationship with Jed. What makes Abbey so fantastic is her strength, intelligence and beauty. I really admire all these qualities and being a fan of this show for 14 years, it’s always remained part of my life.

One moment which really stands out for me is the episode where Jed tells Abbey he could’ve been an astronaut. I love this scene because it’s hilarious and the exchange between Martin and Stockard is perfect! But in this small scene, the audience continues to see how strong their bond is as a couple.

Another episode which cements my love for them, is the moment Jed can’t put his pants on and asks Abbey to help him. Jed then says to Abbey “So this is why they make you take vows.”

Thanks again to alexandra for participating, and thanks to everyone who asked questions! If you’d like to be featured in an upcoming Creator Spotlight, message us here on tumblr, email [email protected], or DM us on twitter (@twwpress).

xx, What’s next?

#the west wing #west wing #tww #tww fandom #tww fic #tww fic rec #creator spotlight #jed bartlet #abbey bartlet #jed x abbey

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thaliagracesgf · 4 months ago

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thanking GOD right now that by sheer luck i did not fuck this up with the CDs because i DID forget to check when they were invented but they were popularized in 1982 ONE WHOLE YEAR prior thank you lord

chapter one: the vanishing of will byers

a/n: the first chapter! I really got cooking on this one i was so so excited about it once i started writing! I hope it’s good, i have lots of ideas for the future and have started mapping out where this is going to go. i'm not sure what the overall title of this fic is going to be though... hope you enjoy, and let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist for this story! reblog, comment, and interact if you enjoy it (or if you don’t)! I’d love to hear all your thoughts <3

wc: 3.9k

divider from @saradika-graphics, images from pinterest

general CWs, not necessarily all in this chapter: drinking, alcoholism, drug abuse, smoking, cancer, hopper being kind of a deadbeat, usual canon violence. not entirely proofread.

The sprinklers are going as you turn the corner onto the Wheeler’s street. Your music is turned low, and the windows are rolled down, letting in the early November breeze. You see yellow lights from the basement windows as you pull into the driveway, and the shadows of four middle school boys jumping around. As you stop the car, you can hear complaining drift out through an open window. Mrs. Wheeler must have been telling them their time was up.

You trip over a rock on your way to the front door, ringing the doorbell and brushing dirt off your hands. “Hi Mr. Wheeler,” you smile as he opens the door.

“Oh, great another one,” he mutters. You’re pretty sure he thinks you can’t hear him. “Karen! There’s another child at our door.” He turns back to you, probably trying to figure out which one of his children you’re here for. You try not to be offended, as you’re sure you don’t look like a seventh grader, although you wouldn’t put it past Ted Wheeler to not know how old his son is. In his defense, though, you are here for the seventh graders.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Karen moves past her husband. “Thank you so much for picking them up, I don’t think I’d be able to get them out of that basement. I was down a second ago and three of them were crawling under the tables doing god knows what.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Wheeler. Do you mind if I…” You gesture vaguely towards the basement.

“Please, be my guest.”

“Or don’t,” her husband adds unhelpfully. You give him an awkward nod as you pass him by.

“Guys!” You shout from the top few steps of Mike Wheeler’s basement. “Let’s go, I don’t have all day!”

“What, like you have a date or something?” Mike rushes up past you.

“Oh, go to hell,” you sneer. You love Mike, you really do. You’ve been babysitting his friends since you were thirteen, and you appreciate the level to which he can match your level of sarcasm and insult that would appear genuine to anyone in the audience. He’d never admit it, but you know he likes that you’re around, too.

“Dustin! Lucas!” you shout again. “Hurry up!”

They come bounding up the stairs, Dustin with a pizza box tucked under his arm. “I’m gonna see if Nancy wants a slice,” he says with his mouth full. He’s had a crush on her forever, at this point, and you would find it endearing if you didn’t have a World History quiz to study for that night.

“Fine. Be fast,” you say, then following behind him. You watch the painful interaction before catching the door as she tries to shut it.

“Hey, Nance.”

“Oh, hey, one sec, Barb,” she says, putting the phone down.

“How’re you doing with that essay?” You have to rely on Nancy, because among the bizarre group of friends you’ve found yourself in, she’s the only other one that actually cares about her grades, other than Barb, but she doesn’t really show her face often. Or speak much, if she does. You know that your friends can be intimidating, but you don’t really know how to reach out. You don’t think you have anything in common.

“Okay, I guess. I can’t figure out how to order all my arguments.”

“Oh my god, yes, I am having the exact same problem! Study sesh tomorrow, figure it out?”

She smiles. “Yeah, definitely. One?”

“Yeah, that works. And you can tell me everything you’re telling Barb right now about Steve.” She blushes, looking down at the sleeves of her sweater.

“Yeah, okay. Sure. Hey, weren’t you just with him?” You were. You’d spent the day driving around with him, Tina, Tommy, and Carol.

“Yeah,” you smile devilishly. “He wouldn’t stop talking about you.” You turn and head back down the stairs, where you can see the boys getting impatient.

“Hey! You can’t just leave that there,” she calls after you, and you laugh.

“I’ll see you tomorrow! One o’clock!”

“Y/N!”

“Bye!”

You rush down the stairs, past Ted Wheeler in his La-Z-Boy, who makes a point to sigh loudly at the noise. You see Will talking to Mike in the garage. He looks upset, but you figure it’s some Dungeons & Dragons thing you won’t understand. “You guys ready?” you ask Lucas and Dustin, and they nod.

“We’ve been ready,” Lucas adds, impatiently.

“Okay! Well, we’re going now. Get the bikes in the trunk.” They do as they’re told, however begrudgingly. “Will, you want a ride halfway? You can have shotgun if you want.”

“Yeah!” He smiles, whatever had been bothering him vanishing. “Can I put my bike in, too?” You smile and nod, although it hurts a little how much you see your shy, people-pleasing self in him—his friends wouldn’t have hesitated to toss theirs in, banging up your car, but Will asks, and then fits it gently in the trunk so as to not crash it into the rear of your already beat-up, dysfunctional car. You know it’s probably because the Byers’ don’t have money, either.

“Yeah, just toss it in.” He wheels it over to his friends, as Mike watches from the garage door. You give him a wave goodnight, and he returns it, although his eyes are watching a rock he’s kicking around with his shoe.

“Hey! Out!” You snap your fingers at Dustin as he tries to sit in the passenger seat. “Will.”

Dustin groans, but there’s no point arguing. “This is bullshit,” he grumbles as he moves to the backseat, next to Lucas, who elbows him when he gets too close.

“Language.” You reach for your CDs, passing them to Will. “Pick out whatever, dude.” And you back out of the Wheeler’s drive.

You dropped Will off at the top of the hill, by Dustin’s house. He insisted he could make it the rest of the way, and seeing your unsure expression, he assured you that Jonathan was there waiting for him.

“Alright, sure. Be safe!” You call as he rides away.

Turning the car around in the Henderson’s driveway, you head back across town to the trailer park. You park your car, grabbing your bag from the back, and trudge up the three steps to your front door. To no one’s surprise, your dad is passed out on the couch, beer cans on the table and pill bottles knocked over. You roll your eyes, tossing the cans in the garbage and screwing the caps back on the bottles before putting him in his bathroom mirror.

A few years ago, Hopper had gotten bored with the lack of activity in Hawkins, and you came home from school to a wall chopped down. You slept with a tarp covering it for a few weeks, until he had built an extra half of your trailer, making the whole structure look like an “L,” and giving you your own room and, after deliberation on water and electricity bills on his part, bathroom, presumably to stop you coming across the obscene amount of pills in his. Obviously, it did not have the desired effect.

Unintentionally, you’ve fallen into responsibility for so many people in your life, whether you’re babysitting for Dustin and the Sinclairs, or your father. You think it’s why you’re still friends with the people you are. Tina’s been your best friend since kindergarten, since Sarah died and you moved to Indiana. The two of you plotted to end up friends with Steve and Tommy H, who seemed so cool on the basketball courts at recess. Tommy, and later Carol, were so sure of themselves, so confident in everything they did, and still are now, that though they can be assholes, and you know that they’re assholes, you can’t help but feel lighter around them—they’ve got each other in their perfect, asshole ways, to sort through all their shit, and they leave you out of it. Tina and Steve go along with it all too, sure, Steve especially, but you’re closer with both of them. You take care of each other the way friends are supposed to, none of this caretaker bullshit that you can’t help but take on more of with your family and your kids. Steve, and especially Tina, are there for you in a way your dad hasn’t been since you were little.

This lack of responsibility, of course, is what leads you to head to your room after microwaving a bowl of pasta, and call Steve about the party he wants to throw at his place when his parents are out of town.

“Hey,” he picks up. His voice is deep and a little groggy, like maybe he was just falling asleep.

“Sorry, sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Nah, no, you’re good,” he says, sitting himself up. If it were Tommy or Carol, he’d tell them to fuck off and let him sleep. But he’s never able to put down the phone when you’re calling. He doesn’t really know why, he’s never wanted to.

“Ok. Perfect. I was thinking for drinks we could send Carol in that old lady costume to Bunbury for beers?” Steve snorts on the other end of the line, and you know he’s laughing at the drinking problem he thinks you have. “Oh, shut up,” you scoff. If there’s one thing that you know the looks of, it’s a drinking problem, but Steve’s never been the most tactful.

“I’d do it, but you know she hates doing it and she was totally pissing me off today,” you excuse yourself from the task, knowing that if you go, you’ll be buying the drinks. They all say they can pay for things for you—read, they all know you and your dad are broke, but they don’t exactly think twice when you end up buying for them, which happens more than you’d care to admit. And you hate to ask them to pay you back. Sophomore year goal: stop being a people pleaser and call out your rich-ass friends who insist on you joining their rich-ass activities. Although, you suppose, there are bigger problems in the world than having friends who are willing to pay to be sure you can do shit with them. The more you try to rationalize it in your head, the more you really start to really hate yourself, so you keep talking.

“And you know she never listens to me, and then Tommy will be mad, so you’re gonna have to ask her. And probably Tommy, first, so he’ll agree for her, and—”

“You do realize you sound insane, right?” the phone crackles. You hold the phone away from your ear, taking a deep breath before you start snapping at him.

“I’m just trying to make sure we have drinks on Tuesday.”

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.” You are worried about it, and now a little irritated at him, but you let it go.

“Alright. Goodnight, then,” you say. “Wait! No. Wait. Nancy was talking to Barb about you on the phone.” This might violate some sort of girl code, but if that’s all you’re telling him, and he’s been one of your best friends since the first grade, you hope Nancy can forgive you. It’s irresistibly more fun to listen to Steve beg for more information, and make fun of him later with Tina—and maybe Nancy.

“That’s all I can say. I’ll have to consult my higher-ups for more information.”

“Nancy Wheeler is your higher-ups, now?”

“Don’t be jealous, Harrington, it’s not my fault she’s cooler than you.” You can hear him roll his eyes over the phone.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“'Night, Y/N.”

You put the phone down, and fall asleep to the frogs and crickets surrounding the trailer park, almost missing the methodic rotation of the Wheelers’ sprinklers.

A few streets over, the Harringtons’ are going, and Steve Harrington is thinking about Nancy Wheeler, and trying to not think about the fact that you keep floating through his mind instead of her.

When you wake up, your dad is still passed out on the couch. Birds are still chirping outside, and you can hear yelling from the next nearest trailer. You force yourself out of bed, crossing the living room and nudging his shoulder until he wakes up with a start, and his arms reach around, knocking a book off the side table and narrowly missing the lamp. “In the bathroom,” you answer, before he can ask where his meds have gone.

“What time is it?” he mutters groggily.

“Past eight. You’re going to be late again,” you say as you head to the kitchen.

“Why aren’t you at school yet?”

“I don’t have class first period today,” you say, a little frustrated that you have this conversation every Monday, but not letting it show. You pour coffee and butter toast for him before pouring yourself some cereal and slicing a banana. He grunts in response.

“I have to go, though. So do you,” you drop his food and pill bottles on the coffee table in front of him. He murmurs a “thanks” before turning to the coffee like it’s God.

“I’ll be home late tomorrow. Don’t wait up.” On the off chance that he’s not out cold by seven, you know he’d assume the worst. Not a kidnapping, or anything crazy. That shit doesn’t happen in Hawkins. But even though you’ve been cancer-free since ‘73, he’s always assuming you’ve spouted a new tumor and died on the side of the road, no matter how many times you, doctors, or the rest of the sane, normal world tells him otherwise.

“Okay,” he grunts. “Be careful. Make smart choices,” he adds, as if you haven’t been practically raising yourself since you were old enough to cook and ride a bike to school.

“Yeah, whatever.” You don’t mean to sound like an unbothered teenager, but it’s so difficult to make conversation with your father that you resort to being a shell of yourself until you make it to school and your friends. Hell, Erica Sinclair makes better conversation than Jim Hopper.

You finish your cereal in silence, rinsing the bowl in the sink before grabbing your backpack.

“Have a good day at work, Dad.” And you leave the house, letting the screen swing shut behind you, and leaving the front door open to hopefully air out a bit of the overwhelming cigarette smell that’s embedded permanently in all your furniture. Not that you don’t smoke, but never at home. Your Dad would flip his shit about cancer, as if there isn’t Agent Orange probably still running through your blood already.

You drive to school with a Leonard Cohen C.D. going. There are a million things running through your mind, but none at all at the same time. The party. Your Dad. Sarah, weirdly enough. You don’t think about her a whole lot, but of course she comes up when you have a million other things going on. World History test. Mrs. Click. The Byzantine Empire. Your dad. Drinking. Tina’s Halloween party, which was a week ago, where you had the time of your life dancing with your best friend after begging your father for weeks to ignore it on patrol. Nancy Wheeler. Shit, that study date. You’d almost forgotten. And— fuck, of course you’d forgotten to bring your lunch. You check your watch—you think you have enough time to grab something from the store on the way.

You speed into the parking lot, going a million miles per hour, but hey, if there’s one thing you’ve got going for you in this town, it’s that no one who works for your dad is going to arrest or ticket you after he cut his own salary to make up for theirs.

You fly through the store, grabbing an apple, a bag of lettuce and some shit for a basic salad you’ll shake up at lunch. It’s not much, but the deli isn’t open yet, and you aren’t going to buy an entire loaf of bread for one PB&J. As you’re checking out, don’t notice Jonathan Byers until his total comes up short.

“Oh, here,” you say without thinking, giving him the last dollar he needs. “You also have a late start this morning?”

“Thanks. Uh…” he hesitates. He’s not used to you speaking to him unless the boys are involved, although you would consider the two of you to be friends. “No, um…”

You don’t really take note of his pause, tossing your lettuce on the conveyor belt.

“You didn’t see Will last night, did you?” You freeze, fear shooting through your body.

“Um, yeah, I drove him to Mirkwood. He didn’t make it home? He told me you were waiting for him.” You look over at Jonathan, but avoid his eyes. What if something terrible has happened to Will, and it’s because you let him bike home alone?

“I had a last minute shift,” he mumbles. “Did you… did you see him go home?”

“Yeah, he took off in the right direction. Jonathan, what happened? Is he missing?”

“Um… we don’t know yet. I— forget I said anything, sorry,” he starts trudging away.

“Wait, Jonathan, is he okay?” you call after him, panicked. “Byers!” But he’s gone, out the door. And, you realize too late, you’re a dollar short for your fucking lunch.

You’ve haven’t been thinking straight since you ran into Jonathan, and you’re pretty sure you failed the Byzantine test, although Nancy is trying to convince you otherwise as you sit in your corner of the library, sharing the measly salad you’ve scraped together and the ten-bajillion course meal that Karen packed her. On a normal day, you’d have time to think about how jealous that makes you, but your mind hasn’t left the frenzied state it was in even before learning that Will might be missing.

“Your essay looks great, Y/N. I checked it for grammar and spelling, so you’re all good there. I think you just need to work on a thesis that makes a little more sense, and then you’re done.” You groan. You love Nancy and her feedback, but you had really been hoping she would say “Perfect!” or “No notes!” or “Great job, Y/N, you can go take a ten year nap, now!”

“Okay,” you pull the paper back across the table. “Yours is great, too, just switch those two paragraphs and then edit them to make them flow, if that makes sense,” you brush bread crumbs off her essay and slide it over to her.

She nods. “That’s perfect, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” A peaceful silence falls upon the pair of you as you eat your lunch, and for a second you feel the November sun filtering through the windows of the Hawkins High Library, and ignore your creeping anxiety that something is very, very, wrong.

“So. How are things?” you ask, smiling behind your hand at Nancy.

She feigns innocence. “Hm? I don’t know what you mean.” She closes her mouth around her sandwich.

“Ugh. Fine. We… made out this morning. He left a note in my locker.”

“Classic.”

“I don’t know… he’s really sweet, and, you know, he’s fun— funny. And fun.”

“All true.”

“I guess I’m a little worried… I mean, he kind of has a reputation. I don’t want to end up, like, totally humiliated.”

“I don’t think he’ll do that, Nance. Honestly. I think he doesn’t realize he’s doing anything half the time—he’s not that… aware… of other people. But he seems like he really likes you, and wants to get to know you.”

She smiles, looking down at her food. “Yeah, yeah he does.”

Suddenly there’s a commotion at the doors. A loud “shush” comes from the circulation desk.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am—” Your head flies around. You know that voice. “I was told that Ms. Hopper might be in here? I just need to speak with her for a few minutes.”

“She usually sits over there,” the librarian gestures to where you’re already standing, deciding whether to collect your stuff. Nancy’s stood beside you, biting her lip.

”Callahan?” you pester as you follow him through the hallway. “What’s going on, is everything okay? Is my Dad okay?”

“Yeah, you’re Dad’s fine. He’s right in there.”

What the hell is going on? You push the glass door to the office open, slinging your bag off your shoulder and on to the ground as you give your father a confused look. One that turns to concern when you finally put two and two together.

“Will.” Your dad sees your expression. He knows how much you care about these kids, and he’s quick to try to reassure you.

“Just… just take a seat, okay? I just have a couple questions about the last time you saw him, I didn’t want to wait until tonight—”

“I drove him almost the whole way to his house last night.” You interrupt. “I dropped him off just past the Hendersons’ house, he told me Jonathan would be there,” your voice speeds up, evident anxiety growing, “but I guess he picked up an extra shift, and—” he cuts you off.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He pulls you into a hug, and you do start crying then. This is too much, this is your fucking fault, and if Will’s found dead in a ditch it’s going to be all your fault. “He’s going to be okay, okay? I already told Joyce, 99 out of a hundred times, a kid goes missing, kid is with a parent or relative. Lonnie probably—”

“His father’s psychotic!” You push yourself free from his hold on you “I saw him make them cry like a thousand times, Dad! I wouldn’t be surprised if he fucking hit them! If Will’s with him, he’s not safe!” Your voice is catching in your throat.

“And we’re going to go find him, okay? He’ll be okay, I just need— I just need you to stay calm, go home, and just— just stay there.”

“I can help look for him, I can—”

“Y/N. Go. Home.” He gives you a pointed stare, and you feel so small standing next to him, even though you got a bit of his height. “Look, we’re sending out search parties. We have people going to Lonnie. He’s going to be okay.” When you don’t respond, he repeats himself firmly. “He’s going to be okay.”

You take a deep breath and nod. “I’ll see you at home, kid.”

You push past Officer Callahan, who totally just watched your embarrassing breakdown, and back into the hallway. You assume your father meant for you to go home after your classes, but even if he didn’t, you aren’t skipping chem. There’s another fucking test tommorow, and you’re not missing this free study session.

Nancy takes note of your distraught look as you enter the classroom and sit down on the stool by hers, even though you had tried to rinse your eyes with cold water on the way over.

“What was that all about?” She asks.

“Nothing,” you make something up. “My dad realized I forgot my lunch at home, but it was a little late…”

“And he sent an armed guard to escort you to pick it up?” She laughs. For a second, you think she’s onto you, but you realize she’s joking as she turns away to focus on the board, where your teacher is balancing an equation. You fucking hate chemistry.

AHHHHHHHHHHH thank you for reading all this!!!! this is insane!!! i love her so much! writing this slow burn is going to KILL MEEE. pls like, reblog, interact to encourage more of my writing and let me know what you think!

xoxo, thaliagracesgf (real)

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