#hopper stranger things

[walkwithme-alittlelonger]

and while we're on the topic i really hate how much the female characters in this show were called a bitch. thomas calls 9 year old holly a bitch, henry calls 13 year old tina a bitch, even hopper calls kali a bitch!! the female characters in this are so underdeveloped but they love to throw that word around with so much malice

[munsoninthedark86]

Hi can you write Hopper with younger reader and she's very sexual compared to him and just always wants to be filled up and in different places around the house and even outside and even tho Hop gets tired (saying that he's an old man) he's ready to comply

warnings: smut, lewd themes, fuck buddies/friends with benefits, age gap, mentions of age play, sneaking around, casual sex, idiots in love, mentions of alcohol, oral sex(fem and male receiving), penetrative sex, love confessions, unprotected sex word count: 1.5k pairings: Jim Hopper x Fem!Reader summary: you and Jim toe the line between fuck buddies and lovers for so long, but at one point it cannot be contained

When you first started hooking up with Hopper, it was very low-key and not often. It happened after a long night together, drinking and talking. He looked at you like he was craving companionship, you had   nowhere else to go. You indulged in what he had to offer you that night, but you found yourself incredibly addicted and you were reluctant to let go.

So you both spoke about it and decided that hooking up and occasional dates were fine. But god damn, you were incredibly insatiable in Hopper’s eyes. Not that he was complaining; no, you would not catch him talking about how his steak was too juicy or his lobster too buttery. In fact, he found a lot of joy within this little agreement you two decided to have.

You were a bit younger than him. The age gap made things a lot sexier, of course. Age play was a kink the two of you leaned into; it was just enough to keep things spicy. And the two of you kept the romance to a minimum, still trying to keep everything mostly lowkey. There’s not much else you could ask for, even though you were beginning to catch feelings.

You push it all away every time you get on your knees and tug on his belt. Your mind goes blank as you swallow him whole, him holding you steady as you suck him dry. Hopper never complains when you surprise him like this, but you always have to shove those feelings away.

Things always get heated after a night out at the bar. Where the two of you always have to play it cool and casual, making yourselves appear like good friends instead of fuck buddies. He always has to drag you away before anyone notices the two of you aren’t around. Sometimes it’s in the bathroom of the bar, him getting on his knees to get you ready for him. Or he’s pushing into you from behind, one of his large hands on your mouth to keep you as quiet as possible. Nothing could stop you from the feelings that were brewing inside of you, all the while Jim Hopper was rearranging your guts in the dirty bar bathroom.

Not to mention that you also love to show up at his job. You’ve charmed his secretary, which was no easy feat. But she sussed you both out before either one of you could realize what you were doing. She had a sharp mind for these types of things, but she kept her mouth shut to yours and Jim’s relief.

You would come to him under the guise of dropping off lunch, or even a fresh brewed cup of coffee. Even if he could easily make one for himself in the office, you would always have something in your hands to bring. The coffee was always nice, but it was an afterthought. Especially when he had you bent over the desk, the wood creaking and pretty much alerting anyone in the vicinity of your actions.

You tried often not to kiss too much, wanting to distance yourself in some ways. The kisses that you two shared usually were messy and sloppy, and everywhere else but your lips. Hopper didn’t mind too much, though sometimes he would cup your cheeks and kiss you deeply when he felt that fire in his heart burning a little too hot.

At times, he wondered if he was even good for you. He would mess up your life, considering the age gap was already an issue for a lot of people. If they knew that you and Jim were knockin’ boots—so to speak—then they would not understand why a pretty, young thing like you would want to get attached to someone like him. He wasn’t a bad man per se, but you had your whole life in front of you. Still, in your heart of hearts, you knew that he was the one you wanted. You weren’t ready to let him go.

The sex was always amazing too. He wasn’t about to quit that, even if you were quite the vixen. He’d end up sweaty, exhausted but plenty happy and satisfied. Even if you continued to paw at his softening cock and continued to press yourself up against him, he couldn’t help but feel much too old for you. He often has to remind himself that you are younger and have more stamina.

Yet Jim still continues to wow you. He continues to fuck you like a seasoned pornstar, making you quiver under him as he laps at you like you are his final meal. He fucks you hard and fast, trying his best not to let the tempo get too slow so that the two of you will fall harder for one another. That would be the ultimate failure for the two of you.

One night, he’s got you back at his place. The wine is smooth, the jazz record spinning in the corner of the room makes you sway to the sounds, and he is very much enjoying himself. It felt like ages since the two of you had stayed home at his place for the night. Every little dalliance seemed to have been somewhere a bit more public the last few weeks.

Jim gathers you in his arms, holding you close. You could smell the wine on his breath as he leaned in to kiss you. It’s a soft kiss, one that makes your head spin. Soon, he has you pushed onto the couch. You look up at him like he’s the greatest thing in the world, and if you were being honest, you most definitely thought that of him. Jim had to look away for a moment to regain his thoughts. 

“C’mere chief,” you whisper hotly. “Come fuck my brains out.”

You tug on the collar of his shirt, pulling you on top of him. It takes him so little time to undress you, showing off skin and parts of your body that he adores kissing and nipping at. You were beautiful like this—though you were beautiful always, thinks Jim. Right now, you looked downright angelic and it bothered him. It bothered him because how was he supposed to be casual with you.

His hands slide down your body, gripping the fat of your thighs and pulling you closer. He helps you wrap your legs around him before he kisses you deeply. You feel the roughness of the denim of his jeans pressing into your soaked pussy, and a whine escapes you as the friction is almost electrifying on your swollen clit.

He grins before kissing down your body, stopping only to suck on your pert nipples. He surprises you at times with his stamina and his romantic gestures, and he’s pulling out all the stops tonight. Jim Hopper wouldn’t be able to lie tonight if you asked him if he had feelings for you.

His hands reach for yours, before he kisses you deeply. For a few moments, it’s just you and him and making out. You grind against him, shuddering at the way his jeans seem to dig into your sensitive little cunt. He loves the way you’re so desperate for him. Suddenly, he flips you over and unbuckles his belt. He figures it’s better to fuck you without you looking up at him.

You gasp as he pushes into you, making you grip the arm of the couch to ground yourself. Jim’s cursing under his breath at the way your pussy seems to just grip him, sucking him in deeper. He takes a deep breath before slamming into you over and over again, making you squeal with pleasure. The way the couch shakes with each harsh thrust turns you both on even more.

Your orgasm crashes over you fast, and you slump down as you feel weak in the knees. He surprises you by flipping you back over on your back, his cock nestled deep inside of you once more. But this time, the pace is much more intimate and slow. His eyes are piercing as he looks at you. You reach up to cup his cheeks and you initiate the kiss this time.

“I…fuck I love you…” he grunts. 

You feel the air being knocked out of you, and you cling to him. “Say it again. Please.”

He laughs as he realizes what he’s just said. So he kisses you harshly, quieting you. “I said I love you, what else do you want to hear?”

You laugh as well, but it turns into a moan when he hits your sweet spot dead on. “Fuck, love you too, Jim.”

He doesn’t need to hear it again, no. It’s too good to be true, but in this moment, it’s the thing that keeps you together. A few more thrusts has him spilling deep inside of you, and he’s pressing frantic kisses all over your neck and shoulders as he slowly comes down from his orgasm. Then he’s pulling out of you, and he has you on top of him.

“Sooo…everyone in town is gonna talk.” You mention as you nuzzle against him.

“Let them talk. You’re mine.”

You can’t argue with that. And with the way he holds you right now, you can tell he doesn’t care about what anyone will say.

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[hauntedinkk]

kinktober day twelve 12/10/25

the last time ~ j.h

tags: minors dni!! smut, both participants are adults, age gap (41/26) uniform kink, hand humping..?, jim keeps that fuckin uniform on😛, jim calls reader kid, pussy pronouns, office sex, riding, protected p in v, dirty talk and mutual orgasms.

summary: you and your boss cross the line for the so-called “last time”.

you knew that what you and jim were doing was wrong.

hawkins wasn’t a huge town after all — if people found out what you’d both been doing together, you’d be crucified. gossip spread like wildfire around here so good thing this was the last time.

or so what you both had told yourselves.

you’d landed this job by a mere fluke. flo — the previous secretary of hawkins police station had given up her job four months ago, retired. and luckily you had just happened to have some office qualifications and got in.

by no means was the job easy — you practically worked your ass off everyday and sometimes even stayed after hours to get some of the never ending paperwork done.

but there was one person that made your days a little less stressful — well, that’s what a good fuck’ll do to you, right?

jim hopper, hawkins chief of police.

this whole thing between the two of you — something you weren’t even sure you’d call a romance started right around your second month on the job.

at first, jim was fine. professional, a little cranky at times and sarcastic. he didn’t hassle himself with getting overly close to you, just came in, did his job and went home. but you were sort of drawn to him. like a moth to a flame. did it come from having no father figure in your life whatsoever? likely. but he was just.. real. he said what everyone else was afraid to say they were feeling. he was straight up, no fucking around and had that dry kind of sense of humour that you’d catch yourself chuckling at every once in a while.

so one night, while working late in the office you and jim.. sort of just happened. a rough fuck over his desk was the start of everything. and now, as much as you both tried to convince yourselves that it was wrong and that you needed to stop, you both couldnt seem to get enough of the other.

it was one of those mornings that made you not want to get out of bed. the weather was gloomy, a little wet from the fall rain but still had that kind of beauty to it that made everything feel cozy.

the office was warm when you made it inside, your desk just the way you left it. you checked your watch, 6:23 am.

you liked to get in early. it made you feel productive, like you were achieving something before most people had even made it out of bed.

you set your bag down and settled into your chair with a sigh, already starting to look over your schedule of whatever bullshit you had to put up with today, but a familiar voice pulled you out of your concentration.

“you’re here early,”

jim.

you turned your spinning chair around to face him and was met with him standing in the doorway of his own office. you, out of habit and maybe nerves fixed your hair, a surprised chuckle escaping.

“i could say the same thing about you, chief,” you mused, standing up and adjusting your skirt, taking a couple steps in his direction. “what’s got you out of bed?”

his expression stayed neutral but you could see that underlying amusement in his eyes. “just thought i’d get a head start on lookin’ over some of that paperwork on the spray painting incident.”

“really?” you smiled, clearly unconvinced. “so you didn’t come to see me?” you cocked your head to the side, a cheeky grin crossing your lips.

you shouldn’t be doing this.

this is wrong.

jim seemed to stifle a noise, shuffling on his feet. “hm. i don’t know, maybe i did. might just have to come into my office and find out.” he mumbled.

you snorted. “is that your attempt at flirting?”

“just get your ass into the fucking office.”

and that’s how you ended up here — jim waiting expectantly on his office chair, legs spread invitingly as he watched you unbutton your blouse.

“i hope you know that this is the last time, kid. we seriously have to stop after this.” he said, trying to sound responsible despite the fucking tent in his pants.

he was whipped and he knew it.

“mhm. last time, totally.” you nodded in mock seriousness, pouting in an authoritative looking manner to mirror his own. you unbuttoned the last of the buttons and allowed your baby pink blouse to fall open, your white, lacy bra coming into view. you bit your lip as jim’s eyes spilled over your figure, taking in those full breasts of yours, your nipples which were peaked in anticipation slightly visible through the thin material.

“fuck,” he groaned head tilting back. he signalled you over with two fingers, an action that could’ve made you cum on the spot itself. you strutted teasingly slow over to him and as soon as you were in reach he pulled you by your wrist into his lap, manoeuvring you so you were straddling him. you squealed a little at the sudden action and soon his hands were up cupping your breasts. “you look so beautiful in lace, you know that?”

your throat tightened a little as his words. it was something so small but it wasn’t often that hopper complimented you like that. it was usually just some lewd comment about your ass or how your legs looked in a certain outfit — not that you didn’t enjoy those ones — but this one just felt a little different, tender maybe?

“i guess i do now.” you whispered, voice breathy as you leaned in to capture his lips with your own. he tasted of coffee and something else you couldn’t quite place, something just.. uniquely jim, you guessed. he responded to the kiss eagerly, shifting you in his lap so he could flip up your pencil skirt, hands grabbing greedy handfuls of your thighs until they eventually drifted up to the matching panties you were wearing. his fingers found your already over excited bundle of nerves over your underwear and they pressed down on it as you both made out.

the feeling made you moan against his lips, tongue now sloppily exploring his mouth as you bucked your hips into his hand. the feeling was so delicious, even more so with the layers between the two of you.

you pulled back breathlessly, hands travelling up to his chest, feeling the solid muscles beneath your palms. “do you have a condom?”

he heaved a breath, face slightly flushed and lips pink from the bonne bell strawberry lip smacker you had applied before work. he lifted his hips up while keeping you on his lap and reached into the butt pocket of his khaki pants — pulling out his leather wallet. he opened it up and pulled out a trojan from it, holding it between two of his fingers and smiling like he’d won a prize.

you giggled at his face, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “you’re an idiot.”

“hm,” he hummed, hands cupping your waist and thumbs stroking idle circles into your skin. “but you still want this idiot to fuck you. so.. that makes you a bit of an idiot too, doesn’t it?”

you shrugged, grinning at his playfulness, something that was rare for jim, especially in work. “maybe it does,” you rocked your hips into his own in an experimental grind, humming when you heard him groan at the sensation. “how about you get to it then, idiot?”

“fine then.. idiot.” he replies in a mocking, slightly bratty-child tone. you shifted back on his lap enough for him to get his fly open, his hands working the button and zipper of his work pants. “up,” he orders, tapping your hip but you didn’t budge. he looked at you with a confused expression, clearly not expecting this sudden adamancy.

you flushed a little, crookedly smiling as you leaned in to whisper in his ear. “want you to.. keep your uniform on.”

you pulled back and you were met with the cockiest goddamn smirk that it almost made you wish you hadn’t said anything.

“you like my uniform, honey?” he asked, clearly amused.

“oh shut up,” you grumbled, manoeuvring yourself a little awkwardly to pull his boxers down while still on top of him and freeing his hard cock from his pants that were hardly down his thighs. you fisted him and jim immediately groaned in satisfaction at the feeling of your soft hand around his dick. “goddamn, someone’s eager.”

you moaned softly, leaning into his lips yet again and giving his cock a shallow stroke while you clumsily tore the condom open and took it out of it’s wrapper, fumbling with it a little while rolling it onto his cock. hopper kissed you back, hands travelling under your skirt to pull your panties aside, the cheap material ripping a little at the rough action. jim hiked your skirt up just above your lower belly, exposing your cunt to his lap.

“just want your cock jim,” you whined.

hopper chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “yeah, i can see that. pussy’s dripping all over this damn uniform, trouble.” he said in a slightly mocking tone, as if he found it amusing how aroused you became around him.

“mm, it’s all for you,” you hummed, voice breaking into a whimper when he collected your slick from your hole and brought it up to your clit, massaging your sticky fluid into that bundle of nerves. your hips twitched forward at the sensation, head tipping back as pleasure washed over you.

“come on, baby,” he encouraged, his other hand caressing your side. “ride my dick. show me just how much you need me.”

that was all the encouragement you needed. you took his cock into your hand rubbed it against your slick hole, teasing yourself a little by putting it in and taking it out a couple times. you dug your nails into his shirt clad shoulders and in one swift movement, you sunk down onto his length, your pussy greedily swallowing him up and your walls welcoming him gracefully. jim wasn’t huge in length but he was thick so he never failed to hit that spot inside you and the anticipation for that moment was enough to slick you up even more.

hoppers head tipped back, hanging awkwardly off the chair as he felt your heat envelope him so comfortingly. the feeling of your wet walls hugging him so damn tightly was enough to nearly make him loose it. he had been thinking about this all morning so hopefully he didn’t really show his age and cum in seconds. “jesus, sweetie. she’s squeezing me so tight.” he grunted, his hands going to your hips supportively.

“fuck, jim,” you breathed, your head dropping forward and thumping gently against his chest. you let yourself sit with the feeling of him stretching you, you always found this angle a little more intense.

“take your time,” he comforted in a surprisingly soft voice, one of his hands holding the back of your neck, his thumb stroking idle circles into your skin as you regained your bearings.

you pressed a kiss to the material of his shirt, rolling your hips experimentally just to feel his member graze your swollen g-spot. you bit your lip, moaning through your teeth when you felt his dick put such a perfect amount of pressure on where you needed it the most.

“that’s it honey, get yourself used to it before you get to bouncing.” he instructed, his fingers finding their way to your scalp, his blunt nails scratching you there.

“feels good,” you mumbled, pulling your head back from his chest and looking up at him. he looked so beautiful like this, so masculine with his uniform on and his hat. before you could over think it, you plucked the hat from his head and with a sheepish smile, put it on the top of your own head. you giggled and brought your hands to his shoulders as you started to ride him with more intention now, rolling your hips a little more confidently.

he let out a breathy laugh, looking up at you while he guided your hips. “what’s this all about? trying to be a cowgirl?”

you hummed thoughtfully. “well, i think i ride you pretty well.” you moaned.

“hm. suppose that you do.” he agreed, his hands sliding up your torso to cup your covered breasts, kneading them in his hand while you moved your hips in a steady rhythm.

you let out a choked sound, adjusting your position so you could start to bounce a little unsteadily in his lap, the backs of your thighs now starting to thud against his own partially covered ones.

jim moaned, the sound a little startled from the sudden determination in your moves. “fuck, kid. gonna make me cum if you keep that up.”

your lips parted in a messy moan at his words and the feeling of your clit rubbing off his skin. “god, just keep talking,”

“yeah?” he asked, his fingers starting to dig a little painfully into your now bouncing, covered breasts. “you like when i talk dirty to you, doll?”

you could only respond with a half moaned “mhm,” too focused on the task at hand to think of something hot to respond with.

“yeah, i think you do,” he replied for you. “think this pussy likes it anyway. can feel it twitching around me. you gonna cum, sweetheart? you gonna cum on my cock?”

soon, the only response you could say was a babbled “gonnacumgonnacumgonnacum,” before you were gushing on his cock, your fluid running down his length and making a mess of the thin hairs at his base. your bounces started to become uneven so hopper took over, using his big hands to bounce your wrung out body in his lap to get himself closer to his own climax.

“s’too much, too much jim,” you whispered urgently, your head falling forward into his shoulder.

“hold on, m’nearly there, oh, fuck,” he grunted.” “here it comes,” he spilled into the condom with a broken groan, hands squeezing your waist as he fucked himself through the last spurts of his orgasm. you groaned tiredly into his shoulder, relieved when he finally stopped bouncing you on his cock.

“goddamn,” he breathed, rubbing your back a little. “made a bit of a mess, huh?”

“mmhm. too bad we did this in your office. means you have to clean it up.” you quipped, slowly pulling out of your hazy, post-orgasm state.

jim raised his head at that immediately. “hey — what? that’s not f—”

“not fair?” you giggled, slipping off of his lap and rummaging through one of his drawers to look for something to wipe yourself down with, coming across a couple of deli napkins — good enough. “i seem to recall you saying the exact same thing to me last week when we did activities like this at my desk.” you argued, wiping between your thighs quickly before balling the thin napkins and tossing them in the trash can underneath jim’s desk.

jim looked up at you with a clearly unimpressed face, grabbing your blouse and tossing it to you while pulling the used condom off of his softening length with a grimace.

“think of it this way,” you smirked. “we won’t be doing this again, as you said, so, this’ll be the last time you’ll have to do this, right?”

tags: @likesomeoneinlovee @mabelmiller @pillow-princess-69 @corpseonvinyl @livingundeadgirllz @profoundthingnut

likes, comments and reblogs are all greatly appreciated! happy kinktober everyone👻🎃

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

THE PROVIDER 18+ ⸻ JIM HOPPER

jim hopper x fem!reader

WORD COUNT. 1849 SUMMARY. from this request. basically, soft dom hopper + fluid play + a horny writer = a really fucking good time WARNINGS. 18+ readers only. soft!dom hopper my beloved, implied legal age gap, praise, fingering, pussy play, pinv sex, creampie, breeding kink/ fluid play, bit of cockwarming at end, general filth throughout. porn no plot, it’s all just smut

There's only a handful of people in your life that you allow to treat you this way, and when you say handful, really you just mean one. One very special person that you will ever beg and whine and cry for — this said individual being the chief of police, Jim Hopper. 

You've never much been able to explore your sexuality. You've never really had the chance to delve into what you like and don't, to test whether you actually enjoyed the things you've fantasied about. But with Hopper, you've spent your time learning; understanding what you like and how it works for you.

Not only has sex with Jim been educational, it's been world altering; your experiences in the past with other men barely even scratching the surface of what you have with Hop. It's fun, it's loving, it's dirty, safe — everything you've actually ever wanted. 

And what you've learnt, is that you respond well to authority; your small town chief of a man the perfect person to carry out such a role. Though he's dominant in a way that's gentle and soft — like it's about taking charge and fulfilling needs rather than anything selfish, or heedless. And these said needs he fulfils, are yours. But there's only one small thing he asks in return: he gets to choose where he unloads.

You're tucked into Hopper's side, bare body fused into his nude upper half — pudgy skin sweaty and warm against you. He's on his side, resting on a bent arm beside your head; inner hand supporting the weight of his head as he whispers obscenities into your mouth. His opposing hand wanders you, touch featherlight, bordering on non-existent as he trails your skin; finger tips failing to graze the same place more than once. 

But now, his hand sits at the side of your neck, palm large and rough as it slots into the dip — so perfectly it's hard to imagine it wasn't made specifically for that area, for you. His thumb skims along the bottom of your lip, pad of it playing with the flesh that ghosts his. He slips it inside your mouth slowly and rests it atop your tongue, waiting for you to curl it around him like you always seem to do.

He retracts it as leisurely as when he popped it in. "And y'know my favourite part of that?" he whispers, voice low and husky as it fills your mouth, the prior taste of you evident on his tongue. The ask came from a place of continuation, question almost rhetorical as he refers to the previous filth he uttered against you.

He presses a faint kiss to your lips and pulls back, heavy wanting eyes flickering over your face like he had no control of where his sight lands. You give him a small shake of the head and it's then a little smile creeps out, the expression so genuine it reaches your eyes. 

"No," you whisper in response. "What?"

His hand placement alters and he slides it to sit just at the base of your neck. He's careful and cautious as he gives it a pulse, thumb and fingers giving it a squeeze on either side.

"It's when I see those pretty eyes of yours get all teary…" he pauses, searing a deep, lengthy kiss to your lips — motion unrushed, like he was savouring it, taking his time. "And you get all shy," he pauses, pressing another kiss and another. 

You divert your eyes, head tilting aside as if to cower from his appreciating, observant eyes. 

"Like that," he teases, a small sly grin forming. He knew you, he could real you like a book. He knew all your tells.

He dips in again, only not your lips, off to the side this time. He presses a short string of kisses to the corner of your mouth, planting them to where he can reach with your heads tilted position. His hand around your throat continues to lower, palm flat and evident as he eventually situates it on your pubic bone, the weight of it noticeable against you.

His middle fingers extends downwards, raking through your priorly fucked cunt, pussy lips soaked and taken care of, yet he returns for more. For himself this time; rock hard, unattended-to cock practically poking you in the hip, begging for attention. He dips it, his finger, sinking it between the mess he had made of you those many minutes before.

"Got it in you for one more, hm?" he hums, gaze peering down to you.

You give him a nod, a fairly uncertain one at that. You weren't sure if that were even possible, but yet, you agree. 

A prideful glow twinkles in his eyes. "Course'ya do… that's my girl," he kisses your cheek, arousal-soaked facial hair rubbing off on your skin. "That's my girl," he repeats, tone gravelly and possessive as he utters it — as if he knew it to be a phrase you favoured most.

His finger swirls in the messy state that is between your thighs, tip of it collecting slick with very little effort at all, if not, none at all. He joins his ring finger, connecting it with his middle as he sinks them both inside you once again; not an ounce of resistance restricting him. He slips right on in. 

They each curl upwards, locating that savoured spot of yours as effortlessly as they did earlier on — one of the spots that's already had quite the taking tonight. He rubs at it, running the pads of his fingers over the internal ridges as his palm pushes in further, creating suction atop your cunt. The heel of it locates the burning, spent bundle of nerves that is your clit, and you recoil — a whiny, airy, almost pained moan falls from your lips at the contact.

Hopper coos, the sound teasing, patronising even. Though it wasn't all disingenuous, there was a hint of concern etched on his face — thick brows furrowing, like he could tell the difference between the sounds you make. 

"Hurtin’ real good, ain't she?" he hums into your temple, lips hovering over the skin there like it was an offer to comfort. 

He loosens his hold over your pussy and retracts his fingers, deciding you may need a little longer than originally suggested. And so he places his palm atop the crease where cunt meets thigh, hand placement calculated as his fingers toy lightly with the skin of you just below. He's looking down at you now, blue eyes almost doting as they study you. 

Though you can't help but divert yours away again.

"D'I tell you to look away?" he cranes his neck ever so slightly, making you meet him. "Eyes on me," he utters, a faux sense of sternness blooming. 

But really he just turns to mush when he sees that attempt you make to hide your smile, the light in your eyes giving it away. You like the subtly in his directions, the way he gives it too. He can't help but return yours with a similar expression of his own: a poorly concealed smirk. 

Though that only lasts so long when he feels your fingers join his, your antsy hand directing him back to your cunt, and it's then a pained expression replaces the one of bliss from before. You just made it harder and harder to ignore the ache leaking between his own thighs, the one he'd been neglecting as a means to take care of you. 

He was waiting for you to come down a little more before he sinks his dick into what he's been after the whole night; he's selfless like that. But it's when he sees that needy little flicker in your eye that he realises, that time is now. You were ready and that was your subtle, wordless signal.

Jim pulls his hand away from between your thighs and guides it upwards, reaching for your face. He gives your cheek a few light taps as a proud grin tugs on his lips, there really was no hiding it that time.

"Wan' see how much I love you, mhm?" he murmurs, lowered voice changing in pitch with his repositioning.

He's between your legs now, reddened, aching cock leaking precum in his hand as he gives it a few prudent pumps; it was a dangerous game to play, he shouldn't be doing that, he didn't want to cum before he's even been inside you. You mirror him, shimmying your position to line up with him — trying to be nice and helpful.

But it makes no difference, he tugs you by the hips, pulling you down the mattress so as to better feed himself into you. He's on his knees between your legs, head of his cock itching for the suction-like warmth of your cunt. He sucks on his teeth, chest heaving impatiently as he eases himself inside you fully — relief evident in that breathy groan he gives you. 

Your face contorts blissfully, your mien practically mirroring his. 

"Feelin' too good," his head shakes regretfully, like he hates the thought he otherwise would have slobbered over. Hopper's eyes close and he clamps down on his lips for a moment, seemingly trying to compose himself as his thumb twiddles with your clit.

He winds his hips into you once maybe twice, before he's losing that sense of control he desperately claws onto, rough deep grunts following as it builds inside him. Leaking inside you, he fills you with himself as he gives you a few uncontrolled, unplanned thrusts; twitching cock with a mind of it's own. He pulls himself out. Still coming, he unloads what remains atop your cunt — white milky drops making a Pollock painting. 

By now, his eyes have snapped open, gaze focused between your thighs as he watches himself leak all over you; his mess mixing with yours that he'd previously smeared around. His laboured breathing begins to even out, but yours has not yet subsided; you were in awe. It might be one of the hottest things he'd ever done to you. 

He meets your eyes, and its then you give him another smile — a teeny, tiny pleased one spreading across the lower of your face. Hopper gives you a little chuckle in return, head shaking gratifyingly as he eases his spent cock back inside you like a plug, stopping his seed from seeping out.

Lowering, he hovers above and slips an arm behind you, holding you tight as he rolls; keeping your body latched to his as he turns onto his back. You adjust yourself like he does, and you itch upwards, pressing your lips to his as you plead for some kisses. 

With his hands from the small of your back, he brings them your face, each of them holding the sides of your head — holding you there as he guides you in to repeatedly sear deep, extolling kisses to your lips. Like he was silently appreciating you and thanking you for being so good to him. For allowing him to unload in his most favoured place.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[angelkisscherie]

Hopper breeding kink with younger reader who is obsessed with wanting to have his baby (soft dom hop)

Two plus One

Jim Hopper x SweetieGirl!Reader

navigation bb MDNI!! Contents! - SMUT, 18+, ST5 SPOILERS, pnv, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it bbies), praise, dom/sub dynamics, breeding kink, overstimulation, service dom!Hop, age gap ((reader is in her early 20s!)). Summary! - What happens when a night of babysitting gives you the fever like never before? w.c! - 2.4k Cherie's Column! - nonnie.. whoever you are.. wherever you are.. i love you so much. p.s hi babiess make sure to follow this nonnie's lead and send me ideas before my brain friessss LOLLL

Eighteen months ago, you were all fighting for your lives against something that, if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you never would have believed existed. Fighting Vecna, while your beloved was in the Upside Down with El -and God, how you missed her.

Wrestling monsters on Earth - creatures that should never have existed - forced your eyes open. In that moment, you knew that if you survived being used as bait for the abominable, eldritch thing known as the Mind Flayer, your life - however long or short it might be - will be spent loving Jim Hopper.

But that was then. This is now.

Now, you’re doing your sister a favor: babysitting her little bundle of joy. Your sister gave birth to her darling baby girl, Ali, just three months ago, and today she entrusted you and your husband, Hopper, with pampering and caring for her while she ran errands - or something like that. You hadn’t really listened. You’d been too busy cooing, watching the tiny girl in her arms with heart-eyes, waiting for the moment she was finally placed in yours. 

But truthfully, Ali was an easy baby to care for. An hour of tummy time here, a six-ounce bottle there. You genuinely thought she might be the easiest, most pampered baby in existence.

Until around 6:23 p.m.

That’s when she started absolutely wailing her little lungs out. She’d been fed and changed, so you knew she was just tired - but the little lady simply refused to fall asleep. You tried rocking her, singing softly, swaddling her, even turning on the stupid white-noise machine your sister had insisted on bringing “just in case she gets a little fussy.”

So you kept trying. You kept rocking, kept humming. You even resorted to talking to her like she was a grown-up.

“Okay, little girl…” A small sigh escaped you. “What’s going on with you, hmm? I know - you’re tired, honey. All you gotta do is close your eyes, babe. C’mon, make it easy on your auntie, please.”

You pleaded with her, not an ounce of frustration in your voice - only concern. You never seemed to get upset with her, always speaking in that soft tone that made Hopper melt every single time.

Until Hopper - who’d been watching you from the start of Ali’s little fit - finally pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against. He crossed the room with soft, careful steps, as if she might shatter if startled.

“Give ’er here, baby,” he murmured. “You need a break. I got her.”

You passed Ali into his arms and ran a hand through your hair as you headed toward the kitchen to make her another, smaller bottle.

But it turned out she didn’t need it.

By the time you glanced back, Ali was already fast asleep in your husband’s arms. Hopper rocked her gently from side to side, instinctive and steady, while soft little coos slipped from her once-pouty mouth as she drifted off, peaceful and content.

And when you circled back to them, warm bottle in hand, it hit you.

Your husband - the love of your life - had gotten her to sleep.

There he was, rocking her gently, shushing her soft, sleep-heavy fusses until she was out like a light. He carefully lowered her into the small bassinet nearby, then turned and crossed the room on feather-light steps. When he reached you in the kitchen, he offered a warm smile before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

Now, you loved Ali - no doubt about it. You loved your niece, and you loved caring for her, but you very much needed her mom to come pick her up. Preferably right now.

And an hour later, your wish was granted.

There was your sister at the front door, scooping up her baby. “How was she? I hope this wasn’t any trouble. Thank you so much again -really. I’m so grateful for you guys.”

You smiled warmly. “She was great. No trouble at all, I mean it.”

All while subtly ushering her toward the door, thinking,'girl, bounce. I’m trying to get my baby-making on too.'

The second the door clicked shut, you called out, “Hey, honey? Where are you?”

“’M upstairs, sweetheart,” he called back. “You comin’ up?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stalked upstairs toward your shared bedroom.

He was stretched out on his back on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head as some random sitcom played on the TV - one of those with an overly enthusiastic laugh track that didn’t deserve it.

You admired him for a second and then strolled toward him with that gleam in your eyes, the same one that had you walking with a limp for two days afterwards. 

And he noticed, shifting up to be sitting straight back against the headboard, positioning himself to be open to you. 

"C'mere pretty," he says in that low rasp, his voice scraped low, rough and familiar. You listen, because when he talks to you like that, there's that deep ache in your bones telling you to do as you're told. Moving to straddle him, subconsciously with the intention of not just being close to him. 

“You did good today,” he murmured, mouth near your ear, voice warm and gravel-rough. Your breath stuttered. “Don’t say it like that…”

A slow chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrating against you. “Like what?” he asked, voice low, teasing, dragging the words out. “Like I mean it?”

You shivered, tilting your head slightly away, heart hammering. “Like… like that, makes it sound-”

“Like I notice everything,” he finished for you, knowing exactly where this night will take you, lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver straight down your spine. “Because I do.”

Your hand twitched, wanting to touch him, needing to. But you stayed frozen, breath caught in your throat, as he whispered again, just for you, “You make it impossible not to notice."

Your stomach knotted, pulse spiking. He pressed just a fraction closer, the heat of him pressing into you, intoxicating, suffocating, thrilling. Your hands itched to touch him, but you froze, caught between wanting and restraint.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, voice low, teasing, fingers grazing lightly over your arm. “Relax. Or…” His lips traced the curve of your jaw, almost daring, “…or I’ll fix that.”

You swallowed hard, breath shallow. Every inch of him seemed to draw you in, and every time you thought you could pull back, he nudged closer - closer, patient but insistent. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, and your knees went weak.

Then you feel it, his cock, so hard you know it hurts. 

“Do you feel that?” he asked, lips hovering so near you it was impossible not to. “What you do to me honey?”

Your lips parted slightly, a soft, almost involuntary whine escaping. He grinned, slow, dangerous, like he could read your every thought. “I love you sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing your nose lightly with his. 

You could hardly think. Every nerve in your body was alive, and every move he made - slight, teasing - pushed you further toward the edge. He tilted his head, eyes dark, lips barely brushing yours, not kissing, just teasing.

Your chest rose and fell, breaths hitching, and then - without thinking, without warning - you leaned in, and your lips finally met his.

It started soft, hesitant, a whisper of a kiss, and for a heartbeat he froze, letting you set the pace. Then his hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and your heart jumped, wild and unsteady.

The kiss deepened slowly, teasing, urgent, like it had been building forever. His lips moved against yours with a rough warmth, and when you finally broke away, it was only to whisper, lips brushing his: “I wanna have your baby.”

For a fraction of a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze. His eyes widened - dark, stormy, unreadable - and then he let out a low, ragged laugh, half disbelief, half awe. “Yea? You mean it?”

Your cheeks flamed, your pulse hammering in your throat. “I… I mean it,” you admitted, voice trembling, breath still catching from the kiss, from the nearness, from him.

He swallowed, lips parting slightly as he stared at you, searching, calculating, like he was both savoring and absorbing the weight of your words. Then he leaned in again, slow, deliberate, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re reckless,” he murmured, voice rough, low. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

You could only shake your head, breath hitching, heart soaring and breaking all at once. His thumb brushed along your jaw, tracing lightly, possessively. “God,” he whispered, voice barely more than a growl. “I love you, 'm gonna give you a baby. Keep goin' till it takes, yea?”

You whine at the loss of his lips, and he groans at the meek sound, "God baby y're killing me here, sounding so damn pretty."

Chasing your lips, he slides his hands down to grasp your waist. Flipping you over, grinding his crotch against your heat.

Soothing his hand down past your waistband, cupping your panty clad core.

“Jesus sweets, what’s gotcha’ all worked up? Tell me baby, yea? Talk to me.” 

His voice came out slow and gravelly, worn thin in a way that made your stomach flip as he moves your soaked panties to the side pushing a finger in, all the way, knuckle after knuckle.

You rasp, softened by want like patience finally snapping, “please please need your cock please honey fuck a baby into me.”

He tsks at you like he knows you know better, “nuh uh, pretty. Y’know I gotta prep you. Don’t wanna hurt ya’,” he says, giving you another finger making a ‘come hither’ movement as he kisses down your exposed neck. Inhaling the sight before him, you begging for more, practically sucking in his fingers as you whine for more.

Moving his thumb to give your bundle of nerves taut, small circles, the way he knows you like. Just enough to help you over the edge.

His lips warm your ear as a gravel-deep murmur, sweetened by the kind of need that comes from looking at you too long, “there you go sweets. Take whatcha’ need from me. I’m right here.” 

Then it snaps - the knot deep in your stomach tightening until your breath stutters, muscles drawing taut as a sharp shiver races up your spine. Your fingers curl reflexively, heat blooming under your skin, pulse skidding hard as that tension finally breaks - like a rubber band stretched just a second too long. 

As he watches you with those damn chocolate chip eyes, the ones that made you fall in love with him, grinding your hand against his palm as his thumb gives your small button of nerves just the right amount of attention.

You seize and tense, every nerve alight, like your body’s never experienced anything like this before. Your pulse hammers in your ears, breath catching in shallow bursts, and a shiver coils low in your stomach. Because one thing about being with Mr. Jim Hopper? He makes damn sure Mrs. Hopper will never go unsatisfied.

Admiring you has you ride out your high until your eyes open again as you practically shake with anticipation. 

He sucks his fingers clean, taking anything and everything you give him, just before helping you out of your loose cotton pants. Unbuttoning and freeing himself expertly with his other hand as he leans down, the kiss turning rougher as need bleeds through.

Aligning himself with you, just before pushing in, he reaches for your hand - as if to quietly tell you ‘I love you.’ 

Watching your cunt suck him in as he’s claiming you again, rough around the edges, desperate in the best way. “Christ baby, squeezing’ me so fucking good,” his voice like molasses over stone. 

Nose brushing your ear, hot breath against your neck before closing in on that one spot, the one he only knows. Kissing, sucking, biting, licking you. It’s so much at once, your senses are overwhelmed in the best way.

He thrusts against you, in and out. Steadiest of movements to cover up his stuttering breath against you. Letting go of your hand for just a moment to grab the backs of your knees and lock them around his waist, somehow pulling you closer and pushing himself in deeper.

His left hand finding your soft small bundle of nerves making those same firm circles, while hitting the spot inside you that makes you fall into a silent scream. 

He murmurs, mouth near your ear, voice gentle, yet hot and gravel hot, “let go f’me baby.. Can feel it, you’re close, c’mon pretty. I gotcha,” making taut small circles with just enough pressure to give you that push with his deep thrusts. 

He feels it, the moment your breath stutters, spine arching slightly as every nerve lights up at once. 

The pressure collapses inward, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving your body buzzing and unsteady. Your whole body responds - tight, helpless, alive - as that breaking point finally hits.

Then it overtakes him without warning - his breath catching sharp as his body reacts on pure instinct, spilling inside you. He’s reduced to instinct - tight breath, trembling muscles, awareness blown wide open. 

He leans in, lips barely grazing yours, every brush of his mouth and warm breath against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. As he gently separates your bodies, moving to lay on his back, he watches your chest rise and fall faster, then guides you to lie your head against his chest, pulling you close so your body presses against his heart, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, staying there for just a moment. You feel the soft, rhythmic thump beneath you, fingers curling instinctively into the curve of his shoulders. 

When he pulls back just enough to murmur against your ear - low, husky, intimate - your stomach flips and your pulse hammers. “We’re gonna have a baby, sweetie.”

Your knees feel a little weak, a breathy laugh escapes you, and you cling to him without thinking, heart racing from more than just the news. Every nerve in your body is alert, alive, and tethered to him. You murmur, almost to yourself, “We’re… we’re going to have a baby…” Your lips brush against his chest as you add, “I love you,” the words trembling with everything you feel in that moment.

And in that moment, the world narrows until it’s just the two of you, bodies and breaths tangled, hearts racing together - hoping, praying, wishing for your baby - though you don’t yet know it, soon the three of you will fill that space, wild, alive, and utterly yours.

dividers - @uzmacchiato & @saradika-graphics

[vivzi409]

Happy Valentine's Day! 🕊💞💌💘

my fav ships :)

[kawaiiibunnii]

nothing sucks more than being late asf to a fandom 💔💔 like dude I missed EVERYTHING...

[sheisjoeschateau]

Oh, So We Do Love Steve.

🖤 An Ongoing Series, from Misha’s Masterlist Library. ☾⋆ OSWDLS Full Series Masterlist here.

VOLUME III • Chapters 58 -> 59

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 into S5 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting turned happy ending (no more upside down!), ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

🖤 CHAPTERS SUMMARY: Bumfuck, Illinois? It’s been a good run. Now it’s time to seek shelter elsewhere. Somewhere even further out.

You and Steve head into civilization again for the most risky supply run yet — but with Eleven, Eddie, Hopper and Dmitri on your side?And your crazy Uncle Murray playing babysitter with the Winnebago gang? The end of the world will just have to deal with it.

Your arrhythmia is still marching to the beat of its own drum, but it’s got nothing on Eddie’s rock-n-roll spear wielding, El’s telekinesis, your pretty boyfriend’s dystopian dom energy… and his best friend’s wit, even during end times.

Oh, and those dinguses might nickname your new military toys.

🖤 AUTHOR’S NOTE: We’re in the thick of my S5 hot take with this story. Steve & Babe Bauman are eternally my Roman Empire. Their story is my longest one, and even when we reach their “happy ever after…” it still keeps going.

Enjoy the mayhem. It only gets crazier from here.

OVERALL WARNINGS: (t.w.'s in advance that applies throughout the series) end-of-the-world upside down themed mayhem, graphic descriptions of v**lence, graphic descriptions of s*x, arguing, strong language, heavy topics, sensitive mental health matters. mega comfort to balance the mega hurt/comfort trope. 🖤

[gifs found in Pinterest; idk who the creator is but tag yourself if you find me and i’ll add to here xo]

Chapter Fifty-Eight Operation: Ghost Steps

NEXT DAY (March 10, 1987) 10:07 AM • Outskirts of Shiloh, Illinois  (Population: formerly 13,422)

“Tell me again why I’m the one driving the goddamn war machine,” Robin hissed, knuckles white on the tank’s throttle.

“Because you’re the only one here who didn’t flunk driver’s ed,” Steve muttered beside you, his hand ghosting protectively over your thigh. “And I trust you not to hit a church.”

Robin’s eyes stayed locked on the half-buried road ahead, but her mouth twitched. “You say that like I haven’t almost hit three mailboxes.”

“Mailboxes are expendable,” Eddie said from behind you, sitting against the interior wall, boots muddy, eyes scanning the slitted side viewport. “We are not.”

Argyle popped his head up between Jonathan and Eleven. “Yo, I’m just sayin’, this might be the worst taxi I’ve ever been in. No snacks, no music, and I’m ninety percent sure we’re being haunted by capitalism’s final death rattle.”

“Shush,” Steve and Jonathan both muttered.

The tank hummed low as it rolled, tires chewing over frozen gravel. Snow streaked sideways across the viewports. From the outside, they looked like any other armed patrol unit, clad in enough mud and frost to mask the missing decals and the bullet-scorched paint job.

Inside? Civilians, fugitives, young kids with rifles and trauma for breakfast.

You were sitting close enough to Steve that your shoulders touched every time the vehicle bumped. Your pulse had just jumped again, your body reacting before you could stop it.

Steve noticed.

He didn’t say anything. He just tapped his thigh twice and waited. When you didn’t answer, he leaned close, his lips brushing your ear.

“Talk to me,” he murmured. “Rate it.”

“Six,” you whispered. “Maybe seven. It’s spiking. Cold’s not helping.”

He nodded, jaw tight, and didn’t argue. Just slid his arm around you beneath your thick parka and pulled you flush against his side, like his body heat could bargain with your heartbeat.

“Hey,” Eddie piped from behind, gaze flicking down to your hand. “You good, or are we prepping for CPR?”

You shot him a wry glare. “I’m fine.”

“She’s not fine,” Steve corrected bluntly. “She’s surviving. That’s different.”

“Still hot,” Eddie muttered.

Steve shot him a look. “Don’t talk about my girl like that.”

Eddie just smirked. “Didn’t say it wasn’t hot because she’s surviving.”

“Gross,” Robin groaned, but even she smiled.

“He’s just tryna lock lips with me again," you grinned smugly.

Oh that did it. 

The way Steve turned to look at you so slowly, so audaciously, so absolutely downright agape in all his pretty boy glory… 

You snorted. Worth it. 

“Goddayum,” Eddie wheezed. “That’s savage.”

“You tryna get me irate?” Steve squinted.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, leaning in to kiss his neck. Then right behind his ear. “Like seeing you all hot and bothered.”

A crooked smile flickered at the corner of Steve’s lips, even as he glared over your shoulder while your lips worked. “You make jealousy your play thing,” he murmured helplessly.

“Ah, so you are jealous.”

“No.”

“Mm.”

“Of Munson? No.”

“S’alright, Harrington,” Eddie sighed lackadaisically, cracking his neck with a smirk. “I dig cougars anyway.”

You and Steve reeled back and made a face.

Robin gaped. “What?”

“What??” That was Dmitri.

Then the tank jolted.

Outside, the wind howled low through the dying remnants of suburbia. Barren gas stations. Empty Waffle Houses. Strip malls where the mannequins inside stood like forgotten gods.

Joyce’s voice crackled softly through the comms. “Visual on the supply depot. About eight hundred yards. Looks like a storage lot off I-64. Could’ve been FEMA. Could’ve been Walmart. Hard to tell now.”

“Any movement?” Hopper’s voice followed.

A pause. Then Jonathan’s voice chimed in: “None visible. But it’s wired. Fencing and floodlights. At least two cameras. We’ll need to cut through or jam it.”

You straightened. “Dmitri?”

“I can get us in,” he said from the rear. “But someone will have to climb. Disable from the inside.”

“I’ll do it,” you said.

“No,” Steve and Eddie both snapped.

“Guys, I’m the smallest,” you argued. “And I’ve done worse.”

“Um—schyeah,” Eddie huffed incredulously. “Like the last climb?! Before you came tumbling down harder than Humpty Dumpty. Your climbing days are over, dude.”

You sighed, grimacing with self-disdain.

Eddie shrugged at Steve, who was glaring at him. “If you haven’t learned I’m morbidly humored by now and that’s my default? I can’t help you.”

Steve just shook his head, no actual heat behind his sharp exhale — now looking back at you.

“I didn’t fall,” you reminded calmly, eyes on your man. “I got hooked on the wire with the extra backpack, then got zapped. This isn’t the same thing.”

Eddie immediately interjected. “Mmmm, maybe not—but?! You’re not gonna give us reason to shit our pants worrying about you when we got more people here to do it. You’re the only one here who keep can keep your head on straight.”

“You’re also the only one with an unstable heartbeat,” Steve added, deadly quiet. “You so much as sneeze wrong, and we’re on the floor doing mouth-to-mouth while the National Guard kicks in our teeth.”

“I already packed lip gloss,” Eddie offered dryly.

“Eddie, I swear to God,” Steve growled.

Robin held up a hand. “Look, I love this death-match over who gets to sacrifice themselves, but can we table it until we’re not within sniper range?”

Eleven sat cross-legged near the hatch, eyes closed. “I can disable the cameras.”

You glanced at her. “From here?”

She nodded once. “From anywhere.”

Steve met your eyes, then hers. “Okay. That gives us a window.”

“Then I’ll climb,” Jonathan declared.

“You sure?” Hopper asked.

“I got backup now and I don’t glitch when it’s cold,” he replied, now meeting your eyes meaningfully. “You’ve done enough. My turn to pull rank.”

You didn’t argue. Just sighed and gave him a grateful nod.

Steve’s grip on your hand didn’t loosen. You gladly let it stay.

11:21 AM • Abandoned Storage Lot, North Shiloh

The snow was too loud. 

That was the first thing you noticed. It didn’t crunch. It crackled, like stepping through glass.

Jonathan was a shadow, slipping through the fence gap that Dmitri cut. Eleven’s eyes fluttered open just as the cameras above began to spark and glitch.

“Window’s open,” she said.

The whole frontlines crew moved.

Eddie and Steve stayed in tight formation with you, flanking your sides. Robin and Joyce watched the rear, rifles low. Hopper and Dmitri, disguised beneath scavenged tactical gear, took point.

You held your breath every time your heart kicked double-time. You couldn’t stop it. Not out here. Not when your body had decided it was allergic to survival.

But nobody called you out.

Not even Steve.

He just brushed his knuckles against yours every few steps like a heartbeat made of skin.

Inside the depot was a graveyard.

Shelves of untouched cans. Boxes of powdered food. Fuel drums, mostly sealed. A miracle in the making—if they could pull it off.

“Joyce, Argyle—” Hopper barked softly, “—start inventorying and loading crates. Robin, back gate. Dimitri, cover Steve while he fuels the tank.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You think I can’t fuel it myself?”

“I think I don’t like you exposed for more than ninety seconds,” Hopper countered. “I’d rather lose the tank than you.”

That shut him up.

You and Eddie took the far side, scouting more uniforms, fuel packs, weapon caches. He helped you over a rusted shipping crate, then slid beside you.

“Your heart’s doing that thing again,” he muttered, sing-song.

“You heard it?”

“I felt it, boo,” Eddie said, looking at you hard. “You’re humming like a goddamn power line.”

You didn’t comment on that, eyes downcast.

“Does he know?” Eddie asked, nodding back toward Steve quietly. “How bad it’s getting…?”

“Not all of it.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Eddie sighed, but his voice wasn’t cruel. “A brave, gorgeous, stupid dumbass.”

You almost laughed. “I’ll tell him tonight,” you promised. “We’re not even halfway done.”

“Better not be done at all,” Eddie scoffed. “I’m not raising your six traumatized preteens on my own. I can’t even boil rice. And your boy’s not gonna love another, so. I’m shit outta luck.”

You squeezed his arm with vigor. 

God, you loved this dude.

He squeezed right back. 

Then he turned and froze.

You followed his gaze, spitting what he saw, breath catching.

Two figures.

Far edge of the lot.

Both armed.

Both watching you.

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed. “Civilians.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Let’s boogie.”

“Everyone, down,” Steve’s voice ordered through the comms. “We’re made.”

You hit the ice-covered pavement as the first shot rang out.

11:26 AM • Mobile Panic

The firefight didn’t last long.

It didn’t have to.

It was over almost before it began, because Eleven didn’t hesitate. Not for one goddamn second. She moved first, flicking her telekinetic hand in one lithe, sharp, lethal motion that was so precise, so instinctive, it looked more like breathwork than combat. The air snapped.

The man on the far left lifted off his feet like he’d been hit by a wrecking ball and slammed into the snowbank. A loud, wet crack echoed across the lot. He didn’t resurface. Just vanished into a puff of powder and bone and silence.

The other moved to fire… and was shot in the thigh by Joyce before he even finished turning.

No words. No warning. Just one clean shot, dead center, and he collapsed into the gravel with a scream that went ragged halfway out.

Then Dmitri surged forward like a wolf cut loose. 

No wasted motion. No hesitation. 

His boots barely crunched against the ice-crusted gravel as he moved, wind slicing sideways over the lot. He hit the ground low, fast, and brutal, restraining them both.

One unconscious, the other whimpering. 

Bound and gagged with clinical efficiency.

Joyce stood off to the side now, chest rising, her big doe eyes round but fierce. Her hands didn’t shake. Nor did she frown, or show any sign of remorse.

None of you did.

No one was shaken.

Except your heart.

“Goddamnit,” you hissed, breath fogging in short, uneven bursts.

You were crouched behind a rusted barrel that stank of motor oil and piss, one boot half-slid off the ice, the other anchoring your body like your bones couldn’t quite remember which direction was up.

Your pulse was everywhere.

You could feel it pounding in your wrist, in your jaw, in your goddamn toes. It was rising in your ears like a siren under your skin, skipping beats, doubling up, then stalling. 

Stalling. 

Stalling... 

Then thudding forward again, crooked and breathless.

The edges of your vision were starting to feather.

Then Steve was there. There, like gravity remembered had you. He dropped to his knees in the slush beside you, heedless of the fact that the ground was frozen, muddy and laced with oil.

“Hey—hey, look at me,” he pled, voice low and slicing through the static.

His hands were already on you, cradling your face like he’d been doing it for years. Warm, urgent, steady. Palms on your cheeks. Fingers sliding to the back of your neck.

You shook your head between his hands, jaw clenched tight against the world trying to spin sideways. “It’s not stopping,” you rasped. “S’bouncing—it’s...”

“Fuck,” he breathed. Not in fear. Not even in anger or fury. Just the dread of knowing. “You’re gonna pass out.”

“No,” you gritted.

“Yes,” he said, already moving. “You are.”

You didn’t get to argue.

He pulled you into his lap like your weight meant nothing and everything at once. Like you were his, and he was tired of the universe pretending otherwise. His arms came around your body in a way that was practiced. Familiar. Protective down to the marrow.

“And if you’re gonna, then it’s gonna be right here,” he added, winded and focused.

Your head forced itself to nod against him, warming at his touch from the inside out, the pain worth it.

“Asshole arrhythmia,” you muttered bitterly to yourself. “Stupid, it’s—stupid…”

Steve curled himself around you, shielding you from the harsh wind, the cold, the staring eyes of the rest of the world. His hot breath and mouth pressed to your temple. 

And in a low, fierce, urgent voice against your skin…

“Don’t say shitty things about my girl’s heart. She’s a fighter. She’s pissed. And she’s mine.”

It was the heat of it that cracked through you first. Not his body, but his voice. It burned straight through the tremors wracking all of your limbs. It flooded every half-failed beat inside your chest with something molten and electric. Not adrenaline. Not even hope.

Just him.

God, you loved him.

You’re so in love with Steve Harrington, you can’t even see straight.

The thought hit you mid-staggered inhale. It wasn’t clean or poetic. It just was. Like a fact of nature. Like wind chill. 

Like death and everything you’d fight to survive for.

You were shaking like a leaf in a wind tunnel. But you smiled. Goddamnit, you smiled.

“I’m pissed,” you whispered. “You’re damn right I’m pissed.”

Steve firmly kissed your forehead again. Hard. Tight. A tremble underneath it like he was trying to keep you together by sheer will.

“That’s my girl.”

He didn’t say you’re okay. He never lies.

But he never lets go.

12:03 PM • Supply Lot Extraction

They got everything.

Somehow.

Fuel. Several drums worth. All sealed up and frozen at the top, but workable. Clean enough to keep the RV and both tanks running long enough to get somewhere beyond frostbite and pipe dreams.

Extra food rations. 

Shrink-wrapped pallets of cans and powdered soups, energy bars and high-calorie bricks that tasted like cardboard and survival. Everything counted now. Every damn calorie.

Backup weapons, too. Mostly rusted. Some clean. Joyce and Robin were already whispering about repair logistics, oiling kits, inventory tags.

And then the jackpot.

Uniforms.

Actual military issue. 

Layers of body armor. Cargo vests. Tactical boots. Gas masks and helmets. And somehow, intact ID cards. Hopper would be able to forge new names over old ones with the gear he and Murray had stashed. You all knew it. 

All of you just didn’t say it out loud.

It was the best haul any of you had ever managed.

You’d even left the civilians alive.

The one Eleven threw was still breathing, but barely. The one Joyce shot had been stabilized by Argyle and Dmitri, left with bandages, water and a weapon tossed far enough to give you time but giving them some, too.

They were bound. Gagged. Anonymous.

But they weren’t dead.

It mattered. More than you could say, and far more than any of you could afford.

Still, no one talked about it.

Nobody talked about what would happen if the Winnebago got found. If the IDs didn’t hold. If the National Guard caught wind of the new patrol unit with too many civilians in the passenger count. If the kids—

Nope, scratch that. If your heart didn’t stabilize.

No one said any of this out loud, but you all felt it in the silence between every exchange.

Nobody talked about how close you all had come to damn near losing everything. Again, just like that.

But when you all pulled away in the tank, one of two now, the second vehicle a rust-battered M113 with salvageable treads and a miracle of working hydraulics… you sat beside Steve in the new driver’s seat.

He didn’t speak.

He just held your hand the whole way back.

His glove was off.

So was yours.

Bare palms, fingers laced, the creak of leather and cracked knuckles. Every mile back was bone-shaking terrain, every bump threatening to throw the world off balance again. But your hand stayed wrapped in his. Like your pulse was his compass.

He wasn’t tracking the road.

He was tracking you.

And as you rounded the final bend into the woods — RV ahead, kids waiting, the glow of string lights blinking once in the distance like a beacon — the faint sound of Murray cussing at a tree drifted over the comms.

You laughed under your breath.

Relief didn’t hit all at once. It was slow. Creeping. Something you didn’t know how to feel anymore. But it was there. In the way Robin exhaled like she’d been holding her lungs hostage. In the way Eleven leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. In the way Dmitri finally relaxed his grip on the rifle in his lap, and Hopper held Joyce with a pensive expression.

Steve leaned over, lips brushing your ear.

“Hey.”

Your lips twitched. “Hm,” you murmured, not quite a smile, but close enough.

“You get one fainting spell,” he said, voice dry. Cool. His. “After that? I’m cuffing you to me.”

You smiled, slow and tired. “Kinky.”

He raised a brow, glancing at you sideways. “Try me.”

“Maybe later,” you whispered, biting your lip, anticipation your eyes.

Because for the first time since the entire world collapsed, since everything cracked open and fell through, you believed in later.

And your heartbeat, fucked up and all, agreed.

Chapter Fifty-Nine Blood Orange Reentry

12:52 PM • Winnebago Perimeter

You’d pulled off a fucking miracle.

Not a pretty one. Not a clean one. But a miracle nonetheless. And now, you were all coming home.

Well… home, in the most unorthodox sense.

The term was laughable when it applied to a partially buried RV surrounded by ice-packed trees, covered in miles of brush, with makeshift tarp-netting woven into the canopy above. But it was safe. It was quiet. It was alive.

And it belonged to this family.

Two tanks moved like wolves across the white terrain. Slow. Intentional. Tires groomed their own tracks with precision, Eleven floating the snow back over them from the rear just as you cleared it. Not enough to erase you completely, but enough to make your trail unreadable by aerial heat sensors and satellite drones.

Steve drove one tank. Robin drove the other.

“Dingus 1, and Dingus 2,” they’d both snickered snugly before fist bumping and doing a stupid jig in their fake uniforms that’d actually managed to make Dmitri snort. 

Hopper had tried (and failed) not to laugh before you all divvied up the tank groups. 

Inside Dingus 1: Steve at the wheel next to you, with Dmitri up front with the mounted scope. Jonathan and Argyle took the back, both of them somehow stoned on adrenaline and stolen vending machine beef jerky. 

Inside of Dingus 2: Eddie at the wheel with Robin, while Eleven kept watch from the back with Hopper and Joyce. Their group is a lot more quiet than yours during the haul back, however that didn’t make them any less deadly… guns low and humor lower.

You gripped the rusting dashboard with both hands. You were still cold from the arrhythmia. Still a little sweaty. But also… still alive. Every muscle on high alert.

Steve didn’t take his eyes off the road, didn’t release your hand either. Just rested it on the tank’s gear lever, thumb sweeping over your wrist in a rhythm he didn’t even know he was making.

And then you saw it.

A glint of aluminum tucked deep under frost-covered branches.

The Winnebago. Still standing.

“Fuck yes,” muttered Jonathan behind you.

“Would’ve sucked if we brought all these snacks and no house party,” Argyle murmured, chewing.

Steve raised a cocky eyebrow as your nose scrunched up with fond amusement. Dmitri didn’t smile. But you were ninety-nine percent sure he blinked like he wanted to.

Both tanks slowed to a crawl.

Then, as your boots hit the ground?

WHAP.

A snowball collided directly with the side of Steve Harrington’s pretty face and you both jolted like you’d been clocked. 

Steve reeled, you stumbled and Dmitri raised his weapon in one breathless flash… only for Jonathan and Argyle to yank both of you back behind the tank.

“What the—”

All five sets of eyes simultaneously locked onto the sight of the world’s greatest cynic, standing in broad daylight like he wasn’t wearing a bullet-colored trench coat and holding up a thermos bigger than his head: Murray Reginald Bauman.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve hissed, palm still on his cheek. “I almost shot my future in-law.”

“You’d miss,” Murray called. “You’re still closing your left eye when you aim. It’s embarrassing.”

You stared at him. Then burst out laughing.

It was immediate, involuntary, like the release of a breath you didn’t know you were holding. And suddenly, you and Steve were both doubled over. Not even because it was funny, but because it was the only possible response to being alive.

But then…

Ohhhh, here they come. Like a fucking stampede.

Mike, Dustin, Will and Lucas all spilled out from the Winnebago like they were late for a comic-con panel. Lucas was already sprinting. Dustin was flailing with both arms. Mike tripped and still made it look graceful. Will, wide-eyed and soft-voiced, just smiled as he caught up. And they were on you, all at once.

“YOU GOT A SECOND TANK?!”

“IS THAT BLOOD?”

“ARE YOU DYING?!”

“DID ELEVEN KILL ANYBODY? BECAUSE SHE TOTALLY WOULD—”

“ARGYLE, IS THAT FREAKING JERKY?!”

You were surrounded. 

You were buried. 

You were blessed.

“Okay, okay—calm down,” Steve barked out, although he was grinning like a lunatic. “One damn question at a time!”

“Nah, seriously—” Dustin ignored him completely, reaching for your hand. “Seriously, though—your heart?”

You blinked at him, already wheezing with a half-laugh. “She’s bouncin’,” you said. “But she’s in there.”

Will’s hand found your elbow. Dustin’s was on your shoulder as he gave you a toothy smile, as Lucas clapped your back twice, and hard, all while Mike hovered nearby, slim jaw twitching like he was trying not to show how relieved he really was.

“Hey,” a voice piped behind you.

You turned.

And your stomach flipped.

Max.

She was standing. Standing, Max was actually standing beside Dr. Owens, wearing three big layers of mismatched winter gear and a scowl that was more sunbeam than snarl. Her flame-hair was all tucked underneath a black knit beanie that used to be Eddie’s, and her hands were clenched white on the top bars of custom, hand-carved wooden crutches.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Steve inhaled sharply beside you. His eyes glassed over, just a little, as he watched from beside Dustin, head-locked under his muscled arm and now smiling bright.

Owens looked tired, but proud. “Made ‘em last night,” he said quietly. “She’s still getting used to ‘em, but she insisted on—”

“I gotta be ready,” Max grinned with a shrug, slightly wincing.

You barked out another laugh, hand flying to your chest but not because your heart was being an asshole this time. This wasn’t anything to do with that.

“Max,” Lucas called out, beaming. “You look like a Christmas tree, baby.”

“Eat snow,” she snapped, but her grin cracked right on through, crooked and lopsided, gorgeous in its imperfection.

And then Eleven appeared.

She didn’t say a word. She just ran.

Max braced herself. And then the two girls collided together in a giggling, lopsided hug that had the emotional weight of an earthquake.

Girlhood at its finest.

Now your heart — your fuckin’ bitch of a heart — jumped out like it couldn’t handle it. You clutched your chest hard.

Steve’s strong arm wrapped around your waist again as his mouth dipped to your ear. 

“She’s pissed,” he murmured, teasing. “Told you.”

You leaned into him. “Don’t talk dirty to me unless you’re gonna finish that sentence.”

He smirked, kissed the curve of your jaw and gave your ass a light smack. “Later,” he promised. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

“I would’ve been expelled immediately.”

You sighed, still looking at Max. So was he. “Yeah, because you’d have bought out my entire cookie stand just to flirt with me and call me a fraud.”

“Mmm,” he squinted, watching Max and El pass you both. “Not if there weren’t Tagalongs.”

You smirked. “Basic.”

Behind you, Max rolled her eyes. “You two are disgusting.”

“I agree,” Murray deadpanned, sipping from his thermos. “Also? She’s totally your kid. Got your attitude and all.” He gave you a very wry grin, tilting his head. “Felt like babysitting you all over again.”

You turned, and gave him a look… and saw the faintest crack of emotion in his expression. Your throat caught.

Then you took a breath, ready to launch yourself at him… But before you could even throw your arms around the paranoid bastard, Steve had already beat you to it.

He now enveloped Murray in a bone-crushing hug so abrupt it knocked the whole damn thermos loose. 

Oddly? Murray didn’t even flinch, he just froze up like someone had hacked into his spine with aggressive affection, and patted back awkwardly.

“Okay,” he grumbled. “Alright. Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s already weird,” Steve said, releasing him and clapping him on both shoulders. “Thanks for watching our spawn.”

Then, with perfect timing, he dumped a handful of snow directly onto Murray’s head.

Murray stood still. 

Closed his eyes.

“This,” he muttered, “is why I never had children.”

“Hope you’re ready to be our nanny,” you grinned at him.

“Ah, hell no.” 

1:15 PM • Unloading Zone

The gear came off in waves.

Everyone worked in unison, like clockwork. 

You and Steve, side by side. Hopper and Joyce, directing with military precision. Robin barking numbers. Dmitri scanning the treeline, with Nancy covering the ridge. Jonathan and Argyle hauling crates and cracking jokes. Eddie trailing behind, lifting impossible weight like it was cardboard.

And the kids?

Goddamn unstoppable.

Lucas and Mike were arguing over the structural integrity of all the ammo crates. Will was carefully organizing everything into stacks. Eleven kept telekinetically catching supplies that were almost dropped and pretending it was accidental. Dustin made three spreadsheets on a broken Etch-a-Sketch.

And Max, still working the crutches, insisted on helping Owens check all of the stock of fuel canisters. “Ya can’t keep me down forever, Doc.”

“No,” he replied. “But I can keep you alive. Fair trade?”

She grinned. “Just keep me awake, and we’re set.”

“Done,” he grinned back with a wink.

You paused halfway through offloading a box of water purifiers, watching them… and your eyes prickled quickly.

“Don’t cry,” Steve warned softly behind you. “I’m already losing that bet.”

“I’m not crying,” you murmured, wobbling.

“You’re definitely crying.”

Your wet chuckle confirmed, betraying you. "Just sweating through my eyes, baby.”

“Jesus, I love you...”

You turned in surprise, smiling through the blur as he stared at you with smitten, awestruck wonder.

“C’mere,” he whispered, already pulling.

He kissed you. Right there, in the middle of the snow-covered woods, while everyone around you unloaded survival gear. And whenever he pulled away, you grabbed the front of his coat and yanked him back in.

“Not done,” you said.

He groaned, low and throaty, smiling like a bastard.

Robin passed by with a crate just in time. “If you two start making out again, I’m putting actual bleach in your water rations.”

Neither one of you let up.

And she didn’t mask her grin at all.

1:56 PM • Departure Prep

The sun was bleeding into the horizon.

Orange stained the big sky like rust, heavy and smeared like something wounded. Snow flared pink and gold around your boots, sugar-glass reflections of a world that had gone sharp, strange and silent. It was beautiful. It was wrong. 

It was the end of the world.

And it was time to move again.

Steve ran a gloved hand down the Winnebago’s driver-side door, his breath puffing faintly in the frigid air. You stood beside him, both of you layered in your ragtag uniformed winter gear, stitched-together camouflage and insulated wool, with hand-cut gloves and thick scarves with frayed edges. His hand lingered a moment on the cold metal as if it were something sacred.

As if he was saying goodbye to something.

Goodbye to a world he no longer knew, and hello to the one he would now live in with you until he was dust.

Behind both of you, the full convoy had fallen into a hush of preparation. Engine murmurs, crunching snow, whispered chatter filled the woods and tenderly chanted with hope.

“Listen here,” Robin adjusted the harness on her shoulder, looking like a feral raccoon in combat boots and a too-large army jacket. She pointed her index finger like a pretend gun toward Eddie. “If I so much as hear a power chord outta your mouth while driving? I will throw you out of the tank myself.”

“You love when I hum Judas Priest,” Eddie argued, already slinging himself into the passenger side with flair. “Keeps us centered.”

“I will center your ass into the snowbank.”

They waddled like penguins over to Dingus 2, where Joyce was finishing a map spread over the hood of the tank, fingers tapping over scrawled routes and code markings in red grease pencil. 

“What’s the word, Mrs. Byers?” Eddie jutted his chin.

“We head north,” she told him, eyes flicking up. “To the old hydroelectric dam. About eighty miles from the border.”

Robin leaned against the beast. “I like the sound of that.”

Joyce nodded. “No way they’d think we’d try to hide there.”

“And if they do?” Hopper asked, his burly arms folded, jaw set.

Joyce shrugged. It was effortless. Fierce. Her classic smug Joyce Byers expression was now sharpened with battle-worn resilience. “Then we make ‘em regret it,” she finished simply.

Hopper smirked, completely gone for her. “Right answer.”

“She’s never wrong,” Nancy passed behind them with her rifle slung tight across her back, snow in her boots, but her chin up and winking over at the lovebirds.

She paused briefly near Jonathan, who was fastening the last of the gear on one of the tank’s external storage racks. Without even looking at him, she said, “That’s a smart way to anchor it.” 

Jonathan’s head snapped up, now looking caught somewhere between speechless and lit up. 

Nancy only smiled. “You’ve always been good with balance.”

“I—uh—thanks,” he muttered. Then he blinked. Then blinked again. And then one more time, for good measure.

Before he could say anything else, she was already walking away, tucking a scarf beneath her chin as she fell into stride beside Dmitri. The two of them moved with tactical symmetry, falling into position without speaking. Dmitri handed her a spare clip and she accepted it like clockwork.

Jonathan did not even watch them with bitterness this time. It didn’t erase everything stirring up inside of him, but the storm had settled into a soothing swell. 

Argyle walked to stand beside him now, munching on the last of something mildly edible and definitely stolen from a vending machine. He raised an eyebrow. “Dude.”

Jonathan looked at him, eyebrows raising and creasing his dry forehead beneath his flop of messy hair.

“She just complimented your gear arrangement like it was a love confession from a spy movie.”

Jonathan swallowed. “She did not.”

“She did,” Argyle countered simply, the most nonchalant little shrug lifting his shoulders. “And now she’s walking in slow-mo with a Russian mercenary.”

Jonathan squinted at her retreating form. “You think she’s messing with me?”

Argyle clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I think she’s opening the board, my man.”

His best friend pulled a face. “What board?”

“The emotional chessboard of second chances.”

Jonathan, despite himself, looked helplessly hopeful. Of all the things Argyle could’ve said, that actually made something in his gut feel like there truly was hope for the two of them after all…

But the moment passed.

The second tank, now fully armed, was parked like a goddamn prize stallion, coated in salt spray and frost, its tracks gleaming like new sharp teeth. It looked like something that shouldn’t be allowed to exist in a post-suburban world, but there it was. And it was theirs.

But the path ahead?

Uncharted territory.

“We’ll go full mobile fortress,” you said, nodding toward the RV. “Float it when we need to.”

Eleven raised her hand in a salute, a quiet fire behind her eyes. “Copy that.”

Dmitri rolled his shoulders with a low grunt. “We stay unseen. We stay alive.”

“We stay metal,” Eddie added, 

Robin leaned in. “We stay quietly metal.”

“No screamo?”

“No screamo.”

Lucas climbed into the Winnebago with an impressive amount of energy considering the bitter cold and the tension. “Are you kidding? I’m about to become a crutches-wielding baby girl and weapons engineer. Let’s go.”

Max beamed at that. “Baby girl…?”

“Bauman calls you that,” Lucas shrugged. “I can, too.”

“Not the same thing,” she chuckled.

“Definitely not the same thing,” he winked flirtatiously.

“Yeah, well,” Mike pushed him aside to squeeze into the RV first, eyes bright. “I claimed shotgun for watch-post two days ago, and if anyone tries to contest that? I will throw you like a javelin.”

Dustin huffed as he followed them in, muttering something about “rank violations” and “morally bankrupt shotgun theft.”

Will, trailing behind them, glanced back with a soft smile and a look that lingered somewhere between awe and cautious joy. 

“We’re back,” he said. “We are really back.”

“Back and better than ever, William,” you ruffled his hair.

He smiled as you climbed into the RV beside Max, who was now curled up near the window with one crutch propped beside her and the other held between her hands like a lance. Will and Eleven flanked her, both leaning into her like satellites. As they all three settled in, El whispered something into Max’s ear that made her laugh, snort, and then shove her playfully.

You glanced out one last time at the trees.

Blood orange above. Ice blue below.

And somewhere in between?

Hope.

Steve slid in next to you, warm from the tank, his breathing still tinged with adrenaline. He reached for your hand and you gave it freely, palm cold but steady. His fingers curled through yours with that same iron-laced gentleness, the way someone holds something precious in a burning building.

He leaned in, lips brushing your temple.

“Ready to float?”

El looked over at you both with the most devilish final girl smile in the world, already cracking her knuckles.

You smiled. “Let’s fly.”

forever dedicated to @silkholland + @aloneinthehellfire

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