I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for this.
d e v o n
Claire Keane
KIROKAZE
Sade Olutola
we're not kids anymore.
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
todays bird

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AnasAbdin

shark vs the universe
Mike Driver
tumblr dot com
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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pixel skylines
styofa doing anything

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blake kathryn

JVL
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@tbuddahh
I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for this.
Stranger Things 4 Color Palette Meme: requested by @fromamelodytoasong
Jopper + Hand-Picked
- Does Kathy know you mortgaged the house for me? - Well, it’s not at risk. You’re innocent.
Read here or on ao3. This is a continuation to "That Night".
NSFW- here in lies smut
It is far too early when she wakes, a heavy weight draped across her stomach and it takes her a moment to register it’s Hop, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist. She shifts in his embrace, twists until their bodies are pressing tightly together and she can look up to see his resting face.
Joyce smiles, sighs with relief, and can’t help but move her hand to his cheek, her palm feeling the bristle of his facial hair. She hadn’t intended to wake him, hadn’t wanted to disturb what is certainly the best sleep he has had in months (her too if she’s honest), but her touch must be firmer than she’d realized because in the next moment his warm hand is covering her own.
Hop’s eyes flutter open, blue gaze meeting her’s, and there is a crinkle starting at the outer corners, a smirk pulling at his lips before he asks facetiously, “is this a dream?”
All of it has her shifting, moving up until she can plant a kiss to his stubble covered chin. “You tell me.” She says, her hand still firmly sandwiched between his cheek and his palm. He hums in appreciation, his own face shifting lower until he can press his lips to hers.
The kiss starts slowly, solid pressure, but then his tongue is darting out, tasting, and she parts her own lips in anticipation. She isn’t sure how long they lay there, hands roaming, lips tasting, noses bumping, but then she feels his fingers sliding their way up beneath the hem of her shirt and she can no longer take the slow pace.
A fire ignites in her, all the heat and passion she’d felt in that church in Russia so rudely interrupted. It only takes her a moment to have him on his back, a gentle shove at his bare shoulders until she could climb over and straddle him where she can feel his desire hard beneath her, only a couple thin layers of cotton separating them.
She crosses her arms in front of her, grasping at the hem of her oversized t-shirt before lifting and throwing it to the side. Hop looks up at her, an admiring gaze sliding from her face, to her exposed breasts, his hands slowly gliding up her rib cage.
He gulps before saying, “Joyce, I thought we needed our rest.” It’s a statement, not a question, but she responds with a small chuckle turned gasp when he thrusts his hips upwards. His firm length rubs against her just right, lilting her slightly off balance before he’s gripping her abdomen tighter with his fingers, steadying her with a smile pulling at his lips.
Her hands find his, fingers framing just below the swell of her breasts, and she guides him up until he’s cupping her firmly, twisting gently at her pebbling nipples. “Would you like to get back to sleep?” She asks, more breathily than she’d planned.
He shifts one of his hands to her back, palm between her shoulder blades as he pulls her face down to meet his before saying, almost growling, “Definitely not.” Then they are kissing again, one of his hands greedily massaging her breast, the other shifting lower, down her back until he is pushing beneath her cotton panties, grasping her ass as she rocks slowly against his growing erection.
Her own hands continue an impatient exploration of his neck, shoulders, chest, until she’s unbearably wet and can’t go another minute without feeling him inside of her. She moves lower, ignoring his groan of disappointment at the loss of her lips against his. “Joyce,” Hop rasps out, eager fingers grasping against her skin trying to delay her departure until he realizes her intentions and his arms relax at his sides.
She shifts until she can shimmy his boxers down his legs, taking special care around the skin of his injured ankles, before twisting out of the rest of her own garments. Joyce has known Hopper since they were kids, but she realizes as she moves back up his body, skin brushing together, that this man, the man digging fingers into her hips as she once again straddles him, isn't the same boy she knew. He isn’t even the same man she knew last year, before Russia, before the grief of the last eight months.
This version of him is someone new, and she knows, as she slides her wet core along the length of his rigid cock, feeling every contour rub against her clit, she knows that there is a reason they were never together before now. The versions of each other they have become, the people they are right now, the products of so much loss and pain, courage and survival, are the people who fit together just right. They finally have the right place and right time, but also the right people in this room, and as much as she hates what they’ve been through, she’s grateful to find herself right here, right now.
Hop grips her hips tighter, slowing her movements, and she can see in the twist of his face that he’s already close, barely holding on by a thread. He holds her still, his hand sliding between her thighs where their bodies meet until he can rub a thumb against her, using their gathering wetness to glide smoothly and firmly against her clit until she’s gasping, thighs growing tighter at his hips, and she’s so close, pressure building and coiling, muscles tensing.
“Hop,” she gasps, her hands clawing at his wrist, and then all the pressure releases, her orgasm hitting her in waves. She’s coming and he’s not even inside of her yet, and his thumb is slowing, letting her body relax.
She reaches down between them herself then, catching her breath as she grips him. She positions them, feels the tip of his erection nudging at her dripping entrance, and she’s almost ready to slide down when there is a loud pounding at the door.
“Hey,” Murray yells through the wood, “Jim, your friend is on the phone for you.” Joyce’s eyes go huge, her hand releases him and Hop pushes the back of his head into his pillow, muttering obsenities as his hands move back to her hips, squeezing and releasing like he’s not sure if he’s going to get up and answer the door or fuck her right here with Murray on the other side.
“Hop,” she breathes, braces against his chest with one hand and lifts her body from his. “It could be about our ride.”
She hates it, would like to stay right here and ride him to completion, but she still can’t let go of the nagging worry she feels for their kids. He knows as much, the same worry for El and the others mirrored in his eyes. He sighs, sits slowly.
She drops one more kiss to his lips before they hear another loud knocking, a shout of, “come on love birds”, and Hop is up, wrapping a blanket from the bed around his waist as he pulls open the door.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
You know I think we sometimes forget how miraculous writing is. It's creation. You are literally creating something out of nothing. Editing? Quality? Man, you just created a story out of thin air, you know how difficult, majorly impossible that is for most people?
Be proud you can just sit down and create. It's magic
Badlands and Good lights, Utah[OC][1080x1350] - Author: justerikfotos on Reddit
Mulder & Scully + intimacy in a relationship [½]
Happy Meowlloween ~
Simplicity
It still surprises her, waking up each morning, warm sunlight filtering through the bedroom window dancing across her eyelids, no fear of the apocalypse clawing at her nerves. After the last few years it seems more unusual to feel safe and secure than to be constantly afraid that her loved ones are in danger. Every morning Joyce wakes, takes a deep breath, and finds that she needs to remind herself that they are all safe. They are all ok. They are all home.
Hop is almost always awake before her, and she knows it’s partly habit, partly nightmares that still drag him out of his slumber in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes she wakes to him tossing and turning, cradles his face in her hands and wakes him, holds him, listens to him whisper about the demons he can’t quite destroy. Those nights, after speaking the horrors out loud, he tends to find a peaceful sleep, their arms and legs tangled beneath their cotton sheets.
Today is a typical day. The sunlight determined to have Joyce’s eyes opening blearily, arms stretching, the bed empty beside her, but Hop’s presence sensed through the smell of brewing coffee wafting to her nose. She rises and dresses for the day, brushing her dark locks before quickly applying some mascara and lipstick to her face and heading toward the aroma floating from the kitchen.
She smiles when she sees him, his back towards her as he busily pops waffles into the microwave. Joyce always thought he looked handsome in his uniform, but now that they are together, she feels no guilt letting her gaze travel his body. That’s just what she does as he finishes his task, until he turns, meeting her eyes with a raised eyebrow.
“Just how long have you been standing there ogling me, Joyce?” Jim questions, a smirk pulling at his lips. He’s started to fill out a bit, the skin and bones that came back from Russia finally gaining back some flesh.
She laughs, walking towards him, her arms lifting to wrap around his neck, “can you blame me?” She lifts onto her toes, and he bends his head for a kiss, a simple chaste thing because there are already footsteps sounding down the hallway.
“Hey Mom, Hop.” Jonathan nods towards them, making his way to the plate of cooling waffles. “I’m going to meet Nancy this morning. Anything you need me to pick up while I’m out?”
She’s not sure she’ll ever get used to this, the simple domesticity of their lives now. It only seemed natural, after everything that happened, for them to find a home together, one of the few still standing in Hawkins. Hop and her bought this lovely ranch home way below value because, well, what kind of idiot would buy a home in Hawkins. Of course they have the benefit of knowing the evil that threatened to destroy the town is finally and undeniably defeated.
Joyce shifts from her position next to Jim, grabbing a mug and filling it to the brim with coffee before leaning against the kitchen counter.
“I can’t think of anything, Jonathan, but thanks.” She feels a swell of admiration for her sweet boy. He’s grown into such a thoughtful young man, and she can’t help but take a little pride in the man he’s become.
Hopper moves towards her, his arm coming around her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. She’s noticed neither of them can seem to stop touching one another since his return. It is almost like they both need a tangible reminder of their current reality, like neither of them can quite believe it.
“I can drive you on my way to work.” Hop offers to Jonathon as El and Will make their way into the kitchen, sleepily heading towards the plate of waffles with mutual grumbles of good morning. She knew they were up too late playing board games, but who is she to begrudge them the normalcy of a late night of fun with friends. Normalcy that is long overdue.
As the two younger members of the household delve into waffles drowning in syrup, Jonathon finishes his last bite and tells Hopper he’ll take him up on the lift to the Wheeler’s house.
Hop nods, tilting his head back to finish the last swig of coffee in his mug. He brings it to the sink, washes and dries it while Jonathon dons his jacket and shoes. Joyce sets down her own mug, taking in the moment, her children safe, the sweet smell of syrup mixing with bitter notes of coffee. She can hardly believe it and sometimes the simplicity of it all brings tears to her eyes.
“Mom,” Jonathan brings her back from her trance, his arms circling her small frame in a tight embrace, “I’ll see you later.” He says, and she kisses his cheek.
“I love you. Be safe.” She replies, her mantra anytime one of her children leave the house.
Hop slides in next, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his arm wrapping around her waist, and just as he pulls away the words drop from her mouth, “I love you. Be safe.”
He pauses, his hand still at her hip, and her mouth drops open, her brain catching up to her words. Yes, she loves Jim Hopper. She’s loved him for longer than she’d care to admit, but this is the first time she’s said it, the first time either of them has actually used those words.
The moment seems to freeze, the kids’ eyes all finding Joyce’s blushing cheeks, and then Hop is leaning in again, brushing his cheek to hers, his mouth so close to her ear it tickles when he whispers, “I love you too, Joyce.”
The smile pulls at her lips slowly until she is beaming, smiling brightly as she rises on her toes to drop one more kiss to his lips before Jim’s out the door, Jonathan by his side, Will and El giggling over their waffles. She reaches for her cooling mug, lifts it to her mouth, and she just can’t seem to stop smiling.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Conferences
A jopper a/u where Hopper meets Joyce at parent teacher conferences. She is El's teacher and he needs some advice.
Read on here or the link below:
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14147381/1/Conferences
Jim Hopper isn’t sure when his life became quite so habitual, but somewhere between losing his wife, and adopting his niece, he turned into an ordinary suburban dad. The thrill and excitement of police work in the city lost its luster when Diane got sick, when he realized she was what mattered, not the next promotion. After that, after losing her, grieving her, he brought El to Hawkins, took his position as chief of police where nothing ever happens, and settled into raising the girl just how he knew Diane would have wanted.
Now, however, he has a burgeoning teenager, and he can’t be sure what Diane would do, or what he should do when she spends hours with Mike Wheeler, hours kissing Mike Wheeler. Sure, he’s heard good things about the kid, knows that he isn’t one of the kids he’s always bringing into the station for fights or petty crimes, but the boy shows no respect for authority, no respect for him, and it pisses him the hell off.
Jim sighs, bringing his disposable cup of coffee to his lips, and he doesn’t fight the slight burn of the too hot liquid because at least the discomfort pulls his mind from his current thoughts, thoughts about strangling Mike Wheeler. He sets down the cup inside his blazer before opening the door and donning his hat. He’s come straight from the station for El’s parent teacher conferences, and he is tired, cranky, and already knows El is doing fine, more than fine. She is an impeccable student. She’s smart when it comes to school, now if he could only get her to be smarter about boys.
He walks up to the front of Hawkin’s middle school, pushes through the doors and nods towards Becky in the office, silently reminding himself he was supposed to call her. She’d passed him her number the last time he was here checking on truants. Still, he can’t bring himself to think of a relationship, not when he’s dealing with El, or maybe that’s an excuse because he hasn’t met anyone that compares to Diane. Then again, it’s probably unfair to compare every woman to his dead wife.
Once he reaches El’s homeroom, he brings his knuckles to the door, tapping gently three times before the door creaks open beneath the force of his knock. She’s sitting at her desk, Ms. Byers, and he sees her glance up, brown eyes finding him before she’s moving to stand and greet him.
He’s heard a lot about Joyce Byers. Hawkins is a small town, and the woman has lived here all her life so naturally there has been gossip that found its way to his ears. Stories about her crazy aunt, or her abusive ex, her two boys, and how their whole family is just a bit odd, but he’s tried not to let any of the rumors influence his opinion of his daughter’s favorite teacher. Since the very first day of class El came home raving about Ms. Byers. His daughter loves her. He has only seen her a handful of times, once or twice they passed one another in the grocery store, but for the most part she seems to spend her days at the school and her nights at home. He’s the same of course, only leaving home or the station to respond to necessary work calls.
“Hello,” Joyce says, her words pulling him from his thoughts, “you must be Mr. Hopper? El’s dad?”
She smiles as she closes the distance between them, her hand lifting to meet his. She’s small, smaller than he’d realized when he’s seen her before, and the rumor about her ex flits through his mind, an image of some faceless man bringing his fist to this tiny woman, but Jim had heard she was a fighter herself, never leaving her ex husband without a scratch of his own to tend to.
She’s wearing clothing a bit more casual than he’s used to from teachers, pairing slacks with a t-shirt, and he suddenly feels over dressed in her presence, his chief’s uniform feeling more formal than required for this meeting. He removes his hat with one hand, bringing his other to hers and giving a slight shake.
“That’s me.” He says, a smile pulling at his lips. “You can call me Jim, or Hop, my friends use both.”
Her smile widens in response, “please call me Joyce,” and then she’s gesturing for him to sit in an uncomfortable looking chair set in front of her desk, while she makes her way back to her chair opposite him.
They go through the motions. She tells him El is brilliant. He already knows. She tells him she’s been a great student. He already knows. And then…
“I need to discuss something important with you,” Joyce closes the folder in front of her, charts and statistics about El’s education closed away. “The other day,” she pauses, looking at him intensely, and he can’t help but notice the way she bites her lower lip, the action making him wonder briefly what her lips would taste like before he shakes that away, mentally chiding himself. This is his daughter’s teacher. Joyce continues with, “El asked me about sex.”
He’s frozen, eyes staring into hers, blinking, but he can’t formulate words, can’t seem to make his brain work.
“Jim?” Joyce questions, dark eyes twisting in concern.
He shakes his head, clearing his throat, “Um, I’m sorry,” he smiles, realizing he must have misheard, “I thought you said,”
She interrupts, “sex? That is what I said.” Joyce leans back in her chair, sitting a bit straighter, and he thinks he can see a flush creep up her neck.
He laughs, a slight little chuckle because he can hardly believe that he’s sitting here about to have this conversation with El’s teacher. “I,” he pauses, mind spinning, his brain still half dwelling on the flush of Joyce’s skin, “I know she’s been hanging around with that Mike Wheeler kid a lot.” He says Mike’s name with a hint of venom to his voice, “but they aren’t. I mean,” he studders,” I always have her door cracked, and they are kissing,” he rolls his eyes to the ceiling, “so much damn kissing, but sex? They aren’t,” he pauses again and Joyce rescues him with her next words.
“She isn’t having sex.” He breathes out a deep sigh of relief, his hand swiping up to push through his hair. He can feel a sheen of sweat building on his forehead. If Joyce says sex one more time he’s not sure how he’ll react.
“She is just curious, has questions.” the woman across from him continues, “she mentioned it is just you and her.” The look of empathy in Joyce’s brown eyes strikes him in that moment, cuts deep, and he realizes she also knows how lonely it can be raising kids on your own. “I think you need to have a conversation with her. You know, a heart to heart.”
“A,” he pauses, bites his lower lip, “heart to heart?”
Her brows lift, “yes, you know, you talk with them, open and honestly, set boundaries.”
“Set boundaries..” He likes the sounds of that, but he honestly can’t say that he’s ever had a ‘heart to heart’ in his life, or that he even could if he wanted to. “Ummmmm, maybe you could do that,” he nods hopefully, ignoring Joyce’s arching eyebrow, continuing with, “ya know, as her teacher.”
She leans forward slowly, elbows resting on her desk, “No.”
“No?” He questions, all hope draining from his features.
“No,” she chuckles, “you’re her dad. It wouldn’t work coming from me.” She lifts her hand, index finger pointing towards his chest, “You need to do it.”
“Maybe you could just move Mike into a different homeroom?” He suggests, the idea seemingly plausible to him, “If she doesn’t see him as much at school that might help the situation.”
She scoffs, doesn’t hide her laugh, and even though it’s a sound of exasperation, he like it, thinks he could get used to hearing that sound, “you want me to switch their homeroom schedules, gym schedules, lunch schedules, all in the hopes that seeing each other less at school will somehow make them want to spend less time together outside of school?” Her eyes narrow waiting for his response.
He feels like an idiot, because of course she’s right, and hearing it come out of her mouth makes him realize how stupid of a plan it was, “Well, when you put it that way.” He sighs, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s pretty sure having a teenager comes with a constant headache.
Joyce sighs, head tilting, her annoyance melting away, replaced with sympathy, “look, I get it. I have two boys myself. It isn’t easy.” She pauses, stands and lifts her pen and notebook, circling her desk before sitting at the edge just to the side of him. “I can’t talk to them for you, but maybe I can help.” Her lips curve into a gentle smile, and his stomach twists.
“Help?” He questions, not sure what she has in mind, not sure anything could help him get through the next few years of raising El.
She leans forward just a bit, the action wafting a warm vanilla scent to his nose and he wonders if it's her perfume or lotion before she says, “Yeah, give you some tips.” She sets her notebook down in front of him, handing him the pen. He notices the way their fingers briefly touch, the contact warm and soft, and he keeps his hand there, lingering, until she pulls her’s away, releasing the pen.
He wonders if she feels it too, the attraction he’s noticing, or maybe it’s just been too long for him that he’s feeling like a teenager again himself.
Joyce smiles again, her hands resting on either side of her as she stays perched at the edge of her desk, “Let’s start with the basics.”
He grins, bringing the pen to paper, and thinks how his daughter is right. Ms. Byers is an amazing teacher.
Joyce & Hopper | Stranger Things 1x04
i still find the fact that jopper always has matching outfits near the end of each season so adorable
via Shawn Levy’s Twitter
“It still feels like a dream, ya know?” Hopper questions, his eyes finding Joyce from across the motel room, eyelids drooping heavily with exhaustion.
He is sitting at the edge of the mattress, testing the softness of the material beneath his fingers, the bedding a bit scratchy, but far more pleasant than anything he’s slept on in months, and he just can’t quite believe it, any of it. He’s clean, and warm, and comfortable aside from the constant nagging pain of injuries sustained over the last eight months.
He doesn’t push the pain away though, instead letting the throbbing of his ankles and the twinge in his ribs remind him this very much is not a dream. This is real, he is real, Joyce is real.
“I know,” Joyce responds, a small smile tugging at her lips, “it doesn’t feel quite believable that we actually made it out of there.” She walks over to him, bare legs bumping between his, her arms lifting and pressing into his scarred shoulders, hands clasping behind his neck. “I can’t believe that we got you back.”
There is a slight tremble to her voice, her eyes troubled, a slight sheen brightening them.
Hopper lets his hands settle on her hips, feeling the material of her cotton t-shirt press softly in the pads of his fingers. He wants to comfort her, wants to wrap her in his arms, wants to see her smile and laugh, and he wants so much more all at once. He ends up grinning at her, a slow smile curving his lips, “does that mean you’re not sick of me yet?”
She scoffs, a short puff of laughter leaving her lips, “Well, I didn’t say that.”
He laughs too, his hands sliding up, one finding its way to her face, the other settling with the fabric of her t-shirt bunched at her ribs, and he pulls her mouth to his, eager to feel her again, her lips warm against his.
When she pulls away he groans, tries to bring her back, but she stands firm, holding him, but not moving her mouth any closer, not deepening the moment.
“Hop?” Her voice is breathy, beautiful, everything, and he wants her to say his name again, he wants her to say anything. “You need to get some rest.” Well, except that, he didn’t want her to say that.
His eyes lift to hers, then back to her lips, then her eyes, and she’s smiling before taking mercy on him and kissing him again, this time letting their tongues slip together, the warmth nearly burning him. His hands are moving, along her back, just above the curve of her ass, beneath her shirt, her skin tingling under the slide of his fingers, and then she’s doing it again, pulling away gently.
“Hop, I’m serious,” Her hands press gently into his bare shoulders, “there will be time for this,” she looks at him, eyes big and certain, reassuring him “later. This isn’t a dream,” her fingers move to his cheeks, touching gently, “this is real, but you look awful, and you need sleep.” She yawns, a hand leaving him to rub at the back of her neck. “And so do I.” She sighs, a slight chuckle tumbling from her mouth.
She’s right. He knows she’s right, but he doesn’t like it. He drops his forehead to her chest, letting his breathing slow, but he refuses to move his hands from her body. He can’t, he won’t, and she seems to realize this because the next thing he knows she is guiding him down into the mattress, still letting him hold her as she climbs beside him, pulling at his body until they are pressed together, legs tangled, and he thinks she’s the softest thing he’s ever felt before he falls asleep almost instantly.
Joyce, Hopper, and Mike | Stranger Things 2x08
He wonders if she notices. The flash of pain in his eyes, the shift in his smile. Sometimes he just can’t help it, the dread that paralyzes him.
One moment he’s looking at her, enjoying the way her skin flushes when he makes a suggestive comment, the way she says, “Hop, stop that”, glancing over her shoulder to be sure the kids are in the other room as she makes dinner.
Then the next moment he’s back there, in that hell, his body freezing, mind spinning, but he’s not of course. He’s here, with her, with their kids, but just seeing her, hearing her laugh, it sometimes brings him back to almost losing her, fills him with self loathing for the danger he brought to her. He hates how enjoying her, loving her, can fill him with so much happiness only to pull him to his darkest depths all in the same instant. It’s the loving her that is the hardest, the loving her so much that he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost her.
She does notice it. She can tell the moment his eyes go slightly wide, his grin faltering, and she can’t be sure where he goes, what darkness tugs at him, but she can imagine, and she can see it happen. She stares just a little longer than she should, eyes narrowing, but she doesn’t say a word. She goes back to “normal”, their normal, and she waits, waits for him to come back to her.
Her hand always finds him, his cheek, his fingers, his shoulder. A slight squeeze or press of skin to skin, warm contact. It never takes long for him to return. A long exhalation, and he’s there again, present in front of her, his demons pushed away, eyes lighting back up, lips curving as he tells her about his day, listening to hers in turn.
The moments happen less and less as they settle into their lives together. Lives filled with laughter, quiet conversations, and loud disagreements followed by apologies and chaste kisses that deepen until they lay warm and sated beneath a tangle of sheets.
One day, he catches her eye over coffee and crossword puzzles, their smiles mirroring across the table, and he realizes he can’t remember the last time he was pulled to the darkness, can’t remember when loving her became so easy, so safe, but it did.