yes it’s a kink

her puzzled/hazy little looks are just...asdffghjkl

^ Going Through It in the the winter wind and rain (in an episode that features perfume as a plot point no less) hello missing scene fic potential???? (also she's so unhinged in this episode and i love that for her)

^ the fact that this episode takes place at a zoo/around animals has me like 👀

^ glad to see that umbrella is working well for you alhjfkaskjdf

^ nose profile appreciation bc um HELLO??? (to be fair she's crying here but still)

“Ughh, fuck me…” Hopper groaned, peering at the rays of sun filtering through the window, desperate to urge the budding sneeze along.

This cold was kicking his ass, majorly. He’d hadn’t been sick even once whilst detained in Russia – motherfucking Russia, with snow all over, whilst he did hard labour and survived on minimal scraps. Back home in the good old US of A, he felt wretched. He supposed his body had been in survival mode for so long that the second he felt safe enough to collapse, that was basically what he did.

The headaches and general malaise he could deal with; they gave him an excuse to lounge around all day, bundled up in the warmest pajamas imaginable and an embarrassingly fluffy dressing gown Joyce had thrust at him. He had no clue where she’d found it and would have been mortified to discover it was her own, but given that the sleeves actually came down to his wrists and didn’t sit mid forearm, it was safe to say he could put that worry to bed.

The sneezing, however - that was a lot less manageable. He was absolutely exhausted by the frequent, bellowing violence of them. The worst thing was that they either gave him no time to prepare at all, forcing him to spray them openly at whatever unfortunate piece of furniture lay in his path – or, they teased him for what felt like an age. He was currently dealing with the latter, squinting pathetically and snorting air through his nostrils to bully the sneeze into fruition.

The phrase ‘man flu’ bothered him on a personal level. He didn’t get sick often, but when he did it was entirely inundating. He wasn’t trying to garner sympathy; every snort and hack and sniffle was a reflection of his genuine, honest-to-god suffering. He wondered if it was the sheer size of him that made his ailments such dramatic affairs – though admittedly he could do with gaining some weight back. He’d practically had an orgasm eating his first true-blooded American meal after 8 months of mouldy bread and soup with the consistency of piss. That was something else to be bitter about – this cold had robbed him of his ability to enjoy food.

He sat up in bed, simultaneously lamenting his misfortune and praying for his god-damn nose to just let him fucking sneeze already, when Joyce – stunning, amazing woman that she was – walked into the room with a tray of food. Pancakes – he sighed internally, knowing he couldn’t truly appreciate them.

She regarded him for a moment; he knew he must have looked ridiculous, desperately wrestling with the tickle in his nose. Her face took on an expression of amused endearment that put his stomach aflutter. He loved when her eyes softened – and how amazing was it that she was looking at him with so much adoration?

“Stuck again, huh?” She said, placing the tray on the bedside table and sitting beside him. Her hand found one of his, and he squeezed it gently, trying not to think about how gross and clammy his palm must have felt in her own.

“Ughh, yeah. They won’t stop teasing me, it’s driving me – oh, hh! HUHH-HUH!!”

He held himself rigid on the precipice of relief, lifting the ragged hand towel he’d been using as a handkerchief to his face. He was aware of Joyce tensing beside him, as though he were a wild animal and any sudden movement from herself would frighten the sneeze away. Ultimately, he distracted himself with that thought – and perhaps by wanting it too much. Seconds later, his face relaxed and he leant back against the headboard with a disappointed exhale. Joyce cooed and rubbed his forearm; his skin was tender with illness, but it felt amazing just to be fussed over. It was kind of like a dream he never wanted to wake up from, minus the nasal torture.

“You’ll get it next time.” She patted him decisively, then reached for the tray. “In the meantime, do you think you can you eat these for me?”

“Will you feed them to me?” He tried, aiming for boyish flirtation but undermining his efforts by all but rasping. He cleared his throat loudly and winced at the soreness of it.

Joyce smiled at him with partial amusement and partial concern, but to his delight threw him a sympathy bone and said with a withering affectation “Sorry, Hop. I have enough kids already.”

She placed the tray in front of him. When he made no effort to move, she took his right hand, balled in a loose fist, into her own. The sheer size difference between his paws and her delicate fingers was as endearing as it was thrilling. He would have laced his fingers with hers – or better yet, reached for the utensils to start eating, since he really was hungry - but he enjoyed watching as she manually uncurled each of his fingers before finally placing a fork in the palm of his hand. She looked at him expectantly, but he just smirked back. Shaking her head, she closed his fingers around it, so very poorly masking her smile that his grew, flashing his teeth at her in amusement.

“You’re such a baby!” She laughed before lightly swatting the side of his head with her hand – barely even touching it, but he yelled out in faux pain anyway, loudly enough that she clamped a hand to his mouth.

“Shh, shhh!” She reprimanded even as she continued to giggle like some love-sick kid. Hopper barely managed to hold back a mortifying giggle of his own. He was enjoying this far too much.

“First you verbally abuse me, then physically! You’re awful. I’m a sick person.” He sniffled behind her hand for dramatic effect.

“You’re an ass.”

“Well, now I’m your ass, Byers.”

“Ew, Hop. Just eat your damn breakfast and let me get on with my day.”

Despite her reprimands, she was terrible at hiding how much she was enjoying their little back and forth, so he decided to milk it. When he refused to lift his be-forked hand to dig into the pancakes, unmoving under Joyce’s stern gaze – her mom powers didn’t work on him – she rolled her eyes, took the fork back from him and began cutting the food into pieces. He watched her, a shit-eating grin on his face. He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she leaned into it, nuzzling into the palm.

“Oh, so your arms are working, then?”

“For this sole purpose.” He delicately stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “I still need your assistance.”

Joyce smiled at him, exasperated.

“You really want me to feed you?”

“I really do.”

She scoffed, but continued to cut up the pancake, all whilst he beamed and beamed at her.

“Open up, sport.” She edged the loaded fork closer to his mouth.

He was about to comply when the lingering tickle decided to make itself known. He groaned and turned his head to the side, grunting by way of explanation; Joyce understood, waiting patiently.

“HH-! HH-HUH! H’CKK-!”

God, but why did he have to sound so fucking dramatic when he needed to sneeze? Why did he have to put on a performance? He’d never been especially embarrassed by the whole thing – he was a big man with big sneezes; it was expected of him, almost. A tiny little bitten-down sneeze would have brought him more grief. But, come on, now. He didn’t need to…gasp and choke like that.

“HAH’DTT!!.....Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me-!”

He grumbled and scrubbed furiously at his nose with the towel, another sneeze miserably failed. He heard and felt Joyce moving the tray to one side; then, she was crawling up his body to nuzzle into his neck, and his arm instinctively wrapped round her shoulders and held her tight.

“Jesus, Hopper. What’s the big deal? You didn’t have this problem last night.”

He let out a bitter huff of a laugh. Wasn’t that the damn truth. He’d shaken every rafter in the house with each booming sneeze, making it an impossibility for anybody to sleep. He’d grudgingly accepted the larger than average dosage of NyQuil Joyce had plied him with, as eager as the rest of them for him to succumb to unconsciousness. He’d had such a tickle he could have sworn he’d been building up to another explosion even as the drugs knocked him out for the night. Upon waking, he’d had the opposite problem. He now wanted to sneeze more than anything but seemed woefully incapable.

“I wish I fucking knew. Jesus Christ, this cold sucks.”

They lay there snuggled in a comfortable embrace for a while, pancakes forgotten. Hopper thought he might have been able to fall asleep again, as Joyce draped her leg over his waist and nuzzled closer. ‘Might’, being the operative word there, as the tickle reared its head once more. Every hitching breath shook his expanding and constricting chest wildly, jostling Joyce with every spasm. He rubbed her back in apology, even as he stared with unfocused eyes into the general distance of the room, begging his body to complete what was sure to be an almighty sneeze, should it finally appear.

It didn’t, of course. Why should it, after hours of torture? He sighed, lowering the towel from his face and snuggling closer to Joyce.

After a beat or two, in which Hopper gazed at the top of Joyce’s head and internally lamented over how unfair it was he couldn’t sniff her hair in his current state, she lifted herself and peered up at him.

“Should I help you sneeze?”

He blinked at her.

“It’s…kind of a solitary activity, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes at him, then sat up and looked around.

“I mean I could tickle it out of you. I’ve done it before to myself, when I had a bad cold – totally forgot about it until now.” She muttered, sounding distracted.

Puzzled but intrigued, he sat back and watched her. He hadn’t told her he thought her sneezes were as fantastic as the rest of her – it was a passing and strange thought he had on occasion, one he hadn’t been drunk enough to blurt out at random just yet. Unlike himself, where sneezes matched build, hers were at odds with her petite frame. She didn’t suppress them like a lot of women, nor emphasise them with especially girly vocalisations. They didn’t fuck around – her sneezes meant business. He thought to himself, with no little amusement, that they were just as forceful and aggressive as her personality. It was incredibly endearing.

Joyce got up from the bed and went to root around in the top drawer of a dresser.

“Do you keep a supply of comically long feathers handy for such occasions?” He drawled, feeling strange, like he needed to break the tension. A sense of giddy suspense had overcome him, though for what reason he had no fucking idea.

“No feathers, sadly.” Joyce responded, then turned around, triumphantly holding something aloft between pinched fingers. “But this should work just fine.”

Hopper recognised, as she rejoined him on the bed, that her tool of choice was a bobby pin – something he had never owned, nor had any reason to. He regarded the little metal stick with suspicion.

“So you want to, what? Stick it up my nose?”

Joyce nodded.

“It works a treat for me when I need to sneeze.”

“Huh. How often do you make yourself sneeze, Byers?”

“Oh, every now and then.” She twirled the pin between her fingers. “Don’t you enjoy it? The rush of a sneeze?”

“Course I do - who doesn’t? I just don’t usually need any assistance in getting there.”

“Neither do I, really – I just like how it feels enough that sometimes I do it for fun, too.”

Hopper blinked again, then smiled broadly at her.

“Mrs Byers, you are a shameless freak.”

Joyce smirked back, twirling and twirling the tool. It was starting to look more than a little menacing to Hopper.

“Do you want to sneeze or not? It’ll feel so good when you do.”

“Yes. Please.” Hopper shuffled, sitting up even more in bed, leaning his head back as a means of bearing his reddened nostrils to her, then feeling ridiculous for doing so. Joyce seemed pleased, though, and reached out with the hand not holding the pin to gently cup his jaw. For easier access, she navigated herself until she was sitting atop of him, straddling his hips. He reached out without prompting to gently grip at her slender waist.

“Good boy, Hop.” She cooed, shifting happily in place at his willing obedience. Hopper was surprised to feel that he was getting hard; not that Joyce straddling him wasn’t a total delight, as always, but there was something more to it than that. Joyce could evidently feel it, too; she ground her lovely ass back onto his growing erection, and he couldn’t help the pleasured huff that burst out of him, hands squeezing her sides. She hummed appreciatively.

“This is doing it for you?” She asked, as if she wasn’t damn well aware it was doing it for the both of them. Her pupils were blown, and her cheeks were blushing ever so slightly in the gorgeous way they did when Hopper was doing something right. He wished immediately to be free of the barriers of clothing and blanket between them; he wanted to rut his cock against her pussy, which he was hopeful was getting wetter by the second. He wanted her to ride him, total firecracker that she was, pulling him over the edge until he was spurting inside of her, helpless to the pleasure she was bringing. He choked back a moan, cursing his brain for riling him up so much over very little at all.

“You do it for me. I’m going crazy with this stupid fucking cold. I want to hold you up against the wall and fuck you ‘til you’re screaming my name, honey.”

“Fuck, Jim - I want that too, just – let’s get this over with. I want you totally focused on me, not your cold.”

“Yeah, fuck. Okay, I’m ready.”

She smiled at him, thumb tracing at his stubble, then brought the pin to edge of one nostril. She dragged it slowly, ever so gently along the rim. He reacted immediately, but not in any kind of promising way – if anything, the motion turned the lingering tickle into an incredibly uncomfortable burning. He gasped, turning his head last minute to cough into his fist, jostling both Joyce and himself atop the squeaky mattress.

“Please, hun,” he muttered as he scrubbed at his nose with the hand towel, eyes squinting at the sensation, “Don’t tease me.”

“Oh?” She said, bringing his hand back to her waist. “I thought you loved to be teased.”

She rolled her hips against his, causing him to buck erratically in response. He laughed breathily, and she smirked at him.

“Fuck yes, I love it, most of the time, just – I’m dying to sneeze, Joyce. Please help me out so I can fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked, okay?”

“Okay,” She sighed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before –

“Oh-H’uhh!!” His breath hitched immediately, in both shock and the outrageous desire to sneeze.

He’d asked for it, and she sure as shit wasn’t teasing now – a woman on a mission, she probed and stroked at the walls of his nostril, flared angrily around the invading nuisance. He knew for certain, all of a sudden, that he was going to sneeze – like those helpless few moments when orgasm is imminent and he can only sit back and enjoy the ride. This realisation thrilled him. His cock twitched – strange, unexpected, but exciting. How had he never noticed the parallel between orgasm and sneezing before? It seemed so obvious in this moment.

Maybe it was the fact that it wasn’t some random, bodily occurrence. A sneeze was still a reflex, sure – but now Joyce was the one making it happen. She was in control of him; he was at her mercy. When he sneezed, it would be because of her efforts, and because she had willed it to happen – and he would surrender to it; helpless to it. His cock throbbed, jumping hard enough that he knew Joyce had to have felt it. The spasmodic tightening of her thighs around his torso let him know that she had.

“F-fuck, Hh’HH!! HUH-! Joyce, I’m gHHH-!!”

“That’s good, Hopper – you’re doing so well.”

The praise sent gentle sparks of pleasure cascading through him, beginning where Joyce’s fingertips delicately traced his jaw and culminating as powerful throbs in his cock. He was entirely hard now, almost painfully so.

As his eyes started to close of their own accord, he tried over huge, shuddering gasps to warn her that he was right fucking there – the sneeze mere seconds away from exploding out of him. If the way he was gasping and trembling as it built - so much like the ascent to orgasm - was any indication, it was gonna be fucking huge, even for him.

A particularly violent gasp scissored out of him, stretching his chest to capacity and holding him teetering on the edge of release. Totally paralysed by the sensation, face a miasma of ticklish agony, he felt Joyce’s small hand encircle his wrist and raise the hand clutching his makeshift handkerchief to his face. Endearment and gratitude bloomed warm in his chest, even as she continued to tickle and probe far beyond necessity, raising goosebumps of overstimulation all over him. He was gonna sneeze, he was finally going to – !

“WWRRRSSSSSCHHH’OOOOOHHHH!!!”

Oh. Oh god. Hopper trembled as it burst out of him, an immensely pleasurable rush of air into the confines of the handkerchief. He groaned, unable to help himself – it just felt too damn good, after hours of torture. He thought, given the intensity of it, and the rush of satisfaction that followed, that he might be done – but then his head was rearing back again, the gasp that welled up in his chest jostling him so severely that he dropped the cloth.

Fuck, he thought, as it slipped out of his fingers. There goes what’s left of my fucking dignity. With no time to spare and little other choice, he cupped both hands over his nose and mouth and roared the subsequent sneeze into them.

“HHHHHRRRRR’RRRUSHHHHHH’AHHHHHHHH!!”

Jesus Christ, he knew he was loud as well as anyone else did but. Shit. These were some powerful sneezes. Joyce had tickled him good. So well, in fact, that he found himself gearing up for another one immediately.

“’WWWRRRRRSSSSHH’AHHHHHHH!!”

And another.

“HHAHDDDT’JJSSSSSSHHH’UUUHHHH!!!”

And - oh god, seriously, another?

“HUHHHH’RSSSSSSHHHHH’AHHHHHH!!!”

They tore out of him, each as violently cleansing as the last. He gasped, half-expecting to sneeze again, but for the moment seemed to be done.

“Jesus, Hopper! God bless you!”

He groaned, snuffling and blinking his bleary eyes. Hands cupped to his face as though in a daze, he sat and luxuriated in the post-sneeze relief. Joyce seemed to mistake this immobility for a sign that he had made a particularly egregious mess – and, to be fair, his hands were soaked; some of the moisture was starting to slide down his wrists in rivulets. He graciously took his cloth from her, wiping his hands and face clean. Finally he looked at her, feeling almost drunk with pleasure. He must have looked it too, judging by the amused and hungry expression she met him with.

“Holy fuck. That felt fucking incredible, Joyce. Seriously. What a trick.”

“You’re welcome. And,” She pressed backward, rubbing her ass against the veritable tent of his cock through the sheets. “I’m glad you had fun.”

His hips bucked up, out of control like he was a fucking high schooler; it would have been mortally embarrassing if she hadn’t squealed in delight when he did so. That little noise broke any illusion that he could maintain restraint over himself. Purged of the need to sneeze, his attention was now fixed entirely on Joyce. It was so overwhelming a desire that for a moment the relief of sneezing felt inconsequential, the way one forgets the agony of hunger just moments after beginning to eat. He slipped one large palm down to cup her ass over her jeans, the other petting her back. She shuddered quite violently, gasping as his hand squeezed, hard.

“I want you to ride me. Want you to take the reigns and fuck me senseless.” He muttered into her ear, moving the hand not on her ass to unbutton her jeans. “Okay?”

“Fuck, Hopper, yes-! Ohh, fuckk…”

Her hands scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders, face flushed. He reached down, delighted to feel her underwear sodden, cunt slick and sensitive. He traced the moisture back up to her clit, rolling and pinching it with thumb and forefinger before starting a steady circling motion with his thumb. His pointer and middle finger teased at her entrance, and she tipped her hips forward to invite him in.

“Wait, let me – “ She said, suddenly, then effortlessly swung herself round until she was sitting with her back flush against Hopper’s chest, head falling back against his collar bone. He wrapped one strong arm around her before his other hand returned to her underwear and resumed his stroking with barely a pause.

“You gonna cum for me like this, first? Is it my turn to make you shake?”

“Ahhh, goddd, Jim-! Don’t stop, please…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mumbled, lowering his voice even further, knowing she delighted in the rumbling vibration against her back. Her clutching fingernails dug into the skin of his forearm, and the pleasure-pain of it spurred him on further.

It was with a sudden burgeoning regret, a mere split-second of recognition, that Hopper realised he was going to sneeze again. He cursed his luck, this absolutely bullshit bad timing – no sneezing for hours, now he had no warning at all? Where was the sense in that?!

He had no longer to despair; he wasn’t even able to choke out a warning. He merely sucked in a huge, chest-quaking gasp, pushing Joyce outwards with the force of it, then curled forward, head rocking down over her shoulder as he surrendered to a body-crunching sneeze.

“HHEEEHHHHH’RUSSSSHHH’AAAHHHHHH!!!”

He felt bad for sneezing so loudly, right next to her ear, but he simply had zero control. It demanded his surrender and tickled so horribly that tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he cringed into it. The both of them were shaken horribly, the bed squeaking in violent protest. It felt just as good as the other sneezes had, and he couldn’t help the moan that rumbled out of him the moment he was finished.

“Shit, Joyce, I’m-“

“Oohhhh, Oh God-!!”

His apology was cut off by her cry; her body went rigid as she trembled, hips rocking gently against his hand. He could hardly believe it, sure he would have ruined the chance of getting her off after spraying the pair of them with an unbidden sneeze, but there she was all the same. Her orgasm, if anything, looked to be an exceptionally enjoyable one. He sniffled, working her through it with feather soft touches to her clit, until with a ragged gasp, she softened against him.

“I was gonna say sorry for sneezing on you.” He murmured after a beat, still rubbing her gently, enjoying the sag of her body against him. “But – and, by all means, correct me if I’m wrong – I think you liked it.”

Joyce laughed, reaching up with one hand to cradle his face, drawing it towards her own and smushing their cheeks together.

“I didn’t dislike it, that’s for damn sure.”

He laughed gently himself

“Well, shit. You really are a freak, Joyce. A very lucky freak – I feel kind of like…” He sniffled experimentally. “Ohh, yeah. Gonna sneeze again soon. You opened the floodgates, baby.”

“Whoops.” She said, sounding incredibly pleased. She moaned appreciatively as his fingers started to circle her clit again with more firmness. Wriggling, she tilted her head to look him in the eye. He peered back at her, waiting.

“Think you can do that again when you’re inside of me?”

He laughed whole-heartedly that time.

“Baby, I can do it as many times as you like. I might need your assistance, though.”