#hopper

Late nights after some of those scary moments with Jane were enough to make Hopper call in a favor.

You're a nice girl.

Old enough to drink, as he'd seen you at a bar before.

He knows your dad. Knows that you'd be trustworthy. Knows that your pops owes him about a dozen favors.

The first time he allows you over to meet Jane, he stays. He stays because he doesn't trust anyone - not after the lab and all this shit - but he realizes that you're good company; is pleased with how kind you are to Jane - how much you try to make a connection despite the age difference.

So he asks you over again.

Asks you to pick her up on days he's late at the station.

You're his first call.

It's becoming so bad, he makes you a spare key.

"If it's not a bother, would you come over tonight to keep an eye on Jane?" He's trying his best not to sound desperate over the phone line, but it's a tough night and he needs this support.

"Of course, Chief! No problem. What time do you need me?"

"Uhhhh...now would be great."

Your little laugh on the other line makes him feel filthy for thinking naughty things.

...so you're cute, what of it?

"Already grabbing my keys. What time should I expect you?"

"Late, unfortunately."

"Like...ten?"

"Eleven, if I'm lucky."

"And how many hours is that today, big guy?"

He holds back a groan, breathes deep, feigns unfazed by the nickname.

"Oh, I'm way over. Just waiting on these idiot big wigs to finish their yapping. I'll cut out when I can. Just...make sure she does some of those flashcards and get her something that's not loaded with sugar for dinner."

"Yes, sir."

You do it on purpose, he's convinced. Toying with him. Always stepping so close to some line, but never crossing it.

He likes it. Likes how you call him Jim, how your pretty lips curl up into a smile every time he walks through the door, how you follow his instructions to a T, how he pays you for babysitting but you always pretend to make an issue out of it before swiping his cash.

"Hey, I do have a favor to ask you, though, if you have a minute?"

Hopper bites back the urge to say "anything"

"Sure, yeah."

"I...kinda promised Jane that next time I watched her, we'd do the whole slumber party thing since she rarely gets to. Is...that okay?"

His mouth goes dry.

You.

Sleeping under the same roof.

How fucked, he thinks. How absolutely filthy he is for immediately thinking impure thoughts.

His silence startles you into speaking again.

"I am so sorry. I should have asked you before making promises. It's okay, I will clear it up with her and we can...-"

"No, no, sorry, just, uh...caught up in work. Yeah, that's...that's fine with me. Sure."

"Oh my God, thanks, Jim." You breathe, relieved on the other line. "Jesus, you're scary sometimes."

"Am I?" He cant help the lilt in his voice, the flirtation coming right though.

"Yes! You are..."

"I'll try to dial it back for you."

"Good. 11:00?"

"11:00...ish."

"Be safe tonight."

"Always."

When the line goes dead, Hopper runs a hand down his face, groans, tells himself to get a grip, and tries to focus on work.

•••

10:23 he's pulling up to the cabin, relieved to see your car safely parked, cabin lights low, curtains closed.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about you all night.

Door's locked. Good.

He inserts the key, twists, opens the door to see your surprised expression.

He fails at hiding his surprise.

You.

His shirt.

Thigh highs.

Tiny shorts.

"You weren't supposed to be home yet," you seem a bit...embarrassed, maybe?

He can't tell. Can barely tear his eyes away from your thighs.

"I spilled," Jane speaks up, holding a bottle of cranberry juice.

"Wore my pajamas here, didn't think to bring a change," you try to shrug off.

"Her clothes are in the wash now," Jane explains.

"I just grabbed something, I hope you don't mind. Jane's stuff is too small for me."

Those shorts are pretty small, he wants to comment.

"I planned to be in bed before you got home," you admit quietly. "Sorry we broke into your wardrobe."

Hopper waves it off, agrees to eat the pasta you made for Jane, sits at the table with the chair scooted in to purposefully cover his erection.

Popcorn. Movie. Your legs pulled up on the couch.

You're. A. Sight.

He's pretending to watch the TV from his spot at the table, but he can't stop staring at you.

Those legs, damn it. He wants to run his hands up them, squeeze, get you nice and comfortable in his lap before he slides those tiny shorts to the side and...-

"I'm going to bed," Jane announces as the credits roll.

Oh. Shit.

Hopper glances at the newspaper on the table as you walk by, grab his bowl with a, "you done?"

"Hm? Yeah."

You begin the dishes, in those damn thigh highs. And Hopper tries to not lose himself in fantasies.

You had to know what you were doing to him, right?

"Was work as bad as you expected?" Your voice breaks through the silent room and his loud brain.

He laughs. "It's work, isn't it always?"

"Not always."

"Oh, yeah? Not all of us get paid to have slumber parties in tiny little get ups."

The words slip from him before he realizes.

You quirk a brow at him, finish washing his bowl, touch a damp hand to his shirt you're in.

"This is tiny?"

You're right. You're swimming in it, you just tucked it in to the top of those damn shorts. He hadn't noticed, had been too distracted by your legs to see how long the sleeves of his t-shirt were on you; how wide the arms were.

You untuck, let it flow down. It's somehow almost worse now - more intimate feeling.

He bites his tongue, ogles at you, holds back a groan that only comes out as a deep exhale.

"I'm sure what you came in with was adorable," he teases.

"It was. And now it's stained," you deadpan.

You throw the towel at him, laugh, sit beside him at the table.

When he fishes in his pocket for his wallet, you watch with a humored expression.

"Reminds me..." he slaps cash on the table, like he always does for you.

And you roll your eyes and push it away, like you always do for him.

"Tonight was nothing. I did some flashcards with her, made some pasta, and turned on a movie. C'mon, Hop."

"Mm...take it. I owe you a new outfit."

You smirk. "Maybe I'll just take this one home with me."

And you catch his expression shift slightly, your eyes inspecting his face before you stand, touch his shoulder, make your way to Jane's door.

He thinks you're going to bed, wonders if you made a nest of blankets on the floor or took that ratty sleeping bag out of storage; wonders if he could convince you to take his bed. He'd take the couch; would happily stay awake haunted by the thought of you between his sheets.

Completely distracted with this fantasy, he misses that you'd closed her door, were walking back to him.

"I have another favor to ask, Jim..." your voice is whispered and he is so hooked.

"What's that, sweetheart?" He can't help but lean into the flirtation, drown in his lust for you.

"Touch me."

This time he can't hold back. His sharp inhale gives him away.

You're even closer now, and he instinctively moves the chair back to make room for you.

His fingers hook at your hips, pulling you in.

"Where?"

"Anywhere," you whisper, drawing even closer. "I tried to keep this at bay, but when Jane let me go through your shirts..."

You pause, play with the collar of his uniform, go sheepish.

"Tell me."

You look pointedly at him.

"I've had this crush for so long, Jim. And...I know this could ruin everything and I'm sorry if it's too much."

His fingers dip beneath the fabric of the shirt and he bites his tongue at how responsive you are to his simple touch.

You hiss an inhale, dig your nails gently into his neck.

He watches every move with hungry eyes.

"God...you're down bad, huh?" He teases quietly.

You look lusty and heated before saying,

"May I?"

Always the good girl.

"Sit," he demands.

You draw closer, hesitant but bold, and he moans when you straddle him instead.

Your expression shifts when you feel his hard cock.

Surprise and arousal look good on you, he thinks.

"Can't help myself around you," he admits. "Taken a lot of self-control."

"Then let go."

With you looking up at him like that, those curious eyes, the parted lips, the lust he can practically taste...he folds.

Temptation is a bitch.

His hands trail up your back, lifting the shirt slightly. He goes slack-jawed when he feels no bra on you.

"It's a sleepover," you tease. "Gotta be comfy."

"Jesus Christ..." he practically growls, lifting the shirt completely to see your perfect tits.

His hands fondle you before he takes a pretty nipple in his mouth, trails a tongue around.

You grind against him almost instinctively, needing more.

When you grip his hair and pull, he cant help the groan that leaves him.

Again, you yank, and he pops his mouth off of you, pulls back, only for you to capture his mouth in a needy kiss.

Fingers running through his hair, you grind against him, nibble at his lower lip.

And, God, didn't he know you'd be like this?

He can feel the precum beading at the tip of his cock from how you're grinding on him.

Fuck, he wants you.

Your hands drift down his belly, to his slacks.

You love the feel of him in your hands; how hard he is, how big.

With you fondling him like this, he can't help but lift his hips into your grasp, lean his head back at the pleasure of you finally touching him.

A noise startles the both of you, you almost falling off his lap in an attempt to stand, but he doesn't let you go; though your shirt falls back into place, to his dismay.

The sound was from outside, the wind blowing the trash can over.

Jane's door stays closed.

Wordlessly, Hopper lifts you, carries you across the room to the bathroom where he hoists you on the vanity.

You gape at him as you're closed in together.

"Kid sleeps like a rock," he informs. "She comes knocking, I'll tell her I took ya home," he mumbles into your neck.

"...my car's out front."

Oh, shit.

"You really wanna worry about that now?"

Hopper's big shoulders are suddenly at your knees as he crouches for you.

In awe, you shake your head.

You hadn't planned on the night going like this, but the feelings had been there. Being in his room, digging through his wardrobe...the shirt smelled like him, damn it, and it consumed your thoughts from the moment you slid it on.

His fingers pull at those tiny shorts, urging you to lift yourself just enough to yank them down your warm skin.

An appreciative hum fills the space as Hopper's lips kiss their way up your thighs.

Daydreams paled in comparison to the look of you - all flustered for him - spreading those pretty legs as he feels how wet you are through your panties.

He pulls them off you and pockets them - of course he does.

"Who's stealing wardrobes now?"

"Only fair," he mutters against your skin.

You'd like to come back with something quippy, but you're thrown off balance by him draping your legs over his shoulders, pulling you to the edge of the sink, and putting his mouth on your pussy.

A deep groan - almost growl - leaves him and it vibrates through you so intensely, you can't help but buck toward him.

A slick tongue swipes between your folds, lapping greedily at you.

An unzipping sound surprises you. Peeking an eye open, you ogle at the sight of him.

On his knees for you, pretty legs draped over him, his forearm muscles tensing as he pulls out his thick cock, starts stroking harshly.

You moan.

He stops.

"Shut up," he snaps quietly. "You wanna get caught? Huh?" His hand is still working himself, but his attention to you is gone.

"Wait, Jim. Don't stop."

He pauses, stares up at you.

"Beg."

"Huh?"

"I. Said. Beg. Me. For. It."

The defiance in your eyes humors him.

God, he wants to keep you.

"No? Fine, then." He makes a scene of standing up, loves the way your eyes drift down to his cock. "I'll just paint you instead."

Distracted by the view, your thighs press together now that he's no longer between them. You're dripping. Swollen. Needy.

He watches you adjust for stimulation.

"Off. Don't wanna get your new wardrobe dirty," he flicks at the hem with his free hand.

He's surprised you follow instructions this time.

Completely bare for him, minus the thigh highs, you think this is slightly unfair.

"You, too. Strip," you urge, reaching for the buttons of his uniform.

He huffs a laugh, shakes his head. "I don't think so, sweetheart."

You slowly prop a leg up beside yourself; exposed, fingers dancing up until you're practically playing with yourself.

His eyes are locked on you. You, open and dripping and waiting for him.

"I said anything. You want anything, you strip."

A beat passes between you, defiance flaring in his eyes, but you notice his jerking doesn't stop.

Slowly, you slip a finger inside of yourself, putting on a show for him - wondering who will break first.

Hopper feels the precum dotting on his tip, groans when his fist pumps it over his corona.

Fuck.

"Fine."

A momentary pause, Hop removes his uniform- loves that you slipped another finger inside yourself, how slow and purposefully you're moving. He believes this is how he'll get you to cum.

"God, you're perfect..." you whisper out, staring at his body.

"That's the last demand you'll get, you brat."

"I'm all yours."

His kisses are all hunger, all need, and you match them eagerly.

"Want my cock in you," he mutters, grips your neck. "But not yet."

He guides you down, grabs a fistful of your hair, and shoves you to your knees.

You ache from the floor, but the quiet breaths Hop lets out every time you deep throat makes up for the discomfort.

You want to be so full of him, want to come on his cock, but you're grateful for any attention he gives you, would thank him if your mouth weren't full.

"That's it, take it," it's barely a breath he lets out but you're fueled by the dirty words leaving him.

He's fucking into your mouth, careful not to be too loud. Your fingers work at your clit, dip your middle finger inside, grind against your palm.

Your attention to his dick falters just momentarily, but he notices.

When he sees you playing with yourself, he feels his balls tighten.

"Oh, fuck, look at you...so damn desperate for me."

You can't help but gasp for a breath as you reach your peak, rutting against your cupped palm as Hopper watches with eager eyes.

"Oh, fuck..." when your tongue trails on the underside of his cock, he can't hold back.

You swallow, eyes watering, some of his cum dripping down your swollen lips and beading down your tits.

Breathless, he watches you as you rush to stand, eyes darting to the doorway.

Slow to the take, Hopper hears Jane,

"You in there? I forgot to have you braid my hair!"

"Just brushing my teeth. I'll meet you in there."

"Okay!"

Well, fuck...

He grips you from behind as you're cleaning yourself off, then pulling his t-shirt back over your naked body, your shorts on without the panties he pocketed.

You wash your hands then brush your teeth with Hopper fondling your body. He's almost soft in this moment, his large arms a comfort, big body holding you tightly together. You could get used to it.

"You come right back," he warns.

"Yes, sir."

He lets out a growl that he always holds back when you say that.

"Need to feel you come. Not on your fingers this time. Let's see where I let you, hm?"

He points you toward the doorway, waits to hear you close Jane's door before starting up the shower.

Exhaustion plagues him, but tonight he eagerly awaits your return.

You take too long.

He's showered and dressed before he decides he can't wait in here anymore.

He decides to take the shirt back off for you, is humored by your comment..."you're perfect..." had anyone ever said that to him before? He was pretty sure not.

So, you're broken, he figures, absolutely cracked. Noted.

Leaning back in his chair in the living room, he tries to not let the exhaustion take over just yet; hopes to get a little more from you.

Jane's hair braided, an offer to make waffles in the morning, and you stay until she's soundly sleeping.

You couldn't rest right now anyway, still processing what just happened between you and Jim.

Quietly, you tiptoe out of the room, close the door behind you, and are unfazed seeing Jim snoring in the chair.

Probably bad for his back, you think, but the guy needs rest.

Draping a blanket over him, you grab another from the basket in the corner, flick off the kitchen lights, and curl up on the couch.

It isn't long until Hopper wakes, uncomfortable, and finds you cuddled up on his couch.

He takes a few minutes to watch, hoping you wake on your own, but his morning wood is highly distracting.

Slowly, he makes his way over, thinks better of his next move, and glances the way of Jane's room.

He shouldn't. He knows. It's filthy and wrong, but when was the last time he felt this good?

He couldn't wait. He couldn't.

Lifting you with ease, he hears your startled inhale, turns to carry you like some prize into his bedroom. Closes the door.

His intentions partly to move you to a more comfortable bed, partly more vulgar.

When he sets you on his bed, your eyes are wide open.

Sleepy looks cute on you, too, he thinks.

"I've already made my move, what's yours?" He whispers.

Wordlessly, you remove your shorts and thigh highs.

He strips, too, can't deal with more talk right now - if this gets interrupted by Jane he'll be mortified.

He cant risk the dirty talk right now, so he bites his tongue, climbs on top of you, loves how your hands are instantly on his skin.

You're still wet and ready for him.

He should probably wrap it - you're so young and probably fucking fertile - but he can't think more on that right now, as the blood has fully rushed to his cock.

He drags his cockhead along your wetness, kisses your mouth with such ferocity, you feel wanted and eager.

And then he's shoving himself into you and he's so damn thick, it takes a few gentle thrusts to get adjusted.

But the sound he makes in the back of his throat; quiet - barely there - you can't help but grip his big shoulders.

Hopper takes his time, partly because of how good it feels, partly because he's worried the bed will creak.

His back starts to hurt from the chair, but he doesn't want to admit that to you, so he demands, "want you on top. Want to watch those pretty tits."

Awkwardly, you two rearrange yourselves - nothing like porn, nothing smooth like maybe he used to. The bed is only so big, so he rolls beside you, attempts to keep your bodies connected, and lets you climb on top of him.

You doing the work does wonders for his back.

The moonlight glows through the curtains and - fuck - what a sight you are.

His fingers dig into the fleshy parts of your body, move you along on his cock. He's biting back moans at the way you ride him - clearly a good choice to have you top. Your movements are smooth, youthful and without pain. He could get used to this.

Your hands haven't stopped fondling him, he notices. Tracing across his wide chest, squeezing his big arms, running down his belly, playing with his pecs. He feels heated at the way you ogle at him.

And then you're leaning forward, pressing naked tits to him, kissing him softly on the mouth before peppering kisses to his neck and pecs.

A slight shift in your breathing. He hears it before he really feels you - you're so fucking wet it's dripping down his shaft and to his balls - the damn sheets will be wet.

You're. Close.

And - damn it - if you cum on his cock while fondling him like this, riding him so smooth...he might not be able to hold back. A moment of panic fills him, but you're nipping at his skin and he's back in the present moment.

"Cum for me, sweetheart..." he hums in your ear.

His deep voice, his demand, is what pushes you over the edge.

Your muscles are fucking squeezing his cock with every flutter of your orgasm. Being able to feel your pleasure sends a shiver down Hopper's spine.

He tries to hold back, tries to shove back the urgency, but you're still cumming and he's floored by this.

"Honey..." His gasp comes out a bit louder than he anticipated, with his ears ringing and his orgasm nearing.

"In me. Please. Please. I'm on the pill."

Immediately. Immediately, he's tilting his head back and pounding up into you, filling you deep.

He swears softly under his breath, quiet gasps leaving him as you rest yourself against his beefy chest.

You stay like this, listening to his heartbeat slow, letting him grope and fondle you, feeling his cock softening. You don't want to move, don't want to pop this bubble of intimacy.

Tears fill your eyes as you lay there, clinging to him.

You pepper open-mouthed kisses along his skin, memorize every moment you can.

Hopper's hands on you, he feels your breathing change, though you're hiding it.

"What's the matter?" His deep voice is laced with exhaustion. You're pretty sure you're addicted to how he sounds with your ear pressed against his naked chest.

"M'sorry. M'fine," you shake your head.

"Did I do somethin' wrong?" The fear in his voice gives you pause.

You look at him, handsome in the moon glow.

"No, God, no." Your hands cup his face and you kiss him deeply. "Just...can't help but feel like this is probably temporary. It feels like grief."

Hopper doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't want to make empty promises. Not to you.

So he lets you fondle him some more, lets his mind wander, grabs a shirt from the dresser to help wipe you up so you're not leaking his cum all over the sheets.

He figures you'll shift beside him, but you don't- you prefer to stay perched on top of him, face buried in his chest hair, breathing in his scent.

At some point, your breathing shifts and he knows you're soundly sleeping. Pain shooting up his spine, he softly rolls you beside him, covers you up, smooths your hair.

Selfishly, he stays. He should keep up appearances just in case Jane wakes before you, but the warmth coming from you, your soft skin, the feel of someone beside him in a bed again...he can't leave.

In and out of sleep, he seems to keep an ear out to listen for Jane, is restless and - shockingly - still riled up for you, the old man.

You must have slipped his shirt back on during the night, probably fearing Jane needing you.

When 5am hits, he's awakened by you kissing at his neck, hungry for more.

He loves the attention.

Especially when you dip below the sheets, put his cock in your mouth again.

You're really something.

It takes him a bit longer to get there this time - is surprised he's even ready again. He's exhausted in the best way.

He urges you up before you suffocate down there, kisses you hard before turning over and coaxing you to your belly.

He lifts you at the hips, guides himself to your entrance, and takes you from behind.

A quiet moan leaves you as you hug his pillow, breathe in his scent, are once again so full of him.

This position, the look of you like this, ready and wanting and wet again for him...

It's too much when he watches you reach between the mattress and your body, the knowledge that you're so desperate to cum, you're playing with yourself in this position?

Fuck.

He bottoms out, takes you slow like he remembers you touching yourself last night, and hears the sweet whisper of his name as you cum on his cock again.

"There ya go, honey. Rock back into me," he speaks in a whisper. "Fuck, yes. Just like that. God..."

He's filling this pretty cunt for the second time in hours and it takes all of his willpower to stay quiet.

You're spoiling him.

Reaching for his shirt again, he wipes you up, kisses along your spine, watches you flip over to trace your hands down his chest.

Your mouths move languidly together, enjoying these last few moments of bliss before you should probably go to the main room.

There are those damn tears again. Not falling this time, but the light catches them in your eyes.

"Wanted you for so long, Jim," you run your thumb along his facial hair. "Thanks for indulging this little crush I've got."

He chuckles. "Thank you for a pleasurable night. Jesus Christ, you're insatiable."

You smile. "For you? You have no idea."

You kiss him once more, he lets you sneak from under him to get your shorts on, letting his t-shirt hang, and you linger before the doorway, as if you want to say something else.

You decide against it.

You leave him wanting, still...

°°°

Jane wakes, well-rested, excited to see the waves the braids hopefully gave her.

When Hopper emerges from his room, he looks exhausted but pleased.

Jane is at the kitchen table, her back to you as you're undoing the rubber bands, letting the braids out.

With one hand free, you reach to pour coffee into Hopper's mug, then return to your work.

A plate of waffles sits in front of Jane. Syrup, whipped cream, sprinkles.

Hopper hums when he sips the coffee, glances over at your cup and chuckles. You must have brought creamer, knowing he takes his black.

"Your waffles are ready over there, sir," you blink over at him, a coy glance shot his way.

Hopper inhales slowly, moans an exhale as he lifts his coffee to his lips. He watches your reaction to the sound. You horny little...-

"Better watch," he warns. "I could get used to this."

You beam at him, a slight sadness tinging the edges though.

"Can she come again next weekend?" Jane gasps, unknowingly.

"Oh, I think that could be arranged."

He could lose himself in moments like these.

The first thing you notice when your eyes drift open is how bright the light feels when only a sliver of it was seeping through your blinds.

The second was the pounding behind your eyes courtesy of last nights drinks when you thought you had a day off tomorrow.

And the third? The third hit you like a goddamn Mack truck when your tired eyes shift to the clock on your nightstand.

7:32 am.

“Oh — fuck!” You bolt upright in the bed, your head spinning and a nauseous feeling washing over you as you do so. Everything comes rushing back to you now. The phone call, Tammy’s voice — all apologetic and fake as fuck as she told you she had a “family emergency” and couldn’t make it to work for her seven to three shift tomorrow and if you could please do it for her.

You’d said yes without even thinking about it. Because you were drunk, because you were too nice, because you were a fucking idiot.

You were supposed to be opening too.

By the time you practically fell into yesterday’s jeans and shoved your feet into your sneakers, your heart was already slamming against your ribs rapidly. Donald — your boss — was going to kill you. You didn’t bother brushing your hair, just a quick tug into place, didn’t bother doing any makeup or brushing your teeth either, just splashed some cold water on and scrambled down the stairs and out the door with your car keys and a prayer.

The engine roars to life as you pull out of the driveway and onto the road, your eyes flicking between the road and the time on the dashboard like it might magically change and you wouldn’t be thirty minutes late anymore.

And maybe you were pressing down a little too hard on the gas considering how late you were. That was, of course, until the sheriff car behind you came into view, the siren on top of the vehicle flashing rapidly.

Your heart just about drops to your ass.

“No.. no, no, no,” you mumble frantically to yourself slamming your fist down onto the wheel. Of all mornings, of course this had to be the one where you get pulled over. You continue to drive, slowing down a little as if that would make the cop suddenly realise you meant no harm and leave you alone.

But obviously that didn’t work.

“Fuck.” You grit, switching your indicator on and pulling onto the side of the road. You lean across and grab your licence from your handbag, setting it onto your lap and killing the engine.

The sheriffs car pulls in behind you and you watch from the rear-view mirror as a man steps out. You pray that it’s just some younger guy who you’ll be able to flirt away from giving you ticket.

The broad man slams the drivers door shut and saunters over toward you, each step succeeding in intimidating you enough to make your hands shake.

But then he stops at your door and crouches down enough for you to be able to identify his face. Jim Hopper. The chief of Hawkins police station.

Fucking great.

You knew him — everybody did. He was heavily involved in that Byers’ kid’s disappearance two years ago. A local hero — some would say. You remember being in highschool and having him come in and give talks about staying away from drugs and drinking responsibly and he always had this confident sort swagger in the way he presented himself. He came across as entitled and sarcastic and it was incredibly obnoxious yet attractive at the same time.

And now he was at your fucking window.

He knocks on the glass, signalling for you to roll it down. You’re quick to do so, smiling tightly and awkwardly as you do. You’re not going to be able to charm yourself out of this one — or so you thought.

He wears a pair of shaded glasses and he removes them as you pull the window down fully. You clear your throat nervously, taking a deep breath before speaking. “Good morning, sir.”

He doesn’t please you with a greeting, just grunts in response. He sets one hand on his hip, straightening up off of his hunkers. “You any idea of how fast you were goin’ back there, miss?” He drawls, his voice lazy and uninterested.

Your hands fidget with the license in your lap. “Yeah.. sorry about that I just.. I slept it out and I’m really late for work so, I just — I understand theres no excuse for it.”

He hums, licking his lower lip and looking you up and down. And there was just something about the look in his eyes. It was a little predatory — unprofessional for certain. Was he checking you out, or something? You’re suddenly aware of the button you forgot to do on your blouse while scrambling into your clothes this morning and it sends a flush of hot heat to your cheeks.

“Can you produce your license for me?” He asks, sticking two of his fingers out for you to slip the card in between. He takes it from you and takes a quick, bored glance at it, mumbling something to himself.

You swallow and avert your eyes from him, looking down at your feet in shame. But there was something else building in your gut — some sort of knot that you couldn’t understand what was from. Was it nervousness or something else? You think the latter.

He hands the licence back to you, clearing his throat impatiently when you don’t notice he’s finished with it right away. You jump a little at the sound and quickly turn and take it off him, uttering a frazzled sorry as you put it back in your handbag.

There’s a beat of silence for a second. He just looks at you. And it feels like he’s doing it for so long until he finally speaks up. “Do you have any alcohol in your system? You drink last night or this morning?”

Panic washes over you. Fuck. You still had alcohol in your system. You finished your last drink at about two am last night, meaning you shouldn’t be driving until nine am at the earliest.

“I uh..” you stutter, your palms feeling sweaty. “I drank last night so — yes, there is. But I — I just, I really had to get to work and it was.. was just the only thing on my mind.”

Jim nods, his expression staying neutral. “Right, well this is what we’re gonna do. You’re over the speed limit and technically still drunk so I’m gonna have to write you a ticket which will result with a fine. If you aren’t — ”

“Please — please, don’t do that — sir,” You cut him off, not even caring about how fucking desperate your tone sounded or if you were overstepping your place. You turn fully in your seat, making direct eye contact with the man. “I really can’t afford that.” You plead.

He tsks, tilting his head patronisingly. “Well, maybe ya shoulda’ thought about that before you stepped on the gas so damn hard there, sweetie.” And he’s enjoying this, isn’t he? Watching you get so worked up. He looks entertained, that twitch in the corner of his mouth told you so.

“I know, just — please! I’ll do anything, I just can’t afford to pay a fine right now I mean — I work in melvald’s, they aren’t exactly handing out wads of cash.”

Then you see something switch behind his eyes — like your lashing out and begging awakened something within him and you could now practically hear his brain ticking away with ideas. His jaw ticks and he reaches down to the door handle and pulls it open, reaching down to grab you by the bicep to tug you out of the vehicle.

You stumble a little as Hopper pulls you to your feet, and you reach out to stabilise yourself with a hand on his chest. He shoves your car door shut and begins to march you over to the sheriff car, his expression blank but determined.

You stumble along beside him, looking around frantically. “What are you — doing?!” You ask loudly, not quite shouting but with enough strength in your voice to hold your ground.

He stops in front of the back door of the car, taking his hand from your arm and opening the door. He puts his hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you inside of the car until you’re situated on the seat.

You look up at him with wide eyes. “This is bullshit, you don’t have the grounds to arrest me! I haven’t even —“ Jim cuts you off by slamming the door yet talks loud enough for you to hear. “I’m not arresting you.” He replies calmly, rounding the car and opening the other side of the back seat door.

“Just taking you up on your offer.” He explains way too casually, climbing into the seat, rocking the car a little in the process with his weight. He groans as he spreads his legs obnoxiously wide, his eyes turning to you expectantly.

You open your mouth but no words come to you. You don’t understand. He doesn’t want you to… I mean, he couldn’t, right? “I don’t..” you start dumbly, your throat suddenly feeling dry when your eyes drop down to his lap. “I don’t understand what you mean, sheriff.”

He scoffs, looking away from you like it was obvious what he was asking of you. It was condescending and made you feel so goddamn stupid. “You said you’d do anything, right? Well then c’mon, show me what you’ll do to get out of that speedin’ ticket of yours, kid.” He says, reaching down and palming himself through his khaki, uniformed pants. “Oh and — drop the ‘sheriff’ thing and just call me Jim, would ya? I know you know who I am.”

So that was how you ended up between the thighs of chief of Hawkins police — Jim Hopper. You looked up at him nervously, eyes wide as he unbuttoned his pants and manoeuvred his cock and balls from the confines of them — resting his heavy, messily trimmed sack on his waistband.

The sight of him caught you off guard for a second. He was.. thick. Like way thicker than you’d ever seen or dealt with before from a man and it sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins. Knowing that you would have to work hard and grow accustomed to the feeling of your lips stretched wide around his dripping tip made your core tingle and your stomach clench with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

He wasn’t even particularly long — not like the kind of cock you’d read about in erotic novels or see in a Playgirl magazine. He was just girthy and fat — fat enough that the thought of fucking yourself on it made you feel dizzy.

Jim holds his base in front of your face, watching you intently as he smears the beads of pre-jack into your dry lips. “Best put the work in, kiddo. Your little performance is gonna determine whether ya get outta that ticket or not,” He taunts, his other hand reaching down to cup your jaw. He tilts his head to the side, grunting when your tongue slips out to lap at the salty residue. “You always this easy, sugar? Just droppin’ to your knees whenever you need to get outta a tough situation?”

You feels his taunting burn into the pit in your stomach, something about the way he was being so dehumanising towards you made you want to punch him and please him at the same time. You choose the latter and shake your head no. “No, just you,” you say breathily, your lips enveloping his tip, your tongue swirling around those throbbing glands.

He moans under his breath, dropping the back of his head against the headrest. He removes his hand that was resting on your jaw up toward your head, tangling his fingers in the strands near your scalp. He pulls you down onto his cock a little forcefully. Your mouth has no choice other than to part wider, your jaw aching already at the uncomfortable position.

“Fuck, there you go,” Jim praises, using the hand that was in your hair to bob your head up and down, your tongue darting out to glide over his shaft with every intake of his length. You breath in harshly through your nose, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth and threatening to spill. You sputter violently when he guides your mouth down further until his tip is brushing the fleshy bit of tissue in the back of your throat.

Your throat makes a gurgling sound but hopper doesn’t budge. He keeps pushing you down until your nose is pushed against the coarse hair at his root, your nostrils inhaling the sweaty, beefy smell of him. And for a second, you think you might throw up — what with how fucking wide he’s stretching your throat. But with some miracle, your stomach settles and the feeling of him choking you — of his cock prodding that sensitive gag reflex of yours so roughly sends a wave of relaxation toward you.

Maybe it’s because it’s pacifying, or maybe you have somewhat of an oral fixation. But you think you may just really like being used like this. Having your throat fucked as if you mean nothing to him — which, you didn’t really if you think about it. You’re just a desperate, young woman who needed to get out of a sticky situation.

You moan pathetically around him, the vibrations sending shockwaves up to the tip of his cock. And you just now that you notice the way he’s looking at you. Your eyes dart up to his, glossy and willing and he stares back at you with something that could only be described as awe.

It’s like he was testing how far you’d go for him but he didn’t really think you would actually comply to this extent. His hand releases from your hair, allowing you to drag your lips back up his length until you can release his tip with a pop.

He takes your chin between his thumb and pointer, forcing your face to be looking in his direction. His tone drops low — filthy, perverted almost. “Bet those panties are fuckin’ wet, huh? Look like your enjoyin’ yourself, sweetheart. Like you actually like doin’ this for me,” he shakes his head, tutting. “Bet your momma wouldn’t like that. Imagine your parents finding out about their daughter getting her face fucked by the chief of police, hm? What would they think?”

Your heart sinks a little at his degradation but yet your clit still doesn’t fail to pulse beneath its hood. It’s like a weird, slightly controversial kink is being awakened in you. You always prided yourself as someone who would never take any shit from a man, always the politically educated feminist at the Christmas Day dinner defending herself from her narrow minded family members, but there was just something about the way Jim was doing it that was just so captivating.

Like he knew just how to push your buttons without even knowing you. He knew exactly how far to go and when enough was enough and it sort of hypnotised you in a way. “They’d be…” you start, fumbling for the right word, your face feeling hot and sweaty. You felt like a child being chastised by their parent, an answer being demanded from you. “Disgusted. Probably a little ashamed.” You answered honestly, your eyes mimicking ones of a doe looking for validation.

“Mm,” he nods, his thumb swiping over your chin. “But I think you’re gonna do it anyway, am I right? I think you’re gonna be a good girl and suck my cock until I need to cum, huh?” He says mockingly, his thumb prodding at your lips until you opened for him. When you did, he slipped his digit inside, resting it on your sloppy tongue and stroking the muscle up and down. Your eyes roll back at the tickling sensation but your pleasure is quickly taken from you when Jim brings his cock back towards your mouth, tapping his tip onto your lips.

“Yes, sir,” you reply to his previous question, your tongue darting out to kitten lick his mushroomy head while your left hand wrapped around the base to stroke. You twist your hand everytime it gets close to the tip, eliciting a deep, rumbling moan from Hopper. He likes that, you think to yourself.

“Open up — none of that teasing. Where’s that dirty girl who was getting her face fucked just minutes ago? Suck my cock like you mean it, kid.” He orders gruffly, his tone leaving no room for argument. And as you do as he says in taking him back into your mouth, you wonder if you are the only one he’s done this with. Is he really just a bent cop who regularly persuades women to sleep with him, or was there just something special about you?

He reaches out and braces one hand on the front seat behind your body, grasping the head rest tightly when he feels his balls start to grow tight and uncomfortable. Jim’s eyes close momentarily but you keep yours eyes up on his regardless, especially as you take him deeper down your throat until your breathing heavily through your nose that’s brushing his pubic hair once again.

“C’mon, there you go,” Jim mutters under his breath, encouraging you with a tug on your hair with his other hand to start moving up and down. Once you do and he’s satisfied, he leans back fully, allowing himself to melt into the seat behind him. You could feel that he was near his peak — what with the way his hips thrusted up a little to meet the bobs of your head and how his tip started to throb in your mouth. Your hand still moved on his base, jerking him off the best you could with how slippery his dick had become with your saliva.

“Just a dirty fuckin’ girl. Bet you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Getting all slutty for me to get out of that ticket o’yours.” He degrades, his voice turning a little wobbly with each word passing his lips. Spit dribbles down your chin and onto your chest, ruining the blouse you were supposed to be wearing to work.

You start to rut your hips down and with the way your legs were folded beneath you, it was creating the perfect friction for your pussy against your foot. And with your grinds and the way hopper lifted his hips up and down to match your mouth, the car was rocking rather suspiciously. Suspicious enough that if anyone were to drive by and notice, they would definitely know what was going on inside.

“There you go, grind on yourself for me while i make a mess in that mouth.” Hopper says finally, a hand reaching up to run through his brown, slightly-greying hair as he bites down on his upper lip, trying to contain the sounds fighting to come from his throat. Jim feels the pressure continue to build, almost like he’s at a point of no return, as dramatic as it sounds.

And the combination of your mouth, hand and pretty eyes staring up at him, he can’t hold himself back any longer. His muscles start to spasm, his hips jerking on their own as hot, white cum spills from his tip into your mouth. You pull back until only his head is in your mouth and for a second, the saltiness of his spend makes you gag, but when Jim looks down at you from the noise, his eyes alert and warning despite being an absolute wreck, you pull yourself together. “All of it.” He orders, referring to swallowing every last drop.

You garble something untranslatable and hesitantly open your throat to swallow the stringy substance.

After Jim tells you it’s okay to get up, you both just sit there, either side of each other in the back of the car, silence hanging heavy and awkward in the air. You turn to Hopper nervously, looking at him for a second before opening your mouth to talk. “Uh.. by the way, my name is — ”

“I know what your name is,” hopper cuts in abruptly, sniffing harshly and leaning over to open your door. “Saw it on your license.”

“Maybe next time don’t go so fast on your way to work,” he suggests, nodding his head toward the open door, silently telling you to leave. “Or do..” he adds quietly. “I’m on traffic the rest of the week.”

Well maybe you will then.

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