Dirty Cop

Dirty Cop 💋

18+ explicit content • Jim Hopper x fem reader • perv ! stepdad! jim hopper • angst, masturbation, fingering, use of a sex toy, infidelity, squirting •

Thank you @hoppersslvtty for this idea!

There’s something wrong with me, you thought. There must be. The way you were getting wet sitting across the dinner table from your stepdad…

Why the hell did he have to be so goddamned…everything he was? Jim Hopper wasn’t just your stepdad and the town’s Chief of Police; he was also hot as fuck. You’d always resented your mother a little for marrying someone so attractive. It made you sick to think that she got to experience his body and you didn’t, and you never would, because of course he wouldn’t even think of sleeping with his fucking stepdaughter…

…but you were so wrong about that. Hopper had thought about it. On really desperate nights, when your mom couldn’t satisfy his urges sufficiently enough (and that was often, because your mom was a prudish bitch) Hopper would finish himself off in the bathroom looking at pictures of you in your swimsuit from last year’s vacation to Florida to celebrate your turning twenty. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already fully committed the image of you to memory; he already had every curve of your body memorized dutifully and stored away in his mind forever. He could have used his imagination and invented endless scenarios involving you and him, you with your legs splayed and begging him to take you. But Hopper wasn’t totally without standards, and by his moral assessment, he just couldn’t bring himself low enough to masturbate to the thought of you alone. He needed something he could touch, something that didn’t come from his mind, something outside of himself that he could use to get off to your body; and photos of you were the perfect thing. It made you no different than a girl in a dirty magazine, Hopper told himself. What was the difference in him rubbing one out to your pictures versus the girls in the magazines he kept hidden in his desk at the station?

Of course Hopper knew, deep down, that his logic was ridiculous. He was in half of the fucking vacation photos for God’s sake. He’d taken almost all of them. And when he’d had the film developed, he’d made sure to remove from the envelope the ones he’d taken zoomed into your ass and tits before bringing the photos home. He couldn’t risk your mother getting a look at them. Or perhaps even worse, you might have seen them; and he couldn’t risk you thinking he wanted you…

…But Hopper did want you. It was eating him alive, like a gnawing in his gut and groin that hurt both his balls and his conscience. He daydreamed about you bringing him lunch at the station, maybe walking in on him without knocking while he was jerking off to one of his magazines. He kept one of his ‘special,’ photos of you (the zoomed-in ones) with him at all times, and the others he kept locked away in his personal safe at home. Only he knew the combination to get inside: his late daughter Sara’s birthdate. Hopper kept these photos to use any time he needed to fuck you, if only in his mind.

The evening our story takes place, you’d just come home from a date with a boy you met at work. The date had been alright, but you found guys your own age immature and boring. You were preparing to have a shower, carrying a towel, your pajamas, and a hair tie to the bathroom. As you turned the handle, however, you realized the shower was already on. You knew it wasn’t your mom getting a shower because you’d passed her on your way upstairs when you got home. And the scent of Hopper’s Irish Spring soap was in the air, not the flowery-scented body wash your mom used. So the only person that could be in there right now, you thought, is…Hopper.

As much as you wanted to stay, you knew you had to leave. And you would have, too, but something you heard made all the breath leave your lungs and froze you in place…your name.

Hopper was breathing heavily behind the shower curtain. You couldn’t understand any of the other words he was saying, but he had definitely muttered your name. Did he know you were in the bathroom? You didn’t see how he could have, but the other sounds you heard soon revealed exactly what was going on…

The slick sound of wet skin on skin, slapping, smacking rhythmically, was audible from your side of the shower curtain. Hopper was jerking off, you realized, and you felt your legs tremble. Knowing he was naked, wet, and horny as hell mere inches from where you stood, and that only a thin piece of shower curtain was separating your bodies? It was exhilarating, in the worst way. You forced yourself to take a step back, and were so close to leaving when you heard Hopper say your name again. You knew for sure he hadn’t seen you this time, so if he wasn’t talking to you, did that mean he was…masturbating to YOU?

The thought made your head dizzy, and seconds later when Hopper grunted, panting, releasing his semen into the water swirling at the base of the shower, you felt as if you’d seen it happen, just from hearing him come. And never in a million fucking years would you have expected the shower curtain to yank back, and Hopper’s eyes to lock with yours, as the water still poured behind him, dripping down his flushed face and chest, his softening (but still fucking massive) cock hanging at his thigh…

But that’s exactly what did happen. And Hopper was pissed. “Jesus Christ, (y/n)!” he shouted. “What the hell are you doing in here right now?!” He grabbed a towel off the rack beside you so quickly and with such force that it made you jump. “I’m s-sorry,” you stammered, and practically ran behind the safety of the door and shut it as quickly as possible.

Dinner that evening was…quiet. Awkward. Your mother had made mushroom ravioli (which you despised but Hopper loved). It was probably another of her pathetic attempts to make him love her. Of course, he never would. Not when she treated him the way she did. It was one thing to be religious, but your mother had lately become more rigid and uptight than ever before. Her ideas surrounding sex now bordered on puritanical. This drove Hopper crazy because he had an incredibly strong sexual appetite, and your mother was the total opposite. Early in their marriage, Hopper had loved your mother enough to put up with her sex drive being lower than his; but now, she rarely accepted any of his sexual advances. And although she didn’t know it, your mother’s dismissal of Hopper just made his desires for you burn hotter.

You sat across the table from him, avoiding his intense stare, feeling your cheeks burn in both shame and lust. How would you ever be able to look him in the eye again after what had happened earlier that night?

Hopper was staring holes through you, however. He was absolutely humiliated, and wanted to make you as uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze as you had made him feel when you saw him naked in the shower. And the worst part of all was that he had no way of knowing how long you’d been standing there, how much you’d heard?

As dinner drew to a close, Hopper made up his mind to confront you about it. He would wait till after your mother had fallen asleep, then come to your room and have an uncomfortable, but necessary chat. He HAD to know how much of his shower activities you’d been witness to. Had you heard him groaning your name as he’d blown his load? It made him feel guilty and horny at the same time, knowing you might now be aware of his sick, hungry lust for you.

You excused yourself early from the dinner table. You couldn’t stand the tension of sitting under Hopper’s stare any longer. And also…you were horny as fuck. It was impossible to be sitting across from Hopper, now knowing what he looked like naked, that his cock was even bigger than you’d imagined it being…the way his hair was still damp and slicked back from his shower as he sat across the table from you, glaring and fuming, like he wanted to smack the shit out of you for what you’d done, for spying on him…

As soon as you closed your bedroom door, your hand immediately slid under the waistband of your shorts. You ran to your nightstand and pulled open the drawer. Inside, you found your collection of sex toys, and grabbed the largest dildo you owned. It may have been a poor substitute for Hopper’s cock, but it was all you had. As you rubbed the tip of the silicone cock against your clit, your body was so ready that you nearly came from that subtle stimulation alone. When you spread your lips with your fingers and pressed it inside you, your eyes rolled back as you replayed Hopper’s image in the shower in your mind. God, he was perfection. The way the water had dripped along his shoulders and down his chest, getting caught in the coarse hair that grew there… You imagined what it would feel like to be that water, licking down Hopper’s body, tasting his skin…

Your head was relaxed back on your pillows as you fucked yourself, imagining Hopper grabbing you and pulling you into the shower with him, forcing open your mouth and making you suck him hard again, then drink a second round of his cum as his cock pulsed it down your throat. The soft moans leaving your lips grew progressively louder…so loud that you didn’t even hear your bedroom door open, then close, and lock…

A hand covered your mouth; your eyes flew open. Hopper was staring down at you, his expression completely changed from moments before over the table. His chest was practically heaving, he was breathing so hard. With his palm covering your mouth, he raised a finger from his free hand to his lips, instructing you to stay quiet. His eyes traveled between your legs, where your dildo was buried six inches inside you. “Keep going,” Hopper whispered, his voice unlike you’d ever heard it before. In this moment, he sounded…dangerous. Like he was using every ounce of restraint he had to keep from doing something he’d later regret.

Hopper’s hand covered yours, the one holding the dildo. “I said…” his blue eyes slid back up to yours, and you shivered. “…keep going…”

He pushed down carefully on your hand, causing the dildo to move inside you. You whimpered involuntarily at the sensation it caused. In less than a minute, Hopper’s hand had completely replaced yours in holding the dildo, your own hand falling slack to the bed beside you as he fucked your cunt with the toy.

Hopper bent his face to your pussy and sucked at your clit while thrusting the dildo into you, stroking your walls with a speed and pressure you hadn’t been able to achieve on your own. His dick was so hard that the constriction of his pants was painful. Hopper moved a hand quickly to his crotch and undid his fly, letting his cock hang out, bobbing occasionally as he continued to fuck your pussy with the dildo, licking and sucking at your swollen bud.

Hopper slid a hand under your ass and spread your cheeks, his index finger penetrating you there as well. Your hole puckered and sucked him in, and now he was eating you out, fucking your cunt and fingering your ass all at once. You’d never been handled so masterfully in your life. It was as if Hopper had invented the female body, the way he knew you so intimately, so perfectly, his tongue and fingers working over you with the precision of an artist…

When you came, it was intense. Your orgasm lifted you up, out of yourself, like you’d been pulled to Heaven, before landing you back in your body to ride out the second half of your release, your cunt spraying the sheets beneath you, wetting Hopper’s face, slicking his beard. For at least three seconds, you lost consciousness, coiling and uncoiling again and again under Hopper’s ministrations.

…and then, he was on top of you, impatient, greedy, his heat covering you, the slick of your juices, his sweat and spit sticking to your body as he bit and kissed, and licked and sucked at your skin. Your body convulsed as Hopper entered you, roughly, his cock so much thicker than your toy. He pumped into you with such force that you came again after only a few thrusts, your walls clenching and squeezing every drop of cum out of him. Hopper didn’t mean to come inside you, but he couldn’t help it. You felt too good, he’d wanted this for so long…Hopper sprayed your unprotected cunt with his seed, and immediately cursed himself for his weakness, for his inability to pull out in time.

As he lifted himself off of you, the two of you looked between your bodies at the mess of Hopper’s cum leaking out of you.

“Shit…” Hopper growled. “Fucking shit…” He covered his face in his hands, the implications of what he’d done hitting him like a truck. You reached for him, touching his shoulder, and tried to assure him everything would be okay…but once again, Hopper wouldn’t look at you.

Instead, he looked at the dildo he’d thrown onto the floor before replacing it inside you with his cock in a moment of blind, self-serving lust. He could have kept fucking you with the toy, could have forced himself to accept that and move on…But in a moment of selfish, fuck-hungry greed, Hopper had lost all self control, and had not only put his dick inside you, but his cum as well. And potentially, so much more.

“I am…” Hopper’s voice faltered. “So sorry, (y/n).” He rubbed his forehead between his hands. “I didn’t mean to…usually I don’t come so…you just felt so goddamned tight…”

“It’s okay, Hopper,” you assured him. “Nothing’s going to happen.” You sighed. “We both fucked up, okay? It’s not just you.”

Hopper smiled weakly, grateful for your words. “We won’t let it happen again, will we?” he said. You couldn’t tell if he was asking you, or telling you. But regardless, Hopper was right. You couldn’t do this again. No matter how fucking good it had felt…it was still wrong. A mistake…a selfish, carnal, hedonistic mistake made in the heat of the moment.

“It won’t happen again,” you said. Hopper nodded, satisfied with your response. He apologized again, then left your bedroom to go help your mother finish cleaning the dishes.

You rolled over onto your side and fluffed your pillow, exhausted and ready for sleep. You glanced at your discarded dildo on the floor and smiled sadly, aware that from now on, no cock could ever make you feel as good as Hopper’s had…

yes

I need you more than i need to breathe

Imagine you suddenly had your icon’s voice

so unfair

🎀Santa, Baby🎀

🎀part 3🎀

✨️walkie talkie whimpers ✨️

❗️ 18+ MINORS DNI ❗️MATURE CONTENT❗️

Part 1

Part 2

Summary: Who said you can't teach an old dog new tricks? Santa's a fast learner.

Pairing: Bimbo!Reader x Sleepy!Santa

A/N: this one contains a lil more spoilers so if you haven't seen the movie yet, please do! But you've been warned. Another short, sweet but naughty one. enjoy, y'filthy animals 💋

Cw: age gap ✨️ voice kink ✨️ using walkie talkies for naughty  ✨️ mutual masturbation ✨️ dirty talks w Christmas puns, always ✨️ violent night spoilers ✨️ edging ✨️

🎀✨️🎀✨️🎀✨️🎀✨️🎀✨️🎀✨️🎀✨️🎀✨️🎀

"Santa?" You called into the walkie talkie, hoping this time he'd finally pick up but once more hearing nothing but that damn white noise.

It wasn't the first time you called since last Christmas, but at no point had he picked up. You really thought for a moment he gave you a broken gadget, feeling silly everytime you called his name into the void. You figured, hoped, he was just working in the workshop and not ignoring you. You had been so good so far, rejecting every advance and flirtation in hopes of getting your true present, there's no way he could be ignoring you. Right?

"Santa!" You sighed in frustration, slapping your thigh as you threw yourself back on your bed. "Hello?!?" You were determined to get his attention tonight. It had been six months since you last saw him and you were missing his voice more than anything.

"Why the fuck would you give me a broken fucking toy." You mumbled to yourself before clicking the walkie talkie to send your last message to get lost in the static.

"Tell your elves to pick up the goddamn slack, they're giving you broken toys, Nikamund." You rolled your eyes before tossing the broken black box at the edge of your bed.

You sat there, the pillow he gave you last year under your head as you grimaced angrily. The ache between your legs was becoming unbearable but you wanted to be good, for him. You were his good girl, and you were set on proving it. You needed your gift this year so badly it almost hurt.

Suddenly you heard static before a crackle coming from the peice of junk. You sat up, crawling to the edge of the bed and grabbed it, hopefully waiting.

"Hello?" You called.

Nothing but more crackling.

You felt like that little girl again, trying desperately to prove to her bullies that he was real, only for them to laugh and crush your toy on the asphalt. White noise and static taunted you as you rolled your eyes once more, winding up to throw the damn thing at the wall.

"Sugar?" A drowsy, familiar voice rung through the static.

Your eyes flew open as you fidgeted with the black box before clicking the button, "Santa?"

"What'd y'just call me?" He sounded exhausted.

"Nicholas?" You pulled your comforter over you as you snuggled into bed, laying your head back on his pillow and keeping the walkie talkie near your chest. "I called you Nicholas."

"Sure 'bout that?" He questioned, voice heavy.

"Uh.. yeah? Is your name not St. Nicholas? Remember? At the bar you were all like, 'Please, call me Nick'--"

"Slow down, Sugar." He gruffed into the speaker, the sound of him rubbing sleep from his eyes as his bed creaked. "Just woke up." he chuckled quietly, his familiar laugh making you smile.

"You sleep?" You poked, not being able to stop your questions.

"Yeah," you heard a groan as he rolled over. "Yeah, of course I sleep." You couldn't get enough of his low, raspy tone and he was amused by your curiosity.

Truth is, no one really cared about him nor who was for a very long time. Not like they used to. The naughty list and non-believers grew more and more each year, and though he didn't show you, it affected him.

"M'not an angel. I need sleep too."

"Well, then... What are you?" You turned over in your bed to stare at the ceiling, gripping the walkie talkie agianst your chest as if it would vanish.

"A man with a whole lotta magic he doesn't really know how to use."

"So, you are a man? ..Are you immortal?"

"Of course I'm a man. Thought I made that much clear."  A groggy below interrupting his words. "I am a man, but not immortal. Think I can die, but not willing to test that theory out."

"How old are you?" You spoke quietly, childhood curiosity peaking through.

"Much older than you. Sometimes, even I forget." 

You bit your lip as you contemplated your next question, taking advantage of the vulnerability his drowsiness brought, but you had so many questions and such little time.

"Hello?" He called out, not sure if you'd been cut off.

"Have you been ignoring me?" You squeaked.

His iconic chuckle, though much slower and tired than usual, rung through the speakers and bounced off your walls.

"No. Just have alotta work to get done if I wanna see you Christmas Eve." He reassured. "I keep the walkie talkie near my bed. Connections are shit 'cause'a snow storms, but I would never ignore you. Was in bed when I heard my name."

"So Nicholas is your real name?"

"It's one of 'em..." he trailed off, finger still on the button as he searched for his next words. "It's late near you. What're you still doing up?" He rumbled, changing the subject.

"Talking to you... and, I c-can't sleep."

"You okay?"

"No... well, yes but no." You struggled, feeling embarrassed, a flush creeping over the bridge of your nose. It was so much easier talking to him face to face about this. "I've been a really good girl, Santa."

"I know." He mused, understanding what you were getting at. "A very good girl."

"Am I going to get my present this year?"

"Y'know the answer to that."

"Wanna hear you say it." You cooed as you got an idea, now leading the conversation where you wanted it as you removed your tank top. "If I keep being a good girl, am I gonna be rewarded? I was punished last year and," you scooted up to lean back against the headboard, spreading your thighs under your blanket. "I don't think that was very nice list of you."

"Good thing I do the list makin' then, huh?"

"If I could make lists, you'd be at the top of my naughty list." You playfully warned.

"Careful what y'wish for, Sugar."

"Ooh, worried I'll punish you like you did me?" You teased, loosening the knotted ribbon on your pajama shorts. "Is it true you can really see me right now?"

"Seeing isn't the right word. I can't really see you." You heard his voice grow husky as he continued. "I just... know. Sometimes."

"Do you know what I'm doing right now?" You said as you relaxed against your headboard, snaking a hand under your shorts and dragging gentle fingertips over your clothed cunt, biting your lip as you felt the now forming wetness on your center.

"Being naughty..." His voice sunk to a sultry tone, vibrating through the speakers and between your legs.

"I'm always naughty according to you." You giggled quietly, slipping your hand past the fabric. Your fingertips brushed against your throbbing clit in slow circles, the heaviness in his voice finally getting to you. "But what am I doing?"

This was all part of your investigation into the man in red. Testing to see what he can do. If he didn't wanna open up, you'd make him. Test him. 

"Well... You just slipped your hand into your panties. Probably gonna toy with your cookie cause y'like the way m'voice sounds right now." He paused. You whimpered to yourself, his words making your legs spread further as you heard him rustle in his sheets. "Y'know, I didn't give you these walkie talkies with the intent on you being naughty."

"Do you want me to stop, Santa?" You feigned innocent as you continued to circle your fingers. 

"No." He grunted.

"Good, I don't wanna end up back on the naughty list. I need my present this year." You felt your own breathing hitch as you sped up your pace, flutters flowing through your pussy.

"You'll get it, Sugar." He promised, answers short, sweet, and you had an idea why.

"Santa, what are you doing right now?" You asked innocently as you ran your finger between your slick folds. "Are you being naughty too?"

"Yeah..." he sighed heavily.

You knew he had his own hand down his pants, waiting patiently for your sugar coated words to aid him in the pump of his fist. You knew he was enjoying this, probably more than you were from his short, jagged replies. You could hear it in the breathy rumbles of his chest each time his feed came through. You contiued to rub soft circles on your clit, finding pangs of pleasure in the fact he knew exactly what you were doing on the other side of your call. That his tired, raspy voice caused a mess between your legs and that was all it took. That he was doing the same.

You removed your hand from between your legs momentarily, kicking down your comforter and pulling down your panties with your shorts in one swift movement.

"Mm, good..." You hummed proudly, sliding two of your fingers in your mouth and sucking loudly on them before returning your hand between your legs. "Have you ever had phone-- I mean, walkie talkie sex before?"

"S'that what this is called?" The vulgar sound of him spitting into his palm and lazily lubing his cock up and down sent a twinkle of excitement through you as he panted gently into the speaker. He disconnected soon after, adapting quickly to the game of naughty walkie talkie tag.

"Yes..." You whimpered into the speakers, pleased with his answer. "Santa?" You purred, lips brushing against the cool plastic. You sunk two fingers into your cunt, spreading them as you began to pump slowly, your wetness detectable in the background when saying his name.

"Yeah?" His breathing deep and rhythmic as he waited on your every word.

"Wish my cookie was wrapped around your chimney right now and not my fingers." You cooed bashfully, making sure he heard your whines and the slick pump of your cunt before you disconnected.

"Mmh," A pleased, groggy groan that made your ears ring and toes curl. "You've been practicing." You could hear the smile in his voice.

"Told you," you sighed, pressing your palm against your clit as you continued to fuck into yourself. The only sounds in your room were that of your wetness and needy moans. "I'm a good girl. Your good girl."

You heard a click then him mutter 'fuck' to himself as the soft, wet claps of his balls hitting against his big fist became audible. You couldn't help but curl your fingers into your spongey walls, wishing so badly he was next to you and not across the globe.

"Sugar," he panted into the speaker with grit in his jaw. "Grab your pillow for me. The one I gave you last year."

You sat up quickly, placing the walkie talkie down momentailry so you can replace your fingers with the pillow. You pulled your sports bra off, now completely naked as you straddled the cushion. You moaned his name, forgetting to click the button as your cunt made contact with the fabric. You couldn't help but rock your hips, closing your eyes and imagining the corner of the soft pillow was his tongue, his thigh, his anything.

"I know what you're doing. Can't hear what you're doing." His grunting boomed through the speakers, interrupting your euphoria as he huffed through his nostrils. "Need t'hear your sweet sounds, Sugar."

You leaned over the pillow, humping greedily as you clicked the button, granting him access into the moans, whimpers and murmured whispers of his name that bounced between your walls and spurred him on.

You babbled incoherently about how badly you needed his cock, that you'd been missing it for nearly two years and you'd do anything to stay on the nice list this year. The feeling between your thighs urged more panting, you were so close to your peak. You released the button, just needing to hear him to get you there.

"Shit," His grunts echoed through the speakers acompanied by the slick sounds of him vigorously twisting his wrist up and down his cock. You could tell from his labored breathing he was close too. "Sugar, I wis--"

His words cut off by the taunt of that god for-fucking-saken white static.

"S-Santa?" You stuttered in disbelief into the peice of junk, the jerk of your hips slowing and peak falling pitifully as realization hit.

You called his name a few more times to no avail.

"Nonono, stupid fucking snow, no!" You slapped your hand against the black box, hoping to get connected to him again.

You rolled off the pillow, your thighs sticky with with dissapoinment as you kept calling into the damn thing, anger rising where your climax was lost.

Nothing.

The storm had won.

And so had the wind up of your fist as you angrily and thoughtlessly slammed the hunk of junk against the wall, smashing it. Instant regret to follow.

Christmas had never seemed so far away before.

Tumblr isn't even a website to me it's like if my diary was a groupchat

MA'AM???????? why are you standing like that in front of the fireplace???? why are you trying to seduce me???? bc let me tell you i'm falling all the way for it

Gwendoline Christie as Principal Larissa Weems in Wednesday episode 1x07 “If You Don’t Woe Me by Now”