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The moon hung low over Hawkins, casting a silvery glow on the frost-kissed streets as Joyce slipped out the back door of the Wheeler house. The air was crisp, biting at her cheeks, but she barely noticed. It was just past eleven, and the town was asleep, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. This had become her ritual, sneaking away when the house fell quiet, leaving Will and Jonathan tucked in at Karen’s basement.
Joyce pulled her coat tighter around her, her breath fogging in the chill. The Wheelers had been kind, opening their home after she came back from California.
But tonight, like so many nights, she needed something for herself. She needed Jim.
She would drive to the radio station and from there, take the tunnel to the cabin. Hopper had insisted on waiting for her inside the tunnel, but Joyce had insisted she could make it on her own.
As she walked through the tunnel, her mind drifted to this dance they’d been doing for months now. She wished everything could be simpler, that she could just tell everyone he was alive, that they were living together with their three kids. But it wasn’t that easy. Still, she held onto the hope that one day, when this hell was finally over, they could live that life.
She opened the door of the old shed and saw Hopper on the cabin porch, smoking a cigarette. They had agreed to quit together, but just as she sometimes snuck a drag to ease the daily stress of this nightmare they were living through, she understood exactly why he did it too.
The moment he saw her, he flicked the cigarette away. He walked toward her, meeting her on the cabin’s small steps. He was wearing only sweatpants, with a small blanket (probably the one from the couch) draped over his shoulders.
He looked up as she approached, his face breaking into that rare, genuine smile that made her stomach flip.
“Hey,” he murmured, standing and opening his arms. She hurried into them, burying her face in his chest. The blanket enveloped them both as he pulled her close, his warmth chasing away the cold. His lips found hers in a soft, lingering kiss, tasting of coffee and something uniquely him - smoky, reassuring.
“I missed you,” Joyce said, rising onto her tiptoes to reach his mouth for another kiss. “And I saw what you were doing, by the way. I can taste it too.” She gave his chest a light smack, referring to the cigarette.
They broke apart and Hopper cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Let’s get inside before you freeze,” he said, already guiding her in, partly to change the subject, one arm around her waist. The door creaked as they entered the cozy warmth of the cabin.
The living room was dimly lit by a lamp on the side table, the air smelling of pine and the faint remnants of dinner. Hopper shrugged off the blanket, tossing it over the couch, and turned to her fully. “You okay? Was everything calm on your way? Do you think someone saw you?” he asked while folding the blanket and putting it back in its place on the couch.
Joyce was already used to these questions he asked every time she arrived. She glanced over her shoulder at him as she walked toward his bedroom - their bedroom now - and he followed, locking the door behind them.
Joyce nodded, shedding her coat and hanging it by the door. “Yes, sir, everything was calm. No one saw me. Thanks for asking,” she said, her tone carrying a touch of sarcasm.
Hopper watched as Joyce kicked off her shoes and began to undress, her movements unhurried. She peeled off her sweater and jeans, folding them neatly on a chair. With her back to him, she removed her bra, placing it with the rest of her clothes, and Hopper felt his cock stir. No matter how many times he saw her naked, or how many times they made love, she always had this effect on him. Because to him, she was the most beautiful and sexiest woman in the world.
Standing in just her panties, with that familiar ease, she grabbed one of his old t-shirts from the second drawer, his old brown Hawkins PD one that she had kept and brought back from California. It hung loose on her frame, reaching mid-thigh. It smelled like him. Like safety.
Hopper stripped down to his boxers, his eyes never leaving her. “You look good in my clothes,” he said, his voice low and appreciative.
“Trying to get me in your bed, Hopper?” she flirted, smiling shyly as she climbed into bed. He followed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settled behind her.
“I think it worked,” he flirted back, pulling her in for a kiss.
They shared a hot, wet kiss, full of tongue, full of longing. Even though Hopper was outside, bare chest, just a few minutes ago, Joyce was amazed how his body could still be hot like a furnace.
Joyce broke the kiss to look at him, her eyes involuntarily scanning for scratches or bruises. She gave him a sweet smile, her big brown eyes meeting his blue ones.
He pulled her closer, her chin resting on his chest. “So, when are you going to stop sneaking around and come live here? You and the boys?” Hopper asked, running his hand gently up and down her back.
This was a delicate, complicated subject. All Joyce wanted was to live with Hopper, to fall asleep and wake up beside him, without having to slip out in the middle of the night and rush back before breakfast.
But no one knew Hopper was alive, and the cabin was small, especially now with El’s tub taking up space. She couldn’t imagine living somewhere while her kids stayed as guests in someone else’s house. Sure, Nancy and Jonathan were dating, and Will and Mike had been friends since they were little, but still, it wasn’t something she could picture herself doing.
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His expression was earnest, a mix of frustration and longing. “Hop, you know I can’t. Will and Jonathan, where would they sleep? I can’t just leave them at the Wheelers’ while I’m here.”
Hopper sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He understood, well, partly. He wouldn’t leave his own daughter behind if their positions were reversed. “They’re not kids anymore, Joyce. Jonathan’s practically an adult, and Will’s tougher than he looks. They can handle themselves for a bit. Until we can build a room for them.”
Her brows furrowed. “They’re big enough? So I can just abandon them in someone else’s house?”
“It’s not abandoning them,” he countered. “We’re talking a few miles away. And a month, tops. They could sleep in the living room for a while, we spend half the day at the station anyway.” Hopper brushed the hair out of her eyes. “This back-and-forth… it’s like we’re teenagers hiding from our parents.”
Joyce’s shoulders slumped, her voice dropping to a weary whisper. “I didn’t come here to fight about this again, Hop.” There was no anger in it, just exhaustion, a quiet plea for peace. All she wanted was him, his arms, his presence, without the complications tangling everything up.
His expression softened immediately. He pulled her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry, Joy. I didn’t mean to push.” His hands slid down her arms, squeezing lightly. “I just want you to live with me. You and your kids. That’s all. I want to have you all to myself.”
She melted into him, nodding against him. “I know. Me too,” she said, resting her head on his chest again, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “We’ll figure it out.”
Joyce nestled deeper into his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat lulling her toward sleep. After a few peaceful minutes, she felt Hopper shift slightly behind her. He reached over to the small bedside table, squinting at the old alarm clock.
“Almost one,” he muttered, voice low and rough with tiredness. “We should try to get some actual sleep before the sun decides it’s time to torture us.”
Joyce gave a small, sleepy hum of agreement. She turned in his arms until she was facing away from him again, her back pressed to his chest, and tugged his arm more securely around her waist.
“Hold me,” she whispered, threading their fingers together where they rested against her stomach.
Hopper tightened his grip immediately, pulling her flush against him. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the cold night air that still clung to her skin.
“God, I want this every night,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Waking up to you like this. Hearing the kids stumble around in the morning, arguing over cereal, just normal. Just us.”
Joyce smiled into the dark, squeezing his hand. “Me too.”
He nuzzled closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You know what the best part is?”
“Hmm?”
“I wouldn’t hear the crickets because of your snoring.” He said with a chuckle.
Joyce gasped in mock outrage and drove her elbow back into his ribs, gently, but enough to make him grunt dramatically.
“I do not snore,” she hissed, trying not to laugh. “You’re the one who sounds like a chainsaw. The crickets probably pack up and leave when you start.”
Hopper let out an exaggerated, wounded sound. “That’s cold, Byers. Real cold.”
Before she could fire back, he ducked his head and started pressing quick, playful kisses along the side of her neck, deliberately dragging the scratch of his beard across her sensitive skin. His hand slipped under the hem of the oversized t-shirt, fingers dancing lightly over her ribs and stomach, tickling just enough to make her squirm.
“Hopper!” she whisper-laughed, twisting in his arms, her laughter bubbling up brighter and louder than she meant it to.
He grinned against her throat, relentless, loving every helpless giggle that escaped her. His fingers kept teasing, his mouth kept dropping silly, ticklish kisses, until her laughter spiked again — too loud for the quiet cabin.
“Shh—Hop, no, stop,” she gasped between giggles, pressing a hand over her mouth. “We’re gonna wake El.”
He immediately slowed, the playful attack turning into something softer, more deliberate. The quick pecks became slow, open-mouthed kisses, wet and lingering, traced along the spots he knew made her breath hitch- the curve where neck met shoulder, the little dip behind her ear, the sensitive line just below her jaw.
Joyce’s laughter faded into quiet, shaky sighs. Her body relaxed back against him, melting under the change in rhythm as the playful tickling kisses turned slow and deliberate. His mouth lingered now, hot, open-mouthed presses along the column of her throat, the scrape of his beard sending tiny sparks racing down her spine. Each kiss felt heavier, hungrier, pulling soft, involuntary sounds from her lips.
She could feel him hardening behind her, the thick length of him pressing insistently against the curve of her ass through the thin layers of fabric. The awareness made her breath hitch, heat pooling low in her belly. Without thinking, she rocked back just slightly, enough to draw a low, rough groan from deep in his chest.
“Joy…” he murmured, voice gravelly, almost warning.
She turned in his arms then, needing to see him, needing his mouth on hers. Hopper met her halfway, capturing her lips in a deep, slow kiss that started gentle but quickly turned molten.
Tongues slid together, wet and searching; her fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl against her lips. His hand slid up her side under the t-shirt again, this time cupping her breast fully, thumb brushing over her nipple until it pebbled under his touch. Joyce arched into his palm with a quiet whimper, the sound swallowed by his kiss.
She shifted closer, hooking one leg over his hip, lining their bodies up so she could feel every inch of him pressing against her through her panties. The friction made them both shudder. Hopper rolled his hips forward instinctively, grinding against her in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had her nails digging into his shoulders.
“God, I’ve missed this,” he rasped between kisses, lips trailing along her jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below her ear. “I missed feeling you like this.”
Joyce slipped her hand down between them, palming him through his boxers. He jerked against her touch, a choked sound escaping him. She stroked him slowly, feeling him thicken even more under her fingers, the heat of him making her ache.
His own hand mirrored hers, sliding down between their bodies. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, finding her already slick and ready. He groaned low against her lips, the sound vibrating through her. “Fuck, Joy… you’re so wet,” he rasped, circling her clit with slow, deliberate pressure that made her hips twitch forward into his hand.
She whimpered softly, kissing him harder to muffle the sound.
“Turn around, sweetheart,” he whispered against her mouth, voice rough with need.
They’d learned months ago that this position kept the old mattress quieter, no creaking springs to betray them, no sudden dips or shifts that might echo through the small cabin. It felt intimate, safe, like the world couldn’t reach them here.
“What about El?” she whispered, her voice husky as she turned back to her previous position, settling into the familiar curve of his larger body spooning hers.
“She sleeps like a rock,” he murmured against her skin. “We just have to be quiet.” A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That’s gonna be a bigger challenge for you than me.”
Hopper pressed himself flush against her back, one thick arm banding around her waist to hold her close. His erection nestled hot and heavy against the cleft of her ass as he nudged her panties aside with practiced ease. His fingers returned between her thighs, sliding through her wetness, teasing her entrance before pushing one thick digit inside. Joyce bit her lip to stifle a moan, her head falling back against his shoulder.
He added a second finger, curling them just right, stroking that spot that made her thighs tremble. His thumb found her clit, rubbing in slow, firm circles while his lips latched onto the side of her neck, sucking gently.
“Hop, please, I need you.”
He didn't need more encouragement. With a swift motion, he tugged her panties down her thighs, helping her kick them off. His own boxers followed, his erection springing free, hot and heavy against her skin. Hopper positioned himself, the head of his cock teasing her entrance, slick with her arousal.
“Joy— Joyce,” he breathed as he slowly entered her inch by inch. Joyce buried her face in the pillow, muffling a moan as he filled her completely. He was big and thick, stretching her in that perfect way, and she clenched around him instinctively.
Hopper started thrusting slowly, savoring the tight heat of her. One hand returned to her breast, kneading it firmly, pinching the nipple just hard enough to make her arch. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he growled low in her ear. “So tight from this position, baby, you drive me crazy.”
She closed her eyes, trying to keep quiet, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Turning her head slightly, she captured his lips in a messy kiss, moaning into his mouth. “Yes... fuck—, Jim..."
He kissed her back hungrily, tongues tangling as his pace picked up just a fraction. “Such a shame I can't hear you scream,” he murmured against her lips. “I love when you’re loud. Love the sounds you make, the way you beg me to fuck you hard.”
The words sent a shiver through her, her body responding with a flood of heat. She could feel every thick inch of him buried deep inside her, stretching her perfectly, filling her so completely that it stole her breath.
Each slow, deliberate thrust made her explode with pleasure from the inside out, her whole body trembling with the intensity of it, yet she couldn’t scream, couldn’t let the sound escape. All she could do was bite her lip hard, letting out the smallest, most desperate whimpers while his low, ragged breathing and quiet, broken moans right against her ear drove her wild, making her even wetter, hungrier, aching for more.
Joyce bucked her hips back against his own, pleasure building like a storm. “Harder… please, fuck me harder,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Hopper smiled against her skin and whispered, “good girl”. Then he began thrusting deeper, faster, but still controlled, mindful of the quiet house. The bed creaked softly beneath them, the only sound besides their stifled breaths and the wet sliding of their bodies. Hopper’s free hand gripped her hip, pulling her back onto him with each push.
“Right there, baby,” she gasped, lost in the sensation. “Fuck, Hop, you feel so good.” As the edge approached, her orgasm coiling tight in her core, Joyce reached back, grabbing his hand and guiding it firmly to her clit. “Touch me again.”
His breath caught in his throat when he felt how wet and slippery she was, his thrusts growing more urgent. He felt her walls fluttering around him, tightening in that tell-tale way. “Look at me, baby,” he commanded softly, his voice strained with his own building release.
She twisted just enough to meet his eyes, her face flushed, lips parted. He surged forward, kissing her fiercely, all teeth and tongue, before pulling back. "Come for me, Joyce, I wanna see you."
The words were her undoing. Joyce shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. She clenched around his cock, squeezing him rhythmically as pleasure ripped through her. A low, muffled moan escaped despite her efforts, her body trembling in his arms. She bit her lower lip hard, eyes locked on his, wide and vulnerable.
Hopper groaned, feeling her pulse around him, pushing him over the edge. He pressed his forehead to hers, staring deep into her eyes as he came, spilling hot inside her. “Oh God, don’t stop,” she whimpered against his mouth, the words barely audible, but they sent another shudder through him.
Their peaks collided, bodies locked in shared ecstasy, breaths mingling as they rode it out. Hopper's hips jerked one last time, emptying himself completely, before he stilled, holding her close.
As the aftershocks faded, he gently pulled out, rolling onto his back and tugging her onto his chest. Joyce draped over him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, their legs tangled. He stroked her hair, pressing soft kisses to her temple. “You're getting better at being quiet,” he teased lightly. “I could hear the crickets the whole time.”
She laughed softly, a warm, breathless sound, and gave his chest a playful slap. “You're terrible.”
He chuckled, catching her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Nah, I'm just honest.” His tone softened, turning tender. “You okay?”
Joyce nodded, tracing lazy circles on his skin, her breathing still heavy, “More than okay.” She lifted her head, kissing him slowly, savoring the afterglow.
He wrapped both arms around her, holding her like she was precious. “I love you, Joy. So damn much.” His fingers combed through her hair, massaging her scalp gently, easing any lingering tension. They laid like that for minutes, just breathing together, his heartbeat steady under her ear.
“Stay for breakfast,” Hopper murmured, his voice low and rough from the night. “The boys know where you are, right?”
Joyce nodded, she paused for a second, letting the words settle over her. He had a point. She didn’t owe Karen any explanations, not really. She was only staying at the Wheeler’s house out of necessity, crashing on a spare mattress in the basement while everything else in her life felt like it was still settling after the storm of the last few months. Karen had been kind, but kindness didn’t come with strings of ownership.
“Okay,” she said finally, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll stay. But only if you promise to cook.”
Hopper chuckled, and it was warm against her neck. “I promise. El’s gonna love seeing you here in the morning.”
He shifted slightly, pulling her a little closer under the blankets, his big hand resting protectively over her hip.
“And Joyce…” His tone changed, turning serious in that quiet, deliberate way he had when something really mattered to him. “I meant what I said earlier. About you coming to live here. With me. With the kids. All of us together in the cabin.”
She turned her head just enough to look at him in the dim light.
“I’m not saying it has to happen tomorrow,” he continued, thumb tracing slow circles on her skin. “But talk to the boys. See what they think. We can figure it out. Make it work. I want this, us. Not just stolen nights.”
Joyce felt something soft and warm bloom in her chest, even through the exhaustion. She didn’t answer right away, just let the idea sit there between them, solid and possible.
A huge yawn escaped her then, unstoppable. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, lashes fluttering as she fought to keep them open.
Hopper pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “We should sleep, baby. Come on.”
He reached over and clicked off the small bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
“Good night,” he whispered, settling back down and tucking her against his chest.
Joyce didn’t answer immediately. Her breathing had already slowed, deepened. Hopper smiled to himself in the dark, thinking she’d drifted off that fast.
But then she stirred, lifting her head just enough to find his lips in the shadows. The kiss was sleepy, soft, barely there, but full of everything she couldn’t quite say yet.
“G’night, Hop,” she mumbled against his mouth. “I love you.”
He froze for half a second, his heart doing something funny in his chest.
Then he kissed her forehead again, voice rough with emotion. “Love you too, Joyce.”
~ * ~
The next morning, Joyce woke slowly. The bed was empty beside her, sheets cool where Hopper had been. She blinked against the pale light slipping through the curtains, disoriented for a moment, until she heard it.
Voices. More than just two.
Laughter. The clink of plates. The unmistakable sound of Jonathan’s voice, saying something about teaching Hopper how to operate a camera to better track El’s timing during training, followed by Will’s quieter reply, and El’s agreement. It felt like California - whole at least - with Hopper’s voice there too.
Joyce sat up, rubbing her eyes, and noticed the bedroom door was cracked open. The smell of coffee and bacon and something sweet - pancakes, maybe - drifted in, wrapping around her like a promise.
She smiled, slow and real, the kind of smile that started somewhere deep and spread outward.
The cabin is full. All her three kids. The man she loved moving around the kitchen. Like they all belonged there. Like a family.
Maybe Hopper is right. They can make this work, she likes the thought of waking up everyday with those sounds.
She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and padded barefoot toward the door, already knowing she was going to like this morning very much.