looking for the magic. // Jim Hopper x OC

001 ♕ Thread Count ༄

A/N: Explicit sexual content. Brenner is his own warning. Story will move between present and past. MC is a diabetic. Old Hollywood inspo. *Enjoy. Please leave words, vote, and rec. I'm hunnybee038 on tiktok 

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Summer 1982

5:55am. The clock's glowing red numbers signaled an impending alarm. Six in the morning every single day. Even days off work like today. Perhaps it was overkill. Most things in Lucy's strict routine were.

She knew that. Never a need to point it out. The obsession with order and cleanliness to make her feel in control of this life. Everything was carefully placed and just so. Easier to stomach the lies and disease threatening to swallow her whole. She liked to think that she was just clinically unlucky. Clinically rotten. Women's conditions in this decade.

5:56am. Lucy shifted under crisp sheets. Five-hundred thread count and cocooned in warmth. The sun wasn't even threatening against the windows just yet. Too damn early. She turned her head to something that was certainly not part of her routine. A warm body with a beating heart behind her. Jim Hopper. Chief of Police. Clinically disorderly for a man with a shiny badge. Deep in slumber. Lucy was barely able to make out the exact features of him. The lines of his messy hair and broad shoulders and that growing scruff.

5:57am. No, this was not part of the routine at all. A man sleeping in her bed with his arm slung lazily over her waist. The smell of his cologne and wash on her perfect sheets. The way he might shift and grunt and give a soft snore. Which always earned a smile because it was completely endearing.

5:58am. Jim, fast asleep, must have sensed her struggle. Hitched a breath like he might wake before nuzzling his nose into the nape of her neck. As if she was something that brought him comfort. Something indispensable and important.

Lucy dreamed of being indispensable. Felt his breath tattoo the word in heat upon her shoulder blades.

This wasn't part of her routine either. The aftercare that lasted into the night. That steep sense of security which overwhelmed by simply feeling comfortable enough to dream in the same bed with someone else. The things we took for granted.

Fuck it.

5:59am. That alarm clicked off before it could blare the morning radio. Lucy burrowed into her pillows. Fluffed and perfect. Felt a naughty thrill rush.

Usually, she roused and stretched. Always made her bed to perfection complete with unnecessary decorative throw pillows. Jim made fun of them the night before and got one tossed playfully at his head.

Shower. Meds. Teeth brushed. Flossed. Mouthwash. First insulin shot. Hair. Makeup. Dressed. Never pants. Breakfast.

A cup of cereal measured out or two small pancakes with cut strawberries. Maybe scrambled eggs if she had bell peppers to throw in.

She always washed her pans after. Wiped down the counters. Floss again if need be. Mouthwash. Lipstick.

Lipstick was the cherry on top. Mauve or red. The signal her day was starting. Errands. Walks. Work. She was prettied for all of Hawkins to see. Though few approached. Years of this routine and for what?

A cold house with a lonely willow tree. A town that thought she was a witch or a shut in. Being a mortician certainly didn't help that. A reputation that made others sigh with pity. Poor girl lost so much. She only has herself. We cannot save her.

Dispensable.

6:02am. Still in bed with Chief Jim Hopper and Lucy didn't feel it was the end of the world. The opposite. Nestled into his flesh for the free body heat. A finger traced up his knuckle causing his hand to twitch. Carefully, she eased further into him, tucking black hair behind her ear.