#jim hopper fluff

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Includes mentions of alcohol, reader has some insecurities surrounding her body, oral (f receiving) vaginal sex, lots of romance.

Summer was over, and you couldn’t have been more pleased. Unseasonably warm temperatures had made the past few months in Hawkins feel miserable, unless you were indoors with air conditioning. You’d made good use of the portable fans Hopper had placed around the cabin, particularly the small one at your bedside. This morning was the first day you hadn’t had to use it in awhile. Waking up without a layer of sweat on your body and the sheets had felt like an unexpected luxury. Now, you were walking through the forest beside Hopper, enjoying the first cool day in weeks, looking for a nice spot to set down your picnic supplies and have some lunch.

Hopper paused for a moment just ahead of a clearing. Thin streams of sunlight cascaded through the leaves above you both, creating a cozy atmosphere. “This looks like the spot,” Hopper grinned down at you. He sat the picnic basket on ground, the cold beers inside clinking. You unrolled the blanket together and made yourselves comfortable, you sitting cross-legged with a sandwich in hand, and Hopper stretched out on his side, propping himself up on one of his elbows as he ate and drank a few of the beers.

Hopper’s tolerance for alcohol was pretty damn high and usually, he would barely be feeling its effects only three beers in. But today, Hopper found himself being persuaded to act on his carnal instincts…by both the encouragement of his beer and the scooped neckline of your dress, the way your tits looked so damn soft peeking out over the fabric. The dress was probably a size too small, fit you just a little too snug; but that’s exactly the way Hopper wanted it. He hated when you covered yourself up in baggy clothes, hiding your shape away under layers of fabric and shame. Hopper respected your choices, of course, knowing of your struggles with self acceptance and with viewing your body in a positive light. He always encouraged you to see yourself the way he saw you-as a literal goddess he considered himself unworthy to call his own-but understood that the negative messages you’d received your whole life about your body, and women’s bodies in general, could take a long time to unlearn. In the meantime, Hopper would remind you of your perfection, and happily look forward to the day when you could love yourself the way he already did.

His eyes were lingering on your chest, and you’d definitely begun to notice. “Is there something on my chest?” you asked, playing dumb. You dipped your head to inspect yourself, pretending to look for crumbs. Hopper’s eyebrows lifted, a little smirk turning his lips in response to your question. “Nothin’ yet,” he replied with a husky drawl, a light sheen of sweat glistening his forehead. “Could change that, if you want…”

Hopper shifted closer, extending his hand to stroke your arm. “All this cool, fresh air,” he murmured. “S’got me feeling things…” You pursed your lips, glancing over at the three empty beers. “Are you sure it’s only the air?” you teased, and Hopper shook his head at you, grinning. “Smart ass,” he muttered, tugging you closer. He loomed over you, swallowing your body up under his like a bear and its prey. You giggled as he nestled his face in the plush center of your breasts, peppering kisses across your cleavage. Things took a turn quickly when you felt Hopper’s cock stiffening against your inner thigh. Your body responded immediately, a fluttering pulse between your legs expressing your need as well. Hopper waited to make sure you had no objections to his going further. When you nodded softly and curved yourself into the outline of his cock through his jeans, Hopper had all the answer he needed.

He parted his lips over one of your breasts, gently sucking at the fat blooming over the neckline of your dress. He slipped his fingers beneath the fabric and tugged it downward, your breasts spilling out of your dress and into Hopper’s hands and mouth. He groped and sucked at the soft, plump flesh he adored, his teeth skimming your nipple just lightly enough to make you shiver, your back arching to force your tit between his lips. Hopper closed his lips around your nipple, pulling rhythmically at the peaked, tender bud, flicking the tip of his tongue across its center and making you whine.

His cock throbbed against your pussy, pressed against the now-soaked fabric of your cotton panties. Hopper rutted himself lazily into the puffy outline of your cunt, swollen and slippery as he massaged himself against your lips. Hopper released your breast with a low growl at the back of his throat, his broad chest rumbling against your body where they were pressed together, inseparable. You curved your hips upward to meet his thrusts, silently begging Hopper to fuck you. Your cunt was weeping against the thick bulge of his erection through his jeans, your panties soaked to transparency where your bodies were joined. Hopper reached a hand between your legs to feel the slippery texture of what he could already smell, your cum slicking his fingers as another low growl rumbled animalistic and carnal from his chest.

Hopper left your breast and moved down your body, forcing the fabric of your dress up your thighs and out of his way. He swiped his tongue across the sopping crotch of your panties, your hips bucking in response, a whimper escaping your lips as he sank his mouth over your clothed, puffy clit, and began to suck.

Your head pressed back against the picnic blanket, leaves crunching underneath your body as you twisted and rut against Hopper’s mouth. His fingers sank into the soft meat of your hips, kneading the plump flesh that bulged from the sides of your panties. Hopper toyed with your clit deliciously, alternating between flicking the sensitive bead with his tongue and tugging it persistently between his lips with a pressure that had your thighs clamping down around his head as you lost control of your body. Hopper held your waist down, forcing you to stay in place for him as your climax rippled through your body and sent you tumbling into ecstasy. Waves of pleasure lifted you higher and higher, swooping you down and right back up again as Hopper’s mouth locked in place against your clit. When you finished crying and shaking, Hopper climbed back up your body, his slick lips finding yours in a warm, tender kiss. He gently stroked back the hair that had fallen over your forehead in your exertion. “I love you baby,” Hopper whispered, his breath scented of you. “I love you so fuckin’ much…”

He rose to his knees, kneeling over you, his big hands working his belt undone. Your eyes wandered dreamily over this big, beautiful man, a man who was all yours and simultaneously surely too much for any one woman to handle; and yet, he belonged to you alone. Hopper loosened the zipper on his jeans, a damp patch of his precum and your arousal darkening the denim. He wrapped his hand around his cock with a groan, lowering his hips back into position between your legs. With his other hand, Hopper hooked a finger beneath the glossy crotch of your panties, and pulled it aside. He pulled the tip of his cock between your folds, his chest dipping in awe at the beautiful, slick sounds your pussy made, bathing the head of his cock in the sweet syrup of your cunt, knowing you made it just for him. Hopper poised himself at your entrance, his arms coming to rest around your shoulders. With his eyes fixed on yours, Hopper eased his hips forward. Your tight, sopping hole accepted Hopper’s fat cock with a loud, wanton squelch, a groan leaving both your lips and his at the pressure of him filling you, the grip of your perfect cunt sucking him in, begging him, deeper. Hopper obliged your need, catered to the desire inside you that raged as wild and as untamed as his own. His hands clawed marks in the dirt, fistfuls of leaves clutched in his grip as he lost himself in yours, burrowing deep in the warm bed of your sex. The tears of pleasure running down your cheeks reflected the gold in the leaves overhead. Hopper pressed his lips to your wet, burning skin, stealing away each of the golden teardrops in a kiss.

He fucked you hard and soft in thick, heavy thrusts, grinding your back into the blanket and the leaves beneath it flat. When Hopper came, he shouted, a desperate and carnal groan of release that only the other animals around you were witness to. His cock emptied hot and thick against your cervix. The contractions of a second orgasm gripped Hopper’s cock in rhythmic spasms, draining every last drop of cum from his heavy, satisfied cock.

You wiped away the last of the tears painting your face, as Hopper pulled you into his arms to hold you. The thundering beat of his heart against your cheek was deep and steady like the sound of horses’ hooves galloping across a field. You held onto that image as Hopper held onto you, gently drifting to sleep inside his arms… 🍂

@sarge-barnes-sir @mrshopper84 @umnitsa @frickatives @munchkin1923 @maladptivedaydreaming @her-fandom-sanctum @stvolanis

[ddejavvu]

being hopper's young, flirty little assistant 💗💗💗

There's really no reason for you to be perched on the edge of Chief Hopper's desk in high rise shorts that nearly cut the circulation off from your thighs, but there's even less of a reason for you to rile him up. You're meant to be helping him sort through paperwork, but there's so much of it, and you're both in desperate need of a break.

He's unwrapping a caramel sucker from its cellophane cover and you make a quick grab for it, snatching it out of his hands before he can even realize that it's gone.

"What- hey!" He sits up from where he'd been leaning back in his chair, the mechanisms dangerously close to snapping at his abrupt motion, "Give it, it's mine."

"I want it," You plead, your fingers growing sticky where the caramel melts against them, "Please?"

"Don't make me take it from you." He glowers, but his attempt to intimidate you has only excited you further. You turn as if to bolt from the office but he catches you with a large hand, and your plan comes to fruition as he tries pinning you down.

You struggle, if only to feel his massive hands all over you as he restrains your writhing form.

"You have the right to remain silent," He barks, "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

You're laughing and holding the sucker tight to your chest, your fist now caramel coated, but when he tries reaching with his right hand, you swap it to your left and pop it in your mouth.

"There! There, I licked it, it's mine." You cheer, your voice muffled and your words warped as you suckle triumphantly on the lollipop.

A large hand grips your jaw with near-bruising force, and a thumb against your joint pries your teeth apart. Hopper brings his other hand up to snatch the candy from between your lips, bringing it to his own mouth with a dogged smirk.

"That only makes it better, sweetheart." He winks, and you have the sudden urge to squeeze your thighs together, "Next time, try doing something I won't like."

[ub0aa]

𐙚|| hopper headcanon;

⋮he's a big music enjoyer, any kind, from metal, to pop, to classic, he likes anything he can dance to with you

⋮litterally your teddy bear, you can cuddle him, cry into his chest ect ect

⋮if you two have an age gap he'd have a special thing for ruining you innocence slowly, and enjoy watching you blush when he do so, by little comment, or dirty joke he'd explain to you later that makes you all shy.

⋮thigh and tits enjoyer, especially small tits, they fit better in his mouth.

[luveline]

need need NEED more hop x reader w el they are the CUTEST

“So she’s coming?” El asks. 

Hopper pushes a glass of orange juice in her direction. “Mm-hm.” 

“And she wants to see me.” 

“Yeah, kid, she wants to see you.” 

Eleven’s hair curls just under her ears. Hopper hadn’t suspected her hair would be curly once it began to grow, but it waves gently, and tighter the longer it becomes. He doesn’t know how to take care of it. He only just taught her how to use shampoo and conditioner without leaving all the suds in. 

She scratches it. “What are you looking at?” 

“Nothing.” He ruffles her hair. “Eat your breakfast. You can get changed when you’re done. You need me to help you find something?” 

“No. I like choosing.” 

Hopper knows. She isn’t good at matching yet, but she’ll get there. 

She eats her breakfast too quickly, doesn’t drink her juice, and doesn’t put her plate in the sink before she goes, but Hopper doesn’t bother getting mad. He’s trying to be less moody. He’s also trying to be understanding; she’s learning to be a normal kid. Most normal kids are slobs. 

“Can we have dessert?” El shouts from her room. 

“You can have a snack later.” 

“Please?” 

“You can have some chips once you get dressed. Are you still hungry, or–?” 

“Snacks,” she says, turning on her radio. 

Hopper nods, laughing to himself when there’s a knock at the door. He’s been waiting to see you all weekend, and he walks to the door with a terrible smugness about him to let you in. 

“Hello,” he says, wedging the creaky frame open with his shoe. 

“Hi, handsome.” You look up into his eyes, fresh-faced like you’ve had a good scrub and dressed for a day in the house in cuffless sweatpants and a hoodie he thinks might be his. “Wow, nice shirt, hotshot. What is that? The Hawkins Police Department fun run of eighty two? That’s vintage.” 

He leans down to kiss you hello. 

“Oh, hi,” you flirt. 

You’re confident when you know you’re loved, he’s found. Still the homespun woman he knew you to be, but affectionate once you’re comfortable. He smiles into your mouth and pulls you tight to his chest, lifting you off of your feet for a millisecond before placing you back down. 

“Where’s my girl?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. 

“El?” you call. You slide around him to find her but turn back, “Did you ask her about the hugging?” 

“She says it’s fine.” 

“Like, she wants to?” 

It had been a strange conversation. Hopper is used to telling El things, or being told things by her. He didn’t ask her what she likes for breakfast, he just kept guessing until he found the right stuff. She never asked him if she could sit in his side during movies, she just inched closer until he put his arm around her. 

“She wants to,” Hopper says. She’d seemed perturbed by the question, sure, but it ended with her happy little smile through a handful of popcorn. 

“El?” you call again. 

“Kid! Your best friend is here!” Hopper shouts. 

Thunder from her bedroom, a door swung open and slapping the wall. “Y/N?” she asks, the skirt of her dress swinging as she pauses in the doorway. 

You smile and step forward. You’re tentative but excited all the same, laughing as you wrap your arms around her shoulders, and pat her back. “Hi, beautiful.” 

“Where have you been? It’s two weeks.” 

“Yeah? I didn’t mean to not see you for so long, I’m sorry.” 

“Hop says you have lots to do.” 

“There’s a leak in my bathroom,” you take her by the shoulders. “Aw, this is nice. When’d you get this? It’s light and summery.” 

“Hop… from a catalogue.” 

You raise your brows at him, grinning. “That’s nice. How many did you get?” 

“We got five.” 

“Five! From the catalogue!” You hold her hand. “Hop must really like you, huh? Who can blame him?” 

El looks down at your joined hands. Hopper feels his skeptic heart softening. “He likes you, too.” 

“But do we like him?” you joke, letting go of her hand to put your arm behind her back instead. You give Hopper a look. 

“What?” he asks. 

“I was thinking we’d go out for milkshakes?” 

Hopper bites his tongue. El has a birth certificate now, she’s his daughter, she can’t be taken, but going out with her into the world draws stares and derision alike. People can tell she’s abnormal, and he can’t stand that. She doesn’t deserve to be gawked at for talking a little slowly, or messing with stuff she doesn’t understand. 

But he doesn’t want her feeling punished for those things either. 

“Get your jacket, El.” She beams, rushing for her room. “She’s gonna love the jukebox,” Hopper says. 

You meander back into his arms, kissing his stubbly cheek. He pretends to nudge you away.

[bakerydoll]

random jim hopper thoughts 💭

jim hopper is a jealous lover, he loves looking at you but despises when anyone else does. he's willing to knock someone's lights out over a glance. always has to have a hand on you, around your waist, on the small of your back, holding your hand. no matter, he has to have in arm's reach.

♡

jim hopper’s day is instantly improved anytime that you walk into his office. everyone around him can see it. the instant change from gruff and annoyance, to his face lighting up with a ‘hey darlin.’ he'd notice the bag of food in your hands and rub his hand together in excitement. guiding you to his office to have a sweet lunch date with you.

♡

jim hopper’s favorite thing is eating pussy. he loves the way your juices taste on his tongue. he can never get enough, his big arms wrapped around your thighs. face buried in your cunt, even after you've come. you're trying to detach from him, eliciting a groan from him. he's staying there until you're shaking unable to gove him anymore.

♡

jim hopper more often than not, smells of beer and cigarettes. he's always got a can in his hand and a smoke hanging from his mouth. watching everything all the time, then you're there. and you're all he can think about, he ain't ever been this hung up on a girl before. he swears you've cast a spell on him, for him to be enamoured. with you around, he's slowing down the drinking but nothing could stop that man from smoking. but he tries to take care of himself, for you.

[ervotica]

warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), jim being the most daddy ever, i just have mega brainrot 4 him

Thinking about dbf!Jim Hopper who sits in his cabin of an evening and waits for you to come over. Jim who drags you into his lap the minute you walk your cute little ass through the door and slings your legs over his meaty thighs, who lets you scrape your fingers through the thick scruff of his beard and drag your teeth along his neck and ears.

Jim who lights your cigarettes for you, thumbing at your bottom lip and placing it gently in the gap he's created; he flicks the lighter and it comes to life as you chase it with the end of your cig. He always laughs in that deep, gravelly way that's reserved only for you.

"Patience, sweetheart."

Jim who lets you blow smoke into his mouth as you ply him with open mouthed kisses, lips smacking wetly against his own when you bite his soft flesh and giggle.

Jim who drives you around in the Chevy and lets you fiddle with the controls to keep you amused, legs draped up on the dash and a cigarette hung lazily from your lips. He humours you when you wiggle your fingers and stretch your arm towards him to play with his fingers as he drives, reaching over to place your cigarette between his lips every so often for a drag.

Jim who adores how you look on your knees with your mouth full of him; his sweet girl, his secret shame, his clandestine lover. How you lose yourself in it, in the pleasure of making him feel good.

The way it turns him on makes him sick, how he groans and his hips stutter when you call him daddy in that sweet lilting voice, how you breathe heavy and high-pitched as you work him from base to tip and suckle on the head of his cock just the way he likes. The way you force yourself all the way down and gag as your nose buries in the thatch of curls by his pubic bone has him incoherent, fisting handfuls of your hair and holding you down until you're gasping and choking around him.

And when all is said and done- when you've told your father you're sleeping around a friend's house but you find yourself in the sheriff's bed instead- he's gentle. Soft and attentive and sure, a little rough around the edges, but you wouldn't have him any other way. You curl up and tuck yourself close and the entire world melts away until all that's left is you and him.

And the lying and the secrets and the sneaking around wears you down occasionally, but you'd do it all a thousand times over for him.

[the-technorats]

Time to do the things we never had (she's waiting there for you) // Jim Hopper

happy 2025! here's a new year's xreader fic i wrote for one of my besties a couple years ago. finally got around to editing it so i could actually post it on the appropriate day.

almost exclusively fluff // rated T (bit of swearing) // 3.8k words // femme!reader full tags on ao3

❅  . * ✧:  ❅  :✧ * . ❅

The way you grin at him over your shoulder, humor and warmth caressing you in the light of a home filled with intimate celebration, makes his heart stutter. He couldn’t put up a fight with you now even if he wanted to, which, to be honest, a part of him still does—old habits die hard—but, if he’s fully honest with himself, saying no to you hasn’t been something he’s been able to do in a long, long time. And the last time he did, he spent every moment after with a bitter regret rotting in the back of his mouth. It’s a far cry from the airy flavor of Joyce’s champagne, and Hopper hopes, maybe more than anything he’s ever hoped for, that tonight can be a night worth toasting to.

Or, Hopper wants to start the new year off right. That means finally telling you the truth.

read on ao3!

or stay here to

“We can’t leave before midnight, Hop, that’s so unpolite.” 

“Screw polite,” Hopper mumbles into your hair. “Joyce already knows I’m an asshole.” 

You frown at him wryly and flick his chest over his henley. “Yeah, well, not all of us are assholes, are we?” 

“You’re the one who forced me to come here and socialize, so you tell me.” He ungracefully downs the rest of his champagne flute. 

You scoff at him. “It’s called having friends? You should try it.” 

“I have you, don’t I?” It’s a weak attempt. ‘Friends’ is the wrong word. He doesn’t know what the right one is, but it sure as hell isn’t ‘friends.’ 

“Hiring me doesn’t count as making friends,” you say through a smile that you hide coyly behind the lip of your glass. The faint, plum-y print of your bottom lip’s rouge around the rim is distracting him more than it should. “But I do put up with you more than most, so it’s a start.” 

“Alright, alright, take it easy,” he grumbles. Another weak attempt. He can press down his lips to dampen his smile all he wants, but he knows you can see the tease in his eyes. “I just came back from the dead, you know.” 

You flick him again. He plucks your hand out of the air while it’s facing him and laces your fingers together, enjoying the way you freeze for the tiniest second, the way a natural blush creeps out lightly beneath your makeup. 

“You can only use that excuse so much before it stops making me feel guilty.” 

“This’ll be the last time then, promise,” Hopper murmurs, getting in closer. There’s pretty much jack shit he can ever make you do, but this is his tried and true way of at least cracking your resolve a little bit. With your hands entwined, he tugs you toward him and tucks his free hand under your other arm, smoothing it down your back. His fingers drum gently over the ruching of your dress under your waist. “Leave with me?” 

The music underneath the chatter of the other parents and the commotion of the kids isn’t dancing music—it isn’t even really something Hopper can sway to, but he tries his damndest, feeling somewhat, and oddly, young. It makes him flush a little when he feels you inhale, hold it, and then exhale as you think over your options. 

You draw back and meet his eyes silently. Eyebrow raised, you drain the rest of your flute. He tracks the movement of the liquid and tries to keep his thoughts from disappearing altogether. 

“Please?” he adds. 

“I,” you say, gesturing with your empty glass, “am getting another drink. I am going to thank Joyce. And if you wanna party poop so badly, I guess someone’s gotta look after you, huh?” 

Hopper makes a noise of exasperation. “Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that. It’s not—It’s not ‘party pooping,’ it’s just a different party. With fewer people. And by fewer... I mean two.” 

“I know, Hop, you asked if I wanted to get outta here, find someplace quiet,” you say sarcastically. “You’re not subtle.” 

You breeze by him, back to wherever the open bottle of bubbly is. Face flushed and head elsewhere, he watches you go for a second before quickly snapping his eyes away. Christ. He needs to get a little bit of a grip here. 

Taking a breath, he finally can admit to himself how out of his depth he feels—another thing that makes him feel young—like he had when he was a fresh-faced military pawn, then a wide-eyed big city detective, then a father. And then he wasn’t. And coming back to Hawkins, ultimately, had been his resignation to monotony—his white flag, his surrender and retreat. It was saying he didn’t want new. He didn’t want more. He wanted it—everything—to stop. To grind to a halt. Really, it was so he could die before he even knew what was happening. 

Six feet under. That had been his depth. 

He watches, a little bit detached, as Lucas Sinclair snatches Mike Wheeler into a chokehold to rub a gold balloon into his hair, which immediately starts floating wildly around his face. Will Byers watches and does nothing, innocent grin growing larger when Mike yelps something, probably a plea for help. 

“You okay, Dad?” 

He jumps as he registers the voice directly to his side. Eleven looks at him, wide-eyed, a touch concerned. 

“Oh—hey, kid. Scared me.” It’s been months. His heart still hiccups when he hears her call him Dad. 

“I have a name, you know.” She tilts her head, and her slowly-growing-in curls follow. “I’m not a kid.” 

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles good-naturedly. “You grow up too fast, you know.” 

“You are just old,” she remarks. Hopper barks a laugh and musses her hair, pulling her in under his arm. Sure enough, his arm feels like it rests higher than usual, like she’s still growing taller every day. He doesn’t have to look down nearly as far to meet her eye line. It pulls him out of his own body again, like he’s watching himself, realizing just how big she is. Just how small she used to be. Just how much time has passed. 

“Hey, party pooper. Hey, kid.” You return cheerfully, a new half-drank glass in hand, new lipstick print under the rim. 

Hopper can’t help his smile. El pouts in a very grown-up way. “Not a kid.” 

“Oh, don’t I know it,” you say, then offer her your flute. “Want a sip?”

Hopper cuts in. “Uh—wow, right in front of the chief of police? Is this what the kids are doing these days?” 

“Not the chief anymore.” Cal Powell ducks  into the kitchen area and fits a paper plate into a garbage bag hanging on a drawer knob. “And I won’t tell if you won’t,” he says, shooting you a wink.

“Tell who what?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at Hopper, lips curved into a smirk. Eleven takes the glass and indulges in a sip, trying to hide her reaction face at the acidity. She hands it back to you. 

“Ooh, is someone giving alcohol to minors? Did I see that right?” Hopper didn’t even notice Phil Callahan come in until he’s nudging your shoulder, adding, “How naughty of you,” with a low-lidded look. Hopper narrows his eyes at Phil’s tone. 

“I’m up to all sorts of mischief tonight,” you say, winking. “You might have to stop me. Have your handcuffs handy?”

Hopper feels his ears get hot. He can’t help it, he mutters your name like a warning. 

You glance over like he’s the one interrupting. “Something to say?” 

Phil, on the other hand, doesn’t even hear Hopper over his own chuckle. “Might’a left ‘em in my car. You’re welcome to help me look in the backseat.” 

“Well, Phil—”

“We were just leaving, actually,” Hopper growls, giving you as meaningful a look as he can. “Right?” 

“—as I was saying, Phil,” you continue, “as tempting an offer as that is, I’m afraid I’ve got somewhere to be at the moment. Rain check?” 

“No,” Hopper interjects. He’s losing his mind. He’s losing his mind and he knows you know it. 

To prove his point, you laugh brightly, slide your hand into his, and tug him toward the door. The way you grin at him over your shoulder, humor and warmth caressing you in the light of a home filled with intimate celebration, makes his heart stutter. He couldn’t put up a fight with you now even if he wanted to, which, to be honest, a part of him still does—old habits die hard—but, if he’s fully honest with himself, saying no to you hasn’t been something he’s been able to do in a long, long time. And the last time he did, he spent every moment after with a bitter regret rotting in the back of his mouth. It’s a far cry from the airy flavor of Joyce’s champagne, and Hopper hopes, maybe more than anything he’s ever hoped for, that tonight can be a night worth toasting to.

❅  . * ✧:  ❅  :✧ * . ❅

The driveway is cool—fresh, cold air greeting you and Hopper as you duck out the front door. He can see every one of his breaths in the glow of the porch lights. It’s... almost romantic, the immediate silence that’s breathed into the atmosphere, glittery with last night’s snow, dark with the veil of a winter’s night. Almost romantic. 

Almost. “You’ve—you’ve gotta stop it with Phil,” Hopper grumbles. “The hell was that all about, anyway?” 

Hopper watches the exhale of your laugh mist in the air. He wants to do something insane, like protect that air in a snow globe, a little memento he can keep of your joy, your ease around him, your warmth. 

“Can a girl not just like a guy?” you ask, like there’s anything about that statement that Hopper would find innocuous. It actually makes him go hot again, enough that he doesn’t even need the scarf El knitted for him because of the way heat prickles at his neck. He starts leading you to his car so he doesn’t have to think about standing in close proximity and putting his hands in the right places and looking you in the eye in the current weak moment he’s having of wanting to choke out Phil Callahan. He must be about sixteen years old in this moment, Jesus Christ. 

“I just don’t see why he has to be that guy,” Hopper manages to say. It should be me goes far too obviously implied. God, he’s embarrassing. “The shit you were saying.” 

“Yeah, and what about it?” 

What about it, is right. Like Hopper has any right to be peeved. You can do whatever you want, and you will—he knows that. He knows it damn well, from experience. And he knows he blew his chance with you last summer, when he was really trying to man the fuck up and be a real parent and could hardly manage it without the world threatening to end. But it had, and then he’d died, and, well. Dying is sort of a fumble he doesn’t think one can really come back from. 

Regardless, he’s going to fucking try. He came back from the dead, didn’t he? Certainly he can do this. And what better time than the very eve of the new year, anyway, to get the resolve. To make a resolution. 

“Nothing,” is what he says out loud, despite it being rather the opposite. Despite it driving him up the wall. Making something boil in his stomach. Feeding the feral thing beating in his ribcage. “Just.” He shakes his head. “You make me crazy, y’know that?” 

“Happy to be of service.” 

He glances over. You’re peering up through the trees surrounding the Byers’ new place, where the moon glimmers hello, a little winking half-circle. A smile, paired with the joke you’d just made, curves your cheeks, and all Hopper can think is, who needs the fucking moon.

You both get into the car silently. It was sure nice of the government to splurge a little on a Silverado for him when he’d died and then been gulag’d for three months, just—well, Hopper was kind of partial to his old Blazer, but he also knows when to pick his battles, and right now he’s got a passenger princess he’s in too deep for whom he kind of needs to impress, so the government can wait another day. He’ll take the pickup truck for now. 

As usual, you immediately busy yourself with digging through the tapes in his car, scoffing at the selection like it’s any different than the first time, years ago, that you’d scoffed at it. Awfully mouthy for a freshly-hired secretary asking for a ride, he remembers thinking with no small amount of irritation. And he’d kept thinking it, with perhaps increasing amounts of fondness that he’ll never admit to, long after you became not-so-freshly hired, but still asking for rides.

“You missed your street,” you notice belatedly, having fished out one of the few cassettes you actually like from his collection and turning from the glovebox to watch the road fade from view. “And I’m—the other—where are we going?” 

“I’m not kidnapping you,” he says, “promise. You’ll see.” 

“Well, that’s only mildly concerning.” 

“If you tell him I did something, I’m sure Phil would be happy to arrest me,” Hopper says. “‘Specially with whatever you two have going on.” 

You snort. “Right. You’re not subtle, you big baby.” 

Hopper snorts right back. Then, all things considered, he takes the chance. “Should I be?” 

“What, a big baby?” you ask casually, voice teasing again. “I mean, if you’re asking me—”

“No—subtle,” he says. “Should I be subtle.” His hands slip down the steering wheel, so he’s holding it at four and eight instead of ten and two. It’s so silent for a second that Hopper can count the number of pieces of gravel he drives over by their individual little crackle. 

You slowly crack your finger knuckles, one by one. Everything teasing and gentle about your voice is gone. “What do you mean? That’s—that’s up to you, isn’t it? Has been for a while now.”

You’re right. You’re right, and every time he’s had this choice—every time you’ve believed in him more than you should’ve, enough to give it to him—he’s fucked it up. 

But not tonight. Hopper slows to a stop, throws the car in reverse. Backs up and parks. “Come around back with me? I—need to show you something.” 

You frown, but mirror him as he opens his door and exits.  Immediately, your hands go to your coat pockets; your shoulders pull tight with a shiver. “‘S kinda cold, Hop.”

“Sorry, I know,” he says, hoisting himself into the bed of the truck. “I came prepared.” And then because he can’t help it, “Though there are plenty of ways I could warm you up.” 

You blink, then roll your eyes good-naturedly. “What’re you trying to pull here, James?” 

He elects not to react to the name-calling in favor of offering you his hand. When you take it, his eyes meet yours, and there’s a moment where he takes some of your weight that he feels impossibly close to you, where he’s hyper-aware that you’re sharing his breath and you’re only a foot away and it’s like the planets are aligning, or something, not that he’d even notice. Not with this live-wire eye contact and the color of your lipstick and your hand, small and dry from the cold, but so impossibly warm, in his. 

“Nothing,” he breathes. “I promise. I just want you.”

The moment snaps like a thread. 

Your expression shutters, untrusting. “Don’t.” But your voice wavers. “You can’t say things like that, like you—”

“But I do,” he says. “I do, I mean it, I just...” He doesn’t remember a single thing he had meant to say. Desperately, he thinks back to moments earlier. The way he felt. The way nothing in the world could have made him look away. “You... you asked what I meant. And—what I meant was—I don’t want to be subtle. I just want to be yours. And I...” He’s a coward, he has to close his eyes to get the words out. “I fucked up, okay? I fucked up.” He gently takes one of your hands so he can look again at something that’s not your expression. It’s purposefully loose, but you don’t pull away. “Last summer. When you told me...” he trails off. He can’t say it. It might not be true anymore, and he can’t take the reminder. “Just—back then. I couldn’t handle anything. I couldn’t handle change.”

“It’s okay, Jim,” you whisper. “I’m not—I’m not mad. It’s alright.” 

Hopper shakes his head. “You’re so—” He huffs out a breath. It curls in front of him, faint and misty. He thinks of the laugh he wanted to keep forever, how of course it isn’t possible to capture something like that in something like a snow globe. How there’s really only one way to make sure he keeps that laugh with him forever. 

“I didn’t think I could have anything good,” he says. “I... I came back to Hawkins to—to die. Because—back then—I knew everything about this town, and it had nothing. There was nothing that could... change my mind. Ruin my life. Save my life.” He sighs. 

Your thumb runs gently over his knuckles. He finally looks up into your eyes again, and there’s a question there, unasked like you’re afraid of the answer.

“I was wrong,” he says. It feels like the most important thing he’s ever said. It feels like an apology in every way he means it. “I was wrong about this town, back then, because I didn’t know everything—I didn’t know it would someday have you. And I was wrong, back then, that I couldn’t have anything good. And wrong that I shouldn’t ever have anything good. And”—he swallows—“I was wrong, last summer, when I didn’t say I love you too.” 

It’s really silent then. Enough that Hopper almost wishes for the buzz and drone of Joyce’s party again. What he really wishes for, though, is still quiet in front of him. He closes his eyes again, promises himself that he’ll remember the feeling of your hand in his. 

Seconds pass. Each one feels like ten. It’s five or maybe fifty before he chances a glance at your face.

A small smile. “I love you.” It’s tentative. 

A big smile. He tries to keep it under wraps, but, fuck it, he’s done with subtlety. “I love you too.” 

“You... planned this?” Your voice is the softest he’s ever heard it. 

He squeezes your hand and shrugs one shoulder. “I know it’s not... uh, the most romantic.” He glances around at the quarry, which, all things considered, does not have the greatest of memories attached to it. “But the sky here... no light pollution. I figured we... uh, we could....” He has no idea what he figured. Well, that’s not true—he knew what he was thinking, he just didn’t necessarily expect to get this far. Not to mention that the last time he took someone on a date with real, emotional intent—well, he had his youth going for him, at least. 

“Stargaze,” you finish for him. “That’s—that’s ridiculously romantic, what are you talking about? It’s...” You avert your eyes. Glance down at where your hands are still gently entwined. “Perfect. Though don’t let that go to your head.” 

“That’s a relief,” Hopper breathes through a soft chuckle. He wraps an arm over your shoulders so you can lean further in. The last time he’d been on a date, a move like that had felt much harder. Scarier. This just feels right. A gravitational pull, gentle like glasses clinking together. Nothing as forceful as a black hole. Not anymore. And, he thinks, if it’s you he’s going to be holding, never again. 

“Was afraid it might be too cheesy. Too high-school or something.” 

You shrug, teasing, “Maybe if you’d made me a mixtape.”

Hopper says nothing. 

“...You didn’t.” You twist in his arm to level him with an incredulous stare.

“Well—” He muffles his voice in your hair. Feels his ears go red, yet again. “Not anymore.” 

You laugh, delighted. “Jim. Jim. Jamie. You’re joking, right? You’re absolutely playing it for me. Right now.” 

Hopper sighs, but he can’t keep his smile from pressing through. “C’mon, it’s nothing crazy. If anything, it’s so you get off my ass when I’m so graciously driving you around.”

“You drove me to work when we worked at the same place,” you retort. “Don’t give me that shit. And you clearly didn’t hate my company.” You give him a lidded stare, eyes flickering down then up again for no discernable reason other than to fuck with him. “Now where is it? Is it—oh!  Ha!” You reach around him, over his lap, for the bag he’d packed to bring all the blankets. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, grabbing your wrists. “I’ll play it, alright? I’ll play it, but just—wait—” He struggles with your squirming. “Don’t—you just have to listen to it. Don’t look at the track list. And I’ll play it. Okay?” 

To your credit, you sit patiently—too patiently, in Hopper’s opinion, with a too-sweet smile on your face—while he digs out his (Eleven’s) portable cassette player and the tape he’d made. 

He gives you a look. “Before I—”

You shake your head, grinning. “Play it, Jim.”

Obediently, he raises his hands in surrender. “As you wish.” 

The opening riff of the first song has you cackling. “I knew you secretly liked this song. I knew it meant something to you!” You shake your head again, still madly grinning. “You are not subtle, Jim Hopper.” 

He tries to give an exasperated sigh. The smile on his face takes all of the bite out of it, but it doesn’t matter. The smile on your face is better than anything, and he leans forward. “Good thing I have no reason to be,” he murmurs, caves to what he’s wanted to do the whole night, and ruins your lipstick. 

Over the drums echoing tonight, Hopper can’t get enough, pulling you closer with one hand on your waist and the other tipping up your chin to adjust the angle. He shudders out a breath at the taste of you, faintly sweet from the champagne, waxy with rouge, intoxicatingly you, and it takes him a second to remember that he needs to breathe before he breaks away slowly, transfixed. 

Yet again it’s dizzying, the proximity, the intimacy, the flush of both your cheeks, your lips, the mingling of your breaths visible in front of you. Popping in the distance jolts you apart. 

You tense and steal closer to him again once the noise registers. “Was that—” You glance around, eyes narrowed. “Gunshots?” 

Hopper blinks, waits for his brain to rewire itself. But if that dark rouge on your lips before had been dangerous, the natural color, hot and tempting and swollen from kissing, is downright lethal. 

“No, they’re...” And then, remembering, he checks his watch and chuckles. Twelve-oh-one. January first, nineteen eighty-seven. “Fireworks. They’re fireworks.” He gently taps his forehead to yours. It’s everything, being this close to you, the gentle downcast of your eyelashes, the adoring humor of your smile. “Happy New Year.” 

You blink, remembering too, then laugh, all lovely and light. And Hopper might not be able to keep that one forever, but he captures it between you two with a kiss. 

[velvetcloxds]

A MAN IN UNIFORM | J.H.

pairing: brother's best friend!jim hopper x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: age gap (reader in her late 20s)

summary: your brother's best friend has always been hot, but him stepping in when you got an unfair ticket strutting around in his sheriff uniform has you feeling some type of way

Now, had Hopper walked out of his office to find anyone else making a scene in the middle of the police station, shouting at the top of their lungs, catching every eye in the room, throwing things at one of his best officers- he’d have thrown them right out the door. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was you, his best friend’s little sister and heaven knows he at least had to give you a chance before doing exactly that. He folded his arms and leaned against the open door of his office as he shook his head to stop his deputy from getting your attention.

He'd been thinking about you a lot lately, picked up the phone and slammed it down again, dialed your number, and then shoved the phone away, imagining your voice on the other end- would you be excited to hear from him, surprised maybe? He saw you properly at Christmas and Thanksgiving every year and sometimes easter, ran into you around town, and flirted a little in the movie store but not nearly as often as when you were teenagers hopping between diners and bars in high school.

“Listen here, bucko,” you pointed a bright red-nailed finger at the officer who was smirking far too smugly in your opinion, all things considered. “Do you have any idea how close I am to kicking you right off that chair?” he didn’t think you were serious, Hopper knew you were, so when you took a step forward, he did too.

“Lady, I don’t know what to tell you, it’s just a ticket.”

“Just a ticket,” you shrieked, it was a familiar sound, one much like the one you’d give him when he’d thrown you in the pool on summer break or cut you off from the jello shots back in university, it didn’t mean anything good was to come. “If my brother finds out I was given a ticket in his car by some dipshit who just got his badge, he’ll have my head- no matter the reason for said ticket being that the asshat in question had his little ego bruised when I didn’t want to go out with him and decided to get back at me,” Hopper moved at that, a gentle hand on the small of your back, a dangerous look aimed at the officer in front of you as he mumbled your last name just loud enough to let you know it’s him.

“Hopper,” the officer tutted, seemingly under the impression that he was about to be backed and not the other way around, smugness only growing as he stood up to hand over the ticket that you’d thrown at him earlier. “I tried to talk her down,” he scoffed, you fumed, the audacity. “You know how these girls are, can’t take no for an answer.”

“You little shit.”

“Language,” Hopper reminded you, but he was smiling in a way that meant he didn’t mind nearly as much as he should, lightly pulling you behind him and pointing towards his office, it was a clear command and you’d not take it so seriously were he not looking down at you, were he not so close to you, had you not realized in a split second how long it’s been since you’d seen him in uniform doing all of the above somehow making it all seem absurdly attractive. “I’ll take care of it, yeah, meet me in my office. “

Jim Hopper was the only man who could give you an order like that and have it obeyed, even with a big huff and stomped steps and a whole ordeal of uttered musings and threats, you did go to his office, and you busied yourself with the little figurines on his desk while you waited. He was talking to or rather at the officer you’d lost your cool with and you weren’t nearly as curious about what he was saying as you should’ve been. He’s always been attractive, always been too kind to be that hot and you remember countless years being wasted on having a crush on your lame brother’s very cool best friend who picked you up from school and carried your books and turned down nights with girls far out of his league in favor of keeping an eye on you and put out his cigarette when you were near- and now that very cool, very hot, very kind man was walking right towards looking far too damn good in a uniform you’d have to stop yourself from imagining him without.

“Is it safe in there?” he hummed as he stilled in the doorway, one hand holding a crumbled-up ticket, the other reaching to the coat rack to take his hat and you watched him with narrowed eyes as he set it on his head. “Stop frowning at me like that, trouble,” he wasn’t serious, really, he found it adorable even though he knew he shouldn’t, then again, he also shouldn’t have disciplined an officer for being an ass to his friend, but that ship has also sailed.

“Did you put him in his place?” you dared, taking his keys from his paper stack before sliding off his desk to meet him at the door, that same finger that you used to point at the officer now sliding over his tie to straighten it. “Because I’ll walk right back to him if you didn’t.”

“Course I did,” he was the smug one this time and it had the exact opposite effect on you, especially when the officer came walking past the office with a box full of goods and his tail between his legs on his way to the public complaint department of the station and you understood why Hopper seemed so pleased with himself. “Happy?” he dared but of course you were, so much so that you tugged his tie lightly to pull him closer and placed a red-lipped kiss right on his cheek, giggling from the feeling of the little hairs of his beard creeping up over tinted skin.

“Very happy, Jimmy,” you cooed, and he was glad for the door frame because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself standing were it not there. “Seems that uniform of yours is good for more than just making me nervous,” you admitted and gave him no time to push for more before slipping past him into the hallway, stealing his hat and gripping his keys tightly as you did. “Are you taking me out for lunch to celebrate, sheriff?” as if he’d ever say no, as if you’d ever let him.

“As long as you’re not driving,” he knew it would rile you up just enough to frown all perfectly at him, with big eyes and scrunched nose as you walked backward towards the exit.

“I’m ordering an extra piece of pie just for that.”

“I thought we were sharing,” he countered, quick to follow just in case you tripped and hurt yourself. You shook your head, tutting as he caught up with you just in time to grab your hand and pull you out of the way of some stranger.

“No way, got to keep those pants of yours looking nice and tight.”

“Naughty,” he breathed, and he paired the word with a little whistle and desperate glance away from your teasing, very longing gaze. You made quite the little show of licking your thumb and wiping carefully at the red lip stain on his face, for a moment you allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to cover him with those all over, his neck, his chest, those big arms of his and in turn you found your cheeks spreading with warmth and wondered if you were too old to have a crush on your brother’s best friend or the town sheriff for that matter.

[ashwhowrites]

Hi could I request a cute hopper x reader fic set in season 2, where El helps hopper get ready for his date with the reader and a few months after they are dating, she meets El for the first time. Reader is nervous to meet El as she really wants El to like her, and El loves the reader and Hopper is in love with the reader especially after seeing his two favourite girls get along

Thank you for requesting! I miss writing about Hopper. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it <3

Fair warning - I barely have experience in writing El and I haven't seen season 2 in years so I hope it's semi correct with the timeline? And I hope her character is somewhat correct🤞🏻

His girls

Jim hasn't been on a date in ages, as well as asked a girl out on a date. But the few times Y/N stopped by the station, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She captured his attention more than the cigarettes and donuts that sat on his desk. He watched her through the blinds of his office, up until she left.

Jim didn't have the balls to ask her out until she beat him to it.

Now he tore apart his closet as El microwaved her small frozen dinner.

El could hear him cursing to himself and the sound of things hitting the floor. She walked over to his room, knocking on the door.

"WHAT!" Jim yelled, El opened the door with a worried face. Her eyes took in the disaster of his room.

"Do you..help?" She asked, she still was learning how to properly speak. She learned words here and there from the group but she never was out in the world to learn how to communicate.

Jim thought about it. His first reaction was to say no and deal with it. But maybe help would be nice. Maybe it would calm his nerves.

"I need a shirt and jeans." Jim sighed. El smiled and raced into the room. Her eyes looked over his different shirts.

"For a date. Fancy? You know fancy?" He asked, El shrugged. She had no clue what that meant but she wanted to help.

"Date?" She asked

"Yeah, you know how you like Mike?" Jim gagged out, but he knew this was the only way she'd understand.

"Yes." She said in a dead tone.

"I like a girl, and we are going to get dinner." He explained, that the fewer words for her the better.

"Dinner. Girl. Like." She muttered to herself. Her brown eyes scanned his room. She reached forward to grab a button-up. She'd seen Mike wear lots of those, but he always paired it with a jacket.

"Jacket?" She asked, holding up the shirt.

"I need a jacket?" He asked, when she nodded he pulled one out of his closet.

~~~

Jim couldn't lie, he was very impressed with El. He stood in dark blue jeans, a black button up and a brown jacket resting on his shoulders.

"Hair," El said, handing him a hairbrush. Jim smiled and thanked her. Brushing through his hair and trying to push down the bumps.

"Okay, El. I'm going to leave now. Stay here, you know the rules." He said, hands on his knees as he got in her eye level.

"Yes, hopper."

~~~

After many more dates, and once they made it official, Jim was ready for Y/N and El to meet.

Y/N was terrified. She could feel all the air get stuck in her throat when he brought it up.

"Really?" She squeaked out nervously. She'd heard lots about El, which meant she knew El wasn't easily impressed. She was blunt and honest. Two things that scared Y/N to death.

Jim kept pushing and pushing. Y/N knew it was important to him and she felt honored he wanted them to meet. She couldn't help but worry if El didn't like her. Would Jim end it all together? She didn't want to lose Jim, she felt herself falling for him.

~~~

"El this is Y/N!" Jim said a huge smile on his face. A smile El barely ever saw. El knew that Hopper didn't smile often. He was always grumpy and annoyed. She made him crack a smile every once and a while. And she felt her stomach warm as she watched Hopper smile toward whoever Y/N was.

"Pleasure!" El said, a big smile on her face as she held out her hand.

Jim may have given El a lesson in manners before this event. He prepped El just as much, or even more than he prepped Y/N.

"Oh! It's a pleasure for me too!" Y/N said she shook the young girl's hand.

"Compliment her haircut," Jim whispered against Y/N's head.

"I love your hair! The curls suit you very well." Y/N said, thanking Jim in her head, El's smile somehow got bigger.

"Thank you!" She said excitedly. Her face felt warm and her stomach fluttered.

"Pretty," El said, looking at Hopper.

"I agree." Jim smiled.

They sat down for dinner, a simple take-out delivery of pizza. It was so simple that it made Jim feel like they already were a family. El told her jokes that Jim never understood, but Y/N laughed at every single one. El didn't understand much of what Y/N talked about, but she listened closely. She watched her lips move and nodded along.

Jim worked hard on helping El with her communication, and he could see the improvement as she talked to Y/N.

~~~

After they met, El asked for Y/N to come over every day. She claimed it was nice to talk to a girl for a change. Jim rolled his eyes but he loved that El wanted Y/N around, because he did too.

Months down the road, El and Y/N communicated better than ever. El learned new words and Y/N kept her sentences short. Sometimes Y/N was there when Jim wasn't.

He lost count of the times he came home from work to see El learning to braid Y/N's hair. Eyeshadow on El's eyes and lipstick on her lips. Her nails were in a bright pink, and Y/N's nails matched.

"We had a girl's day!" El said, looking towards Y/N to see if she said it correctly. When Y/N gave her a nod and thumbs up, El smiled again and looked back to Hopper.

Jim hasn't had a family in a while. And he worried he'd never feel the love for a family like he did before. He was scared he'd feel too guilty and think he was replacing his old family. But he wasn't.

The two girls in front of him were his chosen family. And he'd pick them over and over again.

"I think Jim needs a makeover too!" Y/N said, a smirk on her face as El immediately agreed.

"No!" Jim argued.

~~~

"Nice nails, Hop!" One of the officers said as Jim walked into the office.

"Shut it," Jim muttered, grabbing a donut and walking into his office.

"Are your nails pink?" Joyce asked, sitting in his chair as she waited for him to arrive.

"My girls wanted to give me a makeover. Now what's up?"

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone (Part 1)

Pairing: Jim Hopper x fem!reader, Hopper POV

Summary: Reader is a secretary at the Hawkin's Sheriff's Department and Jim Hopper drives her to and from work everyday. Hopper gets worried when reader does not come out of her home, and when he finds out she is sick, he decides to take care of her. Set before the events of Season One of Stranger Things

Tropes: Jim Hopper x sick reader, mutual pining, angst, fluff, grump x sunshine, age gap (reader is fresh out of college).

Warnings: No Smut, mostly fluff, self-deprecating talk, indecisiveness, maybe some occasional cursing, Hopper is a little OOC, maybe one or two references to sex, but not explicit and only if you squint.

Word Count: 4.8k (I'm so sorry- but not really because it's great)

There is a minimal use of (y/n). Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you."

Internal monologue is in italics.

Honestly this is my first fanfiction ever posting to Tumblr, it's kinda self-indulgent, I tried to proofread the best I could, but please BE GENTLE. If you don't like, don't read, if you do like it, you're my favorite.

ENJOY!

Main Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

*********************************************************

Hopper's truck idles in your driveway behind the ancient sea-foam green station wagon, and has been idling for the past 10 minutes. He is starting to get worried. You always come out to his car immediately when he pulls in the driveway. Probably, he suspects, because you don’t want to keep him waiting, but what you don’t  know is that he would be willing to wait forever just to see you.

Hopper taps his fingers on the steering wheel while inhaling smoke from the cigarette perched between his lips as worry pricks at his chest.

Where is she? Hopper thinks to himself.

His eyes skate over the windows and peeling white sills  of the modest home looking for signs of forced entry, but the house looks relatively quiet. He can’t decide if that is worse.

All of a sudden a frizzy haired, freckled girl wearing a nurse's uniform comes tearing out of the house with a large colorful bag thrown over her shoulder. She rips open the door of the station wagon in the driveway, but then raises her gaze to glare at Hopper's car, before running to his driver’s side window.

"Hi can you possibly move out of the driveway. I'm so late for my shift-" She declares out of breath while glancing down once at the plain watch on her wrist.

Hopper studies her for a minute things not quite connecting. Marcie.  He decides. You had mentioned your roommate in passing, but this was the first time that he had officially spoken to her or seen her.

"Um- sure. I'm just waiting for y/n-"

"She's not going to work today, she's got a cold." The girl waves her hand dismissively. "Sorry you must be Hopper. I'm Marcie and I'm so late, please." Marcie's eyes widen with her plea.

"Yeah sure." Hopper puts his car in reverse to clear the driveway allowing Marcie to squeal past him. Hopper momentarily smiles at her bravery for whipping out of the driveway so quickly when the chief of police is directly behind her, but then his thoughts turn back to you.

He idles in the street for a second, contemplating the situation.

I should just go to work, I should just drive away and sit at my desk and shuffle papers around- He thinks, but then he reconsiders. What if y/n needs something? Her roommate just left her there, I'm not even sure she locked the door. He raises his gaze once more to skate over the empty windows as if hoping that you will appear.

But when you don’t  Hopper sighs in defeat, pulls into the driveway, and turns off the engine. He pauses again with his hand on the key where it still sits in the ignition. His thumb taps anxiously against the wheel.

You're not her boyfriend, you're her boss. Hopper takes in a lungful of smoke, watching the house once more. But a boss can check on his employees, maybe she hadn't been able to call Flo to tell her she wasn't going to be at work so I should just check in on her, because I’m really helping Flo. Hopper reasons.

He gets out of the car, before pausing with his hand on the door. What are you doing? This is definitely overstepping. The intrusive thoughts are back to prick behind his furrowed eyebrows.

The truth was he has tried to keep his distance, but now he has begun to realize how much he relies on driving you to work everyday. How much he relies on those few moments in the car before he is twisted and pulled away to his office. But then you would be there after, waiting at your desk for him to drive you home. And the look on your face every time was enough to erase the tedium of the day.

Jim eyes the front door to check if you are coming out once more.

He always felt better when you’d  practically skip out of front door wearing those cute oversized sweaters and long skirts, with your hair billowing behind you in perfect curls. You would always smile at him as you walked to the car, before shyly ducking your head with flushed cheeks. And then after the shift, he always made sure that he didn't stay too late because staying late meant that you would have to wait for him. And because you were too embarrassed and polite to tell him that you were ready to leave, you would read at your desk quietly.

As cute as you looked leaning back in your desk chair utterly consumed with whatever the novel of the day is, because Hopper noticed you must be the fastest reader in the world given how many different books he'd seen you with, Hopper hated those days. Hopper hated those days because Callahan would loiter by your desk after his shift and make you laugh so loudly that it made the symphony of your voice drift into Hopper's office, quickly turning something that made his own heart jump and buckle in his chest into a consuming fire.

His hand tightens on the door frame of the car.

He hated watching Callahan ease over to your desk so carefree at the end of the night, taking the time to talk to you, flirt with you even.  Callahan who didn’t have to worry about the age difference or what everyone would say if he went out with you or spent the night with you. Callahan who was younger and carefree, maybe even a perfect match to your sunshine. Jealousy burned through his entire body when he thought of Callahan taking you out to dinner, having his hand in yours as you walk to the movies, sitting side by side in a booth at a restaurant, and even after the date when Callahan would walk you to your door and you would invite him in. His jaw clenches at the thought of you with Callahan alone in your house, your room, your bed-

He thinks about getting back in the car again, turning away, and leaving.

Hopper knew that it wasn't fair. He shouldn't feel jealous, shouldn't feel the need to control your life, because it was your life, and he didn't want to ruin it. He didn't want to intrude. You were so young, so full of life, innocent, that he knew he would ruin you in the worst way. He was just an old grump, so far from your sunshine he might as well be hibernating in a cave.

But oh how he wished he could. Oh how he wished he could bask in your sunshine all the time, letting the soothing rays from your smile fill him with peace.

Hopper lay awake at night thinking of you, wishing that you had met when he was a little younger, a little less- well- Hopper. He dreamed of what it would be like to tell you and have you return the sentiment with one of those smiles that sometimes he imagined were only for him.

Hopper looked back up at the house. The thought that you were alone inside and sick, made him close the door of his car, flick away the cigarette, and tramp through the overgrown lawn. Hopper made a mental note to ask you why it wasn't cut and then tossed it away.

Boundaries mean that I’m not going to come mow her lawn one day.

He knocks once. "(y/n)?" He calls, but hears nothing. "(y/n)?" He says a little louder, knocking a few more times.

Hopper was hesitant to shout. What if you had a headache?

His hand closes on the handle and turns, it is open. He sighs in exasperation. What was Marcie thinking leaving it unlocked? Doesn’t she watch the news? There could be any number of psychos lying in wait, watching the house! Then before he can stop himself he thinks: Yeah. Like you.

The inside of the home is tidy, but lived in. The living room has a collection of threadbare chairs and a patchy colored fabric couch covered in what looked like a handmade blanket. Hopper wonders if you made it, remembering last Christmas when you made a hand-crocheted tote bag for Flo. Because that’s the kind of person you were. You gave so much of yourself out to other people, cared for them, and he believed that he was so different from you.

There’s a coffee table with several rings in front of the couch where he places his hat, tracing the circles on the wood with a fingertip.

The smell of coffee pours from the kitchen and splashes against Hopper’s nose, but he continues down the darkened hallway that leads deeper into your home.

"(Y/n)?" He says again, louder, but there is no answer. "(Y/n)?"

The last thing he wants to do is stumble into your room while you are changing and scare you to death. The thought of seeing you naked causes a pink hue to travel into his cheeks.

A low groan sounds from the hall bathroom and makes Hopper’s chest clench in worry. "(Y/n)?" He turns towards the bathroom. The lights are off inside and the door is just barely cracked. Hopper pushes open the door and flips on the switch to the right against the white tile wall.

At first he's confused, because the low groan sounds again, and then he looks down.

You’re laying under a thick blanket, curled into a small ball, halfway between the toilet and the bathtub. Your cheeks are flushed with fever, eyes closed, breath coming in shallow gasps.

"(Y/n)!" Hopper gasps dropping to his knees. "(Y/n) are you okay?" Worry tightens its cold grip around his throat.

How could your roommate leave you like this?

"Hop?" You breathe, opening up one red eye. "Hey." Your voice is no more than a raspy croak. "What are you doing here?” Each word sounds like its too much effort to finish. In fact you close your eye and shy away from the bright bathroom light that Hopper flipped on when he entered the room.

“I came to pick you up. Marcie said you had a cold.” His eyes skate over you. “The door was unlocked.” Hopper felt the need to add that last part, trying to find rationalization for why he’s here instead of telling you that he came in because he was scared.

“Sorry. She called the office-“ You begin to cough violently into the blanket, curling further into a ball.

"Shh it's okay." His hand comes down to your hair, pushing it back from where it sticks to your skin. "Are you alright?" Your forehead burns against his hand.

"Not really." You croak. "I didn’t mean to fall asleep here, but it was easier than going back and forth."

"It's alright." Hopper gently places his arms under your knees, sweeping you up against his chest in one quick move.

You sigh and turn your head into him, while your hand grips the front of his jacket that is still chilled from the wind outside with a shiver. The cold is welcome against your feverishly hot skin.

You cuddle into his jacket away from the offensive light above, making warmth radiate through Hopper's body.

"Which room?" He asks.

"Across the hall." You mutter into his shirt with another sigh.

Hopper hopes that you can't feel his heart stuttering around in his chest like a bee trying to get out of a plastic cup. He's trying not to think about how natural this feels, how wonderful it feels to hold you close and have you curled up against him. He rationalizes that your fever is probably so high that you don't realize what you’re doing, that any other time you wouldn’t dare burrow into him like this. But he can't help but imagine what it would be like for you to want him to hold you like this.

Your room is tidy, but still a little messy. Hopper smiles at the cluttered desk and stacks of paperbacks, memorizing the titles and making mental notes of those that are more worn than others, promising himself that he'll read every one if they are your favorite.

He is always on the lookout for ways to start conversations with you and Hopper figures that the war themed paperbacks he has back at home are a bit out of your comfort zone given the titles of the books on the desk.

Hopper places you down on the bed, quickly pulling the covers over you. He tries not to notice what you was wearing before, he had only ever seen you in long skirts or long pairs of pants, but now you were only wearing an oversized t-shirt that barely reached mid-thigh and a pair of bright blue underwear. He ignores it, feeling the warmth of you skin beneath his palm.

"What can I do?" Hopper kneels next to the bed so you doesn’t have to look up at him.

"I'm okay, just sleepy." You whisper, cuddling into the patchwork quilt with another uncontrollable shiver.

"Okay." He brushes your hair back again before he can stop himself, enchanted by the way it feels against his hand. "I'll be right back okay?" Hopper breathes.

"Please don’t go.” You mutter moving into his touch, turning your entire body towards where he hovers just on the edge of your bed.

Hopper freezes. She didn’t mean that, she’s just sick, doesn’t know what she’s saying. He rationalizes eyes skating your figure again. He’s never seen you look so small.

When you were well, sometimes Hopper believed that you were the embodiment of the sun on earth, filled with light and warmth. Noting that your bright personality just exploded out of you constantly, but now seeing you so dim… it scares him.

“I promise I’ll be right back.” Hopper says again.

“Hmm.” You whisper as you begin to succumb to the exhaustion of the fever.

He backs out of the room, watching your sleeping figure one more time before he springs into action. Hopper walks to the bright yellow phone hanging in the wall in the kitchen and dials the station.

"Hey Flo it's the chief, how are things this morning?" He breezes looking through the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator. Hopper frowns at the dismal array of canned vegetables and moldy fruit in the ice box, but pours himself a cup of coffee.

"Hey chief. Pretty slow. Callahan went out on a call to get Mrs. Morris' cat out of a tree, but other than that it's been quiet. I meant to tell you that (y/n's) roommate called and said that (y/n) won't be in because she's not feeling too well this morning. Tried to call you before you left, but I figured I'd see you when you got in." Flo pauses. "Where are you anyway?"

"Um- something came up. Look I might not be in for a few hours. Do you think you can manage to keep things quiet?" He shifts uncomfortably. Hopper wasn't keen on everyone knowing that he was with you.

What would they say if he was here? He was aware of what the rest of the people in town said about him, but he didn't want them to say things like that about you. You deserved better.

"Sure chief."

"Alright thanks. I'll see you in a bit." He hangs up the phone standing in the kitchen for a minute while he finishes the coffee in the faded green mug. Hopper considers what he has to do, but he doesn't like it. The thought of leaving you again makes his heart twist in his chest, especially knowing how sick you are.

Not sick enough to stop smiling at him. The thought is welcome amongst the continuous admonishing from the guilt of him being there.

Hopper walks back towards your room peering in through the open door to check over your sleeping figure. Deep down he knows that he shouldn't be here, that he should just leave, but he can't. He can’t leave you when you can barely lift your head to look at him.

The phone rings on your nightstand, and as you stir, Hopper reaches for the receiver to stop the call and breaks his only rule.

"Hello?"

"Um. Hi. Who is this?" The voice on the other line is definitely a woman, decidedly older.

"Jim Hopper. Who is this?"

"This is (y/n’s) mother.”

Oh shit.

"Um hi Mrs. (y/l/n)-" Hopper's eyes go to yours which have widened in surprise.

But before he can respond any further you reach out and take the phone from Hopper’s hand.

“Hi mom." You croak. "Can I call you back?"

Hopper watches you with wide eyes as you wait a second to listen to your mother. He can only imagine what she's asking you.

 "No mom, he's not my boyfriend he's my boss." Your voice rasps. Hopper's heart stutters once in his chest when you answer her.

"He's here to check on me." You try to raise your voice again, but it comes out more like a harsh whisper.

You pause.

"No I'm not sleeping with my boss mom." Your face flushes as bright red as Hopper's does. He immediately stands from the bed, realizing that he was sitting on the edge and was about to touch you again subconsciously.

"Please can I call you back. I'm really not feeling well." You sigh laying back down as if sitting up is too much work.

Hopper's brows furrow with worry once more, wishing that he hadn't answered the phone. Because even if he was ever going to date you, which he wasn't, he didn't want your mother to hate him.

"Yes I'll make the soup. I love you. Okay. Bye." You hold out the phone trying to place it on the receiver, but Hopper takes it from you. "I'm sorry." You mutter laying back down in the bed with a sigh.

"It's okay." Hopper's still bright red. "I understand."

You sigh. "She's been so worried since I moved away."  You turn to cough into the blanket.

"Try not to talk." Hopper smiles. "You know, I think you talk more when you're sick."

You wheeze out a laugh. "Shut up."

"And you're definitely meaner."

You snort so hard that you begin to cough and Hopper feels bad for making you laugh, but when it's over you smile so wide at him any regret vanishes. That was why he liked you so much, because every time you smiled at him, you filled him with the warmth and brightness that you shone with every day.

He presses the back of his hand against your forehead to check your temperature. "Are you going to be okay if I leave for a bit?"

"Yeah." Your eyes are closed now, leaning into his hand. Hopper ignores how you lean into him and again tells himself it is only due to your current state.

"I promise I'll be right back."

"You don't have to-" You breathe in a low rasp.

"I'm not going to leave you like this alone." Hopper responds. "I'm just gonna run to the store-"

"You don't have to-"

"I want to." Hopper clears his throat. "Try not to die."

"I'll try my best."

*********************************************************Hopper can remember the last time he made chicken noodle soup clearly. Sara had a cold, it was before she was diagnosed and was starting to get sick more frequently. Hopper had stayed home from work with her while Diane went out and he made the chicken noodle soup recipe his grandmother had used to make him when he was sick.

As he stirs the pot on the stove the smell brings back all the memories that usually make his heart clench in his chest, but now standing here in your small kitchen, the memories are softer.

The trip to the grocery store had been quick as he practically ran up and down the aisles strategically to find everything he needed, anxious to get back to you. Hopper had stolen the house keys out of you purse to make sure that he could lock the door, rationalizing that you wouldn't need them and he'd be damned if he left the door unlocked with you being as defenseless as you were right now.

Hopper walks back towards your room. You are curled up in a ball under the covers again, looking more small and cute that he wants to acknowledge. "(y/n)." He whispers.

"Hmm." You sigh and turn to look at him. Your cheeks aren't as flushed as before, which means the Advil Hopper made you take must have brought down your fever.

"I made you some soup. I think you should eat something." He says gently.

The smile you give him, warms his heart and makes the cold muscle in his chest flutter and stutter.

"You didn't have to."  You croak.

"I wanted to." He shifts his feet unsure. "Do you need help- or- um?" It wasn't that he didn't want to carry you, the memory of how it felt to carry you was fresh in his mind. It was that he wanted to make sure that it was okay for him to touch you again

"Please." Your cheeks flush all over again as he picks you up and carries you out to the kitchen table, sitting you up in a chair before draping the homemade blanket around your shoulders to cover your shivering body. 

He quickly moves to the stove dipping out a portion of soup into one of the flowery bowls from the cabinet before placing it in front of you.

You smile into the steam, letting the heat open up your lungs. "Thank you."

Hopper sits across from you at the kitchen table watching you eat it slowly, another mug full of coffee sitting in front of him on one of the cheerful flower printed placemats. He still can't bring himself to leave because he's worried about what would happen if he left. You could barely walk to the bathroom without help- maybe you might even need to go to the hospital.

The thought of taking you to the hospital filled him with dread, a whole slew of memories there that he didn't want to relive.

"This is really good." You smile at him from across the table. Your voice is less hoarse than it was a few moments ago, but still barely audible. "You didn't have to make soup. I could have ordered some from Sullivan's on the corner."  You cough violently into a napkin before blowing your nose again.

"It's okay. I just wanted to make sure that you were-" He stops unsure if he should continue. "Well if you were okay."

"Oh. Well it's very nice of you. I'm sorry that Marcie didn't call."

"I'm not." Hopper responds before he can stop himself. "I'm glad that I came by." His cheeks flush with his confession.

"I am too." Your cheeks are as red as his before you duck down to look back at your soup. "Though I don't want you to get sick too."

Hopper shrugs. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

He watches you finish up the rest of the soup. She's beautiful even when she's like this. Hopper looks at your face, noting you red cheeks and nose. Even covered in snot and flushed with fever, she's absolutely beautiful.

"Did you want to go back to bed?" Hopper asks when you take the last bite of chicken noodle soup.

"No I think I'll lay on the couch for a bit-"

He immediately moves to pick you up from the wooden chair and helps you over to the threadbare couch, laying the blanket over you before he can focus too much on your uncovered legs. "Thank you."

"Yeah-" His voice has deepened a bit, trying not to dwell on how wonderful it felt to have you in his arms again.

"There should be some tapes in those cabinets.” You gesture to the cabinets under the tv in the corner. “Did you want to stay and watch a movie?” You immediately freeze. You hadn’t meant to ask it, but here he was taking care of you making sure you were okay. You didn’t want him to go, despite his constant internal monologue convincing him otherwise. “Or if you have to go back to work that’s fine.” You back track.

“Um- well.” Hopper considers leaving again. He thinks that he’s overstated his welcome, knows that he is doing more than he should especially more than a boss would do for his employee. His eyes skate over your small figure curled up under the blanket. “I don’t think it would hurt to watch a movie. I think that Flo can manage the department for a few hours without me.”

You try to hide your excitement as he picks out one of the tapes and pops it into the VCR.

Now came the ultimate question: where should he sit? Regularly when Hopper was trying to woo someone he would sit next to them, throw his arm across their shoulders so they would lean into him- but he didn’t want to do that to you… well, he knew he SHOULDN’T want to do that to you. So he forced himself into the lazy boy arm chair that sat about 7 inches from where you were laying your head on the couch as the movie began.  You bunch up one of the couch cushions under you head, trying to prop yourself up as the movie began. Hopper reached over before he could stop himself and helped you adjust the pillow.

Your eyes meet his as a small smile graces your lips. He holds your gaze, trying to gauge how you feel about him- tries to read your mind to see if you wish that he'd just leave, that this is weird and he needs to go.

But there's nothing. He forces himself to look away from your gaze and back towards the tv trying to stop the warm feeling that rises in his chest.

Don't do this to yourself. She's just being nice because you made her soup, asking you to stay means nothing.

Within a few moments you were asleep again and that meant that Hopper didn’t have to feel bad about glancing over at you occasionally. His fingertips itch to push back the hair that's fallen into your face, but instead he puts them on the arms of the chair, relaxing back.

And within moments, Hopper falls asleep.

He wakes up when Marcie kicks open the front door at 8 pm after her shift, practically falling into the living room in her haste. Hopper jumps up from the chair startled.

"Oh hi." Marcie does a double take. "I didn't know you were going to stay here."

"No I wasn't-" Hopper clears his throat awkwardly. "I just-"

"He came to check on me Mar." You croak sitting up. "It's okay."

"Oh well." Marcie eyes him up and down. "I'm just gonna take a shower." Marcie continues to frown. "And I keep my pepper spray in there-"

"Marcie!" You exclaim as loud as you can without hurting your voice, but she doesn't look sorry.

Hopper nods awkwardly as she saunters from the room, his cheeks flushing bright red. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the rhythmic sound of your breathing had lulled him into a deeper sleep than he was accustomed to. In fact he couldn't remember a time recently in which he had slept so soundly.

"Well I guess I should go." He rubs the back of his neck.

"Yeah. I'm sorry she's just always in a hurry and she doesn't have a filter." You sigh, hearing the shower begin to run. "It takes a bit to get used to her."

Hopper notices that your voice sounds less hoarse than it did when you fell asleep.

"It's okay." He waits another beat, because despite Marcie's sudden intrusion, he wishes that he could stay- but he knows better. "I'll give you a call tomorrow, see if you need a ride to work."

"Yeah I hope I'll feel a bit better." You begin to rise from the couch, but stumble forward and Hopper catches you against his chest in an awkward hug.

"You've got to be more careful." He breathes into the top of your head, holding you tightly against him.

"Hmm." You sigh, holding on to him just as tight. "Thank you Jim."

Hopper freezes. It's the first time you've ever said his first name, and it makes something inside his chest break open. It sounds so perfect coming from your lips that he wishes you would say it again. "You're welcome (y/n)."

Your arms are wrapped around him in a full hug by now, nuzzling your face into his chest- but just like that Hopper snaps out of it.

She doesn't want you, she's just being friendly, like (y/n) is all the time. Plus she's sick today, not thinking straight. The thought makes him sober up.

Hopper extricates your arms from around him rather abruptly, leaving your head reeling, and helps you back onto the couch. "Well goodnight."

"Goodnight." You smile, but it's tight lipped and for good reason. You have no idea what you did to make him suddenly so cold.

And the entire ride home from y/n's house, Hopper refuses to believe you were disappointed when he left.

*********************************************************

Thank you so much for reading!

Part 2

[parkert01]

Wisdom Teeth - Jim Hopper

You had to take a holiday day from working at the station to have your wisdom teeth taken out, after putting it off, the pain was horrible so you decided to bite the bullet and get them taken out. They had originally advised that you have someone to look after you for the first 48 hours, you had originally declined stating that you didn't have anyone around Hawkins. When you informed Jim that you would be off, he said he would look after you until you were better, you reluctantly accepted. 

You were sat next to Jim in the dentists office, your hands were shaking, you had a fear of needles so being here seemed like a nightmare. Jim grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze, in an attempt to calm you. You both stayed like that until the dental nurse came and shouted your name, you sighed and stood up, your legs wobbled but Jim put his hands on the bottom of your back to keep you upright. 

"I'll be right here waiting" Jim promised while looking at you. You nodded and hoped he meant it. 

You woke up from the anesthesia, slowly opening your eyes and looking to the side of you and smiling when you see Jim at your bedside reading a gossip magazine, you let out a small laugh which alerted Jim. He smiled at you, placed the magazine down, scooted the chair forward and kissed the back of your hand. 

"How you feeling sweetheart?" Jim asked. "I'm ok" you slured. Jim laughed and kissed your forehead. 

"You're so handsome" you said at him. He offered no response, he let you babble on about how handsome you thought he was, although most of the words came out as slurred, Jim got the message. He had no idea you thought this about him, you two became fast friends when you started working at the station. You had a lot of mutual intrests, although the officers who worked with Jim thought that it was more but you both always insited that it was just a close friendship.

Jim had always hoped that maybe, that the friendship could blossom in to something more but he would never put any pressure on it. He didn't know that you felt the same, as soon as you met him it was like your soul was finally free, finally saying there you are. You always hoped that he would make a move but he never did, so you accepted the fact that it was just never meant to be. 

The dentist's cleared you to go home, Jim packed your stuff in to the bag, chucked it over his shoulders, helped you up and walked you out to his car.

Jim did as he promised and stayed with you the whole time you were recovering. On the second day after the operation you were feeling a lot better and managed to trudge your way in to the kitchen where he had a towel slung across his shoulder and hunched above the stove cooking bacon. "That smells delicious" you said while sighing. Jim turned around and smiled, holding his arms out for you, you smiled and walked towards him, wrapping your hands around his waist.  He kissed the top of your head and ordered you to sit down and wait for him to plate the food. 

It didn't take long for Jim to bring the food across and place yours in front of you, while placing the other in the place across from you and sitting down on the chair. You both talked about work, your plans for the future and intrests. He eventually decided to confront the elephant in the room and asked you if you meant what you said. You didnt realise what he meant until it hit you like a ton of bricks, heat rushed across your cheeks and you shyly nodded. You looked away, not wanting to see his response, even when you heard the chair scrape across the kitchen floor, you fought every instinct to look up.

Jim pulled you up by your arms and placed his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. He leant down and kissed you, you eagerly kissed back, getting lost in the feeling. You didnt know how long you both stayed like that, you pulled away breathless. You laughed at the absurdity of it, you dreamt of this day often and you couldn't believe it actually happend.

Jim nudged his nose against yours and softly whispered "So you think I'm handsome?". You chuckled offering no verbal response, just pulling him down by his neck and kissing him once again.  

[luveline]

ah okay wait i could kinda see hopper with like a younger ish reader and he’s all like grumbly old man about it and doesn’t get why r likes him and reader is just like calm down lets go get ice cream

Your boyfriend has anger issues. Seriously, he’s easy to rile, easier to complain, and he doesn’t like doing things he doesn’t wanna do, which is lots of things, but thankfully isn’t you. 

You offer your hand, butterflies in your stomach squeezing up into your chest when he takes it, his eyes dark with his squared brow. You love being with him in part because he intimidates you, what with his frowning, his uniform, his arguable silly hate. He suits the hat. He pulls it down over his eyes when it rains, a cigarette between his teeth like he’s in a noir film.

“Where’s your hat today, Chief?” you ask. 

He nods toward the backseat. “Why, you like it?” 

“You know I like the hat. It’s a great hat. It makes you look like the Lone Ranger.” 

“I’m never wearing it again,” he says severely. 

“Come on, Hopper, don’t be like that,” you tease back, back of your head dipping back to brush the headrest, your hand right in his. Hopper had this way of making you feel pretty, or cared for? It’s definitely something. He holds your hand and rubs your knuckles and your hand feels pretty, or fine. Not delicate, but held. “I really like it. I meant it as a compliment.” 

“You mean everything as a compliment.” 

You side-eye his muttering. “You know you’re my boyfriend, right?” 

“Doesn’t make any sense.” 

“What, that you’d ever go out with me?” 

“That you’d be with me,” he corrects. 

“That’s really…” You bite your tongue. Perturbed, you crane your neck, kissing the back of his hand softly. Barely a kiss, no smack nor pressure, just a soft brush of your lips. “Hop, I don’t get you sometimes.” 

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he insists. 

“You act like we’re worlds apart. I like you. I don’t get why you don’t get it.” 

He sighs at your small tone. “Don’t take it the wrong way.” 

“Then don’t mean it that way.” 

He glares at the road outside, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. He stays rubbing soft lines with his thumb on your skin, the car speeding fast toward his cabin, snow falling in chunky flakes against the windows. You tuck your other hand over your twined fingers, thinking. What’s the right thing to say? He’s clearly upset believing that he’s not good enough for you, or not right for you, something. 

“Okay,” you say, “alright, here’s what’s gonna happen, handsome,” —he snorts— “we’re gonna go for milkshakes, you’re gonna kiss me up against the car, and I’m gonna tell you how much I like being with you, because it’s true.” 

“In that order?” 

“In that order.” 

Hopper steers the car into a u-turn. “Fucking. Alright, sweetheart. Let’s get you a milkshake.” 

[blairxbear]

Stranger Things Preferences

Their Pet Name for you.

(Featuring: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove, Jonathan Byers, Dmitri Antonov, Jim Hopper, Alexei, Murray Bauman, Robin Buckley, Argyle, Henry/001)

Warnings: Mentions of sex. This blog is 18+ Minors do not interact.

A/N: My first preference! There will be quite a few of these across quite a few fandoms so if you'd like to be tagged in future preferences or future stranger things posts please let me know in the comments! :) Also any Russian is taken straight from google translate so pre-apologies if I have butchered it! Enjoy!

Steve Harrington

Steve keeps his pet names quite generic, baby, babe, sweetheart. It's not so much the names he uses but how he says them. Most of the time he's most comfortable using the shortened version of your name or nickname he has for you, but the amount of affection he would put into it would make you melt. If he's being especially flirtatious you'd even occasionally get doll. He doesn't miss the effect it has on you when he calls you that.

Eddie Munson

Eddie is as theatrical with his pet names as he is with anything else in life. He loves to call you princess, especially during Hellfire meetings when he can incorporate you into his campaign. I think Eddie would switch between a few pet names to try to keep it interesting, baby, sunshine, sweetheart. It doesn't matter what he calls you it never fails to give you butterflies. Let's not pretend that if you two are hanging out in his trailer while you joke around and play air guitar together that he doesn't call you his little Rockstar.

Billy Hargrove

Billy's pet names for you depend on two things; his mood, and who you are around. In public you're only getting the less heartfelt pet names, he refers to you as his girl a lot in front of other people. Not only does he love the small smile it brings to your face but it also feeds into his possessive side, knowing that everyone knows you are his. When you two are alone and have been together for a while, Billy finally shoes a softer side of himself. He will compliment you a lot and attach all sort of pet names to those compliments, baby, sugar, sweet thing, still loving to resort to calling you his girl. You're mad at him and he's trying to make it up to you? Get ready for him to bargain his way back into your arms, wrapping his arms around you as he whispers in your ear, "Come on sweetheart, you know you can't stay mad at me."

Jonathan Byers

This soft, shy, adorable baby will probably be hesitant to use pet names for a long time. I honestly doubt you would hear them until you two begin to get intimate and he's too lost in the moment to think about what he's saying. He's pussy drunk and rambling into your neck, pet names would all be soft and sweet while he's chasing his high, beautiful and sweetheart would be at the top of his list. Getting high in his room? This sweet man would be telling you how you're his sunshine, rambling on in his delirium about how you light up his life.

Dmitri Antonov

While this man's English is very good, he still prefers to use pet names in Russian. There's something about the way he looks at you with his intense gaze as he slips back into his native tongue that just turns you into an absolute puddle. His favourites include котенок (kitten) and моя любовь (my love). The thought of this man holding you while you curl up in bed for the night, arms wrapped around you while he whispers endearing words in Russian into your ear is enough to bring butterflies to your stomach.

Jim Hopper

Let's not pretend like for a goooooooood while this man affectionately refers to you as kid even if you are barely a few years younger than him. He's a tough shell of a man that will refuse to open up or show his feelings for a long time, but when he does you realise its worth the wait. He doesn't throw around pet names and words of endearment a lot as he prefers to save them for moments when he feels it's right. When it's just the two of you and you're sharing a soft moment, sometimes referring to you as darling in his softer moments. Occasionally you might even get a cheeky baby.

Alexei

Another Russian baby, this adorable man will always call you pet names in Russian, it doesn't matter how much his English has improved. It just means more to him coming from his native tongue. His regular go to include голубь (Dove) and милый (Darling). Although, Murray taught him how Americans us Pumpkin as a term of endearment as a way to screw with you both and now it's one of Alexei's favourite things to call you. Jokes on Murray because seeing Alexei's face light up as he reaches for you and calls you pumpkin is enough to fall even more in love with him.

Murray Bauman

I feel like Murray cannot find it in himself to call you soft names to start off with. He's still confused by the fact that you even want to be with him, he's not going to possibly embarrass himself further using some pet names that might cross some invisible line he's set up for himself. He refers to as lady a lot, or another unique name that fits your looks of personality. Once this man is comfortable and more secure in your relationship I think the names would still stay light and not too sensitive. You would definitely get honey a lot, I don't think Murray would be able to resist yelling through the house when he gets home, "Honey, I'm home!"

Robin Buckley

Robin would also keep her pet names generic just like her bestie Steve, but less out of originality and more just to play it safe. Robin would have some insecurities going into a relationship after all the careful steps she took just to get to where you two are now. She is hesitant at first to say the wrong thing so she sticks to a lot of sweetheart and babe. One day you were spending time together and she slipped up and called you buttercup. She panicked for a second worrying what you would think of the nickname, but seeing your smile wiped all of those worries away and it became one of her favourite pet names so far.

Argyle

Okay so we all know this cutie is not going to call you any conventional pet names unless he's sober which is not very often. You're going to get a lot of my dude and bro but he does really mean it affectionately with you. Other than that you're definitely going to get a lot of made up names that mean absolutely nothing but to him they mean a lot; wicked lady, cream puff, anything. He would totally refer to you as "my queen" when he lets you into the van which he refers to as your chariot. Your favourite pet name would be the time he said, "My pretty girl is gonna get all the pizza she wants" he couldn't understand your reaction as you couldn't think of what to say next after hearing Argyle call you his pretty girl.

Henry/001

I whole heartedly believe this man would refer to you as pet. He does mean it endearingly but he also can't resist how you scrunch your nose up at hearing the teasing term. He also uses a lot of "My little..." whether it be bird, bunny, dove. He constantly feels the need to protect you and he shows that in his terms of endearment by referring to you as small and innocent. I know this man would call you his good girl, and you will have to pry that thought out of my cold dead hands.

A/N: Hope you guys like this! Reminder that if you want to be tagged in future Stranger things posts or other preferences to let me know in the comments and ill create a tags list :)

[nicolewritesthings]

Don't press your luck

Steve Harrington x Hopper!Reader

Summary: After the team wins their basketball game, Hopper!reader and Steve go to a party just as friends. But do you leave that way?

Warnings: a little bit of steamy time

Note: it's been a minute, and then I thought I got locked out of this account but I found my password!! This can be read alone, but also is an installment for my hopper x harrington series because I love that idea so much.

Read another part of that series here: What would Madonna do?

Enjoy :)

Spring 1985

Hawkins High School's gym is filled to the brim during a much anticipated match up this basketball season. The crowd cheers on their Tigers as the clock dwindles down to under a minute left of the fourth quarter.

Steve is having a particularly good game, leading the team in points. Boy, did he need the win. After everything that happened a few months ago with Nancy and another brush with death, he really needed some good energy. Dare he think, to get back a bit of the King Steve glory again.

He weaves down the court, faking out a player, and SWISH. Another basket. The crowd ROARS. Steve looks up at the scoreboard: 35 seconds, they're up by 4. Let's keep it that way.

From the crowd, little miss Hopper watches intently. Quite literally on the edge of her seat. She doesn't normally go to basketball games. Maybe she went to a couple with Nancy her freshman year, but basketball really wasn't her preferred sport. So, when she and Nancy naturally drifted apart and made new friends, she had no one forcing her to these games. That is, until now.

Her newly formed friendship with Steve started last Halloween when she was stuck babysitting a bunch of kids, fighting monsters, and getting beaten up by Hargrove. Trauma really bonds the least likely of friends.

Now the two really couldn't get enough of each other. And that is meant in the most platonic way possible. Well, sort of. The two are both major flirts, so it's not her fault when the banter crosses that line and there's a little too friendly of touching. It would also explain why she was at a basketball game for the first time in two years. Yeah, to support her new friend. But, she can't lie to herself, she really wanted to see him sweaty and aggressive and thankfully - winning.

So, Miss Hopper watched as Steve ran down the court again, bidding his teammate for the ball. It's passed to him and she stands up along with the rest of the crowd. They all watch in anticipation as Steve shoots and - SWISH, sinks it into the basket.

The buzzer sounds and the crowd erupts. Hawkins won! Against their rivals no less! She CHEERS, high-fiving the students around her.

Her eyes are on Steve as he celebrates with his team. She smiles, damn he needed this.

Steve breaks apart from his teammates and looks up to the crowd, easily finding her already staring back at him. He gives her an arrogant shrug, making her roll her eyes so hard, but that smirk doesn't leave either one of their faces. He nods his head toward the locker room, silently communicating to her in the very loud, packed gym.

------------

Hopper waits outside the gym in the parking lot, where some other students are waiting for their friends and most likely - boyfriends. Some of the girls look over at her and eye her "GO STEVE" sign. She know how this looks, but making the sign gave her a really good laugh. With all its glitter and pep. She knew Steve would crack up too.

But here, now faced with presumably other girlfriends, she feels just a slight bit of insecurity. Then Marissa Adams is striding over to her, and Marissa's other friend, Ashley something, follows. Marissa nods over at the closed locker room doors.

"You're Steve's girl now?" Marissa asks casually.

Hopper shake her head, "just friends."

Marissa nods, her hands in her pockets, and shares a look with Ashley. She eyes the sign then looks back at Hopper and says, "no girl's just friends with Steve Harrington."

Marissa's a senior like Steve, and it's safe to assume there's some history there. Hopper thinks back, trying to recall any rumor about the two of them together but comes up short. He's been with a lot of girls, she knew that much. But, she'll have to ask Steve about her later.

"Well, there's a first for everything," she says, smiling.

Marissa smiles, taken back by her casual demeanor. She's cool, Hopper thinks, and not your typical townie. Her parents are rich, like work in the city and vacation in Europe rich.

"My boyfriend's throwing a party after this if you want to come," Marissa says cooly, "bring the MVP with you."

Hopper nods as Marissa and Ashley turn toward the opening doors. A blonde boy, Mark, envelopes Marissa into a hug. Hopper shifts her attention to a certain dark head of hair racing towards her.

Steve smiles, pointing at the sign, "that is the best fucking thing I've ever seen." He quickly pulls her into a hug. She wraps her arms around him, face nuzzled into his chest, taking in the fresh soap smell and clean clothes.

She pulls back and he takes the sign into his hands, continuing to gawk, "is that blue glitter? So cheesy."

"You love it," she smirk, walking in tandem toward his car.

Steve throws his things and the sign into the back. She eyes Marissa and turn back to Steve, "I got invited to Mark's party tonight."

He laughs at this as the two get into his car, "wait, who told you? I was just going to bring it up."

"Marissa Adams. She thinks we're dating," she flips through the radio.

Steve starts the car, "oh yeah? What made her say that."

She points to the sign and settles on some rock song.

He nods his head, "yeah that is a bit deceiving. You know, I had a thing with her back in the day."

"I gathered that," she eyes him, "she said you're not friends with girls."

"What the hell does that even mean," Steve scoffs, "you and I are friends."

She throws her hands up, "that's what I said! There's a first for everything."

Steve sneaks a glance over at her, taking in her features. Her cute nose, big eyes, perfect lips. He always does this, sneaking a look here and there when he thinks she's not paying attention. But he's oblivious to her knowing smirk and her own stolen glances.

He lets the song sit comfortably in the car, lost in his thoughts of her. Marissa is right, he wasn't close friends with girls. But, that was his former self, his previous persona. Now he had Hopper and her witty humor and their study sessions and their movie nights and late drives to pick up the kids. Not to mention they ate lunch together almost every day, save for basketball practice or her english club meetings.

They were friends. His first close girl friend who he hasn't ended up romantically, or physically, involved with in some capacity. Which is a miracle because god, have you seen her?

Her perfect hair and soft skin that he gets to feel sometimes when she's a little too close or they're a little too touchy. Oh, he's in for it come summer. She'll probably lifeguard again and come by his pool in a tiny bikini and-

"Steve!" she practically yells for his attention. His bicep burns at the touch of her hand enclosed around his arm.

He scoffs, "sorry, what?"

"Let's park at yours and walk. I'll call my dad and tell him I'm crashing at your place again," she shrugs, retracting her hand from his arm.

He breathes out, "good idea. We can sneak some of my dad's booze."

"Fuck yes," she practically moans. Steve sucks in a breath. She continues, "your dad has excellent taste in tequila."

-------

After a night of dancing and drinking and an abundance of school spirit, Steve and Little Miss Hopper make their way up the Harrington's driveway.

"Really? Rob Lowe over Han Solo?" Steve whispers as he unlocks the door. Their game of who'd you rather has gotten very heated.

She follows him inside, slipping off her shoes, "have you seen him in the Outsiders?!"

Steve shushes her, "but does he fight intergalactic space battles?"

“Now you’re suddenly a star wars fan?” she asks in disbelief, “you fell asleep last time we watched.”

“Whatever, I still think he’s a cool dude,” he shrugs.

They head upstairs and into his bedroom. Steve flicks the light on and she immediately beelines for the bed, plopping down onto it.

"But Rob Lowe's eyes are to die for," she doubles down.

Steve fumbles around his drawers, pulling out extra clothes for her to sleep in. He sets them on the bed and sits down beside her. She sits up on her elbows.

Steve shakes his head, "they have the same eyes, don't they?"

She shrugs, "I prefer brunettes anyways."

"You do?" he smirks.

She rolls her eyes and smacks his arm, "get your mind out of the gutter, Harrington."

"Oh, I could go way deeper into the gutter if I wanted to, Hopper," he laughs, looking down at her.

She sits up now, giggling, "deeper, yeah?"

Now he rolls his eyes, and can't help but join her in laughing at their mutually childish sense of humor.

See, friends can laugh like this together, he thinks. He also thinks about how she's staying the night. In the guest room, of course, but still. They can go to the diner tomorrow for breakfast, sit in their favorite booth, and order their usuals. He'll feign disgust at her purely black coffee and she'll pick at his pancakes even when she insists on never getting the sweet option.

"I'm still surprised your dad let's you stay the night here," Steve ponders this every time it happens, "isn't one of his rules, 'no boys overnight.'"

She shrugs off her jacket, "I guess he doesn't see you as a threat. And actually his rule is don't get pregnant, but they go hand in hand."

Is that disappointment she catches in Steve's eyes? Is he seriously offended that her dad, the big scary Sheriff, believes they're just friends too. I mean, hell, he's grown fond of Steve over the past few months with how much he's been there for both of his girls. Also, the Sheriff knows his daughter and he knows when she's hiding something. She's not hiding Steve.

"Don't look all sad, Steve," she moves on the bed to face him, "it's a good thing you're flying under his radar."

"Yeah, but it's like your dad doesn't think I have a shot with you," he slips out, wincing as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Hopper's eyes glimmer. A mischievous look on her face as she debates her next move. She could do nothing and look past this falter in Steve's usual smooth confidence. Or, she could give in a little and entertain this whole conversation.

So, with the help of the few drinks in her system, Hopper eyes Steve, taking in all his glorious features. His long eyelashes and great hair. What would it feel like to run your fingers through it? To tug a little?

She smirks, "do you think you have a shot with me?"

Steve looks up, taken aback by her question. He nearly melts as her big eyes stare up at him. Fuck, what is she doing? Is she doing what he thinks she's doing?

Wait, Steve knows what this is. He's done this a bunch of times with girls. He's egged them on, gotten them to be the ones to make the first move. He's never the first one to lay all his cards out there on the table. He's definitely never felt shy about being attracted to someone before and yet, here he is with the most beautiful girl he's met, in his bedroom about to change into his clothes, batting her eyelashes at him like it's some game.

No way is he going to lose at his own fucking game.

So he does what he does best and reverts back to King Steve. Just this once is fine, he thinks.

He stands up and walks over to his dresser. With his back faced to her, he shrugs, "you tell me."

Hopper sits back, shaking her head in disbelief. She thought she had him for a second there, but now he's acting all aloof and-

She looks up to find him tugging his shirt off his body, leaving the perfect view of his bare back. Oh you got to be kidding me. Now he's playing with her.

The tension in the room is palpable as Steve turns around and leans against his dresser. He doesn't break eye contact as he slips on a loose white t-shirt to sleep in. She stares back, not looking down as he covers his bare chest.

What she says next will change the trajectory of their friendship, she thinks. So she debates her next move, thinking back to how well they know each other now and how if they move into this physical territory, they risk their friendship. Is it worth it?

But the pounding in her heart is distracting and she can't help but focus on the feeling of desire in the pit of her stomach and the way her skin buzzes by the mere thought of him touching her. This isn't the first time she's felt this way with Steve.

She thinks back to the first time she felt this spark with him. When they were walking down those train tracks with Dustin slightly ahead of them. How Steve grabbed her wrist to stop her from tripping over a broken track. The electricity shot through her in an instant. Something she's never felt before.

Then the memory of desire floods her system. When she and Steve sat on his couch watching Nightmare on Elm Street and he pulled her into his chest because he was anxious and spooked. She felt his warmth and could smell his fresh linen scent. God, she could have taken him then and there if she really acted on how she felt.

But now she's in his bed, on the precipice of changing their friendship forever and instead of making the logical decision, she lets the need for his touch consume her.

His statement echoes in her mind - 'you tell me.'

"Yeah, you do," she states cooly, eyes still locked with his.

Steve breaks momentarily, sucking in a breath. He did not expect that answer, but fuck it. He can't help but eye her pouting lips and big eyes looking back at him. Don't do it, don't do it, don't-

and then she looks down at his lips, briefly, but he still catches it and now all he sees is red.

Steve strides across the room and lunges down to her level, cupping her face in his hands. He crashes his lips to hers and oh wow, is it better than he's ever imagined.

She grips his wrists, pulling him into her as he stumbles onto the bed. Her skin buzzes as they kiss, she needs him to touch her - anywhere.

He sits beside her and puts a hand on her waist. She leans towards him, sitting up on her knees and lowering onto his lap. She deepens the kiss as Steve's hands wander over her body.

The pit in her stomach grows more and more as she pushes further into him, grinding onto his lap. He groans and grabs the side of her head and neck, gripping her to look back at him. They eye each other, waiting for the other to break.

Steve bites his lip, "don't do that."

"You sure?" she smirks, going to lean in. He grips her head gently, making her look at him still.

With hooded eyes, he drawls out, "don't start something you can't finish."

Oof.

King Steve strikes again.

It's subtle. This implication that she's going to put out, and that brings her right back to any other hook up with any other guy. Maybe he didn't mean it like that, but it rubs her the wrong way. It sobers her up completely.

She stares back at him and Steve feels the mood shift.

"Don't push your luck, Harrington," she scoffs, nudging his hands off of her and rising from his lap.

Oh god, he fucked up, didn't he?

He goes to stand and go after her, but his hard-on decides otherwise. Steve stays glued on the bed as she grabs her clothes and retreats to the door.

"Wait, I'm so confused right now," Steve says quickly.

Hopper pauses, turning to him, "I'm tired, okay? Let's just talk about this tomorrow."

Before he can respond, she's already shutting the door and crossing the hall to the guest room, leaving Steve very confused and still very turned on by his best friend.

[deniable-masterpiece]

relapsed (watching stranger things 3 again for the summer)

[ashwhowrites]

A story request where hopper is your dad's best friend and you definitely should not be attracted to him and the same goes with him, he should definitely not be attracted to you because of your big age gap but at the end they don’t care about what people would say about them and they start being together after days of teasing. Thank you in advance🫶🏻

I love me some Hopper and an age gap fic. I hope this is what you were looking for and you enjoy it <3

Never proofread

Dad's best friend

Jim Hopper, many know him as the chief of police, some know him as El's dad, but Y/N knew him as the man in her wet dreams. The man she has been attracted to since she met him at sixteen, and she knew how wrong it was. She was too young for him and he was her best friend's dad. But she was a young girl and it was a tiny crush, she'd be over it in no time.

Now, she was twenty-one and still crushing on Jim Hopper, even worse than before. She always found him attractive, but now he was fit, lean, and even more handsome than before. She felt like she could barely control herself when she was near him. All she thought about was him bending her over and screaming his name for hours. She wanted him to cuff her to the bed and ruin her for hours. His deep voice growled in her ear as he emptied himself inside of her.

But that would never happen, because it was wrong. Yet, she found herself flirting with him whenever she could. She loved the pissed-off look on his face, but the hungry look in his eyes. He wanted her too.

Liking a girl that was many years younger than him was something Hopper struggled with for years. His best friend's daughter Y/N has been prancing around him since the second she was eighteen.

He knew it was so wrong to be attracted to her, but he couldn't help it. He tried to brush off her advances toward him. Ignoring her flirtatious looks and the lust in her eyes. He had to fight himself every day not to take her right where she stood and ruin her.

~~~

On her twenty-second birthday, she was out of patience. She didn't care what people thought of them or how much her date would hate it. She just needed to have him, even if it was just one time.

She knocked on his door, praying El wasn't home. Hopper opened the door and he didn't look surprised to see her there.

"Is El home?" She asked, he looked at her confused and shook his head no.

"Good." She said, then threw her arms over his shoulders and smashed her lips on his. She tried not to think, just focusing on the feeling of his lips and his beard scratching her skin.

Hopper wanted to pull away, he knew he should have pulled away, but he found himself grabbing the back of her thighs, lifting her, and slamming her against the wall. He closed the door with his foot, smashing his lips against hers. His big hands held her thighs as she locked her ankles around him.

His tongue pushed into her mouth and she moaned at the taste of him. The mixture of beer and cigarettes was the best thing she's ever tasted. Her hands moved up to his shaved head and clawed down his neck. She rolled her hips against him, loving the deep grunt that left his throat.

They knew they'd have to hear about the town hating their relationship, and that many wouldn't accept it. But they didn't care, she wanted to be with him and he wanted to be with her.

~~~

After a few months of being together, they knew they made the right choice. El loved their relationship and loved having Y/N around. Y/N was young enough to enjoy the same things with El and Hopper loved watching them connect.

The town had negative things to say about her and things to say about him being the chief. But he focused on the laughs and smiles that were shared at the dinner table. He loved cleaning up the kitchen as Y/n sang quietly. He loved sneaking under the covers when El went to bed.

Hopper had the small family he's been looking for.