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we-out-here-simping · 2 days

Text

Ch 2: The teenage hobby of making out.

(s.h. x gn!reader)

from the river to the sea. (get in your daily clicks, read about it, donate if you can.)

Summary: Hopper’s getting mad that his kids are kissing boys.

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: use of (y/n); no pronouns used (gn!reader); Suggestive (sexy ice cream consumption); steamy but no smut; boner alert; hopper being a cockblock; arguing; reader is jealous of Eleven; hopper makes a 'your wife' joke (its canon); daddy issues?

A/n: this is the closest i think ive gotten to writing smut so far lol i struggled so much

Anyway ive been having the big bad no good awful time lately and feel like doing literally nothing but i really pushed myself to finish this guy so have this and also I think it's high time we get readyyy for desi!reader!!!! She will be arriving soon hopefully!!!

masterlist

...

‘You don’t tug on superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind.’

Hopper’s record player blares. Your eyes fling open at the intruding loud tone of at this point what you know to be Jim’s favourite song.

‘You don’t pull the mask off an old lone ranger and you don’t mess around with Jim.’ The faceless crowd chants through the speakers. Quite swell headed of himself when you really think about it.

Your face scrunches, a yawn leaves you when you stretch under the quilt. The sheets beside you ruffle, and when you turn it is your sister, rousing from her sleep as well, Mr. Arnold, the teddy bear, in her arms. She lets out a frustrated groan at the loud song, before pulling her blanket over her head.

You snort at that because you’re sure it's impossible to fall asleep with that playing right outside the room. This is not the first time that Jim has used this really effective strategy to annoy you and your sister out of your slumber.

You lay there for a second before finally getting up to get started with the morning, knowing full well Hopper won’t be quietening it down unless both of you were out of bed and having breakfast. It also isn't like you had neighbours to complain about the noise.

By the time you come out of the bathroom, Eleven is once again stirring awake. She stretches both her arms above her head again and lets out a deep sigh.

"Morning, El.”

She mumbles something that sounds like ‘morning’, her tone a lot less peppy than yours. she once again decides she wants to be back asleep, rolling over and burying herself in the sheets again. “I think… I hate that song now”, you hear her grumble under the mass of the comforter.

“Yeah, that happens when you are forced to listen to something a billion times. What's weird is he does have other records but he really loves the song with his name in it”, you laugh both at your sister’s and Hopper’s antics.

You sit back on the bed with an ‘oof’, looking at where she lies beside you. “Okay, kid, let's get outta bed”, you say knowing full well that the noise isn't going to stop unless you both step out of the room. “c’mon El”, you sigh, shaking her a little by her shoulders. "Don't you have to go meet Dustin today?"

El’s eyes shoot open, she looks up at you with wide eyes as if she'd forgotten about her plans. She throws the blanket and the soft toy off of her and jogs away to her room.

You chuckle to yourself at her excitement, reaching under the quilt to look for Mr. Arnold. You pull him out, brushing the messy fur around his beady eyes before putting him neatly with the rest of the pillows and get out of the room yourself.

You head out into the kitchen, the smell of roasted coffee hitting you immediately. Jim has always been notorious for having his coffee extra strong, no cream, no sugar. you remember trying it once and pledged to never do that again, not being accustomed to that taste.

There's a box of cereal on the kitchen counter, you fix yourself a bowl and put some in another bowl for Eleven. You then head to the couch where Hopper is reading a newspaper and sipping the bitter and brown beverage, "morning" you say quietly— shouting was not needed since he had turned the player off when he noticed both you and Eleven were awake.

"Morning kid", he greeted from behind the newspaper, not really bothering to look up.

"You have to find a better way to wake us up."

He chuckles to himself, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" he jostles the flimsy paper.

You roll your eyes which he doesn’t notice. That’s the usual with him. He doesn’t ever seem to notice you. And for the most part, you’re used to it. Somewhere between adopting you and now, things changed. Not to be mistaken, he is the closest thing you have to a father and you know he does love you but some part of this relationship feels… hollow now. Like you’re not getting enough, he’s not willing to give you enough.

In silence, you swirl your spoon around in the floating cereal while Hopper takes a big sip of his coffee. You think to finally tell him about Steve.

Just when you were contemplating when to speak up about it, Eleven comes out of her room, still wearing the same clothes, "Morning Hop", she greets brightly.

He looks up, "Morning kiddo", he smiles before his gaze moves back to his newspaper.

“There's a bowl for you on the kitchen counter”, you let the girl know. She smiles and pours herself some milk into it.

"Hey, Hop?", The super powered girl calls out. He hums through a mouthful of soggy cereal as he looks up from the newspaper. "Can you take me to Will's?” she says while walking over to the couch where he was sitting, "Dustin is coming back today. We're surprising him"

"Oh, okay kid. We'll just leave in a bit", he sets down the papers and downs all of the cereal. He goes into his room. By the time you and Eleven are done with your breakfast, Hopper comes out, clad in his uniform.

"Hey y/n any groceries you want me to get? Going to the Market today", he asked while putting his shoes on.

"Yeah, it's on the fridge"

The man went over to the fridge door and took the list off of it. He took a second to read the contents of the list before muttering out the last one, "icecream, again?"

"I like ice cream. We ran out", you shrugged.

"I bought a tub this sunday."

“I really like ice cream”

“seriously? this is getting more ridiculous than El’s eggo obsession–”

“hey!” she interjects.

“and weren’t you expanding your horizons? How’d that combo work out last night?” He looks between you and Eleven.

"It was…", she pauses, looking for a suitable word, "disgusting.” she says with the straightest face before going to her room to get changed and to put on her shoes, you assume.

“I… can't say that I disagree”

“Look kid, I'm not getting you ice cream so often, okay? Anything else?"

“...Nope that's… that’s it. Just the list.”

“‘Kay,” he shoves the paper in the pocket of his shirt. He glances over at the room that Eleven is in before clearing his throat. “Hey, do you uh…”, he looks back you, voice softer than it was just a second ago, “wanna talk about it?”

“About..?”

“That nightmare I’m assuming you had last night.”

“... there's– there isn't anything to talk about”

“Yes there is”, he barely gets the words out of his mouth when you sigh, frustrated before getting off the couch and moving towards the kitchen.

“C’mon kid,”, he follows behind you, “you haven't been telling me anything recently, and Owens told me–”, you groan at the name, “don't interrupt me– Owens told me that you refuse to share anything with him either.”

“I don't tell anything because there is nothing to tell. And honestly,” you put your bowl in the sink, “I don't want to talk about stupid feelings with a stupid old man”

“You think I haven't been hearing you scuttering ‘round in your room trying to fall asleep? So don't bullshit me but there is a lot to tell. He recommended these weekly check ups because they will help. I mean– look at El, she barely struggles with the night terrors or–”

“You just have to compare me to her, don’t you?”

“Owens will call saturday and you better tell him everything”, he commands with his nostrils flared.

You roll your eyes away from him, crossing your arms.

“Do you hear me? Hey! look at me when I’m talking to you”, he uses that stern voice again, the one that means ‘you better listen or else’. You aren’t sure what the ‘or else’ ever is yet you always listen when he uses that voice. You look at him, reluctantly so, “Good. now… I'm getting late. Why don't you get rid of that attitude and stop being such a brat" he shoves his wallet in his back pocket, calling out Eleven's name and she comes out wearing a navy-blue t-shirt that seemed a little too big for her, and she casts you a concerned look.

You let out a frustrated huff as soon as the door shuts close behind them. You run your fingers over your face, your head hurting again after that argument.

You then head to put the rest of the bowls in the sink and the milk in the fridge, but that's when you notice it. The Eleven's drawing— of you, Hopper and herself— that was initially stuck to the fridge door with a magnet, was now on the floor— along with the other magnets. You tried to put them back on nevertheless they fell again. You were frustrated as it is, it only made you angrier when they didn't stick. In your rage you shove them in the nearest drawer, it closes with a loud thud.

You weren't sure how this entire thing had managed to get you so mad. You wanted to rip your hair out, break all the bowls, burn the stupid phone so Owens never calls, shatter hopper's favourite coffee mug, tear apart every drawing Eleven has made of you all together. But you don't. You just stand there, trying your best to keep it at bay– the anger, the tears, both. And god, you needed to catch your breath, you needed some water.

You grab a glass of water from the tap. As it fills, you latch open the window above the sink. The window and the glass of water had become a part of your routine to calm yourself down. A compulsion at this point because if you didn't do it, everything felt off.

You guzzle down the thing, the liquid cooling you. You force yourself to close your eyes, breathing in, holding it and then breathing out– just like Hopper had taught you. Although it brings down your anger, it doesn't exactly calm you down. You blame it on the lack of wind today.

You don't keep your eyes closed for too long though. You close the window and head to your room. You don't bother with anything else, planning on hiding under the sheets for the rest of the day. It is then that you hear a knock on your bedroom window.

You look up from the mess of wrinkled sheets and you are met with the beautiful smile of your boyfriend. He gives you a little wave with a bouquet of flowers and holds up a takeaway cup from scoops ahoy. A smile automatically forms itself on your face as you walk over to the window and open it so he could climb in.

He lets himself in in a rather not ninja way, your hands flying to steady him. you take in his clothes– his scoops ahoy outfit, the colours suit him, his favourite watch snug around his wrist, the shorts fitting him perfectly, his floppy hair resting softly against his forehead— he looks beautiful to say the least.

"Morning your highness!", He spoke up with a rich English accent– gesturing wildly with the bouquet, "Flowers picked by yours truly! Ice cream scooped, once again, by your beloved", he handed you the flowers— which you held close to your chest while showcasing a huge grin. "And guess what? New flavour! You have to try it, babe."

You adjust the crooked name tag on his shirt, "I was just leaving for work but decided to take a little detour. Hope you don't mind me coming."

"Of course I don't— it's just, if you came like two minutes earlier, Hop would've caught you."

"Close call", he wipes the imaginary sweat off of his temple, making you giggle a little.

"You look very pretty," you say before you even realise.

"I'm supposed to be a manly man! you calling me pretty and beautiful isn't helping with that", he complains only half-heartedly because he loves hearing you call him those things. No one has ever complimented him in such a way, sure he has gotten compliments about his hair or his nether regions from girls but you telling him he's pretty and cute made butterflies flutter all over in a way he didn't think was possible.

"Well, that's too bad. You are pretty", he blushes all pink when you say it, "The prettiest ever", he smiled shyly as you came closer to him— faces merely inches apart.

"Not too shabby yourself babe", he pecked the tip of your nose and then you go to put the flowers in a vase next to your bed.

“How did last night go?” he asks, following behind you.

“Hmm?”

“You were... going to tell your dad about us?”

“Oh.”

He purses his lips, “I'm guessing you didn't”

“I wanted to, I swear but then Mike Wheeler happened."

“‘Course he did”

“And then I almost did this morning too but then Jim and I had a fight, like right now..”

“Fight, about what?”

You quickly shake your head, “.. doesn't matter. I’m sorry”

“Hey, its okay. How ‘bout this okay, you.. try again. okay? whenever feels right-- no rush" you nod slowly. the boy flashes you a grin before speaking up again, "now, gimme a little kiss"

"No."

"No? why no?" he pouts.

"’Cause I want to have ice cream first", you declare, booping his nose.

He lets out a playful scoff, “is that all I am to you? I stole this just for you yesterday and I don’t even get a kiss?" he is all theatrical as he holds is palm on his chest to show just how scandalized he feels.

“Stole it?”

“Nah", he clicks his tongue as a no, shaking his head, "we get free ice cream.”

Your brows fly up at the information, “Woah, really? hmm, I need to work there.”

“Will you? Please do. My coworker pretty much hates me–”

While he is rambling, you try to snatch the cup from his hand, but before you could do so he pulls his hand away. "Ah ah ah, you gotta give me the password first to get the ice cream babe"

"What?" you ask, brows knotted together.

"Not the password", He says in a monotonous voice.

"Steve c'mon–"

"Not the password."

"Just give it to me, Steve", you try reaching for it again– to no avail.

"Not the password."

"Stevieee", you're practically draped over him, yet he somehow manages to keep the cup right out of your reach.

"Not the password", he smirks, laughing a little.

You sigh, you had to play it his way to get what you want. You give a quick kiss on his cheek– more so a peck. "Hm, warmer...", he hums, "but still not the password."

You groan all frustrated, knowing full well what he wanted. and you had no other choice than to give in. You tilt your face so your lips meet his and when you pull back, awaiting his response. He finally says, "You got it", before lowering his hand.

Steve then goes into character– sitting you down on the edge of your bed, he takes out his hat from his pocket that said 'ahoy' on it and puts it on top of your head.

He greets you how he would welcome any other customer, you giggle at his theatrical antics. "Now, since you are one rather good looking sailor, I'll let you set sail on this ocean of flavor with me with this amazing scoop of our new invention!!'

The treat is a little melted— blame it on the summer heat. tasting phenomenal, surely to be your new favourite. As Steve watches you relish the delicious flavour, he notices that the runny liquidy ice cream has managed to drip around the corner of your mouth and lower lip.

"Oh babe, you've got a–" His thumb swipes over your lower lip— eye contact unbreaking— Smearing the liquid much more than actually wiping it. He does it unreasonably slow.

"There", he pulls his arm back, and without looking at the residual ice cream on his thumb he licks it– gaze still unwavering. "Delicious", he murmured. Heat creeps up your neck and spreads through your cheeks. You both knew what Steve was doing although you'd be lying if you said that it wasn't working.

Having expected for you to be absolutely flustered, Steve is surprised when instead your features morph into a mischievous smile, "right? You wanna try some?"

"Uh, sure", he hesitates.

You go to feed him the drippy ice cream with the spoon only to 'accidentally' smudge it at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, you've got a—"

"Oh, very funny babe—" Before Steve could finish, your lips were attached to the corner of his mouth. Your tongue darts out to lick at the liquid— the movements agonisingly slow. It is then that Steve forgets how to function. He doesn't reciprocate your kisses, being sure he'd forgotten how to kiss. This was the first time you'd initiated a kiss, or made a move on him and now he didn't know how to react.

When you pull away, his eyes remain closed for a bit longer. But when they finally do flutter open, instead of the same mischievous sly smirk, he is met with your wide eyes. You blink as if unsure of what you had done, Steve sees you gulp before you get up and leave the room.

Steve was stuck, he realises. His mind has forgotten how to work for however long that lasted. Maybe it was minutes or maybe it was only just a few seconds– to him it felt like hours though. Blood rushed to his cheeks and other parts of his body.

He paid it no mind though and quickly got up to find you. His situation will go away, right now he needed to make sure that you were alright. He went out of the room and sees you by the kitchen— throwing away the empty cup— your back turned towards him.

You don't look up when he stands beside you, he calls out your name and you shyly turn to sneak a look at him, rubbing your own arm anxiously, “S– sorry that was weird right?”

“Uh– n– no! It wasn't", he assures, shaking his head, "It just… um, I wasn't expecting it. It was– It wasn't weird.” he waits, hoping you'd say something but when you don't, he speaks up, "That was like the– the hottest thing ever– what you did back there."

“It wasn't... too much? It felt like it was too much.”

“Too much? I have a boner right now, respectfully, of course.”

Your eyes widen, and just when they were about to trail down– “don't look down!” You hold your breath, trying your best to muster all your power to maintain eye contact with him, but your gaze betrays you for just a second as it snaps down to his groin before jumping back to his eyes. Your face becomes so warm, palms clammy.

“W-what do I do?”

“No–nothing? It’ll go away”, he barely manages to stammer out, turning his body towards the kitchen counter so you don't see it, eyes roaming everywhere but towards you.

Steve in high school never would have faced such issues, king steve never would have been so clumsy and embarrassed in front of someone he liked. The old Steve wouldn't get this damn red and awkward. But he does, he isn't the old Steve afterall.

He feels your hand on his shoulder, urging him to look your way. When he does, his eyes meet your unsure gaze-- you were looking at his lips. He himself can't help but trace the contour of your face, from your eyes to your nose, to the swoop of your cupid's bow to finally your lips.

It is you who leans in. This kiss was different than any you have had before. It grows deeper. And suddenly, its all tongue and teeth. Steve has never kissed you like this before. Its hands over your body, fingers creeping under your t-shirt. And its unusual. A good unusual. One you could get used to.

“Steve?" you breathe out when you pull apart.

“Y– yeah?”

“I’m sure. What I said yesterday, I’m sure.”

“Wait– you’re not just saying that ‘cause I–’

“No. I– I mean it.” You let out a giggle. The giggle which he was sure could end and fix all his fears and nightmares. The giggle that made his heart flutter and stomach do summersaults. You were sure to be the death of him.

His grip around your waist tightens as he rests his forehead against yours, warm noses touching. "When.. uh– when does Hopper come back?"

"5:30," you huffed out, once again leaning in and he once again pulled back to be just out of your reach.

"One last question, El isn't home, is she?"

"No, no. She– she's with– friends. Won't come back till four."

"Good, wouldn't want them to come in on this", he almost growls before latching your lips together. And then you're kissing him. It is messy, but he loves every single second of it. His hands go to hold your jaw and yours to his cheeks, pulling in closer– deepening the kiss. At this point you'd both forgotten to breathe, too intoxicated on each other. But soon, both your lungs start to burn off the lack of oxygen and you both pull apart.

Your breaths were jagged, foreheads still touching. You gasp into his mouth. Your lips move in tandem as Steve pushes you between himself and the counter. The edge of the counter digs into your thighs. His hands travel to right below your ass, ready to lift you up onto the counter. But before he could do so, you pull him by the collar of his sailor outfit towards your room— lips never stopping contact. Steve takes the hint and gently pushes you against the door of your room, fumbling for the door knob.

You grab a fistful of his hair, he lets out a moan into your mouth. He finally manages to open the door, and you immediately pull him in. Steve tries to steady you both while tightening his hold on your hips, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

You pull him towards the bed. He finally pulls away to take off his shirt only to latch his lips back to yours. He is hovering over you, lips never not touching, hands roaming each other's bodies. You slightly pull away, your digits fumbling for the cassette player's buttons next to your bed. The button clicks and Asia’s ‘heat of the moment’ starts playing. The both of you laugh because it was the mixtape that you and Steve had made a couple months ago.

…

Hopper had just reached the Byer's when he realises that he had forgotten his hat in the heat of the argument with you. He frowns upon the thought of the argument, he regrets shouting, he was worried about you and maybe he shouldn't have gotten that mad.

He waves over at Eleven, watching behind her to make sure she gets inside. He starts the engine and heads back to the cabin to retrieve his hat and perhaps make amends with you.

When he gets there, you don't open the door. You were possibly still mad at him, he thinks when he lets himself in, he could hear the song blaring from your room. He takes a peek in through the cracked open door.

Through the few inch wide door gap, he sees you and Steve Harrington. A shirtless Steve Harrington on top of you. The boy kissing you. And you kissing him back.

Through the kisses, his lips trail along your jaw and down your throat landing on your collarbone— pulling a moan out of you. "God, you're– fuck", Hopper barely hears the boy mumble. The man's nostrils flare as he sees his hands go back to the little sliver of skin exposed between your shirt and your shorts, fingers playing with the hem of the shirt.

"HEY!"

Steve immediately pulls away and yelps when you accidentally yank his hair. You both look up towards the source of the sound and there stood Jim Hopper, eyes wide with seething anger.

“HOPPER?--”

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Hopper", You yelp out, speedily turning the player off while Steve fumbles to hide his integrity behind a pillow. Both Steve and Hopper were bright red. You were sure to go deaf to the loud beating of your heart.

"What in the fuck are you doing with my kid, Harrington?", You were sure Hopper's face would burst into flames any second now.

Steve eyes bounce frantically between you and hopper, he stammers, "I— Hopper—"

"That's fucking sir to you, Harrington."

"Sir, I—"

You hold your hands up, hoping to calm Hopper down after he found you in such a compromising position, "It's– its not what it looks like Hop—"

"So you're telling me that you two weren't about to–"

"Hop—", you try interrupting him but he interjects you by turning to Steve, pointing his finger at the poor boy while simultaneously squaring up on him. "I'm gonna have a serious fucking talk with your father, Harrington."

He walks backwards, incredibly intimidated, "But, sir—"

"Cover your goddamn tits and wait for me outside, Harrington." Steve gulps, silently nodding– knowing well enough that talking back was going to be fruitless so he leaves the room, the door shutting behind him.

You try speaking up again, "Hopper, listen–"

"No, you listen", he scolds with gritted teeth and flared nostrils, "You are fucking grounded. You can live your stupid paranoid fantasy and stay safe and stuck in this cabin”

“Hop–”

"And that means no tv–"

"Dad–"

"No radio or cassettes, no more phone, no more tv– ", he said as he unplugs the radio player and pulls out the cassette box from under your bed and throws the tapes around in anger "what else are you hiding from me, huh?”

"Nothing, hopper–"

He notices the box pushed further back under your bed and pulls it out— filled to the brim with Steve related stuff. your graduation caps, polaroids, mixtapes, books that had flowers pressed between their pages, beer bottle caps from when you had gotten drunk for the first time– all on the floor for display; the entire thing doing nothing to calm the raging man down. "Hopper, stop–"

"No more fucking dating", he picks up the mixtapes and books, throwing them with immense fury and rage. He pulls out polaroids of you and Steve and crumbles it up.

"NO!!--"

"And NO MORE FUCKING STEVE HARRINGTON", he smashed the now empty box against the floor, "D'YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?" he was shouting now, full on shouting— and it scared you. For the first time, Hopper scared you. The same guy who had saved you, protected you. The first person with whom you felt safe, ever.

Tears spring up in the corner of your eyes. you duck your chin into your chest, squinting them shut.

“Asked you a fucking question.”

You try to even your breaths before answering, "No."

"What'd you say?", Words dripping in fury.

"I said, no."

"Why? You love that stupid idiot or something?"

The question scares you because you don't have an answer. You wrack your brain, looking for an answer but still…. your brain pulls up a slide that was nothing but a blank screen.

Do you love him?

You like him. You love being with him. He is your best friend, your only friend. But do you love him? how would you know? You do not know.

“He’s my friend. He’s my only friend, Jim”

"Cut the bullshit, y/n", Hopper spoke as he noticed the tears springing up in your eyes and right now he was too damn angry to regret it.

Either of you don't hear the sound of the door shutting over your own heartbeat. you finally speak up, "You're bullshit."

"What?"

"You see El and Mike everyday, they're always kissing. But you see me with Steve one time–"

"The one time I see you two, you are fornicating— El and Mike don't do that."

"I'm a fucking adult, Hopper"

"You're a goddamn teenager is what you are!"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't do this stuff when you were a teenager, Hopper. You’re being an asshole!”

“Maybe you shouldn't have hid things from me y/n and I'm not being an asshole, I'm giving you a reality check. and if you think you’re such an adult then stop fucking hiding in this cabin from the world and feeding you little paranoid fantasy”

Both your chests rise and fall, face warm with aggravation, “Oh, don't look at me like I’m some monster", Hopper shakes his head at you, exasperated. you don't say anything, instead you get up to leave the room, "… where do you think you are going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Aww, where are you gonna go, to your boyfriend?”

"You know what? That's a great idea, Jim. I’ll go and never come back again, I'll live with Steve or I’ll live in that stupid trailer. I've done it before and I'll do it again", you say with absolute resentment, all gritted teeth and red eyes. "I’ll leave", you sniffled, "Cuz you sure as hell don't want me here."

"Sure, kid, go 'head", he said through flared nostrils and a mock smile.

You raise your volume too before, "You won't have to fucking pretend to care for me anymore, you can take care of El all you want now", you pause for a beat before murmuring, "Clearly you like her more."

"..What–"

"Don't play dumb", your voice shakes as you speak, "it took you years to even consider adopting me, but you took El in in a heartbeat. El’s the one you care about Hopper– just fucking admit it, she's the one that gets hugs, she's the one that gets all the love and affection, she’s always mattered more to you, she's the one who matters to you because she's the one who reminds you of your dead daughter"

You said that. You said that. And the truth was that you meant it. Sure, you regret it, knowing how much it affected Jim. But it seemed only fair in your rageful brain to do the same.

Hopper is frozen, he swallows a lump in his throat. He looks at you hunched over the mess he'd made, your eyes red, watery and enraged.

You see him take a deep breath; it almost seems like he was about to say something. Maybe he'll apologise, you think, maybe you will too. Instead, he turned, his body lingering for a second too long near the door, and you pray that he says something– anything so you could take it all back. He lets out the breath he had been holding and shut the door behind him. A few seconds later you hear the cabin's door slamming. He left.

…

At the station, Jim was having his lunch– donuts, which Flo had bought for everyone in the light of her birthday. Powell and Callaghan were discussing something, Flo has given Jim some paperwork– he isn’t sure about what though. His mind was too busy playing your argument on repeat.

El’s the one you care about, Hopper.

She’s the one who matters to you.

Because she’s the one who reminds you of your dead daughter.

“Chief?” Jim realises that he had been staring at the files that Flo had given him.

“You okay, boss?”

“Uh, yeah— I’m peachy Callaghan”, Hopper gets up from his chair picking up another donut, “exactly how your wife was last night.”

Powell and the rest of the workers let out a guffaw while Flo looks at Jim with disapproving eyes and Callaghan looks like a kicked dog. Jim picked up his keys, headed towards the exit.

“Where are you going Jim?”, Flo demands behind him.

“Gotta take care of something, Flo”, he picks up his hat and puts it atop his head, “Hold the fort down for me while I’m gone?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Thanks, Flo”, he muttered, flashing a fake grin. Hopper shoves the donut in his mouth and went out the door and into his car. He drives through the empty streets of the local market, one hand tight around the steering wheel and the other holding the crumpled up shopping list you’d made. Joyce would know how to deal with both your and El’s situation, he thinks to himself as he stopped in front of Melvald’s general store, she was actually good at the whole parenting thing, afterall.

When Jim steps into the empty store, he is met with Joyce putting up a sale sign. “Hey”, her head turned at the sound of the bell ringing.

“Hey, You busy?”

“You’re our first customer, so..” There is a beat. Hopper’s fingers fumble with the edge of his hat. “What now?”

Hopper vents about everything that happened between you two to Joyce while picking up all the groceries you had written in the list. “And its not just y/n, El too— she and Mike are kissing, like constantly and the other day— she just…. slams the door, right in my face. and– and y/n just doesn't wanna tell me anything and every time I try to talk, it just turns into an argument. and this last one just really went to shit”, Joyce hums as she rings up all of Jim’s groceries.

“Y’know, those smug sons of bitches, Steve and Mike. They’re corrupting them, I’m telling you.”, he shakes his head, “This has never happened before. And I’m just gonna lose it. I mean, I’m gonna lose it, Joyce–”

“Just take it down, Hopper”, Joyce speaks with a calm tone as she packed up the groceries.

“I want– I need to get rid of them."

“'rid of them'? you sound like you're going to murder them. and didn’t you already tell Steve and y/n that they can’t see each other anymore?”

“But El—”

“Hopper, that is not your decision to make”

“You don’t get it Joyce, El and mike– it’s constant. It is constant. And y/n's been hiding this thing from me for months probably! Months!”, Joyce huffs at Hopper’s anger, “Okay? That is not good or normal, that isn’t healthy”

“What you did to y/n and Steve isn’t healthy either”, Joyce pushes Hopper’s grocery bag on the counter towards him, “Besides, you can’t just force them apart.” She leaves the checkout counter and moves to an aisle and starts putting sale tags on the items, still continuing the conversation. “I mean, y/n’s right— they’re not little kids anymore, Hop.” The woman explains with knitted brows while the man picks up a random thing from the aisle nearest to him and starts playing catch with himself like a bored toddler.

“They’re teenagers Hopper”, Joyce huffs, “If you order them around like a cop, then they’re going to rebel. It's just— what they do.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Let them do whatever they want?”, Jim tosses the box up again.

“No, I didn’t say that”, she sighs, snatching the box midair while shooting a chastising look towards the tall man, “I think you should talk to them.”

“No. no, ‘cause talking doesn’t work–”

“Not yelling. Not ordering”, she gestures with the tag gun, “But talk to them” The woman turns to put the box back where it belonged while muttering with a shrug, “y'know like a heart-to-heart.”

“A heart-to-heart?” Hopper questions, confused, “what’s that?”

“You sit them down, you talk to them. Like you’re their friend”, Joyce explains while the man leans against a wall rather dramatically as if he was five-year-old listening to a lecture about the theory of relativity, “if you talk to them like you’re on their level, then they really start to listen. And then– you know, you can start to create some boundaries”

“Boundaries”, Jim repeats.

“Yeah, but Hop— it's really important that no matter how they respond,” she pauses for emphasis, “You stay calm. You cannot lose your temper”

The uniform clad man rolls his eyes; however, he hid it quickly before Joyce could notice and taps his fingers awkwardly against the wall, “uh, maybe, you could do it for me?”, he requests as if asking Joyce if he could do his homework

“No.”

“Yeah you could. You could come over after work. Yes?”

“No. it only works if it comes from you. Besides you're the one who yelled at y/n. So, you're the one who will apologize.”, She punctuated her sentence by putting a tag on Hopper's shirt. “But…", She trailed off.

“But?”, Jim echoes.

“Maybe I can help you…”, she picks up a notepad from the counter, “find the right words.”

…

You have locked yourself in your room, not planning on seeing anyone. It's what you deserve anyway. Its probably for the better. The lights are turned off, the only source of light in the pitch darkness is spilling through the tiny gap of your slightly open door. You've hidden yourself under the blanket, the bed a mess from tossing and turning.

You hear muffled sounds of Jim reciting something in a monotonous tone from the room next to you. “...important to establish these boundaries...”, His muttering sounding like he had a cigarette between his teeth, “....we can create an environment where.... we feel comfortable, trusted and open….”, you hear him pause, “to share our feelings”. He pauses again and you turn around in your sheets, burying your head under the quilt not planning to hear any more of it. Because if you did you’d cry, whether of jealousy or hurt or regret or guilt, you did not know, you just knew that you would cry.

After some time you then heard the thump of his feet from his room. They stopped in front of your door for a few seconds and you think for just a second that maybe he will knock, maybe you both will fix this, but then they started moving again, moving further from your door and finally stopping in front of El’s door. He knocks. “Hey”

“Yes?”

“Can I talk to you guys, a minute?”, he asks. You couldn't hear the rest of the conversation as it was muffled by the walls and door. But you filled in the gaps— hopper was trying to talk to Eleven and Mike, possibly about the previous night. He was trying for Eleven. Not for you. For Eleven.

Then Hopper abruptly left with Mike— something about the boy's nanna. You knew that definitely wasn't the truth. For once, you felt bad for Mike.

...

"Y/n?", Eleven cracked the door open. You were lying in your bed, back facing the door. Eleven approached the foot of the bed. "Are you okay?", with knitted brows, she asks, eyes trying to adjust to the dark room.

"I just feel a little sleepy, El", she did not need to know about your fight with Hopper. She did not need to see that ugliness.

"Do you want to watch romcom?"

"You do that"

"And you?"

"I'm not in the mood, El. Kinda tired. I'll be fine, I think I just need sleep.”

The short haired girl nodded rather half-heartedly and left. A few seconds later, the door opened again, you didn't turn to see who it was.

“Do you want ice cream? Hopper brought some”, It was Eleven again.

“... No, I'm alright”, you don't bother looking up.

"Y/n?", you feel her palm on your shoulder before you turn around hoping the dark room hid your red eyes. "I've kept your food here”, she tells you.

You give a faint smile at the girl's kindness. She closed the door behind herself, leaving.

After eating your food, you fall headfirst into the pillows and there lied Mr. Arnold. You held the bear flush against your chest. Maybe the soft toy could help you fix this too. It smelled like Eleven, you smiled at the thought of your sister and you hated the fact that you were jealous of her. She was the kindest, strongest and most adorable kid— and you'd talked to Hopper about her like you resented her. She was your sister, you loved her.

The bear also smelled like Steve. You missed him, you wondered what he was doing. You told yourself to call the boy after Hopper leaves the next morning. You are curled up in your bed, exhaustion overtaking you. Your eyelids grew droopy and soon you were drifting into sleep.

…

You’re in your room, grey and sterile. your headache had dulled out for the most part, although your eyes still felt too dry. Your Papa had come to check in on you. He said that you were getting better and that you could go back to lessons and the rainbow room from the next day.

The entire week you were like this he didn't bring up why you are hurt. You reckon he was disappointed. You don't bring it up either, just glad that you didn't have to wear the collar because you were hurt.

When the doctor gave you medicine with the injection, Papa held your hand, his other hand brushing over your shaved head to comfort you.

"Good job, Seven."

When the doctor leaves, you finally speak up, "Papa?", he looks at you, "are you angry... at me?"

"For what?"

"For what happened that day."

"No, Seven. I'm not. I am proud of you and the extent of your powers”, your heart swells at the praise, "now we just have to hone in on it. Get better at it. Do you understand?"

You nod silently. He clears his throat before getting up from beside your bed. He buttons his grey blazer, "now, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" you nod once again.

He is about to reach for the door when you speak up again, “Papa?”

“Yes, seven?”

“Where is my mother?”

He turns around, the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent, “What?” he walks back up to you.

“I was reading a book in the rainbow room", you explain, " The child in it had a papa and a mama. Why don't I have a mama?”

“Not everyone does, Seven", he answers curtly, “Your mother died when she gave birth to you” he says before once again turning to leave the room.

“You're lying”, he stops and turns and is met with your knitted brows, “I can tell you're lying.”

You see him purse his lips for a second before he speaks up, ”Well, your powers have never been reliable, have they? Your mother is dead.”

“Did I kill her? like I did with that man and the child.”

”yes. Get some rest. Lessons start again tomorrow, Seven."

“Yes Papa”, he is out the door before you even say the entire thing.

…

Hopper doesn’t know what the hell he is doing. He just knows one thing and that is that heart-to-hearts are not his thing. Not anymore anyway. He used to be better at this, at emotions.

Ever since sarah… he’s felt like this. This empty chasm, this darkness. A black hole. That sucks in everything that is good, warm and bright. Everything he loves, everything he cares for, he swallows it all if it gets too close. It happened after sarah. And for a really long time, Jim decided to never let anyone in– which included you. Your younger self had tried, to win him over, to let his walls down but he hadnt let up. But then last year… Eleven managed to break down those walls, and just like he always does, he swallowed her whole. Enough that she had compared him to that psychotic man who called himself your papa, enough that she had decided to leave. And now he was doing it again, with you.

Hopper fucking sucks at feelings, not because he doesn't feel but maybe because he doesn't want anyone else to know that he does. The folded-up paper in his hand makes it really fucking clear. And though his palm is slightly sweaty, he blames it on the summer.

He hates that he shouted at you, multiple times.

Look at me when I’m talking to you.

That is what he had said back then, that is what he had said today. And he saw that same look on you, that deer-in-the-headlight look, the same one he saw on you when he first saw you at the police station. And he immediately regretted it. He and his inflated ego are to blame when he didn't apologize. But he will now, he is going to apologize. He is going to talk things out– have a heart-to-heart. You’re his kid dammit and you fucking deserve it.

Alright hopper, you got this. Just do what Joyce told you and they'll listen to you.

He stops at your doorstep first, knuckles lifted to knock but then he hears Eleven giggling, and he glances over to her room. Mike is still here, he thinks. Let’s just deal with them first, lets get the easier conversation over with and then he’ll talk to you– he’ll tell you everything, he'll listen to you.

But then he goes to Eleven’s room and asks if he could talk to them, and he tries he really does try but as it turns out the easier conversation still wasn’t easy at all. Hopper can't help but repeat history.

He has always felt cursed. Cursed to ruin everything as he tends to always end up doing. And in his anger he ends up blackmailing mike to stay away from his daughter.

When hopper came back, Eleven asked him if Mike's nanna (bless her) was okay. "Uh, yeah– she'll be fine kid– pretty sure it was a false alarm." He had lied through his teeth, but he doesn't take it back.

He doesn't take it back. he never goes to your room. he doesn't talk it out. So much for a heart-to-heart.

...

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