Can’t fight this feeling IV

Jim Hopper x Wheeler!reader

Synopsis: A reader insert where the reader is Mike’s oldest sister, who has already graduated and works at the police station. She has always been infatuated with Hopper, and he seems to be quite taken with her as well. This part takes place in season 1 episode 5

Word count: 4.2k+

Warnings: swearing probably. Talk of funerals and dead bodies. A character learns how to shoot a gun, in probably too much depth. My bad writing/different writing styles from different times I added to the chapter. Age gap relationship. And eventual Stranger Things canon gore.

A/n: It has been a very long two years since my last update. I was honestly so uninspired because the show wasn’t on and I wasn’t getting any new content. Besides that, I was busy with school and life, as well as not knowing how to end this chapter. But here it is. Let me know if you no longer want to be tagged in this, or if you’re new and want to be added to the taglist. I’m already a few paragraphs into part 5.

Part 1Part 2Part 3

After a restless night, I barely slept a wink because I was too busy thinking about the Byers’ and Hop, my alarm goes off informing me that it’s time to get ready for the funeral. Will’s funeral. A part of me keeps thinking that he’s not actually dead, especially since Mike seems more anxious than upset as he fidgets at the breakfast table. 

I put on my black dress and heels in a blur, not even registering that I’m going through the motions until I’m standing fully dressed in front of my mirror. Mike comes in a few minutes later and asks me for help with his tie; dad was choking him and he says it still doesn’t look right. Very few words are exchanged throughout the family this morning, everyone is just going through the motions. 

The funeral is a bit better, I have to help Jonathan with his tie too. I stand behind his seat, hand resting on his shoulder as the Priest speaks, and I glare at Lonnie as he tries to act sad that Will is ‘dead.’ Mike, Dustin, and Lucas are whispering amongst themselves, further fueling my theory that they know something about Will that they aren’t telling me. 

As the service continues I start to glance around the crowd in hopes to find Hop, we didn’t part on good terms last night but he said he’d be here. As much as I hate to admit it, especially if all of this is fake and Will is still alive somewhere, I need Hop. I need him by my side, intertwined pinkies, or wrapped up in his side as he speaks soothing words, even if he doesn’t believe what he’s saying and just reiterating the fake reassurances that my mom has told me a thousand times already. 

He’s still not here by the end of the service, making me extremely anxious that something did in fact go wrong last night. The nerves in the pit of my stomach are wound so tight that I feel like I’m going to vomit. After the line of people telling the Byers’ the cookie cutter ‘I’m sorry’s,’ and the ‘if there’s anything I can do’s,’ I walk over to Joyce and Jonathan to see if they’ve talked to Hop at all. 

“Have you guys seen Hop?” I ask Jonathan and Joyce quietly, trying my hardest to ignore Lonnie.

“Hopper is a no good drunk, you’d do better without him in this town,” the man I was attempting to avoid rolls his eyes at me.

“Oh fuck off Lonnie!” everyone still at the gravesite turns to look at me with shocked expressions, except Jonathan who’s trying not to laugh. “Go back to your cheap whore.”

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) Wheeler!” mom says sharply from behind me, Mike is audibly laughing. 

“We were all thinking it!” I defend, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Someones got a crush on Jim, huh?” he gives me a sickening, sleazy, smile that I just want to slap right off his face. “I thought my son would have found some courage and asked you out by now, no other reason to keep you around.”

“Hopper is my boss, I work with him at the station,” I’m seething. Who does this man think he is talking to me like that? “Jim Hopper is a surprisingly thoughtful boss who is good at his job, and someone I respect very much. And, for your information, Jonathan and I are best friends. Neither of us has ever felt anything more for the other. And Lonnie, we both know that whenever you get whatever it is that you want, you’ll be tearing out of Hawkins with no regard for Joyce or Jonathan, so quit acting holier than thou and just leave.”

I swiftly turn on my heel and head to the car, thankful that I drove seperate from my parents this morning; I took my mother’s car and the other five took my father’s. My heart is pounding, I can hear the blood pulsating in my ears as I start to drive away from Lonnie, from a possibly fake body, and away from Jonathan without properly talking to him. I can always go see the latter later tonight and talk with him then. I’m racing down the streets of Hawkins like a bat out of Hell, finally coming to the edge of town where Hop’s trailer is located. 

Pulling up to his trailer I’m shocked to see him outside looking around in circles, the barrel of his gun pointed towards the sky. He looks like hell; messed up hair like he just rolled out of bed, his cream colored henley has sweat stains around the collar, in his armpits, and down the back. He has a crazed look in his eyes, he looks traumatized.

I jump out of the car with no regard for my well-being, he isn’t right in the head at the moment and he could very well shoot me thinking I’m the bad guy. Lonnie’s words are still fresh in my mind; maybe Hopper went to bed drunk and high on too many of his pills. No! Snap out of it, he’s not like that. He hears my footfalls crunching on the gravel; he whips around pointing his gun at me.

My hands immediately go up in the air in surrender, I need to be careful about my next actions. My eyes widen as he keeps the gun up longer than I thought he would. All of a sudden he seems to snap out of it realizing it’s me and not some threat. He looks at me guilty as he lowers the weapon. 

“(Y/N)?” he asks, his eyes and voice telling me that he’s unsure that I’m actually real. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” I try to soothe him like I would a wild animal. My voice is soft and I slowly step closer to him, hands outstretched and palms facing towards him so he knows I won’t attack. “You weren’t at the funeral, I came to make sure you were okay.”

“I missed the funeral?” he asks, still confused and disoriented. I slowly, gently, reach forward and take the gun from his hand. He doesn’t protest, pushing the weapon into my palm once he realizes what I’m doing. 

“Yeah you did,” I take a careful step back, heels sinking into the dirt under my feet. “I was worried because of where you went after you dropped me off last night. I was scared you were hurt, or worse…” I trail off at the end, not wanting to admit out loud that deep down I was worried that Hop got killed last night. 

My words seem to remind him of why he was outside with a gun in the first place, he takes off running back inside without a word. I follow him in confusion, he’s tearing apart the living room as I walk through the door. 

“Hopper, what are you doing?” I ask in horror, Lonnie’s words run through my head yet again. Is it possible that Hop was on a bender before he went to sleep and he was still drunk when he woke up?

Instead of responding verbally, Hop takes two long strides across the entire living room area to get to me, putting his hand over my mouth so I can’t talk again. He puts the index finger from his free hand to his lips as a sign for me to stay quiet, before pointing around the room. I frown as he leaves his hand on my face for a few seconds too long. 

I watch as he finally pulls back, observing him tearing apart the cushions for his couch and pulling his phone apart piece by piece. I glance around the room, noticing the spilled pills on his coffee table. Frowning, I set Hop’s gun on the table and put his pills back in the bottle as well as tidy up the empty beer cans strewn on it. 

Hop rushes to the bathroom as I start to tidy up the mess he created in the living room. I can hear him taking apart the light fixtures in there and my worry for his sanity starts to grow. I sigh and sink down onto the ground, the living room is a mess and I don’t have the heart nor the energy to continue cleaning. First we bury Will, or whatever that was, and now Hop’s losing it, how can this day get any worse? I bury my head in my hands as I hear him rush from room to room, tearing them all apart. 

Hop comes back into the living room like a hurricane, tearing apart anything he missed the first time around. I let out a squeak as he throws a light bulb to the ground, it smashes into a million pieces less than a foot away from me. I don’t want to make it worse and get in the way; but I also don’t want him to hurt himself as he destroys his home. 

The last thing untouched in his entire house is the ceiling light in his living room. His shoulders are tense as he unscrews the bolt to take off the glass covering the bulbs. My eyes widen in shock as he pulls down a listening device, or more commonly known as a bug. What the hell did Hop get himself into last night? Hop grits his teeth in an angry sneer before grabbing a book he threw from his room, and smashing the bug repeatedly until there was no way it was still functional. 

“Hop?” I finally dare to ask, raising from the floor carefully avoiding the broken lightbulb. “What happened last night?”

“I went back to the morgue,” Hop runs his fingers through his hair, pulling briefly on the ends. “I-I cut into the body, and it wasn’t real. It was stuffed just like a teddy bear, or some shit.”

“Oh my god,” I murmur under my breath, not expecting to get a response from the man in front of me. 

“So then I snuck into Hawkins lab, got pretty far too,” he continues with his story like I didn’t interrupt. His eyes keep darting around the room like he’s expecting something to hop out at him. “I found a room with a stuffed animal and a kid’s drawing on the wall. The basement- the basement had weird white things floating in the air, there were vines growing out of a glowing hole in the wall. I was surrounded by men in white hazmat suits, next thing I know I’m waking up on the couch; my pills are spilled on the table with lots of empty beer cans that I didn’t drink.”

“Will’s still out there, probably in that glowy viney thing,” I cover my mouth, suppressing a sob. I’m not sure what’s worse; Will being dead, or him still being out there and being held somewhere in Hawkins lab. “We’ve gotta save him Hop, and I’m not letting you do anything by yourself again. I’m not having you die on my watch, not when I can be there to help you.”

Hop is opening his mouth to protest you helping him, you can tell by the scrunch of his face he’s not thrilled with your idea, but tires on the dirt path outside stop him. He yanks me away from the window, grabbing his gun off the coffee table, he pushes me behind him and away from danger. Two pairs of footsteps clomp down on the stairs leading to the front door, and Hop rips the door open before the people can knock.

“Hello? Whoa! - Hey!” Callahan exclaims when Hop steps out of his trailer, gun in hand. 

“Jesus, Chief,” Powell looks at Hopper warily. “You all right?”

“What are you doing here?” Hop’s body is positioned just so that someone would have to be looking intently into the trailer to notice me behind his back. 

“We tried calling but,” Powell’s voice trails off at the end.

“Yeah, phones dead,” Hops voice is gruff and his answer clipped. I can tell he wants the two idiots on his front porch to leave, so he can continue to talk to me about what happened and where to go from here.

“Whoa, (Y/N), what are you doing here?” a shiver crawls up my spine as Callahan gives me a once over. Hop subconsciously- or consciously, I’m not quite sure which- moves in front of me completely to block Callahan’s pervy gaze. 

“Hop wasn’t at Will’s funeral, so I came by to check on him,” I push Hop out of the way and step beside him on the small porch, shutting the front door behind me. It would look a lot worse, and far more suggestive, if Hop was hiding me from view. This way it looks like we aren’t hiding anything- hiding me being there- well, except hiding the torn apart living room from the two doofuses.

Both Callahan and Powell give me disbelieving looks, Powell more so because he saw the way I was with the librarian who slept with Hop the other day, but neither of them voice their opinions on the matter. Instead Callahan starts telling Hop why they showed up in the first place, two more people in town are missing. The naive men in front of us think that everyone’s on edge because of Will’s death, but Hop and I are both thinking that it has to do with whatever is happening at the lab. 

“You go back to the station,” Hop tells the men to go back to the station once he finds out that the men went hunting near Mirkwood. My heart stuttered a bit hearing Hop himself call it that, it makes me wonder if I’m rubbing off on him, or just the boys and this case. “(Y/N) and I will look into this.”

“Are you sure?” Callahan looks awkwardly between Hop and me. I assume he’s unsure if he wants to leave me alone with Hop, especially with how wild and out of it the Chief looks to an outsider. 

“Yeah, leave it,” Hop insists, pushing me slightly as a way of telling me to open the door. 

“Oh, hey. Uh, they found Barbara’s car,” Callahan continues before I can open the door. 

“What?” Hop and I ask at the same time, blood draining from my face. 

“Barbara Holland’s car, seems she ran away after all,” Powell adds, finishing the revelation for his partner. “Staties found it late last night at a bus station.”

“Funny, right?” Callahan adds, almost seeming to catch on that something is majorly off. “They keep doing our job for us.”

“Funny, right,” Hop and I say at the same time, this time he’s more forceful with shoving me towards the door. I quickly open it and he guides me inside, slamming the door shut behind him, putting distance between us and the prying eyes of our dense coworkers.

Once the door shuts I start to clean up the living room again, sighing at the knife made rips in the apoulster of his couch, too long for me to even consider sewing back up for him. I know he was freaking out, but there’s literally a zipper right there in the back, he could have used that instead of stabbing them. While I sweep up the broken light bulbs and try to salvage anything he threw across the room earlier, Hop focuses on fixing his phone, even going as far as to duct tape the mouthpiece back together. 

Once the living room is clean, or as clean as I can get it at this particular moment, I head to the bathroom to clean that up too. I avoid his bedroom though, I know how private and personal someone’s bedroom is, that’s why I threaten Nancy and Mike anytime they go snooping through mine. By the time I’m finished in the bathroom Hop has the phone fixed and is using it to call someone. Normally I wouldn’t snoop, he deserves his privacy, but my feet feel frozen in place when I hear a woman’s voice coming from the other side of the line. 

“I know, I know, I know I shouldn’t be calling you,” Hopper sighs into the phone, playing with the bracelet he made from Sara’s hair ties. “I just wanted to…I just wanted to say that, um…even after everything that happened, I don’t…I don’t regret any of it. And those seven years, they were…everything to me.”

My heart breaks at his words, and it continues to break for him when his ex wife asks if he’s been drinking again. I didn’t know my heart could ache for him anymore than it already did, not until I see Hop’s body tense when he hears a baby start crying from the other end. She’s moved on and he hasn’t. She gets a second chance at that happily ever after bullshit, and Hopper is the Chief of Police in a small town that seems to be overtaken by some crazy powerful and dangerous outside enemy that isn’t afraid to kill anyone in it’s way. 

“You know what, actually, I have been drinking, I’m sorry,” I frown as he starts to shut her out, it’s like I can see the walls he’s built over the years start to be reinforced. “Just take care of yourself, okay? Say hi to Bill for me.” Hop slams the receiver down, hanging up on his ex wife before she can respond, setting the phone on the coffee table in front of him.

“Hop,” I sigh, holding my dress in place as I slide down the dividing wall between his kitchen and living room next to him.

 As soon as my butt touches the ground his phone starts to ring, I glance between him and the aforementioned phone wondering if he’ll pick it up. He doesn’t, he makes no move to answer it, just letting it ring. He does, however, slide his left hand across the floor and close to my right one. Hops left pinky lifts off the ground, hooks around my right one, our hands resting on the floor with our pinky’s tightly entwined. We sit like that for what feels like a long while, at least twenty or thirty minutes. I start to wonder how many times Hop’s ex wife would have called had he not ripped the phone from the wall after the second unanswered one. 

“How ‘bout I teach you to shoot,” Hop turns to me, I can’t quite read the emotion in his blue eyes, but it’s almost like they’re pleading with me to say yes. I nod back and he stands, pulling me from my seated position. 

“Should I take my heels off?” I glance down at by black pumps while Hop digs the empty beer cans, the ones the people from Hawkins lab left strewn about his coffee table, out of the trash. 

“Yeah, you’ll need good balance,” Hop heads for the door, beer cans cradled in his left arm, grabbing his firearm off the coffee table with his right hand as he passes it. 

I take off my heels as I start to head towards the door, tossing them carelessly behind me in the general direction of the ruined couch. Rushing in front of Hopper, now barefoot, I open the door for him so he doesn’t have to worry about shifting the beer cans around and possibly dropping any. I follow him out the door, towards the back of his trailer and the pond behind it. Hop drops the beer cans on the grass, grabbing one and setting it on a stump of wood, the gashes on the top of the wood lead me to believe that he uses this stump to chop wood. 

Hop hands me his police issued handgun, stepping behind me once I take it. Instinctually I wrap both of my hands around the handle, my dominant hand resting slightly higher, trigger finger on the side of the barrel. I have this much knowledge of holding a gun from observing Hop, for far too long, any time he has his weapon drawn. Hop gently kicks my right foot out so my feet are shoulder width apart, I move my dominant foot forward a tad, raising my arms in front of me. 

“‘Kay, now use the little bump out on the top as a guide,” his hands rest on my shoulders, before sliding down slightly to help me aim. “Line it up with the beer can and pull the trigger.”

I take a deep breath, anchoring myself to the ground for the blowback, pointer finger moving to the trigger and pulling it. I didn’t anchor myself well enough, falling back into Hop’s chest slightly. I’m too embarrassed from this new position to hear the sound of metal ripping through tin. 

“You did great kid,” Hop whispers into my ear, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine, a shiver I can’t hide from him since we’re still pressed together. Hop slides his hands from my upper arms to my forearms, pushing slightly to lower the gun towards the ground.

“Oh my god! I did it!” I screech louder than intended when I look up to the empty stump. The can is behind the wood, a bullet embedded in the center of the logo, I hit the target on my first try! 

I set the gun on the ground, turning, and jumping into Hop’s arms. My arms are tightly wrap around his neck, and his easily slide around my waist. He holds me close for longer than necessary, but not nearly long enough for my liking: every touch from Hopper is like an itch that can’t be scratched, every time I think I’ll be satisfied but it always leaves me wanting more. 

Once Hop unwraps himself from my hold, he moves to put another beer can on the stump. This time he stays off to the side, I’m left wondering if the hug is the cause of the new position or if Hop just wants me to try alone. We go through ten more empty beer cans, I hit every single one on the first try. Hop also teaches me how to load the clip and the gun, as well as unclip it and put the safety on. 

After Hop finishes teaching me how to protect myself, he grabs my heels when he goes inside to grab one of his coats and hat, and I grab his police department jacket from my car to wear. After grabbing the aforementioned things we get into his truck to warn Joyce that her house may be bugged too, and to let her n\know that Will is probably alive somewhere lost and confused.. Hop keeps glancing my way the entire car ride, and I just nervously play with the hem of my dress. I really don’t want to see Lonnie again, and I especially don’t want him to see Hop. If Lonnie says one bad thing to Hopper in front of me, I may just deck him.

Once we pull up to Joyce’s house, Hop finds an old takeout menu in his car and grabs the pen sticking out of my jacket pocket to write a note telling Joyce to be quiet. Hop finally opens his door and I practically sprint out of my side of the car, having forgone putting on my shoes, and up to the Byers front porch. I’m pounding on the door before Hop has closed his own car door. 

“Go away Lonnie!” I hear Joyce yell from inside the house. I wonder if Joyce has kicked Lonnie to the curb again, finally, as I continue to aggressively pound on the door. Hop joins me on the front porch just as Joyce rips the front door open. “Seriously? I am going to murder-”

Hop and I hold our fingers to our lips to shush an ax wielding Joyce, in Hop’s other hand he’s holding up the old take out menu with the message written on it. Joyce looks confused and a little scared at our random appearance on her doorstep, but she doesn’t fight us when Hop pushes his way into the house. 

“Oh Jesus,” Hop grumbles while I let out a quiet ‘shit’ at all of the Christmas lights hanging in the Byers’ house. 

Hop and I get to quickly unscrew every christmas light, thank God he’s being a lot more calm about it here than at his own place. After what feels like hours Hop unscrews the last light bulb only to find that there were no bugs planted in the Byers’ house. The two of us let out a large sigh as we plop down right next to each other on Joyce’s couch. Hop’s knee rubbing up against mine is all I can think about as he explains what happened to him the night before. I do start to tune back into the conversation when Hop tells Joyce that she was right all along. 

I don’t think I have ever seen Joyce more happy than she is at this moment, at least two people believe her and now there’s undeniable proof, at least to the three of us, that Will is still alive. Joyce pulls me up from the couch and into a bone crushing hug, the hope and joy she’s radiating is infectious.

CFTF tags: @letaliabane@ilovethatforyou@gay-forspace@ffantasylandd@simplyjazzy666@sarai-ibn-la-ahad@l0ve-0f-my-life@moonstarsandsongs@euphoniumpets@noshi-chan@astream-ofconsciousness@rentheanonymous@southsideacademythings@peter-beter-barker@tinynshykitten@captainstilinskis@krazykatkay456@sara-stark-rogers