a wish come true.
dad'sbestfriend!jim hopper x fem!reader
warnings: age gap (reader is 21 and Hopper is in his 30s-40s), cheating, masturbation, low smut, just yearning for a big bearded man.
author's note: in my journey of trying to write smut, still don't like what i got so i just showed a snippet.
masterlist. | requests opened! | one shot!
You wanted him. You yearned for him. For the past three years, the chief of the police department had been your last thought before sleep and the first when you woke up. For three long years, he was the one you thought about when your hands slipped between your thighs.
But he would never want you. Maybe that was what made you want him even more. The forbidden nature of it—the fact that he was your dad's best friend. The secrecy, the dirtiness—it only fueled the fire.
But enough was enough. You couldn’t spend another summer pining after a man who probably still saw you as a little girl.
That’s why you decided to date Tommy Thompson. He was quiet, shy, and gentle. He probably loved you, and you might’ve loved him back—if your heart wasn’t already consumed by someone else.
Tommy was sweet, with his crooked glasses and nervous smile. He said he didn’t want to take your purity away. But right now, you couldn’t care less about that as you pushed him toward the outdoor bathroom, letting your towel fall to reveal a white bikini that left almost nothing to the imagination.
He froze like a deer caught in headlights, his mouth agape and his wide eyes fixed on you.
"W-what are you doing?" he stammered, standing up straighter and fumbling to adjust his glasses.
"What do you think I’m doing?" you teased, a sheepish smile curling your lips as your finger trailed down his chest, tracing his abdomen and stopping at the hem of his shorts.
"Wait," Tommy said, grabbing your hands, his breath already shaky. "Are you sure?"
"Of course, baby," you murmured, biting his earlobe, your hands moving downward with intent.
But then, he stopped you again, his grip firmer this time.
"I can’t," he said, gently pushing you away.
"What do you mean?" you asked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror behind him. Doubt crept in. "Is it me?"
"No, no, no!" he blurted, shaking his head frantically. "It’s not you, I swear. I’m just...nervous. I can’t," he admitted, looking down. "Literally."
You followed his gaze. "Oh."
Wrapping your towel back around yourself, you turned away, a mix of frustration and pity swirling inside you. Maybe this was the reality of dating boys, you thought, stepping out of the bathroom and leaving Tommy behind.
As you walked past Hopper, deep in conversation with your dad, your mind wandered to him—how he would’ve reacted. You imagined him pushing you against the sink, his hands rough, his voice dark and teasing. "Dirty girl," he’d growl in your ear. "Dirty, dirty girl...moaning my name while your dad’s just outside the door."
The fantasy sent a shiver down your spine, snapping you back to reality just as Tommy emerged from the bathroom, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
"I think I’m gonna go," he said quietly, his face flushed with embarrassment.
"Yeah, sure," you replied, standing up to walk him out. You didn’t blame him for wanting to leave.
"Don’t be too hard on yourself," you added softly, your tone gentle as you kissed him lightly on the lips. "It’s totally normal."
And with that, he left, leaving you alone with thoughts you knew you shouldn’t be having—but couldn’t seem to shake.
-
Those stupid blue jeans, so tight around his thick thighs. You couldn't help but notice how they clung to him, every curve visible.
I wish they'd squeeze my neck, you thought, taking a slow sip of your grape juice. Funny how, even at 21, your dad still refused to let you drink wine at dinner.
To him, you're still his precious little girl. And you might look the part—perfectly curled hair, a touch of light lip gloss, eyes wide and innocent as ever. With your appearance, Daddy would never suspect how his darling princess would cry herself to sleep, longing for just one moment with his best friend.
Just once. He'd be your first. How romantic, under the moonlight, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips as his hands moved across your body—
"Isn't that right, Y/N?" your mother suddenly chimed in, laughing as she tossed her head back. Hopper grinned behind his glass, taking a slow sip of his wine.
"Oh, yes..." you murmured, offering a small smile, unsure of what you had just agreed to.
"Now, if you’ll excuse me," Hopper said, placing his napkin atop his empty plate after lightly dabbing it against his lips—his gorgeous lips. "It’s getting late, and a storm seems to be rolling in. Best I hit the road before it gets worse."
"Oh, please, no!" your mother protested, rising to her feet and motioning for him to sit back down. "We couldn’t possibly let you leave with a storm on the way—not when we have a perfectly good room to spare!"
"The woman’s got a point, man," your father added, standing as well and placing his hands on your mother’s waist. "Come on, it’s not like you’ve never stayed over before," he said with a warm smile.
You swallowed hard, clasping your thighs together as the thought crept in: How will I sleep tonight knowing he’s just a room away? You could already feel the heat spreading, imagining him so close. Would he hear you? Those little gasps as you touched yourself under the covers, whispering his name over and over again. Maybe he would. Maybe he’d even like it.
"I don’t know..." he muttered, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes darted around the room. Then, his gaze landed on you. "Maybe you’re right," he said with a soft smile. "Maybe I should stay over."
Your heart skipped a beat. For a moment, you were sure he’d changed his mind because of you. The thought sent a thrill through your chest, almost enough to propel you upstairs to dial Beth's number, ready to spend the night analyzing every possible meaning behind his decision.
But you didn’t. Instead, you rose from the table with a calmness you didn’t feel. "Good choice," you said with a quick smile, before turning toward your mother. "Mom, I think I’ll get ready for bed," you added, stifling a fake yawn. "I’m so, so tired."
Your parents practically tripped over themselves to send their little princess off to rest, showering you with affection as you headed toward the stairs. But Hopper didn’t move. His eyes stayed on you, different from the doting gaze of your parents. It was sharper, probing, as if he saw through your sweet, innocent act.
And you wondered: Would he like what he’d find underneath? The dirty, deprived version of you?
When you entered your room, it felt like stepping back in time. Not much had changed since you were a kid—the same plushies neatly arranged on the shelves, the same faded wallpaper, the same dresser with its slightly chipped paint.
Your eyes landed on a framed picture resting atop the dresser: you and Tommy at the county fair. He was grinning from ear to ear, a cotton candy stick in his hand, while you offered a polite smile, a lollipop clasped between your fingers.
You remembered that day vividly. You’d sucked on that lollipop with all the exaggerated intention you could muster, one of many futile attempts to push Tommy into breaking his shy shell. It hadn’t worked—of course it hadn’t.
But the thought made you wonder: Would it have worked with Hopper?
Would he have roughly told you to stop? Or maybe grabbed you, dragging you into some dirty, hidden spot to take you right then and there? Perhaps he’d wait until you were in his car, his large hands slowly unknotting the delicate strap at the back of your dress, unraveling you bit by bit.
You exhaled shakily, your hands moving almost instinctively, mimicking the imagined actions of Hopper. Your fingertips ghosted over your collarbone, tracing downward.
Maybe he’d have made you suck his thumb instead, you thought, biting your lip as your hands brushed over your chest, teasing yourself. Maybe he’d play with your nipples, his touch rough and claiming.
You stumbled backward, your knees hitting the edge of the bed before you fell onto the mattress, legs instinctively parting toward the door.
The door wasn’t locked. Anyone could walk in. He could walk in.
You closed your eyes, the fantasy consuming you. He’d slap your ass and your pussy, growling, "How dare you touch what’s mine?"
You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost missed the soft knock at the door. But the sound of a forced cough snapped you out of it. Panicked, you scrambled to cover yourself, your hands darting to shield your exposed body.
“No need to stop what you’re doing, sweetie,” Hopper said with a sly smile, casually running a hand through his hair. “Just came to tell you your mother’s asking if you want dessert... but it looks like you’re already preoccupied with something else.” His grin widened, clearly enjoying your sudden, flustered reaction.
“It’s not what you think!” you blurted out, your cheeks burning.
“Isn’t it?” he asked, quietly closing the door behind him. The lock clicked into place, sending a shiver down your spine. He tilted his head, his eyes roaming your body as he slowly moved closer. “Because I’m thinking someone’s little princess isn’t quite as innocent as she seems.”
“I was just... changing,” you stammered, frozen in place as he stepped nearer. His presence loomed over you, his knee pressing into the mattress beside you as he leaned down, close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. “I wasn’t doing... you know... that.”
He laughed softly, his voice low and teasing. “I don’t know what you mean. Why don’t you tell me?”
Your breath hitched as he licked his lips, his gaze never leaving yours. His hands slid behind your back, firm but deliberate, pulling you closer as he gently eased you down onto the bed.
Hopper hovered above you, his weight pressing into the mattress as he leaned closer. His hand trailed along your side, deliberate and slow, making your breath hitch. You didn’t dare move, unsure if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.
“You’re shaking, sweetie,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “What’s got you so worked up?”
“I-I’m not,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, but you knew he could feel the tremble in your body beneath his touch.
“Oh, I think you are.” His grin widened, his thumb brushing along your jawline as he tilted your face up to meet his. “And I think I know why.”
Your heart raced, pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. His lips hovered near yours, just close enough for you to feel their warmth.
“You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” he whispered, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? All those little thoughts you’ve been hiding, all those things you want me to do to you.”
You couldn’t speak, couldn’t deny it. The truth was written all over your face.
“I bet you think about it all the time,” he continued, his tone taunting as his hand slid lower, grazing your hip. “When you’re lying in bed, pretending to be so sweet and innocent. But we both know better, don’t we?”
His words made your head spin, a mix of shame and excitement coursing through you.
“Hopper, I...” you started, but your voice faltered.
“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. “You don’t have to say a word, sweetie. I already know everything.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke, his voice sending shivers down your spine.
“Now, why don’t you show me just how innocent you really are?”
As Hopper leaned in closer, his eyes flickered to the bedside table. A picture of you and Tommy stared back at him—his arm around your shoulders, his awkward grin almost painfully sweet. Hopper’s expression darkened as he reached out, grabbing the frame and turning it facedown without a second thought.
“That kid?” he scoffed, shaking his head as he returned his gaze to you. “You think he’s a man?” His lips curled into a smirk, his voice low and dripping with disdain.
“Hopper, he’s—” you tried to defend, but he cut you off with a sharp laugh, silencing you.
“I don’t want to hear about him,” he said firmly, leaning in so close that his nose brushed yours. “Because after tonight, you’re going to understand what it means to have a real man.”
Your breath caught as his words sank in, their weight sending heat coursing through your body. Hopper’s hands, strong and rough, slid to your hips, gripping you firmly as he towered over you.
“That boy couldn’t even begin to handle you,” he continued, his tone taunting, but there was an edge of something darker—something possessive. “But me?” His thumb brushed the bare skin just above your waistband, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that followed. “I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”
