Obligated [Jim Hopper x Reader]

Obligated

"Dammit, Hopper! Don't be such a grump!" you groaned, yanking on your best friend's arms as he remained steadfast in the comfiest couch cushions this side of the Mississippi River. "Just one dance, I promise!"

"But I don't wanna!" he groaned back, pulling his arms back to himself with all of the force he could muster from himself. He hated to admit it, but you always rivaled his strength when it came to tug-o-war battles like this one.

You released his hands with an aggravated huff, immediately crossing your arms and cocking your hip, "You're seriously such a stick in the mud, you know that?"

"Oh, boo-hoo," he mocked, raising his hand to mimic playing the world's smallest violin. You rolled your eyes, returning to your position on the vacant recliner.

"If you don't like dancing, then I don't understand why most of your records are so poppy," you retorted with a bite, pulling your knees up against your chest once you fitted back into the cushions of the chair.

"Most of those aren't even mine," he replied defensively, rolling up the sleeves of his red flannel button up to reveal a set of incredibly muscular forearms. You mustered up the remnants of your self-control to not stare at the newly exposed flesh as he continued. "The one playing? The one that you picked out? It's El's. Do I look like the kind of man who listens to Cyndi Lauper in his free time, kid?"

You couldn't resist the snort that escaped your nose, immediately covering your face with your hands in embarrassment, "Okay, okay. Fair enough."

He tilted his head as he looked at you with soft eyes, a smirk playing at his lips before his tongue darted out to lick across them. You blushed lightly, averting your gaze from his eyes. It had only gotten worse over the last month, the simple act of his eyes locking on yours making you weak in the knees.

He'd gotten incredibly thin over the last few months, his jaw chiseling out sharply and his body, now eons skinnier than when you had met him, was now more fit than most men's. He shaved his head and face of all hair in September, a small token made in memory of his daughter for Leukemia Awareness Month. He didn't even look like the same man anymore, but his eyes. His eyes would never change.

You had moved into town almost a year ago after dropping out of college. A small town seemed like the perfect prescription for your situation, the ideal escape from your own small suburban life back in Michigan. The search for a job didn't take very long, stumbling across a bright red For Hire sign dangling outside of Melvald's only two hours after driving into Hawkins for the first time.

You'd met Hopper about two weeks into your residency; your coworker, Joyce, introduced the two of you after he had come into the store to rant about his daughter's boyfriend. You'd found it endearing, even offering him some wisdom on how to approach the situation. You were immediately smitten with him, and, since that day, the two of you were practically inseparable.

He would always joke around with you about the difference in your ages, saying how blessed he was to have such a young and vibrant person taking care of her "elders" like you were. You'd always roll your eyes, silently mewling over his usage of the word "kid." But, you were just friends.

At least, that's what you'd convinced yourself of.

Despite how much you wanted to pursue a relationship with him, you knew that you were too young for him; he would never take you seriously. Jesus, you were only six years older than his daughter. As far as you were concerned, he only saw you as just another kid in his life. A kid that he could share beers and curse with during the night whenever El was out of the cabin. A night like this one.