Rebel, Rebel - Jim Hopper x Reader

iii. The Shed

Rough hands. Teeth. Moving lips. The warmth of his mouth. The wetness of his tongue.

The sensations of his touch rippled through your body, his hands caressing the bare flesh of your lower stomach. You reached down to thread your fingers through the locks of his hair as his head bobbed up and down, his tongue moving sinfully against the velvet skin of your center. You arched your back as you began to pull him closer to you, panting heavily into the surroundings of your bedroom; the only sounds present were the whimpers coming from your mouth, the grumbles emitting from his broad and bare chest, and the filthy noises created between your bodies.

"H-Hopper, please," you whined in a high-pitch tone, praying to him as if you were singing a gospel song.

He looked up at you under hooded and lust-filled eyes, his bare shoulders flexing as his grip on your waist tightened, the movement of his tongue quickening to push you over the edge. You looked into the deep-blue orbs of his eyes, and that was all it took for you to fall apart underneath him. Every muscle in your body seemed to unwind as his ministrations failed to cease. You screamed his name out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as the thrusts of your hips became erratic against the warmth of his mouth.

"Oh, fu-"

You woke up with sweat peppering your forehead, you breathing escaping your chest erratically as you attempted to untangle your buzzing body from the confines of your baby blue sheets. The borderline realistic dream made it difficult for you to transition back into the real world. You looked around hastily in search of the familiar body that occupied your dreams, but you did so in vain. Every nerve in your body felt aflame, the sensations transcending into your reality as you came down from your high. Your cheeks reddened as you felt the damp and clammy material of your sheets stick to your upper thighs. You looked over at your clock and cursed under your breath, realizing that you were running thirty minutes behind; class began in twenty minutes, and you knew you were going to be painfully late.

You swung the duvet over your body and began your haste to get ready, opting to slide on a skirt and long-sleeve shirt rather than the pressed and neat ensemble of your cheerleading uniform. You flew down the stairs, ignoring your mother's pleas for you to sit down and eat breakfast as you ran outside, your straight, uncombed hair flowing after you as you jumped into your car and raced to school.

You pulled into the senior lot in a rush, the tires of your DeSoto Firedome screeching against the hardened and cracked black tar of the pavement. Grabbing your backpack, you jogged lightly into the building, adjusting your high-waisted black corduroy skirt. The sound of the platforms of your Mary Jane's clacked against the linoleum tiles of the hallway as you sped down the corridor. Just as you reached to grab the handle of the door leading to your class, you felt a large hand clasp your upper arm.

You yelped in surprise before turning around, eyes narrowing and cheeks blushing when you discovered that the hand belonged to Hopper, "J-Jim! Don't scare me like that-!"

He brought a finger up to his lips in an attempt to quiet you. After looking around, you crossed your arms uncomfortably before raising an eyebrow at him, "I thought you were going to class."

"Well, after the bell rang and you didn't show up, I snuck out the back," he whispered, reaching for your hand. "Cut class with me?"

While every brain cell in your head screamed at you to deny his request, you couldn't help but melt when you saw the smug smile spread across his lips, making your heart to do cartwheels in your chest. Your mind drifted to your dream and reminded you of all the things that mouth did to you. You bit your bottom lip, reluctantly nodding your head in a trance. His grin widened, the blues of his eyes sparkling like the deepest of lake water under the fluorescent lights of the hallway. You sighed dreamily as you looked into them.