Hiiii 💕💕 can I get a cake cone oatmeal raisin cookie crunch with whip cream and EXTRA hot fudge?? Thank you!!!
I hope you enjoy!!! <3 This was very very fun hehehe. Beginning part is based off of those Tik Toks of women seeing if they can run away from their cop bf <3
CW: breeding kink and degradation!!
“It can’t be that hard.” You told him seriously, watching the video again. He only seemed half interested in what you were showing him, but that certainly caught his attention.
“What do you mean?” Gator asked as he leaned back, eyebrows furrowing together as he observed you. He was still in his work uniform, tired lines formed on his forehead as he held you on his lap.
“To outrun you,” you said slowly, furrowing your eyebrows together, “well, not you specifically, but the cops. It’s just like when they used to show up in high school and we were all out at Mr. Smith’s farm.” You responded, thinking more to yourself as you watched the girl in the video fail once again. It didn’t seem that bad.
“You think you can outrun me?” He asked as he tilted his head in your direction, a look of disbelief on his features. Your surprise mirrored his.
“Depends on the circumstance, but sure.” You told him seriously, feeling slightly confident as you nodded your head in agreement.
“You’re funny, honey.” He snorted as he shook his head, pressing on the side of your phone so the video disappeared. He was looking at you seriously this time, like you were silly.
“What does that mean?” You asked, slightly offended at his words. You could run fast, you were sure of it.
“There’s no way you can get away from me.” He said in a matter of fact way, leaning closer to you as he pressed his fingers into your sides. You bit back a laugh, ignoring your ticklish ribs as you faced him better.
“Sure I can,” you replied, looking at him shocked, “I most definitely can outrun you.” You told him, tugging on his vest to prove your point.
“Uh huh.” He said as an amused grin formed on your lips. He leaned back in the chair, eyebrows slightly raised as he waited for you to speak again. He only did this when he was certain that he was right but didn’t want to argue about it. But you didn’t want to let it slide.
“I’ll prove it to you.” You told him seriously as you stood up, placing your hands on your hips. You watched the way he laughed, how he kicked his legs out lazily in front of you.
“Yeah?” he asked, looking upwards with a cocky smirk on his face, “and what do I get when you lose?” He asked, reaching forward enough to tug at the hem of your shirt. You swatted his hands away playfully.
“I’m not losing, so it shouldn’t matter.” You knelt over, speaking to him realistically. You could outrun him, you knew it.
“Not interested then.” He replied in a bored manner, eyes mirroring his tone as he linked his fingers over his stomach. You held onto his knees, tilting forward.
“Anything you want,” you replied a second later, “but if I win, then you have to finally put that pool up.” You said with a grin, watching as he knitted his eyebrows tightly together.
“It’s like a fuckin’ blow up pool.” He responded quickly, like it made any difference to you. You just wanted your damn pool.
“So it should be up by now.” You teased, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He grinned for a moment before he pulled away, his hand colliding with your backside as you yelped.
“Alright, you have yourself a deal,” he said, sticking his hand out to shake yours. He linked his fingers tightly over yours, dragging you closer with so much force that you gasped, “but you can’t be a sore loser about it. You said I can do anythin’ I want.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded along, grinning as you leaned forward to peck his lips again, “you should invest in a speedo for my pool, I'll need the eye candy.” You teased, laughing at the way he snorted and dropped your hand.
Fifteen minutes later you were both on the outskirts of the ranch, a wooden fence separating the two of you as the dry grass crunched underneath your feet. It was humid outside, unbearably hot but you weren’t going to let that get in your way.
“You’re starting from there?” You questioned as he pulled his cruiser door open, beginning to slide himself into the seat.
“I’m giving you a fair chance.” He said with a laugh, pulling his vape up to his lips and taking a deep inhale. You shifted back a few feet, just enough to peer at him better.
“I don’t need a head start.” You told him defiantly, furrowing your features up in disbelief. You could outrun him easily.
“Ten seconds isn’t bad.” He said, making your jaw drop in surprise. You had no idea how you had given him the impression that you needed that much time.
“I don’t need that long.” You told him, watching the way he dropped his head in your direction. He didn’t believe you, not at all.
“Five seconds then.” He debated a second later, leaving you with no choice other than to agree. You doubted that he would listen to you regardless.
“Fine,” you shrugged, “I get to pick your speedo for the pool then.” You told him happily, already thinking about a risky little number. He snorted, taking another hit from his vape.
“You need to stretch or anything before we begin?” He teased as he leaned forward, watching the way you frowned at him.
“You’re the one hopping over the fence, better hope your knees don’t buckle.” You sassed back, almost positive that he would end up falling on his face.
“Five second head start,” he confirmed as he slid back into his cruiser, making you wave your hand at him, “whenever you’re ready.” He said smugly, closing the door obnoxiously. You shook your head at the sound of it slamming shut, turning away from him.
You balanced from foot to foot, glancing down to ensure that your shoes were tied tightly and that the ground was sturdy underneath your feet. You held your hands up to your sides, getting in position and playfully lurching forward. Your grin was large as you looked over your shoulder, only to be surprised that Gator hadn’t even moved yet. Maybe this would be even easier than you thought.
A giddy feeling filled you as you thought about how silly this was, almost ridiculous. You looked over again, ensuring that he was still in the same spot before you dug your feet into the ground; preparing to race forward.
You pumped your arms to your sides as your legs jumped forward, the wind catching your skin as you sprinted across the field. You were feeling fairly confident at how far you had gotten by the time you heard the car door slam open and shut, a breathy laugh falling from your lips.
Energy was still pulsing through you when you glanced over your shoulder to confirm that there was still a large gap between you, only to be horrified at the realization that he was only a few feet away. You hadn’t even heard him jump over the fence, had no idea how he’d managed to catch up so fast with all of his gear on either.
A shriek squeaked out of your lungs as you snapped your head forward once again, using whatever you had in yourself to push forward. You even did a little zigzag, hoping that you might throw him off somehow.
It didn’t even feel like a second had passed before his hands were on you, holding onto your biceps as he brought you onto the ground. He somehow managed to do it quite gently, keeping your face from slamming into the dirt as you wiggled and protested.
“Okay, you caught me!” you protested, still wiggling about as he wrapped his fingers around your wrists. Your eyes widened at the feeling of metal on your skin, the handcuffs linking onto you a second later, “woah, woah, this was not part of the deal.”
“You said I could do whatever I wanted,” he hummed, tugging you up enough until your back was flush against his chest, “so stop fuckin’ struggling.” He whispered harshly in your ear, making everything inside of you pulse.
“Gator-,” You began breathlessly, only to be cut off by him.
“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, doll?” He asked gruffly, his nose brushing against the side of your neck. His grip was still tight on you as he forced you to walk forward, making you shake your head.
“You’re not being funny.” You told him seriously, trying to look back at him. He only yanked you in return, making you look forward once again.
“So much for not being a sore loser, yeah?” He teased, nearly making you scoff. You weren’t such a thing.
“I’m not a sore loser.” You defended yourself, a little yelp leaving your mouth as he held you climb over the fence once again. It was significantly harder without your hands and you didn’t dare push him away. Not this time. You didn’t want to end up being the one to fall on your face.
“You got the right to remain silent,” he reminded you, eyes gleaming, “maybe you need something to shut you up.” He mumbled, making your heart race a little faster.
You glanced back at him, staying quiet this time around. You couldn’t deny the electricity that was pulsing inside of you, how the excitement grew deeper. You were suddenly pleased with how this had ended, how he was treating you.
“That’s better,” he hummed, continuing to drag you back to the cruiser, “you can listen to directions, that’s good. Maybe you’re not that much of a dumb whore.” He criticized, making your lips part in surprise.
You didn’t get a chance to answer as he pushed you up against the hood of the car, kicking your legs apart until they were spread wide. You tried to push up a bit, only for him to press you back against the warm vehicle.
“Now don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he teased as he leaned over you, his body flush against your back, “wouldn’t want to drag you down to the station. That wouldn’t be very pretty.” He hummed into your ear, snickering at the way you whined underneath him.
Gator slowly rose off of you, relieving the pressure by just a bit before his large hands found your sides. You yelped at how aggressive he was as he tapped you down, taking his time to feel you up.
“Enjoying yourself?” You muttered as his large fingers traced the band of your bra, right underneath your breasts. He chuckled, reaching behind to unsnap the band. You gasped as it fell apart, his fingers finding your hardening nipples.
“Makin’ sure you’re not carrying anything dangerous,” he hummed, tongue flicking out to lick away the sweat at your neck. You moaned, closing your eyes as he continued to pinch at your nipples, “can’t be too safe these days.” He responded, slowly rutting his hardening cock against the curve of your ass.
His long fingers slowly trailed down the length of your body, spreading goosebumps across your skin as he reached for the band of your pants. He tugged them down a moment later, followed by your panties as pressed you against the car once again. You didn’t fight this time, far too eager to feel him on you.
“Cute,” he mumbled as he dragged his fingertips across your wet folds, earning a moan from your lips. The sound of his belt coming undone made you shift, desperate to feel him, “awe, such a whore. So fuckin’ needy. You want my cock that bad?” he tsked, almost like it was a bad thing.
“Yes Gator.” You whimpered as he dragged the length of his cock across your soaked folds, the tip rubbing against your sensitive clit. You breathed in deeply, nipples hard against the material of your shirt.
“What was that?” He asked gruffly as he pushed his cock inside of you, squeezing your wrists as he looked down at the way your pussy hugged his fat girth. You had never been with someone so big before, so thick.
“Yes, officer.” You corrected a second later, moaning as he slowly dragged you back against the curve of his cock. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, adjusting to the heavy feel inside of your pussy. Your walls hugged him snuggly, squeezing him roughly.
“That’s all ya need isn’t it?” he hummed, continuing to watch the way his cock slid in and out of your wet cunt, “just some cock to make you shut up. Poor dumb slut.” He mocked as he pressed into you fully, filling you to the brim.
“Yeah, need it so badly,” you moaned as he began to rut his cock in and out of your cunt harder, your slick dripping along the length of his dick. Every movement was deep and harsh, leaving your mind foggy with pleasure, “right there, oh fuck. That’s it.” You whined, licking away drool from the corners of your lips.
Gator grunted as he pressed onto you harder, making your legs tremble as his cock continued to stretch your slippery walls out. Every movement made your clit ache, electricity pulsing inside of you as he continued to drag you back along the curve of his dick.
Your moans were rolling off of your tongue, loud and free as he grunted roughly. His large hands fell to your hips, squeezing you roughly as his balls smack against your flesh. You whimpered as you attempted to roll your hips back, desperate to feel even more of him.
“Mhm, such a greedy whore,” he whispered harshly in your ear, chuckling as he nipped at your skin. You whined at the sensation, enjoying the way his cock pulsed inside of your weeping cunt, “such a good girl for me. You want me to cum inside of you? Fill this pretty pussy with my cum?” He asked roughly as he groaned in your ear, your walls clamping down around the girth of his cock.
The feeling inside of you was so intense, so good that all you could do was moan in response. You wanted to feel his cum leaking from inside your pussy, painting your walls and leaving you a mess. The thought made your clit throb, aching with bliss as the pleasure spread hotly inside of you.
“Fuck, right there,” you cursed as you continued to grind back against his long dick, savoring how heavy he felt against your spongy walls, “wanna feel you cum inside me, Gator. Fill me up, please, please, please.” You pleaded with him, whining as the pleasure began to burn inside of you. You were trembling around him, leaking as your high grew closer and closer.
The sound of your bodies meeting filled the air, dirty and filthy as your cunt squelched around his girthy cock. His grunts met your moans, loud and rough as he continued to dig his fingertips into your skin.
“What a little whore,” he tsked as he squeezed at your flesh, smacking your ass a second later, “begging for my cum like a slut. Greedy little thing.” He grunted as his movements became harder, his grasp on you tightening as he rutted his cock in and out of your slippery cunt.
You felt your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he fucked into you, his movements deep and rough. Your muscles contracted from the pleasure, heavy as the fire continued to grow inside of you. You felt hot as the sweat collected at the base of your neck, your clit throbbing and arms aching.
You cried out as you came, your cunt hugging his cock snuggly as the waves of pleasure crashed over you. Everything felt too intense as you shook underneath him, his grip on you keeping you from collapsing onto the ground.
His groans grew louder, his movements not as rhythmic as he buried himself deeper inside of you. You whimpered at the sensation, the sound of his low grunts filling your ears in a melodic way. He bottomed out against you a moment later, the tip of his cock pressing against your bundle of nerves.
“Fuck, fuck,” he groaned as he roughly gripped your wrists, making your hands feel slightly numb, “just like that. Such a good girl, taking all of my cum. Mhm, look at that. Little whore.” He spit out all at once, voice raspy as his spunk painted your aching walls.
You whimpered from underneath him, licking away the drool that had fallen from the corners of your lips. It was messy, but you knew he liked that. A little giggle fell free as he pushed into you harder, making your mind grow foggy once again.
“Hope you’re ready for a baby, mama.” He teased, nipping at your earlobe. You huffed as you looked back at him, enjoying the little smirk on his lips.
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cw; +18 content! minors dni!, THIS IS FILTHY. NAAAAASTY, you’ve been warned. mean harsh dom! spencer and bratty sub! reader, nasty make outs, spanking, hair pulling, cursing, degradation and praise (not quite towards you), use of good girl (again, not towards you), dirty talking, oral sex (s! receiving), face fucking, edging, gagging, facial, multiple orgasms and rounds implied, teasing, begging, hickeys, choking, spencer being a little bit of a pervert, piv sex, using cum as lube, unprotected sex (guys don’t do this), scratching, pussy talking, breeding kink, creampie, squirting, slapping, spitting, spencer has crazy stamina…
from this request.
@cherriesinthespring & @brattyspence 💋
you were actually exhausted. whole body aching, the last thing you needed was to talk to him, but as always, there he was. your asshole of a flatmate. with his stupid glasses on as his amber eyes strolled through the pages of his book miles per hour.
“well, look who it is. past midnight. seems like cinderella by how fucked up you look.”
you rolled your eyes at the smirk on his tone, kicking off your heels. “fuck off reid, i’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”
your relationship had been strained from the start… you two were like oil and water. always had been, since the two of you were five and had the sufficient conscience to choose if you liked each other or not. and believe me, if you had had another choice… you wouldn’t have even taken up the offer to live with him. but your mother, diana’s best friend, as soon as she had learnt that you had been given a promotion and needed to move to quantico? had told the blonde, who excitedly told her that spencer was looking for a flatmate. that sealed your destiny. and now there you were. sharing space with the person you loathed most in the entire world.
“hell, okay, you’re not fucked up at all, ‘cause getting some dick wouldn’t have left you like that.”
you groaned, your head throbbing, full body tense. “well at least i get to fuck, not like you, you only get off to letters on paper.”
and he dared to chuckle, fucking chuckle. he closed his book and put it aside, tall frame leaving its seat at the sofa to slowly stroll over you.
“well isn’t your vocabulary a delight?” he crooked his head. “now why don’t you tell me what’s gotten you all bothered, princess. ‘cause i’m sure my incredible presence cannot be it.” he said sarcastically, but he seemed intrigued to know what had happened. “hard day at work? did starbucks ran out of caramel drizzle? or is your rose toy dead?”
“you little…” your hands were reaching for his throat, but he was faster, his tongue clicking as his strong long fingers surrounded your wrists, stopping you centimeters away from his warm skin.
“really, doll? trying to choke an fbi agent? such a bad girl…” you gasped as he pinned you against the wall. “you could get in a lot of trouble for that. maybe i should use my cuffs on you. or maybe not, i’m sure you’d end up enjoying it.” he muttered that last part against your ear, your cheeks reddish in both anger and embarrassment.
“fuck you.” you spat, and he chuckled, dark and teasingly against the skin if your neck. you were not done. he wanted to play dirty? two could do that. “and what do you say about extortion of people by your power, huh? an fbi agent trying to make me kneel under him for his status? i could easily get you fired. you should be ashamed, reid… but… it seems like you are more like… excited, huh?” and with a roll of your hips against him you confirm what you had suspected: he was hard. rock hard at that.
he smirked at you, ignoring your jab as he leaned over you. “are you threatening me?” he muttered against your lips, his tongue wetting his bottom one.
your eyes followed the movement, and your throat dried up. you squinted at him. “are you?”
“you know… all this brattiness of yours is really getting on my nerves.”
“really? by how hard you are… i would believe you’re enjoying it.” you muttered back. your breaths were mingling. there was heat pooling down on your lower stomach. and the tension exuding from your bodies could be cut with a knife.
“you need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” he growled, eyes dangerous.
“but wouldn’t you like it wide open…, reid?”
you could feel the moment he said “fuck it”, his brown eyes now completely pitch black. “yeah? then open the fuck up.”
and next thing you knew? his tongue was deep into your mouth, which had willingly fallen open for him. the two of you groaned, and the tight hold he had on your wrists turned bruising. it was as if he hated the idea that he desired you so much. maybe he did. maybe you did. but right now the only thing you could focus on was on his hard cock pushing against your belly, and how soaked your panties felt stuck against your throbbing clit. when had you gotten so wet?
a moan left you as his plush lips surrounded your tongue and sucked, a hum leaving his chest when he then moved to your neck, sucking some more on the skin there.
“i think i ought to teach you a lesson, don’t you?” you whined as he bit down on your pulse point. “answer me.” a choked gasp left your lips when one of his hands, the one that wasn’t holding now both your wrists up, came down harsh against the side of your thigh on a smack.
“yes.”
“that’s what i thought.” he purred, and your eyes almost rolled back at the sound of his deep voice. “on your knees.” he ordered as he let go of you, and busied his now free hands on unbuttoning his slacks. you got lost for a minute there as you caught sight of the wet patch decorating his boxers, but he was quick to get you back on page. your eyes widened when his hand took harshly your face. “do i need to repeat myself?” he hissed and you shook your head. “then. get. on. your. fucking. knees.” you complied, knees on the hardwood floor, puppy eyes staring right onto his. “that wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it? let’s hope you suck cock better than you follow orders.”
your pussy fluttered. fuck. why was this turning you on so much?
“show me that tongue.” you stuck it out to him. pink. salivating. ready. he hummed and pushed down his boxers and pants down his thighs. your eyes widened at the sight of his thick cock. “let’s keep that dirty mouth of yours busy, yeah?” and before you could even react, you were gagging around him. it hurt. your lips were fully stretched around him, and your jaw was about to give up by the uncomfortable stuffiness. but god… it felt so good… he tasted so good… reid groaned, fingers winding into your hair and tugging as his hips snapped and his cock hit down your throat. “fuck. so that mouth is actually good for something, huh?”
your eyes couldn’t help but water, your nails scratching at his thighs as he didn’t even give you a chance to adjust before starting to fuck your face. you couldn’t help but moan, eyes rolling as the air in your lungs thinned. he was literally fucking you dumb. and you couldn’t love it more.
“such a fucking slut. look at you. you act harsh but as soon as a dick is shoved into your throat you start to act like a good girl, hm?“ you whined, thighs squeezing against the other, throat swallowing around him and making him grunt. “jesus, you’re tight. wonder how your pussy will be. probably will have to stretch it open first, break it in since you haven’t brought anyone home to fuck since you moved in, huh?” he chuckled. “the walls are thin, you know? you think i don’t hear you pumping your fingers into your little cunt every night? poor thing. you’re so desperate for cock you would take anyone’s, huh? even mine. but, actually… i’m starting to believe it’s the one you’ve been wanting the most, isn’t it?” you whimpered. “hm? what’d you think about while fucking your pussy, doll? did you think about me listening to you? that the reason why you’d moan louder? for me to hear? wanted me to come into your room and show you what a good orgasm is supposed to feel like?” you nodded, too lost to actually try and hide how the idea of him listening to you masturbating just a few doors away made you squirt all over your sheets. he chuckled. low. mockingly. “of course you did.” he pushed down your throat even harder. “all that time acting as though you hated me and you just liked me, huh?” you gasped and coughed as he pulled out of your mouth, smacking his wet leaking cock against your flushed cheek.
“i hate you.” you swore and his eyes glinted.
“yeah? well, for someone who hates me, you really love sucking my cock.” he chuckled when, while gliding his tip along your bottom lip, your mouth subconsciously opened. “you want it?”
you kept silent. what could you say? you couldn’t say no. that would be a lie. but you also couldn’t say yes, that’d would make it too easy for him. but before you could catch yourself you were…
“please.”
begging.
his smile was that of the cheshire cat. “atta girl.” you moaned when he fed it back to you, pumping it down your throat over and over again. you relished on the musky scent, on the tuffs of hair of his base kissing your nose, on his tip making you gag over and over again until you became so messy and sloppy that trails of spit dribbled down past your lips and chin onto your thighs. “thaaaat’s it. so messy. can’t help but want to…” and then you’re gasping as hot spurts of cum hit your face, making you even more messier. spencer moans as he strokes every last drop out of his breeding tightening balls. “fuck. look at you. so pretty like this…” your mouth stays open for the dripping of it, the salty release hitting your tongue and making you hum.
when you open your eyes, your cunt throbs. he looks gone. wild in pleasure. and starving.
“get up.” your legs shake and you almost trip by how fast you complied. “i’m not done with you yet.”
not even 10 seconds go by before you’re being thrown onto his bed —his bedroom being the nearest one of the two—, and another 10 is what it takes him to get you bare before his eyes. his eyes appreciatively took the sight of your heaving chest and rosy nipples in, the smoothness of your tummy, the plush of your thighs…
he pumps his still rock hard cock. how does he manage to have that much stamina? it hadn’t even gone down —not in the slightest— after making a mess of your face with his cum.
“it’s not gonna-” you try and say, but his words cut you off quickly enough.
“mouth shut. eyes on me. legs open. i’ll make it fit. even if i have to break apart your pussy for it.” you swallow, and god, if you hadn’t you’d have died of embarrassment by the whimper that tried to leave your throat.
you open your legs for him. pussy lips spread, soaking wet just for him, hole twitching in need of being fucked and clit puffy and sensitive pleading to be touched.
“knew she’d be pretty…” he groans, licking at his lips, hand tightening around his dick. his fingers come to your sticky cheek and gathers ropes of his cum, and before you could inquire him about it, he’s stuffing them into your needy little cunt. “jesus, she’s tight. can’t wait to break her open…” your eyes roll as he sinks them to the knuckle and curls up up up until he hits that spongy spot that makes you sing the prettiest moans late at night when you know he can hear you.
“spencer…!” you whimper, your legs falling further apart, hips twitching for more.
“that’s it. open up for me.” he smirked, pushing a third finger inside that has you choking on a scream, walks tightening down hard around his digits he grunts. “trynna milk me so soon, baby? i haven’t even put it in.”
he fucks you open with harsh strokes, but he’s diligent, he makes sure you’re slicked up and ready, loose enough for his puffy head.
but when he aligns it up with your entrance, his jaw ticks. “it’s gonna be a tight fit. now, say ‘biiiiig stretch’ for me, mh?”
“biiiig—ngh!!!!” you can’t even comply, not when he’s basically splitting you in half. your nails dig on his back as he pants and tries to fit in past the first ring of muscles.
“jesus.fuck.” with a ‘pop!’ his tip presses in, and you two moan in unison. your lungs feel like you’re on fire, and your eyes sting. but fuck if it doesn’t feel good being so full. “good girl…” he praises. and at first you think it’s directed towards you. but no. his thumb sweetly circles your clit and you cry. “taking me so good… you’re doing so good for me… now, open a little bit more for me, hm?”
he’s talking. to your pussy.
but it’s not “little” how much it has to open to accommodate him. every fucking inch is devastating. and by the time his balls hit your ass, his tip —if it could be possible— would have breached your cervix and fucked itself into your womb.
he falls onto you the moment you clench, and groans against your neck. “if only i had known you’d feel this good… i would have fucked you much sooner.” he then looks at your dizzy eyes and faded face. you’re half brain dead on his cock. he can’t help but chuckle. “so this was the fastest way to make you behave and shut up, huh? good to know.” he slaps at your cheek, and you blink, breathing ragged and heavy, his hips grinding deep against your cervix, making you whimper. “don’t you dare tap out on me. i haven’t had my way with you yet.”
and then he’s fucking you. reeeeeally fucking you.
your back arches, your nails draw blood down his back, and your cunt gushes in lewd wet sounds that resonate around his room by how hard and deep he plunges into you.
“fuck. so good… best pussy i’ve ever had. made for me, aren’t you, gorgeous?” he murmurs, and you are so lost… he’s mean. his hands are rough as they grip your hips in a way you know will bruise, and his cock is so harshly fucking you open that you believe he’ll leave the imprint of himself permanently molded to your walls.
you can feel every vein, every ridge.
“spencer, spencer, spencer…!” you cry and he chuckles in between grunts.
“so now it’s ‘spencer’, huh? what happened to ‘reid’? you’re so happy to get dicked down that you’re calling me by my name now?” one of his hands surrounds your neck, and when it tightens… your pussy does as well. “fuck! and here i thought you couldn’t get tighter…”your legs cage him, making your back arch and his dick reach deeper in places no one ever had. “needy little girl… feels good, huh?” you moan, mouth open and he takes the chance to spit on it. and when you quickly and obediently swallow what he gives you? he speeds up. “fucking slut. you love this, don’t you? love the fact that i’m breaking you apart. fuck. you even let me go in raw, bet you’ll even let me breed you if i wanted, huh?” your cunt flutters and his head hangs for a second as a strangled moan leaves him. just for a moment there, he almost lost control and busted. “you want it, honey? want my cum deep into this pretty little womb of yours?” you moan and he lets go of your neck to slap your cheek again, softly, but harsh enough to make your clit twitch. “answer me.”
“yes, yes, plea-“
“not you.” he grunts, going harsher, deeper, faster. “i’m not talking to you. i’m talking to her.” your breath leaves your lungs once two of his fingers meet your puffy clit, rolling it, pinching it. your pussy squelches. and he hums. “yeah? you want it that much?” another squeeeelch!, you’re dripping down to his sheets. “then take it, pretty. it’s all yours.” and you scream, ‘cause the way in which you’re coming when his thick warm ropes of cum fill you is insane. it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. your ears ring, your vision darkens at the corners, your brain seems to melt, and your pussy squirts in little unstopping spurts that soak his cock, balls, sheets… your juices are everywhere, and fuck if it doesn’t make spencer come even harder…
by the time his balls are drained and his hips halt, his cock up to the base inside you to keep you plugged in with his cum, you’re basically passed out, eyes crossed as you try to focus back onto the present. you can’t even remember your name. fuck, you can’t even remember how to breath.
and your legs shake like crazy when in a flip he’s got you on all fours —well not all, since one of his hands has your face smudged against one of his pillows—. “again.” he says, breathless as he pushes in his still hard cock into your abused and stuffed cunt. “show me how you squirt again. i wanna see it again.”
cw; +18 content! minors dni!, THIS IS FILTHY. NAAAAASTY, you’ve been warned. mean harsh dom! spencer and bratty sub! reader, nasty make outs, spanking, hair pulling, cursing, degradation and praise (not quite towards you), use of good girl (again, not towards you), dirty talking, oral sex (s! receiving), face fucking, edging, gagging, facial, multiple orgasms and rounds implied, teasing, begging, hickeys, choking, spencer being a little bit of a pervert, piv sex, using cum as lube, unprotected sex (guys don’t do this), scratching, pussy talking, breeding kink, creampie, squirting, slapping, spitting, spencer has crazy stamina…
from this request.
@cherriesinthespring & @brattyspence 💋
you were actually exhausted. whole body aching, the last thing you needed was to talk to him, but as always, there he was. your asshole of a flatmate. with his stupid glasses on as his amber eyes strolled through the pages of his book miles per hour.
“well, look who it is. past midnight. seems like cinderella by how fucked up you look.”
you rolled your eyes at the smirk on his tone, kicking off your heels. “fuck off reid, i’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”
your relationship had been strained from the start… you two were like oil and water. always had been, since the two of you were five and had the sufficient conscience to choose if you liked each other or not. and believe me, if you had had another choice… you wouldn’t have even taken up the offer to live with him. but your mother, diana’s best friend, as soon as she had learnt that you had been given a promotion and needed to move to quantico? had told the blonde, who excitedly told her that spencer was looking for a flatmate. that sealed your destiny. and now there you were. sharing space with the person you loathed most in the entire world.
“hell, okay, you’re not fucked up at all, ‘cause getting some dick wouldn’t have left you like that.”
you groaned, your head throbbing, full body tense. “well at least i get to fuck, not like you, you only get off to letters on paper.”
and he dared to chuckle, fucking chuckle. he closed his book and put it aside, tall frame leaving its seat at the sofa to slowly stroll over you.
“well isn’t your vocabulary a delight?” he crooked his head. “now why don’t you tell me what’s gotten you all bothered, princess. ‘cause i’m sure my incredible presence cannot be it.” he said sarcastically, but he seemed intrigued to know what had happened. “hard day at work? did starbucks ran out of caramel drizzle? or is your rose toy dead?”
“you little…” your hands were reaching for his throat, but he was faster, his tongue clicking as his strong long fingers surrounded your wrists, stopping you centimeters away from his warm skin.
“really, doll? trying to choke an fbi agent? such a bad girl…” you gasped as he pinned you against the wall. “you could get in a lot of trouble for that. maybe i should use my cuffs on you. or maybe not, i’m sure you’d end up enjoying it.” he muttered that last part against your ear, your cheeks reddish in both anger and embarrassment.
“fuck you.” you spat, and he chuckled, dark and teasingly against the skin if your neck. you were not done. he wanted to play dirty? two could do that. “and what do you say about extortion of people by your power, huh? an fbi agent trying to make me kneel under him for his status? i could easily get you fired. you should be ashamed, reid… but… it seems like you are more like… excited, huh?” and with a roll of your hips against him you confirm what you had suspected: he was hard. rock hard at that.
he smirked at you, ignoring your jab as he leaned over you. “are you threatening me?” he muttered against your lips, his tongue wetting his bottom one.
your eyes followed the movement, and your throat dried up. you squinted at him. “are you?”
“you know… all this brattiness of yours is really getting on my nerves.”
“really? by how hard you are… i would believe you’re enjoying it.” you muttered back. your breaths were mingling. there was heat pooling down on your lower stomach. and the tension exuding from your bodies could be cut with a knife.
“you need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” he growled, eyes dangerous.
“but wouldn’t you like it wide open…, reid?”
you could feel the moment he said “fuck it”, his brown eyes now completely pitch black. “yeah? then open the fuck up.”
and next thing you knew? his tongue was deep into your mouth, which had willingly fallen open for him. the two of you groaned, and the tight hold he had on your wrists turned bruising. it was as if he hated the idea that he desired you so much. maybe he did. maybe you did. but right now the only thing you could focus on was on his hard cock pushing against your belly, and how soaked your panties felt stuck against your throbbing clit. when had you gotten so wet?
a moan left you as his plush lips surrounded your tongue and sucked, a hum leaving his chest when he then moved to your neck, sucking some more on the skin there.
“i think i ought to teach you a lesson, don’t you?” you whined as he bit down on your pulse point. “answer me.” a choked gasp left your lips when one of his hands, the one that wasn’t holding now both your wrists up, came down harsh against the side of your thigh on a smack.
“yes.”
“that’s what i thought.” he purred, and your eyes almost rolled back at the sound of his deep voice. “on your knees.” he ordered as he let go of you, and busied his now free hands on unbuttoning his slacks. you got lost for a minute there as you caught sight of the wet patch decorating his boxers, but he was quick to get you back on page. your eyes widened when his hand took harshly your face. “do i need to repeat myself?” he hissed and you shook your head. “then. get. on. your. fucking. knees.” you complied, knees on the hardwood floor, puppy eyes staring right onto his. “that wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it? let’s hope you suck cock better than you follow orders.”
your pussy fluttered. fuck. why was this turning you on so much?
“show me that tongue.” you stuck it out to him. pink. salivating. ready. he hummed and pushed down his boxers and pants down his thighs. your eyes widened at the sight of his thick cock. “let’s keep that dirty mouth of yours busy, yeah?” and before you could even react, you were gagging around him. it hurt. your lips were fully stretched around him, and your jaw was about to give up by the uncomfortable stuffiness. but god… it felt so good… he tasted so good… reid groaned, fingers winding into your hair and tugging as his hips snapped and his cock hit down your throat. “fuck. so that mouth is actually good for something, huh?”
your eyes couldn’t help but water, your nails scratching at his thighs as he didn’t even give you a chance to adjust before starting to fuck your face. you couldn’t help but moan, eyes rolling as the air in your lungs thinned. he was literally fucking you dumb. and you couldn’t love it more.
“such a fucking slut. look at you. you act harsh but as soon as a dick is shoved into your throat you start to act like a good girl, hm?“ you whined, thighs squeezing against the other, throat swallowing around him and making him grunt. “jesus, you’re tight. wonder how your pussy will be. probably will have to stretch it open first, break it in since you haven’t brought anyone home to fuck since you moved in, huh?” he chuckled. “the walls are thin, you know? you think i don’t hear you pumping your fingers into your little cunt every night? poor thing. you’re so desperate for cock you would take anyone’s, huh? even mine. but, actually… i’m starting to believe it’s the one you’ve been wanting the most, isn’t it?” you whimpered. “hm? what’d you think about while fucking your pussy, doll? did you think about me listening to you? that the reason why you’d moan louder? for me to hear? wanted me to come into your room and show you what a good orgasm is supposed to feel like?” you nodded, too lost to actually try and hide how the idea of him listening to you masturbating just a few doors away made you squirt all over your sheets. he chuckled. low. mockingly. “of course you did.” he pushed down your throat even harder. “all that time acting as though you hated me and you just liked me, huh?” you gasped and coughed as he pulled out of your mouth, smacking his wet leaking cock against your flushed cheek.
“i hate you.” you swore and his eyes glinted.
“yeah? well, for someone who hates me, you really love sucking my cock.” he chuckled when, while gliding his tip along your bottom lip, your mouth subconsciously opened. “you want it?”
you kept silent. what could you say? you couldn’t say no. that would be a lie. but you also couldn’t say yes, that’d would make it too easy for him. but before you could catch yourself you were…
“please.”
begging.
his smile was that of the cheshire cat. “atta girl.” you moaned when he fed it back to you, pumping it down your throat over and over again. you relished on the musky scent, on the tuffs of hair of his base kissing your nose, on his tip making you gag over and over again until you became so messy and sloppy that trails of spit dribbled down past your lips and chin onto your thighs. “thaaaat’s it. so messy. can’t help but want to…” and then you’re gasping as hot spurts of cum hit your face, making you even more messier. spencer moans as he strokes every last drop out of his breeding tightening balls. “fuck. look at you. so pretty like this…” your mouth stays open for the dripping of it, the salty release hitting your tongue and making you hum.
when you open your eyes, your cunt throbs. he looks gone. wild in pleasure. and starving.
“get up.” your legs shake and you almost trip by how fast you complied. “i’m not done with you yet.”
not even 10 seconds go by before you’re being thrown onto his bed —his bedroom being the nearest one of the two—, and another 10 is what it takes him to get you bare before his eyes. his eyes appreciatively took the sight of your heaving chest and rosy nipples in, the smoothness of your tummy, the plush of your thighs…
he pumps his still rock hard cock. how does he manage to have that much stamina? it hadn’t even gone down —not in the slightest— after making a mess of your face with his cum.
“it’s not gonna-” you try and say, but his words cut you off quickly enough.
“mouth shut. eyes on me. legs open. i’ll make it fit. even if i have to break apart your pussy for it.” you swallow, and god, if you hadn’t you’d have died of embarrassment by the whimper that tried to leave your throat.
you open your legs for him. pussy lips spread, soaking wet just for him, hole twitching in need of being fucked and clit puffy and sensitive pleading to be touched.
“knew she’d be pretty…” he groans, licking at his lips, hand tightening around his dick. his fingers come to your sticky cheek and gathers ropes of his cum, and before you could inquire him about it, he’s stuffing them into your needy little cunt. “jesus, she’s tight. can’t wait to break her open…” your eyes roll as he sinks them to the knuckle and curls up up up until he hits that spongy spot that makes you sing the prettiest moans late at night when you know he can hear you.
“spencer…!” you whimper, your legs falling further apart, hips twitching for more.
“that’s it. open up for me.” he smirked, pushing a third finger inside that has you choking on a scream, walks tightening down hard around his digits he grunts. “trynna milk me so soon, baby? i haven’t even put it in.”
he fucks you open with harsh strokes, but he’s diligent, he makes sure you’re slicked up and ready, loose enough for his puffy head.
but when he aligns it up with your entrance, his jaw ticks. “it’s gonna be a tight fit. now, say ‘biiiiig stretch’ for me, mh?”
“biiiig—ngh!!!!” you can’t even comply, not when he’s basically splitting you in half. your nails dig on his back as he pants and tries to fit in past the first ring of muscles.
“jesus.fuck.” with a ‘pop!’ his tip presses in, and you two moan in unison. your lungs feel like you’re on fire, and your eyes sting. but fuck if it doesn’t feel good being so full. “good girl…” he praises. and at first you think it’s directed towards you. but no. his thumb sweetly circles your clit and you cry. “taking me so good… you’re doing so good for me… now, open a little bit more for me, hm?”
he’s talking. to your pussy.
but it’s not “little” how much it has to open to accommodate him. every fucking inch is devastating. and by the time his balls hit your ass, his tip —if it could be possible— would have breached your cervix and fucked itself into your womb.
he falls onto you the moment you clench, and groans against your neck. “if only i had known you’d feel this good… i would have fucked you much sooner.” he then looks at your dizzy eyes and faded face. you’re half brain dead on his cock. he can’t help but chuckle. “so this was the fastest way to make you behave and shut up, huh? good to know.” he slaps at your cheek, and you blink, breathing ragged and heavy, his hips grinding deep against your cervix, making you whimper. “don’t you dare tap out on me. i haven’t had my way with you yet.”
and then he’s fucking you. reeeeeally fucking you.
your back arches, your nails draw blood down his back, and your cunt gushes in lewd wet sounds that resonate around his room by how hard and deep he plunges into you.
“fuck. so good… best pussy i’ve ever had. made for me, aren’t you, gorgeous?” he murmurs, and you are so lost… he’s mean. his hands are rough as they grip your hips in a way you know will bruise, and his cock is so harshly fucking you open that you believe he’ll leave the imprint of himself permanently molded to your walls.
you can feel every vein, every ridge.
“spencer, spencer, spencer…!” you cry and he chuckles in between grunts.
“so now it’s ‘spencer’, huh? what happened to ‘reid’? you’re so happy to get dicked down that you’re calling me by my name now?” one of his hands surrounds your neck, and when it tightens… your pussy does as well. “fuck! and here i thought you couldn’t get tighter…”your legs cage him, making your back arch and his dick reach deeper in places no one ever had. “needy little girl… feels good, huh?” you moan, mouth open and he takes the chance to spit on it. and when you quickly and obediently swallow what he gives you? he speeds up. “fucking slut. you love this, don’t you? love the fact that i’m breaking you apart. fuck. you even let me go in raw, bet you’ll even let me breed you if i wanted, huh?” your cunt flutters and his head hangs for a second as a strangled moan leaves him. just for a moment there, he almost lost control and busted. “you want it, honey? want my cum deep into this pretty little womb of yours?” you moan and he lets go of your neck to slap your cheek again, softly, but harsh enough to make your clit twitch. “answer me.”
“yes, yes, plea-“
“not you.” he grunts, going harsher, deeper, faster. “i’m not talking to you. i’m talking to her.” your breath leaves your lungs once two of his fingers meet your puffy clit, rolling it, pinching it. your pussy squelches. and he hums. “yeah? you want it that much?” another squeeeelch!, you’re dripping down to his sheets. “then take it, pretty. it’s all yours.” and you scream, ‘cause the way in which you’re coming when his thick warm ropes of cum fill you is insane. it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. your ears ring, your vision darkens at the corners, your brain seems to melt, and your pussy squirts in little unstopping spurts that soak his cock, balls, sheets… your juices are everywhere, and fuck if it doesn’t make spencer come even harder…
by the time his balls are drained and his hips halt, his cock up to the base inside you to keep you plugged in with his cum, you’re basically passed out, eyes crossed as you try to focus back onto the present. you can’t even remember your name. fuck, you can’t even remember how to breath.
and your legs shake like crazy when in a flip he’s got you on all fours —well not all, since one of his hands has your face smudged against one of his pillows—. “again.” he says, breathless as he pushes in his still hard cock into your abused and stuffed cunt. “show me how you squirt again. i wanna see it again.”
WARNINGS : smut, dom!reid, analyzing you, fingering, riding his fingers while he works, cock-warming, riding, scientific talk
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝟏𝟖+
You’re whining again.
Spencer doesn’t look up from the screen. He’s deep in a case—some string of cold murders with strange time signatures and geographic triangulation—and you’re in his lap, completely naked, straddling one thigh like a pillow princess.
“Spencer,” you whisper, hands tugging at his shirt. “Spencer, please, I’m bored.”
“You said you’d be good,” he replies calmly, clicking through GPS coordinates. “Fifteen minutes ago. You lasted five.”
“I need you,” you murmur, grinding down just slightly on his thigh. “Just for a minute.”
“I’m working,” he says, tone clipped but not cruel. “Serial offender. Multi-state. Victimology inconsistencies. Hush.”
You pout, trying to kiss at his jaw. He dodges effortlessly, still reading. Still ignoring you.
So you whimper—soft, desperate.
He freezes.
And without looking, his right hand reaches down, cups between your thighs, and slides two fingers inside you in one swift, practiced motion.
You gasp—loud and sharp—and he finally glances over, arching an eyebrow like you’ve just interrupted a lecture.
“You’re soaked,” he says blandly, as if noting a weather report. “Completely saturated. Did whining actually get you off?”
“Spencer—” you try, but his fingers curl just right and you choke on a moan.
“I’m not stopping my work,” he says, thrusting slowly, methodically, like he's testing angles. “But clearly you need… containment.”
You squirm, hips rolling against his hand, desperate for more. He pumps his fingers lazily, detached. Detached, but devastatingly accurate.
“Pelvic tilt increasing,” he notes absently, eyes back on the case file. “Clenching hard, too. That’s involuntary. Your body’s responding to stimulation faster than average.”
“Please—more—”
“I said I’m working,” he says again, but you feel the slight edge in his voice now—the tension under the cool. “If you want something, you’re going to have to work for it.”
He withdraws his fingers—slick, wet, shining—and sucks them into his mouth, tasting, evaluating. You nearly whine at the sight.
Then he shifts back in the chair slightly, unbuckles his belt with one hand, still scrolling through photos with the other, and finally pulls his cock free—hard and leaking.
“Ride me,” he says simply. “Quietly. Don’t interrupt my train of thought.”
You scramble into position, your hands braced on his shoulders, and he doesn’t help—doesn’t even glance at you as you lower yourself onto his cock, inch by inch, your breath shaking with the stretch.
“You’re taking me well,” he murmurs, eyes still on the monitor. “Posterior wall pressure feels ideal. You’ve been craving this.”
Your body jolts as you bottom out. You’re full. Stuffed. And he’s acting like this is a peer-reviewed study.
You move. Slow at first, careful. Spencer barely reacts—just exhales through his nose as he taps on the keyboard.
“Your heart rate’s spiked. So has mine,” he says under his breath. “Fascinating.”
You grind harder. The friction unbearable. Your breath hitches, moans bubbling up—and he finally looks at you, eyes sharp and dark.
“You were told to be quiet.”
“But—Spencer—”
He shifts his hips up hard—one deep, brutal thrust—and you cry out.
“That,” he murmurs, tone clinical again, “was the anterior fornix. Your scream confirms the angle.”
You clench around him, hard. He hisses.
“You want me to lose control?” he asks, voice low now, dangerous. “You want me to ruin this chair and forget my case and fuck you like you’re the only thing I care about right now?”
You nod, frantic. “Yes—yes, please, I need—”
His hands clamp down on your hips. Tight.
“Then ride me like you mean it,” he growls. “Show me why you’re worth the interruption.”
You do.
You bounce on his cock like your life depends on it, rhythm breaking, breath ragged, tears threatening to spill from sheer overstimulation. Spencer watches you like a living experiment—eyes locked to your face, then your tits, then where you’re split open on him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Completely out of control. My cock’s buried in you, and all you can do is sob.”
You whimper, thighs shaking. “I’m close—I’m gonna—”
He reaches between your legs, pressing one precise circle to your clit, and you scream—body locking up as your orgasm hits like a truck.
“There,” he whispers. “There’s the involuntary tremor. Muscular contraction. Perfect.”
You’re still coming when he thrusts up hard again—once, twice—and spills inside you with a soft groan, warm and thick.
The office is dead silent except for the sound of your breath.
He strokes your back gently, still seated deep inside you.
“Better?” he asks.
You nod against his neck, boneless.
“Good,” he says, glancing back at the screen. “Now let me finish this report. And if you distract me again…”
His cock twitches inside you, wet and warm and perfectly coated with his come just as much as your own.
WARNINGS : smut, dom!reid, analyzing you, fingering, riding his fingers while he works, cock-warming, riding, scientific talk
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝟏𝟖+
You’re whining again.
Spencer doesn’t look up from the screen. He’s deep in a case—some string of cold murders with strange time signatures and geographic triangulation—and you’re in his lap, completely naked, straddling one thigh like a pillow princess.
“Spencer,” you whisper, hands tugging at his shirt. “Spencer, please, I’m bored.”
“You said you’d be good,” he replies calmly, clicking through GPS coordinates. “Fifteen minutes ago. You lasted five.”
“I need you,” you murmur, grinding down just slightly on his thigh. “Just for a minute.”
“I’m working,” he says, tone clipped but not cruel. “Serial offender. Multi-state. Victimology inconsistencies. Hush.”
You pout, trying to kiss at his jaw. He dodges effortlessly, still reading. Still ignoring you.
So you whimper—soft, desperate.
He freezes.
And without looking, his right hand reaches down, cups between your thighs, and slides two fingers inside you in one swift, practiced motion.
You gasp—loud and sharp—and he finally glances over, arching an eyebrow like you’ve just interrupted a lecture.
“You’re soaked,” he says blandly, as if noting a weather report. “Completely saturated. Did whining actually get you off?”
“Spencer—” you try, but his fingers curl just right and you choke on a moan.
“I’m not stopping my work,” he says, thrusting slowly, methodically, like he's testing angles. “But clearly you need… containment.”
You squirm, hips rolling against his hand, desperate for more. He pumps his fingers lazily, detached. Detached, but devastatingly accurate.
“Pelvic tilt increasing,” he notes absently, eyes back on the case file. “Clenching hard, too. That’s involuntary. Your body’s responding to stimulation faster than average.”
“Please—more—”
“I said I’m working,” he says again, but you feel the slight edge in his voice now—the tension under the cool. “If you want something, you’re going to have to work for it.”
He withdraws his fingers—slick, wet, shining—and sucks them into his mouth, tasting, evaluating. You nearly whine at the sight.
Then he shifts back in the chair slightly, unbuckles his belt with one hand, still scrolling through photos with the other, and finally pulls his cock free—hard and leaking.
“Ride me,” he says simply. “Quietly. Don’t interrupt my train of thought.”
You scramble into position, your hands braced on his shoulders, and he doesn’t help—doesn’t even glance at you as you lower yourself onto his cock, inch by inch, your breath shaking with the stretch.
“You’re taking me well,” he murmurs, eyes still on the monitor. “Posterior wall pressure feels ideal. You’ve been craving this.”
Your body jolts as you bottom out. You’re full. Stuffed. And he’s acting like this is a peer-reviewed study.
You move. Slow at first, careful. Spencer barely reacts—just exhales through his nose as he taps on the keyboard.
“Your heart rate’s spiked. So has mine,” he says under his breath. “Fascinating.”
You grind harder. The friction unbearable. Your breath hitches, moans bubbling up—and he finally looks at you, eyes sharp and dark.
“You were told to be quiet.”
“But—Spencer—”
He shifts his hips up hard—one deep, brutal thrust—and you cry out.
“That,” he murmurs, tone clinical again, “was the anterior fornix. Your scream confirms the angle.”
You clench around him, hard. He hisses.
“You want me to lose control?” he asks, voice low now, dangerous. “You want me to ruin this chair and forget my case and fuck you like you’re the only thing I care about right now?”
You nod, frantic. “Yes—yes, please, I need—”
His hands clamp down on your hips. Tight.
“Then ride me like you mean it,” he growls. “Show me why you’re worth the interruption.”
You do.
You bounce on his cock like your life depends on it, rhythm breaking, breath ragged, tears threatening to spill from sheer overstimulation. Spencer watches you like a living experiment—eyes locked to your face, then your tits, then where you’re split open on him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Completely out of control. My cock’s buried in you, and all you can do is sob.”
You whimper, thighs shaking. “I’m close—I’m gonna—”
He reaches between your legs, pressing one precise circle to your clit, and you scream—body locking up as your orgasm hits like a truck.
“There,” he whispers. “There’s the involuntary tremor. Muscular contraction. Perfect.”
You’re still coming when he thrusts up hard again—once, twice—and spills inside you with a soft groan, warm and thick.
The office is dead silent except for the sound of your breath.
He strokes your back gently, still seated deep inside you.
“Better?” he asks.
You nod against his neck, boneless.
“Good,” he says, glancing back at the screen. “Now let me finish this report. And if you distract me again…”
His cock twitches inside you, wet and warm and perfectly coated with his come just as much as your own.
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a small american town and a series of mysterious murders.
it seems like we’ve all heard this story before — maybe even more than once. but still, there’s something about this motif that sends a chill down your spine, doesn’t it?
as a true crime podcaster, the case immediately consumed you. and while at first you only wanted to investigate it, draw attention to the victims’ tragedy, and warn the local women, at some point the investigation pulled you in
you didn’t just want to study it — you wanted to solve it.
even if it meant putting yourself in danger and getting in the way of the profilers sent to the scene.
everyone here knows everyone, so you should be safe.
everyone here knows everyone — so how likely is it that you know the killer?
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 — JULY 20
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 — JULY 21
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 — JULY 22
disclaimer: the entire series revolves around the murders of women and touches on themes of drugs, addiction, and sexual violence. it is recommended to read the content warnings that will be included with each part!
Warnings: SMUT (fingering, handjob, p in v). Dubious Consent (coercion, power imbalance, failure to pull out), unhealthy/probably illegal power imbalance, stripper!reader, gator is an asshole (like extremely), degradation, misogyny, sexual assault (by a non major character), brief violence, kind of stockholm syndrome if you think about it, unhappy ending
Summary: Gator Tillman’s fixation of the week just so happens to be you, for better or worse.
A/N: If you know me personally please do not read this thank u <3
The foggy clouds of your breath were painted pink by the glow of the neon sign— The Venus Lounge— with a cute little clamshell opening and closing and everything.
You had a velour sweatsuit pulled over the skimpy costume you’d wear for your next dance, hot pink and bedazzled across the ass. It was trendy maybe fifteen years prior, so it cost just about nothing when you bought it at a bin sale.
Sweet, strawberry-scented vapor poured from your lips as you exhaled. You hated this stupid thing— you’d rather smoke a cigarette like a goddamn adult. But the owner insisted, “You ladies gotta stay smelling nice and sweet and respectable for our clientele.” Which was fucking stupid considering they came in smelling like sweat and mud and body odor.
From the alley, you could get a sneak peek of whoever was coming your way for the night— the big spenders, the handsy ones, the cheap ones… and Gator Tillman’s stupid entourage, who you avoided like the plague.
You made the mistake of getting cozy with him. Once. A few well-paid lap dances, then a private dance in one of the dimly lit back rooms. He’d been handsy, and you relished in it, in him. A handsome, powerful guy who looked at you like you were the hottest woman he’d ever seen. You sucked him off in the private room and he gave you a hundred to shut the fuck up about it. Like you were some sort of whore.
Gator. What a stupid fucking name. His dad was a grade-A cocksucker, so it made sense that he’d name his son something so goddamn stupid. The other girls were scared of Roy, with good reason. Their boyfriend get too rough? He’d brush it off— no domestic abuse charges on his watch. The man is the master of the house, and the woman is his property. One girl swore he came onto her, and she got a broken arm when she brushed him off. A lot of people thought that stepping to the Tillman’s meant winding up dead.
Fuck that.
You hadn’t wanted to wind up in this town anyway. You were married, once upon a time. You had the tattoo of his name on your hipbone, a shitty rental house in West Texas, and a wedding band he bought from a pawn shop. He found a job up north, and you followed like an obedient puppy.
It wasn’t your fault he’d racked up gambling debts— that he owed the wrong people money he didn’t have. And it wasn’t your fault that he was fucking a waitress at the local diner— thin, blonde, perky. The divorce was settled quickly— but you were left penniless, in bumfuck North Dakota, in Tillman territory.
Well, it was a good thing you still had your looks.
You saw the police cruiser pull into the lot, heard the slam of the car door and the mindless chatter between the valiant boys in blue. Those assholes did about as much for the city as a tick does for a dog. Your phone buzzed against your hip, warning you that your break was up. You took one more puff from your vape and slipped back in the door to the dressing room.
You warned everyone that Gator and his boys were out there as you slipped out of your jogging suit and adjusted your dancewear beneath— a baby blue bikini set that you’d bedazzled by hand. You slipped a sheer skirt overtop and surveyed yourself in the mirror. There was still a flush on your cheeks from being out in the cold, but it would be fine.
You slipped out onto the floor, passing by crowded tables. It was busy, even for a Saturday, which meant more money to take home. A hand grabbed your ass and squeezed it in a meaty paw. It was some drunk old guy who probably couldn’t even get it up anymore but had maintained his pervy inclinations. You bit your cheek to keep from saying anything and kept making your rounds.
“You want a dance?” You’d ask the safe guys— the ones who looked nervous to be there, whose eyes kept flitting around like they’d get caught any moment. Their button-ups were ironed, their slacks pressed. Usually, they had a nice fountain pen in their pocket. Clerks, CPAs, any of those nerdy desk jobs.
Most of the time they declined, too nervous to go that far, but occasionally you’d get a yes, do a bit of grinding, and walk away with a nice tip.
You’d done a few lap dances by the time you passed by Gator and his crew. Your money was tucked into the band at your hip, concealing your ex-husband’s name.
He called you like a dog– whistling low. You froze, and turned to face him, all smug and pleased with himself.
“You need somethin’, Deputy?” You asked, jaw clenched, raising a brow. “Because if you do, you can ask like a gentleman. I’m a lady, not a dog.”
He laughed, glancing back at his pack of asshole cops to make sure they saw the next part. “Really? ‘Cause it seems to me you’re actin’ like a bitch.” They all laughed, because of course they did. They thought he was so, so clever. Before you could respond, he held up a fifty-dollar bill between two fingers. “C’mere, girl. I want a dance.”
Your eyes flicked between him and the fifty between his fingers. You were broke, but was it worth it? He saw your hesitation and his smug grin grew. “Aw, you need it that bad, huh?” He patted his thigh twice. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Anyone in their right mind would’ve said no, and walked away with their dignity intact, but he was right— you needed it bad.
So you approached and tried to pluck the money from his hand, but he pulled it away, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Nuh-uh, Sweetheart. Gotta earn it first.”
You huffed in disbelief, taking a step back. But meeting his gaze told you how serious he was. You swallowed your pride and straddled his lap, grinding to the beat.
It felt degrading, dancing on him while his friends all leered. Your tits pressed against Gator’s shirt, his hands firm on your hips, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch. If you called him out on it, he’d probably just say it was nothing he hadn’t done before.
It could’ve been one song, or maybe more. Probably more. When he finally removed his hands, he nodded for you to get off. You swallowed uncomfortably and took a few awkward steps back.
“The money,” you said weakly.
His face scrunched slightly, like he was considering it. “Eh… I don’t think you earned it, Sweetheart. I mean, I’m not even hard.”
He got a real kick out of that, and out of the kicked puppy look in your eyes. You swallowed it down like a bitter pill and met his gaze. “It’s not my fault that all the blow you do is killing your dick. Keep your fuckin’ money, Gator. I don’t want it.”
Which was a lie. You wanted it more than anything… but you knew you’d pissed him off. You could see the vein popping at his temple, the way his hand clenched around his beer bottle. Better to pretend you were better off without it and walk off with some dignity left.
It took about three steps to realize that there was a little less pressure on your hip than there used to be. Your hand felt along the band of the bikini and came up blank. He’d taken your fucking money.
You heard him giggling behind you once he knew you realized, but what was the point? Who would you call to get it back? The police?
By the end of the night, you counted your meager earnings and tucked it away in your bag. Without your dancewear and the makeup and the heels, you could pass for the average citizen of Stark County.
You bundled up in a parka before you walked to your car, a shitty, beat-up car nearly older than you were. One of the side mirrors was ripped off, and the bumper was caved in, but she ran.
Tucked into the windshield was a tiny note, in a messy, nearly illegible scrawl— Impress me next time. You crumpled it and tossed it onto the asphalt.
You saw him again on Monday. The club was closed on Sunday, due to an ordinance that Roy Tillman had put in place about businesses of ill repute operating on the holy day. You wondered what he thought about his son bankrolling the lives of half of the strippers who worked at the club.
He was alone, though, which scared and comforted you in equal measure. You watched him from afar, sitting at the bar, drinking a White Claw and puffing on that stupid fucking vape.
There was a girl in his lap, one of the newer dancers who didn’t know better. Whatever. She’d figure him out soon enough.
Mondays were slow. You did a few dances onstage, made the rounds, flirted with some of the regulars. Gator was blissfully elsewhere, which you loved.
The night had been pretty tame until just before last call, when an overserved realtor got loud and handsy.
“C’mon, why don't you take me back to one of those rooms without the cameras?” One asked as you gave him a half-hearted lap dance. His breath was like a punch bowl at a senior prom, and his fingers dug into the plush of your ass.
You winced as he pulled you harder against him, and you felt the uncomfortable prod of his dick against you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He was grinding up against you, sweaty at his temples and forehead. He was deceptively strong, holding you down against him so he could rut against you and get off. “Ya know, the private rooms for the big tippers. Better than all this over the clothes stuff.”
“You need to stop,” you said, as firmly as you could, shoving at his chest to really get your point across. He didn’t let up, and gave you a smarmy grin as he began roughly moving your hips of his own accord. “Hey, stop it, asshole.”
“Hey, you’re the one offerin’ me a dance,” he said. “I sold a nice big house today, got a real good commission. I could tip ya real good if you’re nice.”
“Let me go!” You shoved at his chest, slapping at him, but he just grinned. You were just wondering if biting his ear off would do the trick when you felt yourself pulled off him and tossed aside on the floor like a rag doll.
Then there was the soft sound of blows landing against a stomach. Then the crunch of a broken nose. The wheezy rattle of the realtor’s breath once he started spitting up blood and teeth. Each punch made you flinch until finally, it relented.
“Should’ve let her go, asshole.” Gator’s knuckles were bloodied, and you realized he was holding out a hand to help you up. You took it, nervously, and readjusted your costume where the realtor had tugged at them. “You hurt?”
You shook your head. “I’m fine but is— I mean, is he gonna be okay?”
Gator’s brows furrowed as he spared a glance toward the bloodied pile of meat on the floor. He spat in his direction and shrugged. “Who fuckin’ cares? Goddamn lowlife.”
You wondered if he could sense the irony. His face lit up in recognition, then he knelt beside the realtor, patting him down, searching for something. He stood and held up a fancy, monogrammed leather wallet.
He sifted through, retrieving bill after bill. “Here. Y’earned it.” It was more cash than you brought home in a week. More cash than anyone should carry on themselves at once.
“I’m not taking that,” you said weakly. “I can’t.”
He rolled his eyes, tucking the money in your bra. “Such a fuckin’ bitch, you know that? Can’t even say thank you or nothin’.”
He left you standing there over the broken body of the asshole realtor, who may or may not have been dying. Either way, you figured the Tillman’s would handle it. For better or worse.
“I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” you argued, which was a lie. And it’s not like anyone would listen even if it wasn’t. Police are on their way, they said. They’ll deal with thieving filth like you.
Well… they didn’t have to get quite so personal. You sat outside the Manager’s office at the stupid fucking sex shop, picking at your cuticles until you heard the police cruiser roll up outside. You heard the door slam, and muffled chatter until you saw him walk in.
“Well… look who got herself into some trouble. And here of all places too.”
Fuck. Gator Fucking Tillman.
You glanced up at him for a moment before returning to your nails. The shop owner was talking the deputy’s fucking ear off until you heard the question you dreaded.
“What is it she was tryin’ to steal? I mean… there’s a lot to choose from, I’ll tell ya that.”
You watched with a thin sense of dread as the shop owner laid out your would-be haul of lingerie that had been stuffed into your purse. Gator grinned as he glanced over at you, then back at the lingerie.
“Can I have the office? I need some privacy to interrogate the perp.” The manager complied, bending to the will of the law or whatever. Gator grabbed you by the arm and tugged you inside, closing the door firmly behind him.
You watched as he strode towards the nice armchair behind the desk, then sat down, legs spread wide. He unzipped the stupid police vest and shrugged it off, so it landed in a pile on the floor. For a moment, it was quiet as you stared at him dumbly, then he snapped his fingers.
“What? You want me to tell you why did it? Three fucking guesses.”
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No, I want you to try it on.”
You swallowed, and when you spoke your tongue felt dumb and heavy. “What?”
“You heard me. Try it all on, and tell me if it was worth the trouble.” He looked at you expectantly, and when you didn’t move, he sighed. “It’s this, or I take you to the station, get you booked, and all that. I doubt anyone’s gonna pay your bail, so that’s a few days before arraignment. Then it’s a court case for larceny, and let’s be honest, you’re guilty.”
You stared at him, speechless. He stood up suddenly, grabbing his things before you interrupted— “Wait! Wait. Just… sit back down.”
He grinned. “There’s a good girl. Make it good for me, yeah? You know how.”
You huffed, heart pounding as you grabbed the first set and turned around to change. You had just pulled off your shirt when he cleared his throat behind you. Your hands shook as you turned around, barely covering your tits.
“C’mon, I said to make it good, Sweetheart,” he said with a thinly veiled sense of amusement. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”
The fucking asshole. But you took a breath and steadied yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.
His gaze was intense, tracing each curve and dip of your body as you moved. You slipped the bra on, clipping it shut with shaking hands.
“Alright, now you can turn around,” he said, nodding towards the panties in your hand. “And do it nice and slow for me.”
Your face burned with embarrassment as you turned around, working the buttons of your skirt so you could slip it down your legs. It fell into a pile around your ankles and fanned out like a flower. You hooked your thumbs into the panties you were wearing, pink with little flowers spotting the fabric. As slowly as you could manage while terrified and pissed, you slipped them down your legs.
When you spared a glance at Gator, he was smirking right back at you. “Give those here,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly.
“What?”
“Geez, you’re fuckin’ dumb. Lemme see ‘em.” He more or less snatched the panties from your grip, smiling like the cat who got the cream as he held them up. “Might have to keep ‘em. Evidence.”
You swallowed down your annoyance and pulled the lacy panties up your legs. When you were finished, you turned, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Shockingly, he was quiet as he looked at you, eyes raking over your tits, and every bare piece of skin he could see. It felt like you stood there under his gaze for hours before he finally spoke up.
“It’s not doin’ much for ya, sweetheart. I mean, you don’t look very fuckable.”
It landed like a blow to your gut. He was an asshole, so it should’ve meant nothing… but he knew exactly where your soft spots were, and just how hard to dig his fingers in. “Fuck you, Gator.”
“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he cooed, patronizing and smug. “So fuckin’ sensitive, huh? Can’t take a joke. C’mere, lemme see you.” He grabbed your wrist in the tightly packed office and tugged you forward, so you practically stumbled on top of him.
You flinched as his hand moved up the back of your thigh, warm and calloused. When he gave your ass a rough squeeze, you closed your eyes and shivered.
“Ya know, I saw your husband the other day.” His finger traced along the name on your hip— Jack. Every loop and whorl of the cursive claimed by his touch. “Looked real happy with that girl of his. Sarah, right? The waitress he was fuckin’ behind your back?”
You swallowed hard and said nothing, but he was more than happy to keep running his mouth. “Well, she’s not special. I’ve fucked Sarah too, and she just laid there like a dead fish the whole time.”
“Maybe you just weren’t that good.” You smirked as you replied, unable to resist being a bit of an asshole right back.
“You gettin’ smart right now?” He gave your ass a quick slap, making you squeak. “I was trying to give you a compliment, but you don’t fuckin’ deserve it. You’re so fuckin’ used up that you don’t even know what good is.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure you think that. It’s easy to blame it on the girl when you can’t make ‘em cum, right?”
His jaw clenched, anger painting his features. “Wouldn’t you fuckin’ like to know, huh?” He caught sight of the smirk on your face and shoved you back. “Put on the next one.”
Fucking dickhead. You rolled your eyes and quickly stripped off the lingerie, throwing it in his general direction once it was off. You weren’t as graceful in dressing in the next set. Why give him a show and let him win? Once it was on, you crossed your arms and looked at him expectantly.
“Well?”
He cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I like it better than the first, but I don’t think your heart’s quite in it. Gimme a twirl.”
You gave a slow turn, then met his gaze again, raising a brow. He ran a hand over his mouth, looking you up and down. You caught the slightest movement as he spread his legs a little wider. It only served to highlight the bulge in the front of his stupid fucking cargos.
“You’re really enjoyin’ yourself, huh?” You snapped, eyes narrowed. He laughed, following your gaze to his lap.
“Well,” he began, lazily moving a hand to cup his growing hard-on. “I could always find a way to enjoy myself more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”
You ignored him and began trying on the last set you’d attempted to steal. A bright red set, skimpier than the others, which you were sure he fucking loved. Before he could ask, you gave a slow twirl.
“Atta girl,” he cooed. He was blatantly stroking himself over the fabric, eyes half-lidded. You swallowed hard, watching the sight before you. It was like something out of a bad porno. Or a really good one. Jury was out. He patted his thigh, nodding you over. “C’mere, I won’t bite.”
A moment of hesitation passed through you, wondering if this was really what you wanted. It was like you could hear his voice in your head, asking if you could do any better. You sighed and slowly settled onto his lap. He looked at you with a funny sort of expression— not so much that he was smug, just… a bit pleased.
“You gonna give me a dance?” His hand rested on your thigh, fingers tapping erratically. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. “Is this ‘cause I didn’t pay the other night?” You scowled. “I mean, I think you owe me now. I paid ya back a hundred times over thanks to Mr. Realtor from the other day.”
You stayed silent and still, looking anywhere but his face. He took your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him, so close you could taste the fruit flavor from that goddamn vape on his breath.
“Remember how turned on you got just from havin’ my cock in that pretty mouth of yours?” He said, voice barely above a whisper. He ran a thumb along your bottom lip, tugging at it slightly. “I still remember the way you had to slip a hand between your legs to play with yourself.”
You made a weak sound in the back of your throat as you remembered it— that desperate, all-consuming need. Maybe it’s because he was an asshole, or maybe it was all of the authority. Maybe that’s why you shoplifted anyway. Because you knew he’d be the one to show up.
“You ever been with someone as big as me before?”
You shivered. “No.”
A wide smile spread across his lips. “Since?” You just shook your head. “Betcha been dreamin’ about it too. Stuffin’ that greedy little pussy full of your fingers whenever you think about me.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t quite deny it. It wasn’t a frequent fantasy, but it was there. “You’re a real narcissist. You know that?”
He grinned. “That’s not a no, is it?” He leaned in closer, nuzzling against your throat, his breath hot. “Bet if I slipped my hand inside those panties, they’d be fuckin’ soaked.”
And despite your better judgment, you fucking whimpered. All but confirming it.
“Yeah, I thought so,” he cooed. His hand found purchase on the small of your back, and when he applied the smallest bit of pressure, you found yourself giving in. Slowly, your hips ground against his, making a soft sigh escape your lips each time your cunt met his clothed dick.
“Want me to find some music?” He asked with a boyish grin. “I bet I have Pony somewhere on my phone.”
You shook your head before he could even try to grab it. “I’ll kill you if you even try.” He laughed, just a bit. It was rare to hear him laugh and have it not be at your, or anyone else’s expense.
You grabbed his hands, moving them to your waist, just at your ribcage. The tips of his fingers brushed against your tits, and he smiled.
“Takin’ charge now, are ya? You could’ve just put ‘em right here.” He moved his hands up, cupping your breasts in his large hands. You moaned softly as he gave a slight squeeze, arching into his touch. “ See? That’s much better, huh? Just take what you need, baby. I’ll give it right to ya.”
Take what you need? You could do that. You moved your hands along his chest, fighting the urge to just tear off his shirt and reveal the white tank top you knew he always wore beneath. Instead, you slipped your hands to his goddamn cargos and made quick work of the button and zipper.
He sat back and watched as you spit into your palm, his eyes hazy with arousal. You slipped your hand inside his pants and slipped beneath the band of his plaid boxers. A low groan escaped his lips when you wrapped your hand around him and squeezed.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Just like that.” His head fell back, leaving the plane of his neck for the taking. Your lips pressed against the skin there, leaving a mixture of soft kisses and bites as you worked him in your hand.
Gator’s stamina was absolute dogshit. You could tell when he was close from the way he’d pulse in your hand and whimper like a fuckin’ girl. You’d just have to squeeze him at his base to stave it off, give him a few seconds to cool off before you kept going.
“You want me?” You asked, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.
“So fuckin’ bad.” He was bucking up into your fist, chasing the sweet pleasure of your soft hand around him.
A smile spread across your lips. “Then earn it.” You pulled back, meeting his gaze as you removed your hand from him.
He sat there, panting and staring dumbly as you sat atop the desk and spread your legs invitingly. “C’mon, Gator. You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”
He huffed with annoyance as he stood, towering over you as he pulled off his shirt to reveal that fucking tank top. He leaned down just slightly, so his arms were caging you in. “I’ll fuckin’ earn it, alright. I’m gonna own this pussy by the time I’m through.”
He knelt between your legs, kissing his way up your thighs. You cried out as his teeth dug into the plush skin, leaving an indentation that would probably turn purple the next day.
“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” He just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down.
He was quick to drag his fingers through your slit, coating them in your arousal. The wet sounds of him playing with you, spreading you open for him, made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“I’m an asshole, but you clearly fuckin’ like it, huh?” He said, holding up his fingers, glistening with your juices, as proof. His smirk made annoyance and arousal bubble up within you, tangling in an utterly infuriating way. “Relax for me, yeah? Gonna stretch you out, make you feel real good.”
You moaned softly as his fingers pressed against your entrance, teasing you with the idea of being full. A gentleman would start off slow, work you up to two fingers gradually. Gator Tillman wasn’t a fucking gentleman, but you didn’t care.
“Shhh… open up for me,” He said, speaking not to you, but to your cunt. “That’s it, atta girl.” A low whimper escaped you as his fingers pressed inside, thick and stretching you just right. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, needing him deeper, more, more.
“Jesus Christ, Gator,” His fingers flexed at just the right spot, making you cry out desperately. He grinned, then pressed a kiss to your thigh as he began fucking you with his fingers, acutely aware that the slightest twitch of his fingers could make you fucking sing for him.
It’s a funny thing he does with his fingers— not quite jackhammering them in and out like most of the other guys you’d been with but not exactly too far away. And you were fucking whining for it, your hips canting against his fingers until he finally had to throw his arm across your pelvis to just, in his words, keep you fuckin’ still.
It felt good, but you were also very aware that he was purposefully, or, worse, unknowingly avoiding your clit. The more you considered it, the more convinced you were that it was the latter. He was homeschooled, apparently, by his religious nut father, which meant his sex ed was probably just porn, and not even the decent kind.
You squirmed slightly. “Gator—”
“’M busy.”
You rolled your eyes and huffed. I mean, sure, he was good with his hands, but you would also appreciate that skill applied elsewhere. Whatever, you weren’t helpless.
His eyes narrowed as you moved a hand between your legs, circling your clit in time with his fingers. Your head fell back as a string of moans escaped your lips. That’s what you needed.
“God, you’re desperate,” he muttered, but he didn’t bother to redirect your hands. “I coulda done that.”
You would’ve laughed if you weren’t already so close, the pressure and attention to your clit exactly what you needed to fall over the edge.
“I feel you squeezin’ my fingers,” he said, voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Wanna cum that bad, huh? Can’t even take what I give ya? Are you that fuckin’ needy?” When you didn’t think to answer, he leaned over and bit your thigh again. Harder.
“Fuck!” You shouted, annoyed that you’d have a second set of bruises to cover. But your annoyance melted right back into the siren call of pleasure.
Moans tumbled from your lips before you could bring yourself to answer. “Yes, I’m that needy,” You gasped as his fingers moved deeper, harder with every thrust in. Your fingers moved faster on your clit, making your legs twitch on either side of Gator’s shoulders.
He let you teeter there on the precipice for a little longer, until you were sure you were going to tumble straight into sweet ecstasy. So close you could taste it, sweet and heady on the back of your tongue.
And like that, Gator pulled away, slipping his fingers from your cunt and leaving you wanting. You sat there, panting and frustrated as he wiped his fingers off on your thigh. “Too fuckin’ bad. Bend over.”
He slapped the side of your thigh as he stood and looked down at you expectantly. Your legs wobbled as you stood in what little room he provided you, tits brushing against his chest for just a moment as you turned and bent over the desk.
“Isn’t this a pretty sight?” He grabbed your ass, kneading the plush skin roughly before landing a rough smack. You winced at the sting as you spared a glance over your shoulder. He landed another slap on the opposite cheek, then spread you apart with his thumbs. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, you know that?”
He was quick to free his cock from the confines of his cargos and boxers. Over your shoulder, you could see the heap of clothes he’d made on the floor. In the back of your mind, you noted the very careless way he treated the gun in his thigh holster, but said nothing. It was hard to focus on improper gun handling when he had his length in his hand, stroking it slowly as he took in the sight of you.
“You’re gonna pull out, right?” You asked, chewing your lip as you looked at him.
He rolled his eyes, the tip of his cock notched right at your entrance, making you arch against him. “You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. I’m not stupid, I’ll pull out.”
The prettiest groan escaped him as he rocked against your cunt, coating himself in your dripping arousal before the head of his cock nudged at your entrance.
“You want me?” He asked, his breath coming in pants. Your body felt like a fucking live wire, hyperaware of the feeling of him, just barely outside of where you craved him.
You nodded. “Uh-huh. I want you. So bad, Gator.”
He sank into you, nice and slow, so he could relish in the warm, soft feeling of your walls around him. A sappier man would’ve said it felt like heaven. Gator wasn’t sappy.
“Goddamn, you’ve got the tightest fuckin’ pussy,” He managed once he’d bottomed out, every inch of him fully sheathed inside. “Forget what I said about you bein’ used up.”
What a gentleman. You whined softly, pushing back against him to silently beg for more. He put a hand on the small of your back and pushed down so your back arched even more. Then he fucked you in earnest.
The noises you made should’ve been illegal— some form of indecency or something. Loud and whiny, desperate for more. Your nails scratched at the laminate of the desk, seeking something, anything to hold onto for purchase as he fucked you within an inch of your life.
He was so big you could’ve sworn you felt him deep in your stomach, even though you knew physically that was impossible. Each thrust punched out a keening moan from your lips, a swear, a breathy whine, or just his stupid fucking name over and over again.
He reached a hand beneath you, so his rough fingers could play with your clit. “This is what you wanted so bad, yeah?” He asked, voice breathy as he quickly rubbed your clit. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you, Gator.” You were practically babbling. Thank you thank you thank you.
Over your shoulder, you watched him using your body, chasing his high. Every slap of your ass was for his own gratification, just to see it jiggle. He was only rubbing your clit so he could feel you squeeze him even tighter.
You didn’t care. You fucking loved it. Even as he manhandled you, lifting your thigh and placing it on the desk so he could fuck you deeper, you just laid there and took it like a fucking champ.
“Woulda fucked you sooner if I knew it’d be this good.” His voice wavered slightly with the effort it took to maintain the relentless pace he had set. He slapped your ass hard, making you yelp and clench around him.
What you’d said earlier was right— you were needy. You rocked back against him, meeting him with each thrust. The sounds of his hips hitting your ass with each thrust were nearly as pornographic as both of your moans.
Gator didn’t shut up most of the time, but when he was buried inside of you he could mostly only manage pretty moans.
“F-fuck, sweetheart. You’re… you’re really workin’ for it, huh?” His words were interrupted by low moans and grunts. “C’mon. Give it to me.”
He let you do most of the work, rocking back against him, making you fuck yourself on his cock. And he looked fucking smug about it too.
The switch snapped suddenly when he grabbed your hips and fucked you without abandon, skin slapping against skin as he roughly bullied himself inside of you again and again.
“That’s it. Just lay there and take it, sweetheart.” His voice was breathy and strained. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Fuck! That’s it. Just like that.”
He came suddenly, thrusting deep and hard as he spilled within you. It annoyed you that he looked pretty when he came— his mouth ajar, eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling just slightly.
And then you were annoyed because he fucking lied. He pulled out after he had ridden the aftershocks with a few shallow thrusts and quickly redressed.
“You didn’t pull out,” you said, your voice was strained with annoyance and anger as you looked back at him. He was getting dressed, making sure he looked alright. He didn’t even care to get you off. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He shrugged, trying to appear unbothered by it all. But you saw the annoyed tick in his jaw, the anger beneath it. Like a rattlesnake all coiled up, ready to strike if you made the wrong move. You were never on equal terms. You were no better than prey. And you should have known better, right?
Annoying, hot tears welled on your lashline, and you prayed to any higher power that he wouldn’t notice as you wiped at your eyes. You stood, doing your best to redress in silence, doing your best to remain small. He slapped a fifty on the desk and you flinched. “Buy some Plan B if you’re that fuckin’ worried about it. Jesus Christ.” He paused as he reached the door. “I’ll tell the manager we got it all sorted out. Isn’t that good enough for ya?”
You stood there, unsatisfied and used, with his cum leaking out of you, and stayed silent. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t anything at all.
You walked out with fifty dollars, streaked mascara, three sets of lingerie you’d throw in the trash, and a newfound desire to get the fuck out of Stark County. And, maybe, some misplaced hope that next time might be different.
For A Good Time Call! || Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Word Count: 14.6k
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Phone Sex Hotline Operator!Reader
Warnings: SMUT (phone sex, m & f masturbation (including pillow humping & sex toys), f!receiving oral sex, p in v sex), language, idiots in love, mutual pining, porn WITH plot
Summary: In the Summer of 1985, Steve's social standing is at an all time low. In an act of sheer, pathetic desperation, he calls a phone sex hotline. Little does he know, his dream girl from the hotline is just an escalator away.
Steve Harrington wasn’t the kind of guy who did this. He repeated it in his head as he scribbled down the phone number— fed straight to him from a local late-night advertisement. For a good time call!
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what that meant. And he wasn’t exactly able to ignore the way his dick twitched in his boxers as the commercial showed pretty girls twirling phone lines around manicured fingers, pretty smiles on their faces, eyes sultry and staring right through him.
Plus, he wasn’t actually going to call. He was just… keeping the number for his records. He’d just put it in his Rolodex and forget about it.
A week later, and he decidedly hadn’t forgotten about it. In fact, with the house empty and playboys not cutting it, it’s all he could think about.
For a good time call. He wanted to have a good time. It had been a while since he had a good time— his stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform wasn’t exactly bolstering his natural charm. Robin could say what she wanted, but he was charming and fun and everything people usually want in a boyfriend. He was just… going through a rough patch.
He retrieved his Rolodex and hurriedly flipped through, trying to remember where he’d hidden the number. Definitely not around his boss. And not around Nancy either. Tucked between Tommy and a past hookup, he found it.
He set up his pillows behind his back and got comfortable before dialing the number with uncharacteristically sweaty hands. He was cooler than this was all making him seem. He was the playboy of Hawkins High— of Hawkins in general. Phone sex was nothing.
As he dialed the number, he prepared to turn on his charm. Instead, he was led to a generic call-center script, which, after being carefully followed based on his wants and desires, took him to billing.
“It’s a flat rate of twenty for your first ten minutes. If you finish before then, it’s still twenty, alright?”
He swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“After that, it’s fifty cents per minute. An hour session will run you about $55.” Oh. It certainly wasn’t cheap. He’d spent less on dates before. “Is that alright with you?”
“Yeah,” he said after a brief pause, his mind taking a while to catch up. “Do you need my credit card?”
By the time billing was over, his anticipation had tangled his stomach into knots. He glanced at the clock, wondering if those ten minutes would fly past him as fast as he thought they would. The line trilled as he waited to be connected to his partner for the night. Jenny. Like the song.
That song was gross, anyway. But how could he say anything about it now?
The ringing stopped, and he could hear the crackle of a quiet line on the other side, the rustle of movement. Did he need to say hi first? Was trying to start a conversation weird?
“Hi,” he said, and he wondered how he could make one word sound so utterly stupid. “Jenny, right?”
“Mhmm,” you hummed. He could picture you so clearly, despite knowing nothing— one of those pretty girls in the commercials, laying on your belly on a frilly pink bed, fingernails and toenails painted a shiny red, twirling the phone cord around your finger. “What should I call you?”
He swallowed. “Do people usually give you fake names?”
“Sometimes,” you replied. “It’s not about what other people do, baby. It’s about what you want. Do you want me to call you by a fake name?”
He wrinkled his nose. What was the worst thing that could come from a stranger knowing his first name? “No, that sounds awful. No offense.” You laughed, and he felt himself relax. “I’m Steve H—“ He cleared his throat. “Just Steve.”
“Well, I’m glad that I get to talk to you tonight Steve,” you said, and just the sultry timbre of your voice made his stomach do flips. “I’m guessing this is your first time?”
He furrowed his brows. “I’m not a virgin.”
“No, baby. I mean it seems like it’s your first time calling a hotline like this.” His face burned hot as he fumbled his way through answering, oh, yeah, I guess that’s right. “So, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me what you want?”
“Uh…” he paused, trying to think of a more polite way of saying to cum while a pretty girl talks to me. “I guess I’ve just been lonely.”
“Poor baby,” you said, and he was shocked that you didn’t have even a hint of amusement or mirth when you said it. “You want me to take care of you? Help you forget?”
His breath caught in his throat, stealing his response. His dick twitched, already half-hard and sensitive. All he could manage was a tiny whimper of, “Mhmm.”
“What do you usually think about when you’re touching yourself?” You asked, and the lack of shame in your voice made heat flare in his cheeks. He’d had some shameless hookups, but most of the girls he slept with didn’t like to talk about it. “Like, what’s your favorite fantasy, Steve?”
It was embarrassing. Mortifying, actually. It was basically the plot of a bad porno or a letter to Penthouse.
Usually, it started by his pool. And a girl was there, wearing a cute, but ultimately tiny, bikini. The girl didn’t really matter. Well, she did, but it wasn’t about who she was. She could have been a Playmate of the Month, or a movie star, or a girl he was crushing on and wanted to ask out. All that mattered for the sake of the fantasy, was that she was pretty, had nice tits, and wanted him.
“Does that make me awful?” He asked, pausing mid-description to gauge your perception of him. You laughed on the other end of the line.
“God, Steve,” you said with thinly veiled amusement. “You think I give a personality and backstory to all of the people I fantasize about fucking?”
It made him feel a little better.
Anyways, there was something about summertime that just made sense to him. Skin all but steaming in the heat, the oiled up glow that came from sweaty skin. Wearing as few clothes as possible so you didn’t overheat.
You gave a nervous laugh— breathy and sweet— on the other end of the line. “You’re really good at setting the scene, Steve.” He liked to be specific. He wanted to think about tiny details like the salty taste of skin or hair that smelled like chlorine and salt. “What’s next?”
She always started by laying on her stomach, the ties of her bikini undone so she didn’t get unsightly tan lines. She would peer at him over her shoulder with wide, innocent eyes while she asked if he could apply a bit more sunscreen on her back where she couldn’t reach.
So he straddled her thighs, her skin burning up under his hands as he rubbed in the freezing cold sunscreen. Goosebumps would break out along her arms, and she’d have to arch away from the sensation, pushing her ass against him.
“Are you hard already?” You asked, and his cheeks burned hot.
“Like…” He glanced at his lap, where his cock was already straining against the fabric of his boxers. “In the fantasy or right now?”
“Is the answer the same for both?”
He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”
“Keep going.”
He was already impatient. Skipped right to the kissing and cut out the context and actions that led to it. Did it matter? The bikini top fell onto the ground, and she was on top of him, tits pressed into his sun-warmed chest, tongue licking into his mouth.
God, he fucking loved kissing. He’d missed it so much since he’d graduated and his social clout had depleted to fuck all. There had been dates, and messy, slow makeouts in the back of his car since walking the stage, but not one since his first shift at Scoops Ahoy. It was killing him.
She felt so good in his lap— so warm and heavy. He could have stayed like that forever— trapped beneath a pretty girl with her tongue down his throat. But he wanted more— he always wanted more.
He wanted more then. As he relayed his fantasy to this stranger in painstaking detail, he ached for more. His hand was flat on his tummy, and he shivered as he slipped it beneath the band of his boxers to take his cock into his hand. He groaned, the back of his head knocking against the wall.
“God, you’re cute,” your voice was so pretty. He throbbed in his grip, making him exhale a shuddering breath. “It’s okay, Steve. You can keep touching yourself while you talk to me. I want you to.”
“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice broken by a tiny whimper. “I don’t have to.”
“I’m sure, baby,” you insisted. “What do you do next, hm? I’m on top of you, kissing you nice and slow, grinding my hips against yours because I just can’t help myself. Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”
“I’d—“ He swallows hard, eyes shut tight. “I’d want to taste you.”
In the fantasy, his hands gripped the back of your thighs, moving you up his body so you were just above his mouth. He was suave and sexy. He’d pull the bow at your hip with his teeth so your swim bottoms fell off like they were nothing.
And it would feel so comfortable beneath you— so natural for him. He’d just barely have to lean forward to have his mouth on you, already wet so he could taste you on his tongue. He’d moan at your taste— he fucking loved the way pussy tasted, even if he got shit for it in the locker room when he admitted it— and pull you down onto his mouth so he could get impossibly closer.
It would be messy— a mix of spit and slick on his mouth and chin, making the tip of his nose shine. He’d spend as long as he wanted beneath you, pulling every noise he could from your lips, trapped between your thighs. He wouldn’t stop until you came— once at a minimum, more if he was feeling greedy.
“All this attention on little old me,” you teased. “Would you let me take care of you? I could slip off those swim trunks of yours and make you feel good.”
He had set a steady pace— hand gliding up and down his length as his fantasy continued to evolve. “Yeah,” he managed, but his voice came out strangled and desperate. “You’d put your hand down my shorts and tease me. Your hand would feel so good. Warm and soft. You’d, uh, tell me how big I am, how you wanted to feel me stretch your uh— your—.”
“My what, baby?” Your voice dripped with amusement and mirth. “My pussy?”
“Fuck.” It came out with an exhale, his heart hammering.
“You like it when girls say dirty things to you, Steve?” You asked, and he could hear your smirk. “You want me to beg for your cock so deep inside of me that I feel you in my stomach? Or tell you how warm and wet and tight I feel around my fingers?”
Steve groaned, throbbing in his grip as he worked himself faster. “Fuck, are you really?”
“Mhmm,” you replied. “Think about how good I’d feel when you finally let yourself fuck me. You were such a gentleman first, but you don’t have to be with me. I want to make this all about you.”
But he was a gentleman. Of course he wanted to get his dick wet and et cetera, but that wasn’t really why he liked sex. He liked making people feel good all because of him— hearing the pretty noises they made, watching their initial shyness melt away into unabashed desire.
A lot of the time (most of the time), he felt like a huge fuck-up. Abysmal grades (well, more around average), not good enough for sports scholarships, basically every bit the son that his parents didn’t want to have. Who could really blame him for relishing in the times when he could be good and impressive to someone other than himself?
Whatever. If he thought about that train of thought for more than, like, ten seconds, he’d lose his hard-on and probably start crying into the receiver and spilling all of his life’s worst moments. He really couldn’t imagine anything more pathetic than that.
So he thought about something else.
He thought about how he’d lay you down on a beach towel, warmed in the sun, cradled by plush grass beneath it. He’d feel awkward about shucking off his swim trunks— he always hated undressing because it felt so awkward. But you’d look at him like he was the most attractive guy in the whole world.
He was a sap, what could he say? He would hold your hand too, squeezing it with his as he lined up with your entrance. You’d be so wet that it felt slick and he’d feel proud just knowing he did that to you.
When he finally pushed into you, your eyes would be locked on his, warm with emotion, like the entire world just melted away. And how could he not kiss you? When everything felt so good and your legs were wrapped around his waist and each breath was punctuated by soft, desperate sounds?
It would feel special. With your foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. He just wants to be as close to you as possible— needs to feel every inch of your skin, sweaty and sun-warmed, against his. He’d just… bury himself deep inside of you and grind into you. It felt more intimate that way.
He could feel himself getting close. A furrow formed between his brows as he chased his high. Moans broke up his words as he brought himself closer and closer.
“I’d— fuck— I’d rub your clit. Make you cum before I got there. It’d feel so— so fucking good too. It always feels so good. Oh god. Fuck, I’m close.”
“Go ahead, baby. I want to hear you.”
His entire body shuddered as he came, spilling messily onto his belly and chest. It felt like it lasted forever— that warm, perfect feeling of reaching his peak. He was panting as he came down, stroking himself until overstimulation made him whimper.
“Fuck… maybe I should pay you for that,” you said after a beat. “Did it feel good, Steve? Feel a little less lonely?”
“Mhmm,” he replied. He was spent— already feeling languid and heavy. “That was… Really perfect.”
“I’m glad.” You paused again, and he spent that time trying to catch his breath. “I’m on every night around this time. Like, from around ten to two. I’d like to hear more of your fantasies, maybe even act one out with you, if you’d want that?”
His heart hammered, and he felt incredibly stupid as a blush crept up his neck and cheeks. “Yeah, I’ll call you again soon.”
When you said your good nights, he laid back against his pillows. The dial tone played over the speakers as he stared up at his ceiling, spend cooling on his tummy. Leave it to King Steve to fall for someone he had to pay to talk to.
Your eyelids drooped as you manned the checkout counter at Waldenbooks, one of few stores at the mall that could actually be found vacant during a busy summer day. Last night had been a late one— it didn’t help that you couldn’t stop thinking about Steve, your mystery caller.
It felt stupid to get hung up on the type of guy who had to call a hotline to get his rocks off, especially when you knew precious little about him. You had his name, his general location, that he had a pool, and he had a nice voice.
Your bangs lifted as you blew a puff of air out the side of your lips, slowly going insane to the sound of Muzak playing softly through the speakers.
Steve… Did you know any Steve’s? Steve Crandall got into a motorcycle wreck the year after graduation and died. Then there was Steve Odell who moved off to California on some crazy tech idea he swore was going to change the world. Steven Ferris? He seemed like the type, but there was no way he owned a pool since you were pretty sure he lived in the basement of some old couple’s house. That wiped out your graduating class, at least.
From your perspective on the second floor, you had a perfect view of the fine piece of ass working the ice cream parlor. He was cute— definitely younger than you by a couple of years— and the stupid costume they had him in surprisingly did it for you. You could watch him mop up spilled sorbet all day and it’d be jerk-off material for the next week.
He had nice biceps. And thighs. Fucking hell, the things you’d do to get between those and —
“New releases?” You snap your gaze to the other side of the counter, where a woman with pink lipstick on her teeth looks at you impatiently.
You plastered on a winning smile and pointed a manicured finger to the other side of the store. “That big shelf on the left-hand wall over there,” you said with saccharine sweetness. “Anything else that I can help you with, ma’am?”
She frowned and you fought a grin. There was nothing that women pushing forty hated more than being called ma’am. You might as well have been telling them they had a foot in the grave.
The day passed by with minimal hiccups. You convinced someone to buy your favorite book, so that was a win. And you’d gotten to restock the fun pencils. You clocked out and shrugged off the vest you wore on top of your normal clothes and took your hair down from its ponytail to hang loose on your shoulders. Your perm was kind of killing you. It never sat just how you wanted, almost like it had a mind of its own.
You made your way out of the mall with a brief glance towards Scoops Ahoy, which was notably missing the hot guy you’d been lusting after since your first day on the job. With a dejected sigh, you escaped the crowded, piercingly loud mall and stepped into the hot summer air.
Most people (or, more accurately, children) were heading for the busses that would shuttle people back into the town square or their respective neighborhoods, but your car waited for you in the exclusive Employees Only lot in the shade. As you turned to head that way, you bumped straight into a tall, firm figure.
Huh, you thought. He smells like hot fudge and maraschino cherries. I like those things.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I thought you were headed for the bus like everyone else.”
You looked up, squinting against the sun, and felt heat flood your cheeks when you realized that it was the hot ice cream scooper. “Oh, it’s, uh—“ you stammered nervously. It was never as easy as the phone line. “I was too.” You wanted to hit yourself. What the hell were you even talking about?
His brows furrowed. “You were what?“
Fuck. “I… uh— don’t know,” you finally said, ready for the conversation to end forever. “I’ll see you around.” And you were gone. You almost missed him calling after you.
You will?
But you pretended you’d never heard it.
——
Steve called at midnight, just as you brewed your second cup of coffee of the night. You took a quick sip as the call was directed your way, already feeling much more awake in anticipation of what lay ahead.
“Hey, Steve,” you greeted, adjusting your voice to that casual, sexy cadence that you had perfected. “I was thinking about you all day today.”
Steve responded with a dismissive psh. “I’m going to pretend that’s true, because I was thinking of you too,” he said, and you could hear his grin. “I kept screwing up at work because I’d get distracted thinking about you.”
You felt heat creep into your cheeks. “Baby, you’ll make me blush.” You paused, chewing on your lip briefly. “So… what’s in the cards for tonight, Steve? What do you want to do with me?”
He paused so long that you almost thought the call had dropped, but eventually he worked up the nerve to continue. “Well, you heard my fantasy last time. This time I want to hear yours.”
You snorted a laugh. “Steve, baby, that’s so incredibly sweet, but you could hate it, or think it’s boring, and then I’ll feel guilty for wasting your money.”
“I won’t,” he insisted. “C’mon, it’ll help us get to know each other better.”
You exhaled slowly through your nose, your tummy already fluttering with thoughts of the hot sailor shelling out dollar ice cream cones with extra sprinkles on top.
Fuck.
“Alright, but if you hate it, you’ve gotta promise me that you’ll tell me to shut up and we’ll do something else.” He hummed in affirmation and you laid back against your pillows, sighing as you closed your eyes and fell into your newfound, perfect little fantasy.
“So… when I’m not doing sexy phone calls, I work a menial job,” you begin. “And normally, I’d be, like, wearing an ugly polo or vest or something with our logo on it, but for the sake of sexiness, let’s say that I’m wearing a cute little dress and my hair looks, like, perfect.”
“What does your hair look like normally?” Steve asked, hung up on the one detail that was specifically for your sake. God, you wanted to burn your local salon to the ground.
“Uh,” you paused, wondering if you should tell the truth. “So I told my hairstylist to go for Kelly LeBrock and she… you know… tried. It looks so cute sometimes, and then other times it has a total mind of its own.”
“Oh, Kelly LeBrock! She’s such a babe. I saw the trailer for that movie she’s gonna be in. Total fox. Great hair.”
You tried to fight a smile, but couldn’t. “Do you wanna talk hair routines, or do you want me to keep going?”
Steve paused like he was genuinely considering it. “We’ll come back to the hair. I could probably help you figure it out, you know. I’ve got great hair.”
You smirked. “Oh, yeah? Where?”
“Use your imagination.”
You grinned. Oh, I am.
You were stocking shelves, as usual— except this time you couldn’t reach the top shelf. Standing on your tiptoes, the hemline of your skirt inching up and up and up. And suddenly there was a presence behind you, reaching up to stock the shelf for you. He smelled really nice, felt warm pressed up against your back.
“Am I the handsome stranger in this scenario?”
You said yes, even though you were mostly thinking about your mystery sailor from the mall. God, even the stupid uniform did it for you. Maybe it was the short shorts.
In the fantasy, the two of you didn’t even talk— really, your fantasies were typically pretty straight to the point, unlike Steve’s. The plot and dialogue would get skipped, and then suddenly, your back was pressed against the ridges of the shelves and the handsome stranger was on his knees in front of you, kissing sloppily up your thighs.
Usually, you’d have some sense of control— keep your hands above the belt. It was better for you that way. It gave you a sense of separation from what was real and what was happening on the phone. And, really, you never really had a particular need to touch yourself while you were handling the calls anyway.
And yet… Your hand slipped past the elastic hand of your panties, between your thighs where you were already wet and needy from just your own imagination. You gasped into the phone, bucking your hips into your own touch.
Steve made a choked sound, crackly through the phone’s speakers. He knew exactly what you were doing.
“Getting all worked up thinking about it, huh?” He asked, and you could hear a slight rustling and movement as he got himself undressed. It was honestly puzzling that it took that long, or that he didn’t call already ready to go. “Sound so pretty.”
You weren’t even aware that you were making a significant amount of noise, but Steve had keyed into it easily, hanging onto every sigh and whimper.
In your fantasy, his mouth was absolutely fucking sinful. He would moan against your cunt, nuzzling against your clit with his nose as he lapped up your slick. It was sloppy, and the sounds he made could have made the devil himself blush a burning red. His chin and mouth would drip with the combination of your juices and his spit— his fingernails leaving crescents in your thighs from where he held you tight.
When he looked up at you from between your thighs, his gaze would be equal parts hungry and sweet. He wanted it to feel good for you because the more you get off, the better it felt for him too. When he felt you getting closer and closer, he moved his fingertip to your entrance, teasing you with featherlight grazes that gathered your essence. He pressed in, just to his first knuckle, and relished in the way you would clench around him at the smallest intrusion before he gave it to you entirely.
Despite the shitty quality of the phone, which was probably your fault, since you had owned it since at least ‘78, you could hear the slick sounds of him stroking himself to your words. And, for once, you relished in that noise across the line.
You pushed a finger inside of yourself, then a second. Most guys you’d been with got that far then jammed them in and out at a wrist-killing speed until you faked it. Your thing was always just keeping them still, pressing against the sweet spot just barely a few inches inside. Paired with the dizzying pleasure of attention to your clit, the sensation was electric and all-consuming.
It felt too good to stop, and yet you knew you needed to make it through your fantasy before you came and that precious euphoria rushed over you. Because after the euphoria came that strange sense of disgust, and you couldn’t really afford to spend the rest of the call grossed out by what you were doing.
“Fuck, anyways,” you began, your breath coming in short pants. “He— you— would take off your shorts.” Stupid, tiny, tight shorts. “And, fuck, you’d already be so hard and needy. You just wanted me so bad. You would press me against the shelf and when you push into me it’d be so easy and slick and I’d feel so full.”
Your cunt pulsed around your fingers, so close to the edge that you could almost swear you were already over it. The precipice was so nice you almost didn’t mind waiting for it. You would hear Steve fucking his hand, pretty moans and grunts passing his lips as he brought himself closer. It wasn’t really fair to leave either one of you hanging much longer.
“You’d kiss me. And it would be a little messy, but we wouldn’t care. You’d taste good, and you’d feel good. Fuck, Steve. I need to cum so bad.”
He panted into the phone and you practically mewled. God, he sounded so much better than the gross old men you usually had to deal with. “Fuck, I’m right here with you,” he managed, his voice breathy and desperate. “Let me hear you.”
Your ears rang as you came, making the world go a bit fuzzy. Distantly, you could hear how pretty Steve sounded as he came. Honestly, you’d never been one to relish in that type of thing— most guys you’d hooked up with kind of grossed you out. But, god, you’d give anything to watch him get off. Your chest heaved, rising and falling with a shiny sheen of sweat.
“So…” Steve began, sounding a little more languid and a lot more blissed out. There was a sweet, carefree quality to his voice. “Your fantasy is having sex at work?”
You rolled your eyes and fought a grin. “Hey, I didn’t judge your hot, sweaty poolside fuck session.”
”That was about making love,” He insisted. Your heart stuttered a bit. You had to admit that was sweet. “And I’m not knocking your fantasy— I just can’t even imagine someone wanting to have sex with me in my uniform.”
You grinned. “Aw, you have a uniform? I bet you look really sexy in it.”
He huffed, an annoyed groan escaping his lips. “No, I hate my uniform and I’m counting the days until I can rip it off and throw it in, like, a bonfire.”
“I can help with the ripping it off part, y’know,” you teased.
“No,” he said firmly. “No, we’re not going there, because, one, I came so much I can’t even think about getting hard again or my dick will hurt, and two, if I start having workplace fantasies about you and my uniform I’ll get hard on the job and end up on a registry somewhere.”
“Alright, alright,” you said with a laugh. “I had fun tonight, Steve. I, uh, don’t really get a lot of people asking what I like. I don’t get anyone asking what I like, actually.”
“Well, what can I say? I’m just a pleaser, I guess.”
He said his goodnights just before hanging up, promising to call again soon. You didn’t have a clear idea of when soon was. You’d had long-term customers promise a call soon that just dropped off the face of the earth. You laid there listening to the dial tone until it started to hurt your ears, then put the phone back on the receiver.
The bed creaked on its ancient springs as you got up, padding out into the hallway. Outside the big window at the end of the hall, you saw a lamp switch off across the street, making the house go dark. It felt a little comforting to know that boring old Hawkins was awake just like you were.
In the bathroom, you washed your hands with cotton candy-scented soap and tugged at your misbehaving curls. Maybe you would take up Steve on his hair tips. Before you could think about Steve any longer, your phone rang again. And though part of you wished it would be Steve, you knew that there was such a thing as too soon to be ‘soon.’
There wasn’t really a point in pouting. It was decent money. You answered the phone, put on your fake voice, and got to work.
Steve called nearly nightly for the next month. If having a backyard school wasn’t proof enough he was loaded, his ability to pay your rates nightly sealed the deal.
It wasn’t always sexual. Well, to be fair, it was mostly sexual. No matter how much you looked forward to phone sex with Steve, you enjoyed talking to him just as much. You learned about his childhood dog, Walter, and his allegedly prodigy-like swimming skills. He was CPR certified, could say his ABCs in French (and nothing else), and loved the colors red, yellow, and blue.
You told him what you could without giving too much away. That Jenny, obviously, wasn’t your real name. Your favorite color, favorite book, favorite flower. You told him that you were in college, going back in the fall. That you only started doing this gig because textbooks were expensive and you wanted to be able to feed yourself while at school.
Without meaning to, you started to care about Steve. It was probably stupid, and definitely against everything you thought you stood for. But somehow, he managed to squeeze into the recesses of your brain and set up camp there. Try as you might, you couldn’t get him out of your mind.
“Alright, little Stevie, that’s your fifth wistful sigh of the day,” Robin said, marking a tally on her palm. It struck him as weird that she was counting, but it wasn’t exactly anything new. “You’ve gotta stop or I might actually start feeling bad for you.”
His chin rested in his hand, and he looked over at her with wide puppy dog eyes. “Can you love someone you’ve never met?”
Robin shrugged. “I dunno. Probably not, why?”
He sighed again, his shoulders sagging. “What if my dream girl isn’t exactly accessible? Like… she’s impossible to find and might not even live in Hawkins. She might live in, like, Indianapolis.”
Robin’s expression— the slight squint of her eyes and downturn to her lips— told him she didn’t particularly care. But the store was dead on a boring Tuesday, so digging into Steve’s life was about the only interesting thing to do on the job.
“That sucks,” she said slowly. “How do you know this mystery soulmate?”
Steve blanched, picking at his nails as he tried to consider a reasonable excuse. “Uh… Blind setup. Very blind setup.” Robin raised an eyebrow. “I only know her number, nothing else.”
“Name?” Steve shook his head glumly. “Damn. But you think you love this girl?” Steve nodded again, but felt a little dumb. He never did things in half-measures. Never felt things that way either, so it made sense to him, but maybe it was a little crazy.
He just couldn’t stop thinking about you. He wanted to help you with your bad perm and give you advice about how to take care of it. He wanted to surprise you at your boring job with lunch and flowers. It had been a long time since he’d been this excited about someone.
A tinny beeping sound made him jolt, nearly slipping on the freshly mopped floor. Finally. He didn’t hesitate to tear off his work shirt, leaving him in the shorts and the white tee shirt he kept beneath it for this very reason— not having to walk out in public in full uniform.
He offered a quick bye to Robin and clocked out as quickly as he could. It had been only a week since Jenny had told him her favorite book, and he’d been saving up tips to pay for a copy at Waldenbooks.
There was a girl behind the counter with a messy ponytail that had half-fallen-out, music blaring from her headphones. It must’ve been a mixtape because it went from some Hall and Oates song to an older Queen one. A little disjointed, but not in bad taste. She was completely immersed in the novel in her hand, so much so that she didn’t notice his presence.
“Excuse me?” He asked, putting on a winning smile.
“What?” The girl in front of him blinked in surprise and tugged the headphones down around her neck. The music continued— saxophone and a dance beat. Staying Power. He liked that one. Once she’d paused it abruptly, she looked at him again, and he saw a glint of something in her eyes, like she recognized him.
“I’m looking for this book—“ He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket, where he had scribbled the title down as Jenny told him about it. “Do you know if it’s in stock?”
She looked at the note, then chewed on her lip anxiously. “Mhmm.” She watched him again, like she was expecting something. It took a moment, but it clicked.
She’s the girl who bumped into him outside a month ago and said weird stuff! “Oh! You were right, I guess. About seeing me around.” He squinted, reading her name tag aloud.
“Hm?” She blinked a few times, like she was taken out of a daydream. “Oh. Yeah, sorry about all of that. I just had a long day and my brain was fried.”
He nodded. “I get that,” he replied. “Next thing I know I’ll wake up from scooping ice cream in my sleep.” She laughed at that, a smile splitting across her features. “I’m Steve, by the way.”
Her expression faltered, just the tiniest bit. Almost enough that he wouldn’t notice, especially since she corrected it just as quickly. “I’ll go grab that book for you, ‘Kay? Just… stay here.”
She disappeared into the shelves, leaving him standing awkwardly at the counter. The store was oddly empty— he would’ve at least expected some nerdy kids like Dustin to be rooting around. When she returned, she seemed more nervous than before.
“Here, just take it—“ She said, shoving a beat-up-looking copy at him. His brows furrowed as he looked down at the copy in his hands. The cover was bent and torn in places. Corners of pages were dog eared, sticky note tabs stuck out from pages, and he could see glimpses of pen and highlighter. Noticing his confusion, she elaborated. “We’re out, but I had an old copy in my bag. I’ve already read it, so you can borrow it.”
He furrowed his brows. “Is that, like… allowed?”
“Probably!” She said with a startling lack of confidence. She swallowed, giving him an awkward smile. “Just bring it back when you’re done.”
He hesitated. “Uh… okay. Thanks.” He turned to walk away when she called out after him.
“Bye, Steve.”
He wondered why that sounded so familiar.
Fuck.
“I mean… what are the odds?” You spoke aloud as you paced your room. When your reflection caught your attention, you felt, and looked, like a madwoman. “It’s not him. It’s not him, and I’m not going to worry about it.”
Five minutes later, you sat up in bed, unable to focus on the book you were reading. It was going to keep bothering you unless you did at least a little digging. But, Jesus, where did you even start with something like this?
“Hey, Rhonda?” You called, popping your head out of your room. “Do you remember any hot underclassmen named Steve from high school?”
Rhonda Finley was the prettiest girl from the class of ‘83. And it wasn’t an exaggeration either, seeing as she was voted Most Beautiful and Miss Hawkins within the same school year. The fact that you were even friends felt like a strange coincidence, but there you both were regardless.
She carried all of her yearbooks into your room, settling onto the fluffy rug beside your bed.
“You said his name is Steve?” She asked from her spot on the floor. She flipped through the old yearbook with reverence— pausing to look at photos of herself on other pages. “Steve… stevestevesteve. What about Stephen Cranston? He did the morning announcements, he was decent.”
You glanced at his picture briefly and shook your head. “No, not him,” you replied. “He’s cuter. Uh… boyish is a good word to describe him. Sharp nose and warm eyes.”
Rhonda snorted, flipping another page. “Okay, Shakespeare.”
You chewed on your lip, watching her tab through until you made a squeak of recognition. The faintest glimpse of a younger Steve in a picture of a home economics class. “Ronnie, flip back,” you said, tapping her shoulder insistently. She did as you said and you pointed. “That’s him. Younger, but it’s him.”
She squinted, reading the small caption. “Sophomore Steve Harrington cooks up trouble in Mrs. Destefano’s Home Ec class!’” She laughed and flipped until she found the sophomore class portraits. “Yep. Steven Harrington.”
You sat back on your heels. “Huh.”
She closed the yearbook and glanced back at you. “I think I went to a pool party of his once,” Ronnie said, brows furrowed as she tried to find the memory. “He was friends with that freckle-y kid that my asshole ex was friends with. God, that was the night when we got into that screaming match and we broke up for like a month before he was begging for another chance.”
Pool party? You felt a knot in your stomach that you weren’t even sure you could have untangled at that point. Was it even possible that your mystery cute phone guy was the unbelievably attractive ice cream scooper at the mall?
No chance. You weren’t that lucky. And yet… maybe a seed of hope took root in your chest. And maybe… maybe you could get him to spill enough details to prove it.
——
Steve called you around midnight. Your heart leapt into your throat as you answered, thrumming and threatening to burst from nerves.
“Hey.” His voice was soft, a little tired. “I, uh, thought about you today.”
You could picture him so clearly— his soft hair, long legs, boyish charm. “Hope I wasn’t too distracting. Were you working today? What do you do?” You dug a little deeper with the question, trying to suss out any information you could.
“Yeah,” he replied with a sigh. “I work in food service at a mall I live near. It’s nothing to write home about, I guess, but it’s temporary until I start applying for the spring semester.”
Okay, so there’s no doubt about it anymore. It was Steve Harrington, the hot ice cream scooper in the sailor suit, who was calling your line every night. The same Steve Harrington who you’d bumped into twice after your shift.
You tried to push that aside and focus on the reason for the call.
“So I was a welcome distraction, then?”
He laughed. “I can’t imagine a world where you aren’t.” He paused. “Did you, uh… think about me?”
The hope in his voice made your heart swell. “Of course I thought about you, baby. You’re my favorite caller.” You paused, debating your next move. “I’ve been thinking about getting you all needy and desperate for me all day. About hearing your pretty sounds.”
He fucking whimpered. “I’ve spent the entire night hard just waiting to call you.” You could hear him shuffle around on the other end of the call, presumably stripping off his remaining layers. “Didn’t want to be too desperate and call too fast.”
“Poor baby,” you cooed. “Can you do something for me? It’ll feel so good, I promise.”
“Mhmm.”
“Grab a pillow and lay on your stomach for me,” you instructed. Without hesitation, you could hear the staticky sound of movement on his end as he shifted. “This might sound weird, but—“
“You want me to… to like—“ he stammered nervously. “Hump it?”
You blanched, wondering if your perverse fantasies of the hot mall guy getting off had perhaps pushed him a bit too far. “I mean…. Only if you’re into it. We can do something else.”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, I’ve… I mean— I’ve done it before.”
Oh. Butterflies buzzed around your tummy as you let yourself indulge in the mental image. “Yeah? Did it feel good?”
“Mhmm,” he hummed. You could hear rustling on the phone, like he was trying to situate himself comfortably. “Just made a mess is all.”
Fucking hell. “You gonna make a mess for me tonight, then?” You asked, twirling the phone cord around your finger. He moaned in response, and you grinned. “Aw, did you already get started, sweetheart?”
He moaned out a confirmation and you grinned, letting your free hand trail down your belly and beneath the waistband of your panties. “You already sound so pretty, Steve. So good for me, doing exactly what I say.”
The breathy sounds of his pants and moans made slickness gather between your thighs. Sounded like he hadn’t been lying about being hard and desperate all night just anticipating the call. “We’re not gonna talk tonight, we’re just gonna listen to each other,” you told him.
Maybe it was unfair to him that you had the perfect mental image of him in your head since you already knew what he looked like. You relished in that knowledge as you coated your fingers in your wetness and rubbed small circles around your clit.
Steve was loud, which made you wonder if his neighbors hated him. If you had to live next door to Steve Harrington and his pornstar moans, you’d probably go crazy. You were going crazy just from being on the other end of the phone. You were louder than usual too— it was a miracle that Rhonda worked nights.
It wasn’t long before you both finished— gasping and moaning into the phone’s receiver. You sighed as you laid back against your pillows, completely sated and content as you listened to Steve’s shaky breaths.
“How’re you feeling?” You asked, fighting the desire to twirl your hair around your fingers.
“Good,” he said finally. “Gonna have to do laundry, wash my sheets. I probably needed to anyway.” He paused. “I picked up a copy of that book you were talking about. It’s actually funny, ‘cause they were out of copies apparently, but the girl behind the counter let me have hers. Like it was meant to be, or something.”
Your heart hammered. “That’s really sweet, Steve,” you said softly. “I’m sorry in advance if you hate it.”
“I won’t!” He insisted. “I read the first couple of pages while I waited to call. I’m not the best reader, though. Might take me a while to finish it, but I do like it so far.”
You were partially convinced that you were in love with Steve Harrington, despite the fact that he wouldn’t even recognize you on the street. “This might be… I mean, maybe it’s crossing a line, and I could totally get fired for even suggesting… but—“ You hesitated. Fuck it. “I want to give you my personal line. So you don’t have to pay to talk to me. It’s not fair if we’re both enjoying the conversations but only one of us is paying, you know?”
He was quiet, almost too quiet. Nerves stirred in your belly. “Is that… you know, okay?”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he said quickly. “Let me just grab a pen.”
You couldn’t help but stare longingly down into the atrium of the mall, where Steve Harrington was sweeping crumbs off of one of the booths inside Scoops Ahoy.
“Hello?” A kid snapped his fingers a few times and you swallowed down your annoyance as you turned. “We called earlier about Ender’s Game. The guy on the phone said he’d hold three copies. It’s under Mike.”
You glanced behind you, where the books clearly weren’t. Fuck Greg for making your menial job even worse. “It must’ve slipped his mind. I can grab those for you.” The kid made a bitchy face as you stepped away from the counter and you bit your tongue to keep from saying something rude. Fucking latchkey kids.
When you returned with three copies of the book, you looked at the kids skeptically. “By the way, if you stole any of the pencils or bookmarks, my boss is going to take it out of my paycheck and I won’t be able to feed my kids.”
“It costs thirty cents to feed your kids?”
You sighed and rang them up, but they continued to loiter in the shelves while you pretended to be busy.
“There’s nothing to do,” one of them said after picking up a copy of Sports Illustrated briefly. “We should just go back to my house and play Atari.”
A red-haired girl rolled her eyes. “Lucas, we’re not playing Pong again.” She paused and glanced down towards the food court. “We could go see Steve.”
It took all your willpower not to react.
“Why do you always want to go see Steve?” Lucas asked. “It’s not like you have a boyfriend or anything.”
“She just wants to see him because she’s got some weird crush on him,” the bitchy one said. Mike? The red-haired girl blushed nearly as fiery as her hair and shoved Mike hard. “What? We all know it. You and El are always drooling over him. It’s weird.”
“He’s nice, okay? Way nicer than you are, asshole.” She shoved past the group and left on her own, leaving the other two guys to scramble after her. One kid was left behind, the one with the unfortunate bowl cut. He offered a wave before he followed after them.
When they got downstairs, you watched him greet the redhead with a smile and a ruffle of her hair. Lucas and the bowl-cut kid got a slap on the back, and the bitchy one got a half-smile that wasn’t returned.
Then he shelled out free ice cream, which was evident because none of them made a move to pay.
After they left, you watched him reach into his own wallet and cover the cost, placing the bills carefully into the cash register.
The rest of your shift was spent fawning over Steve and flipping through issues of the magazines you had on display. You felt idiotic gazing at Steve Harrington with puppy dog eyes while reading Top Ten Ways to Know if He’s Really Into You! Of course he wasn’t into you— he didn’t even know who you were, not really.
Around two in the afternoon, you were snapped out of your reverie by the sight of Steve walking through the threshold of the shop, looking around the shop before his gaze settled on you and lit up in recognition.
“Hi!” He said, nearly knocking over a carefully displayed unofficial biography of Reagan on his way over. You smiled, straightening your posture as he approached. “I wanted to thank you for the book.”
Your heart thumped. “Oh, you don’t need to thank me,” you insisted. “I just wanted to help.”
He reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out two coupons to Scoops Ahoy with a flourish. They advertised free ice cream in the nautical scrawl. “Does this change your mind?” He raised his brows and smiled smugly.
You rolled your eyes and grabbed them, reading the fine print. Valid only at the Starcourt Mall location on weekdays between 8am and 11am. Offer not valid in conjunction with any other deals. Offer excludes banana splits, sundaes, and the U.S.S. Butterscotch.
“Maybe,” you replied. “Is free ice cream your thing or something? I saw you give that group of kids free sundaes earlier.”
He furrowed his brows, considering it, then grinned. “Are you watching me?”
Fuck. You spluttered, shaking your head as you fumbled through a response. “No. They were here first, then talked about going to see you, and then I just…” He laughed and leaned over the desk slightly, as if testing the view.
“Oh, yeah. Perfect view from here.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the heat burning in your cheeks. “So you come here to thank me with shitty coupons, and then you accuse me of spying on you?”
He shook his head as he leaned back. “Hey, it’s not accusing you if it’s true.” He was so smug. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair. See you around?” He looked at you expectantly until you nodded, face burning hot. He smiled, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked out casually like he hadn’t just totally caught you creeping on him.
God, you were going to make him pay for that later.
——
Steve paced around his room as he tried to gain the courage to call you. He would have liked to say that he needed to get your number from his Rolodex, but he’d memorized it nearly the moment he put it down on paper.
He was thinking of you, but he was also thinking about the girl from the mall who seemed to keep popping up. There was something about her, the way he was drawn to her, the way she spoke, the way she looked at him. It was all so familiar and easy, like they’d known each other forever.
He didn’t know how to feel about that.
Finally, he settled on his bed, dressed only in a thin white tank top and boxers that were a size too big since he stopped working out as much. With nerves buzzing in his ears, he dialed your number and waited.
And waited. And waited. He swallowed hard, wondering if you’d given him a fake number just to be rid of him. The number went to the answering machine, and his mouth went dry.
“Hi! You’ve reached Y/N Y/L/N. I’m out right now, but leave your name and number at the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” A beep sounded and Steve hung up suddenly. His stomach sank.
He wasn’t supposed to know your real name like that. It felt like some gross intrusion. And yet, he repeated it over and over again in his mind. Why did it seem so familiar?
On his nightstand, the beat up paperback he had borrowed stood out like a sore thumb. Oh. The book, the same book you, Jenny, had told him about. And the girl who worked there… Y/N.
It was too much, far too much to be a coincidence. He grabbed the book and opened it to look at the inside cover, where your name, Jenny’s name was scrawled inside. Because you and Jenny were the same person.
Every single conversation leading up to that point played over in his mind. The messy perm, the shitty job with the ugly polo, the fantasy about being pushed against the shelves and fucked. Oh, God. And you were totally spying on him.
It should’ve been an absolute win for him, but his stomach turned as he glanced over at the phone on the receiver. You were gorgeous and funny and smart and so sexy. Why would you want to be with someone who needed to call a sex hotline?
He could just picture the look on your face when you discovered that the guy who worked in the stupid uniform at Scoops was so pathetic that he needed to call someone to get attention.
He swallowed hard, guilt and doubt settling icy in his stomach. He put the book down, and didn’t call back.
——
Steve was sulking during his shift. Probably biting the heads off of a few too many kids who asked for a few too many samples.
“Jesus, how many times do you need to try cotton candy?” He snapped as he dug out a tiny spoonful of the pink and blue ice cream. The kid furrowed his brows up at him, puzzled by the sudden outburst.
“Uh, can I try Cherries Jubilee next?” He asked hesitantly.
Steve exhaled slowly through his nose. “No, you’re done. Out.”
The kid rolled his eyes, swore under his breath, and stomped out of Scoops Ahoy.
Robin was staring at him funny when he turned around, a mix of curiosity and amusement. “You’re totally PMSing today.”
He couldn’t manage more than a scowl in response. “Shut up.”
Robin laughed and tossed a cherry at him, which he managed to catch before it splattered against the glass of the ice cream case. He hated maraschino cherries— the artificial sweetness and unnatural color. But, hey, he could tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue.
He hadn’t called you for three days, which felt like the longest stretch of time in his life. And he hadn’t even seen you around Starcourt, which was both a good thing and absolutely unbearable.
Part of him wanted to just jump on the escalator and see if you were sitting behind the counter at Waldenbooks, but he knew it was better to just have a clean break. Maybe in a few months, you’d forget about that Steve guy who’d called you and he could make his move then.
The shift change hit around lunchtime, and Steve prepared for the influx of people who were getting off work on empty stomachs. As he suspected, the line stretched out the door and he was practically up to his elbows in ice cream, mindlessly scooping flavor combinations that should’ve been illegal. Until—
“Hey, Steve,” you said, standing in front of him in your ugly work polo with messy hair half-fallen out of your ponytail. “Staying busy?”
He stammered nervously and mumbled out an unintelligible response. “Ice cream?” Was all that he could manage to ask, which made him want to throw himself into the fountain right in the middle of the food court.
But you just smiled. “A shake, actually. Chocolate banana if that’s possible.” He nodded and got to work, thankful for the distraction. Your eyes followed his every movement as he made your shake, but he couldn’t let himself look at you.
Because if he did really look at you, all he’d be able to think about were the phone calls you’d had— the calls where he’d heard you cum with breathy gasps and pants and soft whimpers. And— Jesus Christ— he was thinking about it and it made him feel dizzy.
He used a little bit too much whipped cream and put rainbow sprinkles on top for God knows why, but he handed it to you with a weak smile.
“Three bucks, right?” You asked, nodding to the menu.
“Uh, you can just have it,” he said without even thinking. “On the house.”
You furrowed your brows for a moment, but smiled brightly. “Really? Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it.” You took a sip and gave a soft moan at the flavor that made a full-body chill run through him. “See you around?”
“Yeah. See you.” You gave a small wave before you disappeared into the food court. He watched you the whole way, like you were the only person in the room.
Fuck. He was hard. Like, rock hard and the stupid apron on the uniform only made it more obvious. He’d fucking pavloved himself to get turned on just by your voice.
“Robin, I’m taking my fifteen,” he said, darting into the back before she could protest. He stepped inside the walk-in freezer and propped the door with a crate of waffle cones. After about five minutes, he felt like he could actually think again.
“Fuck,” He muttered under his breath. He had to call you again.
You were sincerely considering quitting the hotline. After Steve, just listening to the other guys panting and blowing their loads on the phone was nauseating. They didn’t care to learn more about you, not the way he did. They just wanted to get their rocks off to an anonymous, sexy voice.
Then again, Steve had disappeared too. Maybe giving him your real number had crossed a line. Maybe it freaked him out that you were taking it beyond a transaction. You sighed and wrapped yourself tighter in your house coat. Rhonda always kept the AC on overdrive in the summer, which meant you needed at least two blankets to be comfortable.
When the phone rang, you picked it up without thinking, half expecting it to be Rhonda calling you to check in during her break.
“Hey,” you said absentmindedly, leaning back against your pillows.
“This is, uh— this is the right number, right? It’s Steve.”
Your heart nearly burst out of your chest at the sound of his voice. “Hey, yeah, it’s the right number,” you assured. You wriggled out of your housecoat and tossed it to the side so you could get more comfortable. “How are you? It’s been a few days.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I, uh,” he paused. “I think I psyched myself out of calling you.”
“Oh,” you said softly. “Well, I’m glad you did call. I really missed you.”
“You did?”
You laughed, letting yourself get more comfortable. “Mhmm,” you replied. “I mean, we’ve been talking everyday for a while, you know?”
“I missed you too, couldn’t stop thinking about you, even at work.” You smiled, remembering how absentminded he had seemed when you showed up in the ice cream parlor. And he was thinking about you. Not you, but still you. “I— uh— had to walk into our deep freezer to cool myself off.”
“How long has it been for you?” You asked suddenly. “Like, since you’ve had sex.”
Steve chuckled nervously. “I dunno… two months?” He paused. “Is that lame?”
“Nuh-uh, baby,” you assured. “Think it’s sweet. No wonder you’re all needy all the time. You need a nice, tight, wet pussy to sink into, hm?”
A low moan escaped his lips. “God—“
“Better than your hand, isn’t it?” You teased. “I bet you’re so desperate that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time, even before you called me. Isn’t that right?”
The closest thing you got in response was another pretty moan. “You’re big too, aren’t you?” You mused aloud, not even waiting for a response. “I know you are, you’ve basically told me in not so many words. Most girls can’t handle that, baby. It’s not your fault. That’s okay, we could take it slow, you could get me all nice and stretched for you, take your time like the gentleman you are.”
“Fuck— fuck—“ His words came out choked and desperate. You could almost picture it— the way he’d be fucking up into his hand, needing more and more.
“I bet you always have to take it real slow, huh? Gotta be careful so you don’t hurt someone. But that just means you can feel everything better, doesn’t it? Inch by inch by inch, every flutter and squeeze. And you can see on their faces how good it feels, can’t you? You can watch their eyes roll back and their mouths fall open while they cry out for you. I mean, Jesus, Steve, I bet most girls come before you’re even all the way inside.”
His hand sped up, desperate and needy, just as you’d said. You could hear it with each wet slap of skin against skin. His moans were constant, a stream of yesahgodfuckohshitahyesahfuckfuckfuck— until the prettiest moan escaped his lips, all low and deep, and you knew he’d made a pretty mess of himself.
“Bet that felt really nice,” you said while he panted on the other end of the line.
He made a weak noise, then finally managed a, “Uh-huh. Fuck.”
You laughed softly. “That’s gotta be the fastest I’ve gotten you off,” you said finally. “I like having that much power over you. It turns me on so much.”
He groaned. “Fuck, give me five— no— ten minutes. I can barely breathe right now.”
You grinned, relishing in your ability to torture him a bit after he’d teased you at work. Unknowingly, of course, but still. “I dunno if I can wait that long, Steve… I’m so wet that my thighs are all sticky.”
“God, you’re killing me.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatics. “Why don’t you lay there and listen to me? Be good and keep your hands off, alright? You already came, so don’t get greedy.”
He made a nearly pained noise. “Fine. Fine.”
A smirk spread across your lips as you let your hand move between your thighs. Really, you weren’t exaggerating that much— you found yourself slick and needy when you finally slid your panties down your thighs. Actually, you thought you’d probably have to be a statue to hear Steve Harrington panting and cumming over the phone and stay unaffected.
You could hear his breath catch with every soft moan and whimper, and maybe you got mean and held the phone near your tummy, so he could hear just how wet and messy you’d gotten as you steadily fucked yourself with your fingers. When you got desperate enough, you held the phone against your ear once more.
“I dunno, Steve… I don’t think my fingers can cut it,” you said, exaggerating the pouty tone of your voice. “I wish you were here to take care of me.”
He groaned, low and muffled. You had a feeling he’d thrown an arm over his face. “You’re so unfair.”
A smile spread across your lips at his words. “No, baby. What’s unfair is that I’m laying here all alone, feeling so empty and needy, and you’re not here to make it all better.” You reached into your nightstand, pulling out the dildo you’d bought for your twentieth birthday. “‘S okay, I can take care of myself just fine. You ever been to a sex shop?”
It got quiet on the line, and you could nearly hear the gears turning.
“N-no.”
You raised a brow. “Really? But you know what they sell, don’t you?” You paused until he hummed a soft uh-huh. “It’s only fair that I get to use a toy to fill myself up since you can’t do it for me, right?”
“Y-yeah, wanna hear you do it.”
You grinned. “Patience, baby. Gotta get it wet first so it glides in nice and easy.”
Blowing a rubber dick wasn’t how you’d envisioned ending your day, but— what can you say?— spontaneity is the spice of life. You made sure he heard every wet pass of it between your lips, every exaggerated gag as you took it into your throat, the messy smack of your lips. It tasted like a tire and dish soap, but the desperate, restrained sounds he was making made it all worth it.
Your eyes were watery when you finally pulled the toy from your mouth, certain you’d adequately worked him up for the time being. Plus, you were worked up just as much, if not more— you wanted to just fuck yourself into oblivion already.
Instinctively, your thighs fell farther apart as you moved the toy between your legs. You let the tip tease your entrance, only a little, before you began to push it inside. A soft moan fell from your lips as you finally got the nice, full feeling you’d been dreaming of.
You laid there for a moment, letting your body adjust to it, reveling in it. With your free hand, you slowly circled your clit until your cunt fluttered around the intrusion.
“Feels so nice,” you sighed, lips brushing against the mouthpiece of the phone. You felt drunk and hazy with desire. “Like I’m so close already that I can taste it.”
“Make yourself come for me,” he practically begged. “Wanna hear it.”
You moaned at his words, but shook your head. “Can’t yet. I wanna make this last.”
Time felt a little hazy as you kept working the toy in and out, slow and deep. Occasionally, you’d brush against your clit just right, or the toy would find a nice spot inside of you, and your entire body would tremble with need.
Steve’s breath came in pants over the phone, but you couldn’t tell if he had broken and actually started to touch himself. You kind of hoped he did, even if you wouldn’t say it.
Eventually, you came without warning— the build-up of it all made it impossible to avoid. Once you started over that edge, you couldn’t crawl back even if you’d wanted to. Moans fell from your lips as you succumbed to your orgasm; every nerve was like a live wire. When it finally came to be too much, you slipped the toy out and relaxed onto your bed with a contented sigh.
“Are you still alive?” You asked, quiet crackling over the phone.
“Uh… yeah,” he replied, a little distracted. “Have you ever come without having to touch yourself?”
You laughed softly. “Once. I read in Cosmo that some girls can get off just from playing with their tits. Took a while, but I eventually got there. Why?”
“I just, uh… listening to you, all the noises and hearing how wet you were… I guess that was all it took.” He sounded so embarrassed, but it was the cutest fucking thing you’d ever heard. You could imagine it so clearly, his cock pulsing against his twitching stomach, cum making puddles around his navel.
“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said with a smile. “You’re probably exhausted, huh?”
He laughed a bit. “A little, but I can stay up and talk, if you’re free.”
Ever the gentleman, Steve stayed up another hour to talk about whatever you could think of to keep the conversation running. The new collection at The Gap, whether or not he planned to see Back to the Future, his favorite music got him talking for half an hour at least. Finally, you were yawning and beat.
“Steve, baby, I should go to sleep,” you said, almost apologetically.
“That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You froze, brows furrowing. “What?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated, sleepily. “At the mall.”
“Um… night,” you said quickly, panicking slightly as you hung up the phone.
Steve had mopped the same spot on the floor five times during his shift, all while sparing fleeting glances towards Waldenbooks, where you were immersed in a magazine or a book. Always doing anything but looking down at him.
Which was good… maybe? He couldn’t quite decide.
He hadn’t been thinking when he said that on the phone. But he was sleepy, and his brain was a little foggy, and then he’d gone and doubled down.
As soon as he hung up the phone, he remembered that he had given his real name, and you knew he worked in food service, and you knew he wore a stupid uniform. That narrowed it down really easily.
So he spent his shift in a constant state of dread and panic, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
By the time the mall was closing, he had occupied himself with wiping down tables. He let Robin head home and pulled out his Walkman to keep him company. Since working at Starcourt, he made a pretty sick collection of tapes that wound up in the lost and found. This one was a metal mix, which typically wasn’t his thing, but was growing on him.
He didn’t realize you were standing over him until you rapped twice on the table, drawing his eyes up, up, up until they were locked with yours. He scrambled to pause the tape and stand up, adjusting his stupid uniform as an embarrassed blush grew on his cheeks.
“Hi,” you greeted. Your Waldenbooks vest hung loosely on your form, right on top of a pink polo.
“Hi,” he echoed. It was quiet for a second, as he tried to think of what to say, and as you scrambled for the words you’d been practicing all day. “I’ve known it was you for a while.” The words escaped him before he could stop himself, and then he just stared at you, completely mortified.
You laughed, covering your face for a moment as heat flooded your cheeks. “You knew? I didn’t even— I mean, I didn’t realize. Because I knew it was you calling. For a while, actually.
He grinned, leaning forward. “So… the guy you said you wanted to… against the shelves…?” When you ducked your head and looked away, he smiled like the cat who got the cream. “No way. You were totally perving on me, even before!”
“You had to walk into a deep freezer to cool off because you were thinking about me, perv.” He laughed, and you wanted to kiss him so badly it freaked you out a little. “So… What do we do now? I mean, now that you know who I am, and I know who you are, and we’re going to keep running into each other.”
Your poor cuticles were going through the wringer— red and stinging where you picked at them due to nerves. There was nothing you wanted more than for him to just sweep you into his arms like some kind of fairytale and promise his undying devotion. Or just say he wanted to date you. Whichever.
“I could take you on a date,” he said sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I mean, if your type is total pervs who spend most of the week in sailor uniforms.”
Oh, you had plans for that sailor uniform. You stepped forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I think you just might be in luck.” He turned his head, just slightly, so he could capture your mouth with his.
The kiss was sweet, at first. Slow brushes of his lips against yours. They tasted sweet, like he’d been wearing lip smackers or something. Or maybe he’d been sneaking samples of the ice cream. He pulled you closer and you gasped, offering him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned softly at the feeling of your tongue licking against his.
He picked you up easily, sitting you down on the table he should’ve been cleaning. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck. It was easy to lose yourself in the hungry, desperate way Steve kissed. You could’ve stayed right there in the middle of Scoops making out with him until the mall opened in the morning, and still not have found the motivation to stop.
A bright light startled you back into reality, shining directly in your faces. You and Steve squinted in the general direction, as Starcourt security stomped your way.
“Hey! Get the fuck home,” He shouted, with equal amounts of exasperation and annoyance. He clicked off the flashlight and walked away with a huff and an eye roll, leaving you and Steve alone.
Steve’s cheeks were flushed pink with embarrassment as he stepped back, but he still wore a dopey grin on his lips. You hopped off the table and adjusted your skirt with a light laugh.
“That was nice,” You said as you tucked a loose curl behind your ear. “I should leave you to it, I guess. Before we both end up in mall jail.”
He shook his head quickly. “No! I mean, you could hang out here until I’m done. I just have a few more tables to clean and chairs to stack, if you want to—” He trailed off, looking at you expectantly.
A sly grin spread across your features. “What? Are you trying to go home with me or something?” He stammered nervously, that same, cute blush growing on his cheeks. Before he could say anything, you took a step closer and peered up at him. “Because if you are, I might tell you that my roommate works nights at Hawkins General, and we’d have it conveniently all to ourselves.”
He swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to do.”
You sat in the booth nearest to the entrance of the parlor, flipping through a magazine you’d grabbed from work. Occasionally, you’d sneak tiny peeks of Steve bent over a table to wipe it down, uniform stretched tight over his ass, and grin behind the pages.
He got everything locked up in what he claimed was record time, flashing a smile as he closed up shop behind the two of you.
”Do you work tomorrow?” You asked, as casually as possible as the two of you approached your cars in the employee lot.
“Yep. Afternoon shift,” he explained.
“I’ll drive you. We’ll carpool tonight.”
The car ride was relatively tame, a few stolen glances at stoplights at most. When you brought him inside the house, your phone was ringing off the hook. You apologized and ushered him into your room, where, true enough, the spare phone you used for the hotline was ringing nonstop.
“Sorry, let me just…” You grabbed the phone and hung it up once, before taking it off the receiver completely. “There. No interruptions.”
Steve grinned, surveying your room carefully. The set of pom-poms from high school on a shelf, a stack of Cosmopolitan magazines, the chair full of your laundry— fuck, you should’ve definitely taken a moment to speed clean before letting him inside.
“So… what do you say we pick up where we left off?” You stood on your tiptoes and pecked his lips chastely before guiding him towards your bed. As soon as he sat down, you wasted no time in crawling into his lap and kissing him with all of the pent-up frustration of weeks of phone calls.
You kissed him for so long you’d have to come up panting for air, before diving right back in. His hands— Jesus, you’d never noticed how big his hands were— were splayed out over your hips at first, but had moved down to grab your ass, encouraging each movement as you rocked against him.
Without breaking the kiss, you shrugged off your work vest, so it fell into a heap over the side of your bed. He pulled back, chest heaving slightly as he caught his breath. His lips were swollen from use and spit-slick. His eyes moved from the vest on the ground, then back to your eyes. A tiny laugh escaped you before you pulled off your top, then your bra.
“This still okay?” You asked, as you stood briefly and tugged down your denim skirt. The sound of your voice felt almost foreign in the quiet room, while he took in the sight of you in nothing but a pair of panties.
“God, more than okay,” he assured, before pulling you onto his lap for another heated kiss. This kiss was needier— you could feel it in the hungry way he licked into your mouth, and the feel of him hard beneath you. Tiny gasps pushed past your lips as you rocked against him just right.
He moved his hands from you only to pull off his work shirt, and the white shirt he wore beneath it. Your hands immediately went to his chest, running through the chest hair he’d hidden beneath the uniform. How the fuck did he manage to walk out of his house without being immediately pounced on by every woman in a five-mile radius?
He placed one final kiss on your lips before pulling back and meeting your gaze. As earnestly as you’d ever, he asked, “Can I go down on you?”
Yes. Fuck, yes. Oh my god, yes. “Sure, if you want to.”
He smiled wide. “Yeah? Just relax for me, alright?” He shifted the two of you, so you were lying on the bed and he was on top of you. He planted a chaste peck on your nose, and you wrinkled it in reaction.
You kissed him one, fleetingly, before letting him kiss down your chest and tummy. He parted your thighs and carefully positioned himself between them. You met his gaze and felt your stomach somersault. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the damp fabric of your panties.,
“Fuck,” he mumbled against you. “You’re soaking for me, huh?” And there was that cocky grin you’d seen at the mall before. You had to lie back and put a hand over your eyes, because if you thought about that fucking smug expression for too long, you’d cum untouched.
He ran his tongue over the fabric of your panties, tasting you through the saturated satin once, twice before he pulled them down your legs. And he fucking moaned like a man starved at the sight of you.
Heat burned in your cheeks as you felt him spreading you open, and at the slick, wet sounds of your own arousal. “You’re so pretty.” And then his tongue was on you, lapping up your juices, savoring all of you.
“O-oh, fuck—“ Your moan came out like a sob as his nose brushed against your clit, making your thighs tremble. He moaned against your cunt, nuzzling deeper like he couldn’t get enough.
In retrospect, he had brought up how much he loved eating pussy a lot on that first call. Your hips bucked slightly, torn between chasing the feeling and overstimulation. His lips would wrap around your clit and suck softly before he would go back to lapping at you, his tongue parting your folds and teasing your entrance.
“St-Steve!” You cried out, fingers tangling in his hair. The slightest tug on his locks made him moan against you, which made your toes curl.
Your moans became pitchy and breathless as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. All of your muscles were wound up tight, itching for release.
All it took was a little bit of eye contact and you were done for. You sobbed out a moan as he lapped up your release— each lap of his tongue sending electricity up your nerves. When he finally relented, you were shaking with aftershocks and giggling.
“Something funny?” He asked with a grin as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
You sighed and spared a glance over at him. “I’ve been dreaming of that happening since our first call.” He grinned as you pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips.
“Did it meet your expectations?” He asked, swallowing nervously as you shifted to accommodate your hand between the two of you. His eyes fluttered shut as your hand slipped beneath his work shorts and boxers to grasp his cock in your hand.
You gave a slow, experimental stroke of your hand and nodded. “Two thumbs up.”
He swallowed hard as you removed your hand to completely undress him, leaving you both completely naked. You spit into your hand and wrapped it back around his length, holding eye contact as you jerked him off.
There was something so surreal about the entire situation— having him beneath you, warm and pulsing and slick in your hand. Each time your thumb brushed along the head of his cock, he cried out with the prettiest moan.
“W-wait—“ he said quickly, a look of panic in his eyes. You stilled your hand as he looked at you, a pretty blush painting his cheeks. “I’m not gonna last.”
You bit your to keep from grinning like an idiot. “That’s okay,” you said with a smile. You reached into your bedside table and retrieved a condom. “Do you want to, uh, go all the way?”
He nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, please.”
You tore open the packet and rolled the condom on. “How’s that feel? Alright?” He gave a dorky thumbs up, which made you laugh. You leaned down to kiss him once more and wondered if you’d ever get tired of that feeling.
You reached between the two of you and guided his tip through your folds, coating it in your arousal until you grew too needy and lined him up with your entrance. It was a stretch, even though he’d gotten you plenty worked up with his mouth. You sank down slowly, one hand splayed against his chest to keep you steady as you took in inch after inch.
The sounds that escaped him as you lowered yourself onto him were so pornographic you thought he should be the one working the hotline instead. Desperate panting moans slipped past his full lips as his hands clawed at your hips.
“Fuck,” he moaned, eyes half-lidded as he watched you. “That’s it. You can take it.”
The mouth on him. You moaned softly as you finally settled onto his lap and he was fully sheathed within you. You stayed still, letting your body adjust to and relish in how full you felt.
“You look so pretty right now,” he said, reaching up to brush a messy hair from your face. You laughed softly as your cheeks warmed, and a funny fluttering in your chest nearly stole your breath.
“Says you,” was all you could manage to say back. You were hyper-aware of the feeling of him within you, of each flutter of your walls around him.
You gave an experimental roll of your hips and his head fell back, against the pillows, exposing the column of his throat. You relished in the way he looked beneath you— debauched and needy.
It was easy and slow at first. Each time you moved, you would lower yourself back down slowly, letting him savor the feeling of you, warm and wet and needy. He groaned each time you settled back on his lap, eyes hooded with lust as he looked up at you.
You gave a lazy smile as you looked down at him, moaning each time his cock brushed against your sweet spot. “Can I go a little faster?”
He nodded, eager for whatever you could give him. Your nails raked against his chest as you began to ride him in earnest, the back of your thighs slapping against his as you bounced on his cock.
Your head fell back as you rubbed at your clit with your free hand. Soft moans spilled from your lips as you relished in the culmination of all of your fantasies. Because he was there, splayed out beneath you like a fucking pornstar, and you had him all to yourself.
His fingers dug into the plush of your hips as he began meeting your thrusts halfway, fucking into the heaven between your thighs.
Your eyes rolled back as he fucked himself deeper and deeper, stealing your breath with each thrust. “Close,” you practically squeaked out. Red marks stood out against the freckles skin of his chest where you searched desperately for purchase.
Steve’s hair was stuck to his forehead, tacky from exertion. “Need you to cum for me,” he managed between pretty moans. “Wanna feel you cumming around me.”
You whimpered at his words, riding him harder as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. A fucked-out moan escaped you as you collapsed against his chest, hips weakly stuttering as Steve continued fucking up into you. With your pussy gripping him like a vise, he could only manage a few good thrusts before he came with a groan.
You laid there on top of him as you caught your breath, wearing a stupid, giddy smile as he traced mindless shapes onto your back. His face was buried in your neck, where he left sweet, wet kisses. After a while, you slid off of him and sighed, missing the way it felt when he was still buried inside of you. You did your best to clean yourself off with the towel hanging from your bedpost as Steve tied off the condom and tossed it in the bin.
“We’re not just…” Steve began once you were both comfortable in your bed. He let the words linger for a moment before he shook his head. “Never mind.”
You turned on your side to face him, adjusting your blankets for a bit of modesty. “We’re not just fucking? That’s what you’re asking, right?” He nodded quietly. “It was nice, but no, that’s not all I want.”
He grinned. “Yeah? You wanna be my girlfriend? I totally pulled a cougar.” His stupid grin made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t keep a matching smile off of yours.
“You’re so annoying,” you said, not giving him a second to react before your lips were on his again. You pulled back and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.
In the morning, you woke up in his arms as sunlight crept through the window. You squinted at the sun, then back at him. “Still want me to drive you to work?”
“No way,” he said, muffled against the column of your throat. Soft kisses peppered against your skin, making you giggle and arch into him. “I’m calling in.”
one apartment, two friends, a rouge boyfriend no one likes, several house parties, too many emotion, a fish tank with no fish, seventeen pairs of sunglasses and hearts ready to be broken. maybe.
a choose your own adventure fic with polls at the end of each chapter. let the campaigns begin.
Casual broke me! The angst! Have u thought of continuing it? I’d love to see her go down the rabbit hole with Billy and Steve realizing what he did 😫😫
I’m so sorry for taking so long to respond! I was not ignoring you but indeed writing! The minute I finished Casual I knew I wanted to keep writing to see where this would go with Billy and seeing your ask?!? Omg it warmed my heart to know that i wasn’t the only one!!
I wanted to get this out sooner but I got promoted at my job so I’ve been working non stop with training. Nonetheless I hope you and joy and maybe lemme know how you feel about the end 😉
crush | billy hargrove x fem! reader
Summary: Billy Hargrove doesn’t fuck the same girl twice, but he’s been in your bed more times than you can count.
Warnings: 18+, implied smut, cheating
Note: Ethel Cain’s Crush was on repeat for this btw
previous | next
Billy Hargrove was a mistake that you made again and again and again. He was like a recurring sickness, an itch you couldn’t scratch, the last hit of the joint— fleeting and strong. You didn’t mean for him to be that way, that's just how it happened.
You barely remember the eruption of cheers that came out of your classmates when you made out with Billy on Halloween night. It was rough and full of tongue, his skin sticky from beer and red hot from the adrenaline. You weren’t thinking straight as you led him up to Tina’s room; Mind only filled with Steve’s fond eyes that shined brightly for only Nancy Wheeler. You wanted to forget it all, you wanted to scrub him out of your mind and rip him out of your skin. And the only way you thought to do that was to use someone as harsh as Billy Hargove to fuck it out of you.
It was just one night on top of Tina’s pink bed sheets. Your throat raw from the loud moans you let out and skin covered in sweat and bruises. The two of you didn’t say anything as you redressed;Billy had even left the room before you. You weren’t mad for the silence or for his quick departure back into the party; You knew that Billy Hargrove wasn’t made for aftercare.
Or maybe you just weren’t the girl that deserved it.
You weren’t enough for Steve to love so it only made sense.
The following school day, your night shared with Billy was the new gossip whispered within the halls of Hawkins High. Everyone was raving about the new highschooler that so quickly got his way up the top of the food chain. Kicking Steve off his throne that's been his since sophomore year; King Steve lost all of his knights and court jesters in the span of three months.
You don’t know alot about it but Tommy and Carol ditched Steve a week or so after you did, for different reasons obviously. Now, Tommy follows Billy around like a stray dog begging for a new owner—obeying eagerly when Billy tells him to sit or roll over.
At lunch, Carol dragged you out of class—something you weren’t expecting after ditching your friend group without much of a goodbye or explanation. Her small hand gripping against your wrist as she drags you into a bathroom stall and demanding you to spill the deets on your night with the new king.
“How was he in bed?”
“Does he fuck as hot as he looks?”
“Is he good with his mouth or his hands?”
You shrug to all of it and not because of privacy—you know Billy was running his mouth off about it. You saw it during cheer practice in the gym; Steve shoved to the ground with Billy hovering over him. The blonde muttering filthy words out with a smirk on his face as he looked in your direction. Steve meets your eyes, eyebrows furrowed in confusion then realization. He must’ve been too busy swapping spit with Nancy to hear about what you did. You turn back around to your team, ignoring the sympathetic look Chrissy Cunningham sends your way and get back to the practiced routine.
After your fall out with Steve, you distanced yourself from him and your group of friends and stuck closer to your cheer team. There are sometimes when they can be the stereotypical cringey and mean cheerleaders—thinking they’re better than other girls due to their pleated skirts and plastic pom poms but other (most) times, they were really cool girls to be around out of practice.You didn’t know that before, always quick to leave after practice and hang out with Steve; Declining sleepovers and parties. So, instead of sitting with Steve and your old posse at lunch, you sit with your teammates. Instead of sharing cigarettes with Carol during bathroom breaks, you smoke one with Anna, the cheer captain.
You didn’t mind them, you enjoyed their company and their protectiveness between each other. They kept each other safe and protected, you realized that included you as well. When you were questioned too much about Billy, one of them was always there to back them off. You would do it yourself but you were just too fucking tipsy or hungover most of the time.
Like mother , like daughter indeed.
So when two weeks pass and the gossip dies down and so do Steve’s lingering eyes on your back. You’re surprised to see Billy Hargrove waiting for you at your locker before class.
Chrissy Cunningham—as sweet and as delicate as a daisy—tried her best to seem intimidating to the brooding boy as you both stopped at your locker. You told her you’d see her in class, squeezing her hand in reassurance before she walked away. Billy being Billy, watched her tiny fleeting frame down the hallway. You scoff, crossing your arms in question. Billy turns his attention back to you.
“Haven’t seen you around,” You shrug at his words. You do that alot now, shrug. Your words don’t mean shit to most people anymore and if it did, then Steve Harringtong wouldn’t be with Nancy Wheeler.
Billy’s eyes were on yours—full of fire and lust, as he trailed them down your body. His hands shoved in the pocket of his tight jeans as he leans against the cold metal. “You busy tonight?”
On the tip of your tongue were the words ‘yes’ and ‘fuck off’ but right before they come out, you could see the brown haired boy you’ve been avoiding like the plague across Billy’s right shoulder. Steve’s standing at his locker, book in hand and metal door ajar as he watches the scene between you two unfold. Suddenly, all the love and desperate need you have for him comes rushing back. You don’t want it back, if it does then you’ll be a drunken mess.
Not like you’re any better right now. You had to ask Chrissy for some aspirin this morning for the headache you always get from your hangovers.
“No,” the word comes out of your mouth like a wishful prayer. Billy’s small smirk grows into a sadistic smile—like the Serpent watching the curious and naive Eve take a bite of the fruit. “See you tonight then.”
You’re not stupid. You know Billy did this only to stir the pot and get more popular. He knows you and Steve were something. Probably learned it from Tommy— the try hard servant, eager to get the approval of the new king. Telling all that there was about you and Steve: Which wasn’t much due to how casual Steve made it out to be. Billy more than likely got the rest out of a tipsy Carol. She was always mouthy when she drank—letting out how you probably wanted more than he did. It showed if anyone had the eyes and patience to pay attention.
And you guess Billy Hargove paid attention.
He already had Tommy and Carol attached to the hip. Not like with an invisible string but a thick rope wrapped in chain and barbed wire. He had already knocked Steve down from his high horse: taking his friends, taking his title as King and basketball team captain. It was only fair to take his old girl away from him too.
But Billy Hargrove was too late, because Steve Harrington already had a girl and her name is Nancy Wheeler. And you were never Steve’s girl to begin with—he made that very clear.
When Billy picked you up from your house that night, blue camaro loud, bright and disruptive— a bright contrast from the quiet rich neighborhood— you knew it wasn’t for a date. As you slid into the warm leather seats, you could see the six pack of beer in the backseat next to his leather jacket. He drove you to an open field with the music loud and the windows down. Neither of you had gotten to a second can of the barley before you were on top of him in the front seat of his car.
What you and Billy had wasn’t romantic and it surely wasn’t sweet. It was an understanding—It was a primal need for release and to forget.
That’s right, Billy Hargrove: new King of Hawkins, had some things to forget.
The first time you noticed it was the third time you and Billy slept together. Not in the mood to drive somewhere for an orgasm, you tell him to turn his music down and park in the driveway.
“My mom’s never here anyway,” You explain to him.
She’s too busy forgetting about your father underneath other men. Just like you were doing with Billy to forget about Steve.
You were kissing Billy—hard and full of tongue, and as you tried to take off his shirt, he would redirect your hands. He didn’t take his shirt off that night, didn’t take any clothes off really. Instead, he turned you around and fucked you hard from behind against your kitchen counter.
You weren’t really sure until the fifth and sixth time.
You were in your bed, room warm from cigarette smoke, the heat of Billy’s skin and sex. You were in missionary with him on top of you and that’s when you noticed the winces he made as he placed his hands over your head. It wasn’t easy to put two and two together but when you did, instead of saying anything about it you simply told him you wanted to be on top and he obliged.
Afterward, as Billy smoked a cigarette in your bed with the window open, you got up despite still being naked and rummaged in your bathroom for a bottle of pills. You toss them to Billy who catches it with ease. You watch as he looks at the orange and white bottle in question.
“The fuck is this?”
“Muscle Relaxers,” you don’t bother saying the medical name for it. “It’s my mom’s but she doesn’t take them. They’re better than regular pain killers. Take one and you’ll be good for a bit, you can take a few to have on hand.”
You said the words to him so nonchalantly as you trudged back into bed. Taking the cigarette that was perched against his lips—rolling paper turning to ash as Billy freezes up from your words. You didn’t verbally say out loud that you knew Billy gets hit by someone at home, but you knew he read between the lines. You didn’t meet his eyes as you inhaled the nicotine, reaching over to tap the excess on the ashtray next to him. Sliding the cigarette back in his mouth like nothing happened.
You were going to keep it to yourself, this new found secret that King Billy hides from his court. It wasn’t your place to bring it up and you had no reason to. You and Billy weren’t close and you didn’t feel like shit that he sleeps around. You were just sex for each other.
But one day, in the beginning of December, you hear the girls whisper in the locker rooms. Changing out of your pleated cheer skirt and crop top, you eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Tina told me that Heather’s bio partner, Nadia, missed class because she was crying in the stall about Billy,” You hear one of the cheerleaders say over the shower water. “She went on a date with Billy a week ago. He slept with her and then just—didn’t care for her after that.”
“Like what? He just ignored her?” Chrissy asks from across the room.
“She talked to him today about a second date and he blatantly told her, ‘I don’t do second dates.’”
“What an asshole,” Anna mutters next to you. “Can I borrow some soap?” You hand her the pink bar absentmindedly.
“But she still tries to be something with him, because asshole or not, the dude is fucking hot and has a great ass. So she tries to flirt with him and say that it doesn’t have to be a date and they can just have sex or whatever, but Billy says to her and I quote this word for fucking word: ‘I don’t fuck the same girl twice.’” You hear a gasp from Chrissy and a couple of the other cheerleaders.
Your eyes widen against the lukewarm water as your mind races. Billy doesn’t sleep with the same girl twice but he’s fucked you a plethora of times since the Halloween Party. He went on a date with Nadia a week ago but he’s slept with you about three times since then.
You and Billy weren’t anything close to romantic but this had to mean something.
“What about you Blue?” Anna’s words bring you out of your thoughts. She slides the soap back to you, hands slippery and white from the lather.
You got the nickname from the team. A stupid yet endearing name from being way too high and drunk at a slumber party. Tongue blue from too many sweets and a loud mouth full of weed-induced laughter as you fell down Anna’s staircase. You ended up being fine, besides from a knot in the back of your head and a bruise on your thigh as blue as your tongue.
As you subtly shake your head back into reality, you can already feel the sympathetic eyes against your wet naked back. You try to shrug it off but know they aren’t going anywhere until you say something—anything.
“We only slept together on Halloween,” you lie. They probably know you are too but they don’t pry for more after that. Someone changes the subject on a new test and you all finish showering and changing like normal.
At night, you know when Billy is outside your house by the rumble of his Camaro. He doesn’t call in advance or talk to you at school (not since that first time). He just shows up to your house with the sound of his Chevrolet Engine.
Whenever you see each other, you two always have sex. There is no conversation, maybe small talk about which position to get into or to ask for a lighter but every night you always end up naked one way or another. So when you open your front door, let Billy in and follow him up to your bedroom just for him to fall on top of your purple sheets and sleep— It shocked you to your core. After a minute or so of being baffled at what’s before you, you turn to the alarm clock on your nightstand. A bright red sign of three thirty in the morning glaring at you as you turn your head back to the sleeping Hargrove.
He wakes up instantly an hour later with a poke of your finger. You don’t try to shake him awake—afraid of it being too frightening for him to feel or something. He pushes his chest off your bed, eyes glazed over in anticipation of something harsh that you could never give him. Billy relaxes when he sees your frame and sits up in your bed.
You sit next to him and reach over to the pack of cigarettes that stay on your countertop. Taking one out to light and hand it to Billy as a peace offering. This time, you meet his nervous eyes filled with anxiety, anger and vulnerability. You don’t say anything on the matter of his busted lip and what you assume is a black eye hardly visible beneath the moonlight. You simply push the cigarette until it's merely centimeters from his lips. Billy’s eyes are still on you as he leans in to bite the filter tip. The tears that fill against his waterline disappear as quick as it comes but his gaze never leaves your face as he blinks it away. He inhales the smoke and blindly taps the cigarette out on the ashtray without much of a head turn. His gaze is so intense and so vulnerable. It makes you feel scared and it makes your feel warm all at the same time.
You haven’t felt this warm since the night you left Steve. You remember it like it was yesterday: walking home in the freezing rain with a face full of tears and a broken heart. You had left all the warmth of your heart and soul in his dark blue sheets. You don’t feel warm when you sleep with Billy. You feel hot and sticky, you feel like a wrung out rag—loose and numb. There has never been a time when you felt like you were wrapped in warmth with Billy Hargove until tonight.
Billy has never kissed you as softly as he did that night. Never laid you out on your bed sheets so softly and tasted you as gentle and eager as he did that night. He fucked you with care and admoration instead of the fast and hard pace you were used to with him. That night, when you both finished, you watched as he rested his head against your warm chest and closed his eyes. You fell asleep like that, waking up to the sound of birds chirping and the alarm bell for five ‘o clock. Forgetting that you had set it for Billy just in case he didn’t wake up when you tried to.
Blinking the sleep away from your eyes, you still feel the same weight you went to sleep with. Billy still lays on your chest but he isn’t asleep, his eyes open, staring out the window of your room, lost in thought.
You reach over to tap the alarm off with your fingertips and can feel the tight almost clingyness of Billy’s arm against your skin as you move away from. He sniffles his tears away as he clears his throat quietly.
This is the smallest and quietest you have ever seen Billy Hargove. Both tonight and this morning are the first time you have seen him so fragile, so vulnerable. You wonder how you were able to see this side of him. Was it because of the bruises? Was it because you didn’t ask any questions despite desperately wanting to? You know if you asked—if you pushed and prodded, that he would clam up and hide in his hardened bone shell and be someone you see in the hallways and at parties; An angry boy filled with lust and adrenaline, with daringly determined eyes and a devilish taunting smile.
Or was it because of you? There’s a small (big) part of you that hopes it is you. Because the Billy that you see right now? The Billy that is laying on top of you, eyes blinking slowly and lashes tickling against your bare stomach? He’s soft.
He was soft when he fucked you, soft when you both finished, soft when you felt the faint kiss he left against your thigh and your stomach before falling asleep against you.
You hate yourself when you realize it, feel a deep and warm tug in your chest that you thought had left you when Steve did. You don’t want it to happen but that’s the funny thing about it, it comes when you least expect it and hits you like a rush of waves on a stormy beach.
You wanted to see more of this Billy. You want to wrap yourself into this calmness; into these sheets that smell like cigarettes and sweat and soft Billy Hargrove. You don’t want him to come over just to find release in orgasms, you want him to come over just to sleep. Just to say hi and ask about your day, for him to lay against your stomach and feel his eyelashes tickle your skin when he blinks.
You want to touch him, to feel his skin. Not because you’re close to coming or because he’s hitting the spot inside of you so good that you can’t help but hold on to him— you just want to touch him. To feel this soft, fragile and very human Billy Hargrove. But you’re scared, you’re scared that if you do, he’ll hide inside his tortoise shell, push off of you, shove his clothes on and leave in his roaring Camaro. So you carefully extend your pointer finger on his tan skin, and very lightly trace the skull tattoo that sits on his shoulder. He doesn’t shy away from the touch, instead he leans into it. And that alone finalizes the feelings you thought you had long and buried in sex and cigarettes.
The feelings that you wished Steve reciprocated. The feeling to want someone and to be wanted flows through you as you move your finger softly on his tan skin. A small saddened smile grows on your lips as you turn your head towards your window.
“You should go before—” You don’t realize the words are coming out of your mouth before it’s too late. You speak to him in a soft whisper— like he’s a frightened prey; afraid that this version of Billy will go away just like Steve did. You hesitate on saying the rest of the sentence but you know that Billy knows the rest of it.
Before whoever you run away from at night knows that you’re gone.
You’re greeted with silence for a minute or so, and you close your eyes to enjoy it. Knowing that the minute he gets out of this bed, he will be Billy again. Not this soft Billy that just hatched in front of you last night but the Billy you’re used to. The Billy who doesn’t give aftercare after each round, who hasn’t even made any advance to let anyone know that you sleep together. Who ignores you in school despite the occasional wink.
“You need a ride?” His voice sounds like rust—harsh and dry from sleeping. You turn your head to look at him. He hasn’t looked at you yet, he’s still looking at your window, watching the cream curtains your mom had put up when she came by a month ago. You want more of it, of this, of him. So despite your better judgement, despite the angel on your shoulder that’s been trying to convince you since you opened your eyes this morning to not give in, you say yes.
That's how you get into his car two hours later before school and meet Maxine Hargrove, ogling you from the back seat with crossed arms and eyebrows furrowed. A small yet fierce red head whose eyes spoke louder than the simple and nonchalant ‘Hi’ she gave you when you greeted her.
That’s how it leads you to getting out of Billy’s car in the parking lot before school. Feeling the eyes of anyone who's anyone stares you down as you and Billy share a cigarette before the bell. You feel a stare that's more prominent than others, you turn and see Steve sitting against his BMW, his arms crossed in disbelief at the sight. You turn back around to Billy, who's just watched the whole thing. He flicks his eyes from Steve to yours, his eyebrows raised almost taunting. Just like his stepsister in the backseat, Billy Hargove speaks with his eyes as he questions what you’ll do. He’s looking at you to see if you’re serious about this, about being with him in front of Harrington. His eyes almost daring you with small lift of his eyebrows.
And instead of replying, you take the last drag of nicotine and push the warm smoke against Billy’s accepting lips.
You feel a small bubble of happiness grow in your stomach as you walk into the school with Billy’s hand tucked into your right jean pocket. You brush off the jealous glances sent your way and the bizarre yet deer in headlights reaction that Nancy Fucking Wheeler sends you. You walk with your head held high with the boy that is hard as rocks and rusted nails on the outside but is as soft as a puddle of goo on the inside.
But of course when it comes to you and love—you realized that this feeling of happiness, of being wanted and accepted doesn’t last long.
Because a week later, Billy Hargrove cheats on you with Nadia.
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Summary: You have always been determined to protect the ones you love from danger. While dealing with heartbreak, loss, and love, you refuse for your past traumas to affect you in all of this mess, especially not to interdimensional monsters.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
Warnings: This story contains mature themes such as sexual content, strong language, violence, mentions of alcohol and drugs, blood, gore, and death. I’ll try not to write Y/N, but no promises. There may be some mistakes in information since this is only fanfiction and it is only kept in for the plot, so do not expect everything to be factual. Any specific warnings will be included in the chapter itself.
Note: I decided to rewrite my entire Stranger Things series. It used to be an original female character (Aria Kaul) but now it is just a female reader. The only thing about this reader is that her last name will remain as Kaul because of her mother and they are both important characters in the story. Other than that, the first name is completely your choice. I have also changed many things within the story as I have come up with a lot of new ideas since finishing the series three years ago. If you have read the original Reticent, I hope you like this revised version. If this is your first time reading, I hope you enjoy it!
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