watch the queen conquer

i'm kelsey, 28, and i have a lot of feelings about gator tillman

[lengthofropes]

- This kid’s gotta get his ego in check. - It’s his tone. Right?

#anz12kparty

July 28 prompts: Family / Dustin and his dads

[freckledjoes]

"Ole Munch on this."

(don't repost my gifs or edits)

[morninglesss]

Holy fucking arms, Batman.

[awkward-bob-reynolds]

[keer-y]

Fuck the Pain Away

pairing: gator tillman/f!reader wc: 1500 tags/tw/cw: MDNI//SMUT- [unsafe] vaginal sex; sex worker reader, emotions (but not acknowledging them), gator crying, implications of roy being a dickbag, technically public sex (they are outside), gator is younger than reader by a couple years if that matters to anyone a/n: from @morninglesss' prompt - here. fill #1 for my 1000 follower special🩵 &&

The moonlight casts the shadow of your picket fence over the front yard as you lower into one of the wicker chairs set on your front porch. It’s late一when you’d checked your phone before leaving your bed the time was 2:57AM and that had been a few minutes ago, before you’d stepped out onto the worn wood with a lighter and pack of cigarettes, draped in a pair of loose linen shorts and a tank top to try and find a respite from the stagnant air inside.

It’s hot outside, too一too hot for the late hour but that’s the way it is sometimes, sticky heat of summer days hanging around for far too long. It’s going to be hot tomorrow, too, but for now, at least, the fresh air feels nice. The breeze helps, even if it’s hot too一at least the air is moving.

The porch swing on the other end of the deck sways a little as the breeze kicks up and just as quickly dissipates. Up the dirt road, you see the dual pinpricks of headlights. You flick your cigarette, smoke wisping up to the awning above you, ash fluttering down to the ashtray.

The vehicle approaches一at this hour there’s only one person it could be, but there’s nothing indicating it’s him or that the car will even stop at your house.

The headlights loom over your yard from the curve in the road, and the pickup does indeed stop, right in front of your gate. You sigh, turn your head, exhale the cigarette smoke into the breeze as the truck’s engine cuts. The headlights turn off, the door opens and then slams shut, too loud for the hour.

You know why he’s here. Barely a couple years younger than you, he used to come just to get his dick wet. Now he comes when his daddy is cruel to him. He trusts you. That’s unfortunate.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he passes through the gate, boots heavy on the brick of your walkway. His footsteps turn to hollow thuds when he ascends the steps of your porch.

He slumps into the wicker seat beside you. “My fuckin’ old man—”

With your left hand, you flick your cigarette again, then reach out with your right, cutting him off. Your fingers thread through the soft hair at his nape.

“Well, you’re with me now.” Your thumb rubs over the short fuzz of buzzed hair behind his ear. He melts against your hand.

“Ain’t got no cash. Just—had nowhere else ta go.”

That doesn’t matter to you一it hasn’t in longer than you would like to acknowledge.

“I’ll give ya the frequent flyer discount,” you joke. He turns to you; you see his posture just slightly change in your periphery.

You stand, turn, and move to face him. He looks up at you, slides down into the seat so his back is bowed against it, his lower half practically hanging off of the chair. You wait as he undoes his belt and disrobes, the waistbands settling around his knees, his cock already hard.

In the dark he can’t discern your expression, your look一but he can feel it.

“Thought about it the whole damn drive over. Got m’self all worked up.”

You bend at the waist to stub your cigarette in the ashtray, then leave the butt as you step closer to him, one of his legs between yours.

“Don’t have ta think no more,” you say, as you climb onto him, the wicker chair groaning as it bears both your weight. “I gotcha now.”

Straddling him, you reach down to tug the loose leg of your shorts to the side and sink down onto his cock in one movement. It’s easy, familiar. He fills you so well, the little grunt of satisfaction he makes causing your core to throb around him as you sit on him, thighs spread wide. 

You know he’s getting right when he sniffs, short and clipped, trying to hide it.

“Just need someone t’show ya some love, ain’t that right, honey?”

The wicker chair creaks beneath you as you roll your hips on top of him, sweat rolling down the nape of your neck, half from the little bit of exertion and half from how fucking hot and thick he feels inside you, the heft of him, the weight of his solid prick pressing against you from all angles. The position he’s in precludes you from getting any closer to kiss him, really, so you let your hands do the work for your mouth.

Skimming over his front, feeling him through his thin white tee, one hand curls gently around his throat, feeling his pulse pounding and his nervous, stuttered swallows, trying to hold it all in. The other moves to his cheek. It’s wet, and you carefully wipe beneath his eyes with the pads of your first two fingers, following up with your thumb.

“‘Sall right,” you mutter, your knees pressing against his thighs as you barely lift yourself off of him just to drop back down, taking him deep, your own chest clenching a little as he sniffles again, just barely, clearing his throat to distract from it or hide it. “You came t’the right place.”

His hands find your hips, holding them tight, but not to guide you or move you一he clings to you desperately because from what you can gather, not that he’s all that forthcoming, you’re the only thing he has to straighten himself out, work through the bullshit, get his frame of mind recentered.

You fuck him raw, leaning over him, his hands on your waist supporting you as you sink onto him one last time, taking him all the way to the hilt, squeezing down on his cock to milk it from him, palm flat on his chest as you feel it. He’s shaking, silently, your fingers wet with his tears, reappearing every time you try to brush them away with gentle swipes of the back of your hand.

“You’re all right, honey,” you mutter, and you feel his heart rush beneath your hand. “Gator. You’re all right.”

He gives a little cough as you feel him start to work through it, his hips rolling up into you from beneath, and he moves one hand down to rub you through the thin fabric of your shorts, fingertip pressing the seam against your clit. Even through the linen, it feels good, and you sigh. 

“Yeah, ‘at’s right,” he slurs, voice thick with arousal and emotion. “Love when I touch ya like that don’tcha?”

“Love it,” you breathe, the breeze fanning over you both, lazily fucking on your porch when the night is darkest, him using your body to parse everything he’s got swirling around in his own. “Make me feel good, Gator, c’mon.”

‘’At’s right,” he says again, absently, his fingers rubbing at you through your shorts, hot and wet, your arousal soaking the fabric. “Show me how much ya love一it.”

You sigh his name, curling your fingers in on your palm and coasting your knuckles across his cheek, trying to dry his eyes. His breath catches when you do, his cock kicking inside; you feel him come before he even seems to realize he’s about to, and the whimper that falls from his lips hits you right in your heart.

“I love it,” you whisper, feeling his fingers press just a little more firmly against you as he fills you, another groan pulled from his chest as you say it. 

You both know the unspoken meaning behind the other’s words.

“Come on, darlin’,” he says, dragging circles over your swollen clit as you soak the front of your shorts. “Go on ‘nd prove it.”

You can’t make out his face, the rooftop above you blocking the moonlight from reaching either of you一but you hear how badly he needs it, so you grind down against him, feeling the ridge of his cock in all the right places, his fingers coaxing you to your end, until you come too, around him, atop him, your hand sliding back to tangle into his hair again, lips parted as stuttered gasps emanate from you in time with the ripples in your cunt.

You come down, still holding him一Gator still holding you一and your shaky breaths mingle in the still early morning air until the scant wind picks up again, taking everything between you and scattering it into the dark.

It’s not a permanent solution一it’s barely a solution at all一but if it helps the kid for a night, you’ll gladly tamp down your feelings until the morning.

So will he.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @snoopyharrington @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08 @xoxocelestial @s3xytosomeone

(adding @djoaholic and @cha0ticstranger because he do be cryin)

[keer-y]

get me back

pairing: teacake meacham/f!reader wc: ~2k tags: MDNI//SMUT- oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, squirting, masturbation (m), cumshot on titties &&

“You know, they say I’m pretty good with my hands, too,” Teacake says, and you lift your head from the pillow, looking down your body at him as he slides said hands up your bare waist, skimming over to your front to cup your breasts.

“Who?” you ask, because barely seconds ago he was talking about everything he wanted to do to you with his mouth, and now he was on his hands…? “Who’s they?”

You ask it with just a pinch of annoyance because why would he be talking about anyone else when you’re in the middle of hooking up? You’re not exclusive, not really, but it’s still a little strange to talk about other conquests in the middle of sex, right?

But he just grins at you, leaning in, moving himself up and over you, flicking his thumbs over your nipples as he presses a kiss to your lips. You notice he pointedly doesn’t answer, but when his lips meet yours, you find you don’t really care either. Because in addition to, apparently, being very skilled with his hands, he’s goddamn superb with his mouth and that’s a fucking fact. You’d probably tell everyone you could if you talked about that kind of thing with people一his tongue swipes against your lips, begging entrance, and you let him in一ok, maybe you’ll start.

He kisses you slow, deep, his tongue moving against yours as you moan just from the feeling of him licking into you, his hands still at your chest, circling your perked nipples, massaging them in opposite directions, making you arch up against him because he certainly was not lying, you can attest to that now.

And it’s not that you weren’t aware一he’s just that your previous handful of hookups had been so quick and rushed that it was basically just kissing, then you climbing on top of him or bending over something for quick and dirty sex. For the first time you actually had the privacy of your bedroom, and he was actually taking his time with you.

“T-Travis,” you mumbled against his lips as he pulled back, and he let his face remain close to yours, the tip of his nose and his lips brushing over yours as he spoke.

“Can I try something for you?” he asks.

You attempt to focus on him, though he’s so close that it’s not that easy to do. “What?” you ask, searching his face.

“Want to try to getcha to come real hard, babe,” he says, kissing you again, sucking your upper lip between his. “Getcha to come on me, if I can.”

You study him, his breath warm on your cheek as he tilts his head, questioning, hoping you’ll say yes.

“You want me to一squirt on you?” you force the word out, because that was not what you’d expected him to ask, though you’re not… opposed.

But Teacake only gives you a shy little grin that turns impish the longer you look. “Like I said一I’m real good with my hands, babe, I promise.”

His earnestness makes you laugh a little, not derisively, but in genuine amusement, happiness.

“Um, yeah. Ok,” you say, reaching up to tangle your hands in his hair, wrapping your fingers around the strands as you tug him back down to kiss you. He meets your lips and kisses you, soft, sweet, for just a moment before he pulls away from you, moving down between your legs. He kneels between them, and you look down your body as you take him in. Strong thighs and a thick waist, his half-hard cock bobbing a little each time he moves, and his hands coming to rest on your knees. His broad chest isn't quite heaving, but you can tell how excited he is just at the prospect of what he’s about to do.

Dragging his palms down your thighs, Teacake moves himself further down the bed, coming to rest on his front, your legs framing him as he bullies his way between them, shoulders pushing your legs up a little as he presses close in to you; your heels come down to dig into his back, and he leans up and over you to lay a tender kiss on your mound, right where your slit begins, and as his lips linger there, they part and his tongue eases itself down into your folds, finding your clit一you tense and lift your hips into his face, and he just rolls with it, moving with you, undulating his tongue against you as you reach down again, taking a fistful of his hair and holding onto it.

Travis hums quietly against you, drawing your clit gently between his lips, sucking softly on it as he moves one of his hands up, the backs of his fingers tracing over your thigh so you know what he’s doing. You shiver at the glancing touches he’s giving you, until finally his fingers slide against your lips, moving between them to feel for your slit. You whimper when he does, one of his fingertips moving into you, but he doesn’t commit fully to it yet一instead, he just turns his hand and rubs at it, feeling you squeezing down on nothing from the outside.

“Travis,” you whine, and you feel him huff a little bit of a laugh through his nose, but he doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t stop or slow down. He just traces his tongue over your clit before finally, with a touch of urgency now, curls his middle finger inside of you, both of you reveling at the feeling of it; he closes his eyes at the way you tighten down on him, and you arch up off the bed just a little at the intrusion, longing for more fucking immediately. You clench down on his fingers, squeezing him, and he interprets what you want, he must, because he pulls his finger out of you, angles his ring finger beside it, and pushes back in, and you nearly cry out because it feels so goddamn good. He’s not moving too fast, too deep, too hard; he’s for the perfect angle and has them curled just right inside of you that when the pads of his fingers brush your g-spot, you gasp aloud, desperate, hands fisting the sheets now because there’s nothing else you can think to do with them. Just hold the fuck on as he fingers your tight cunt.

“C’mon,” he says. “I know you got it in ya.”

“Travis,” you whimper, lifting your head to look down at him as he pulls away from your clit and instead works on your pussy, rubbing you inside, not hard but firm, focusing intently on your spot. You feel your pussy twitch around him, your whole cunt throbbing. You reach a hand down to rub at your clit, and Travis kisses your wrist as you do, watching your touch yourself as he does too.

“God damn, that’s a sight,” he mutters, and you just lift your other hand from the sheet to curl into your own hair, then fall back to grip the pillow, holding onto it as you roll your hips, riding Teacake’s fingers as he keeps stroking your g-spot.

“Feels一really good,” you breathe, feeling a rush of heat and wetness between your legs as your whole body shudders. You’re getting close to your orgasm because you’re touching your clit, but it doesn’t deter Teacake at all一he just starts fingering you now, properly, making sure to rub at your g-spot on every instroke, but he’s giving you firm pressure, the heel of his hand slamming into you in a way that might hurt if you weren’t so keyed up with pleasure already. Every time his fingers enter you again, every time they curl exactly right into your spot, every time your fingers circle your clit, you feel your body heat rise, your mouth dry, your eyes leak from the corners, and he pulls back a little, just a little, as your thighs start to shake.

“That’s it,” he encourages you. “Come on, babe, show me what you got.”

“Oh my god,” you half-shout一and then actually shout, because you’d felt close for a moment and then all of a sudden you were coming一no build up, no precipice, no leading to the edge. No, out of nowhere you were right there, and you watch, tears of absolute pleasure dripping down your temples as you come, hard, so hard Travis had to pull his fingers out of you, and as he does, you feel your body release, feel yourself let go一feel yourself squirt, the stream landing on Travis and your bed and your legs, your heels digging into his back so hard he can’t move away as you came all over him.

A wrecked sob leaves your lips as you finish, your cunt absolutely soaked, drenched and spasming, and you open your eyes to see Travis, beaming, his face covered in your come.

“Toldja,” he says, lifting his hand to show you his wet fingers, like that wasn’t incredibly lewd and adorably insane.

He straightens up, his chest wet with you too, the dark hair covering it glistening. You feel your pussy clench again, the sight of it almost primal, and you push your tits together, looking down at his cock一now fully erect.

“Your turn,” you say, and he smiles impossibly wider, standing over you on his knees, taking his cock in hand.

You lick your lips, letting your tongue peek out onto your lower lip as he strokes himself, thumb curling over the head of his prick each time he nears it.

“Come on, big boy,” you say, half-joking; you see Teacake smirk a little at the name too. “Get me back.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” he says. “Gonna getcha right back. I’ll show you.”

His hand moves over himself faster as you play with your nipples a little, fingers sliding over them. Teacake watches, eyes flicking from your hands to your mouth, to your eyes, and when he meets them he smiles down at you, before lowering his gaze back to himself, watching his hand move over his cock, smearing precome now, his tip leaking.

“Gonna,” he says, and you mewl out an “Mhm…” to egg him on.

“Gonna,” he utters, leaning forward, his free hand coming to rest on the wall above your head; he angles his cock down toward your chest and holds your gaze, looking right into your eyes. He keeps stroking, his hand moving quickly over himself, streaking your arousal all over himself as he does, his hand still a little wet with your fluids一and then he’s coming too, thick ropes of his spend landing on your tits, your fingers. You rub it into your hard nipples, and he lets his eyes dip down to watch you, groaning as he finishes, groaning as you circle the hard nubs with your fingers, rubbing his spunk into your skin.

With a sigh, he lowers himself back down to sit on you一you maybe, accidentally, loose a rather undignified Oof as his weight settles onto you, but you’d never admit to it一and then he trails a finger over a line of his come that caught your collarbone.

“I think you won,” he says.

You look at your tits as good as you can一mostly dry, really一and then up to his, where his face and chest still have your release clinging to his skin. Even so, you say, “I think we both won.”

He clambers off of you, lying beside you, pressing himself against you一the feeling of it is filthy, debaucherous, knowing what you’re both covered in一and kisses your lips before he whispers against them, echoing you for emphasis. “We both won.”

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @snoopyharrington @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08 @xoxocelestial

[keer-y]

Short Straw

pairing: steve harrington/f!reader wc: 9.1k tags: sex pollen, dubious consent, multiple orgasms, [unsafe] vaginal sex, a lot of come. too much a/n: thank you thank you thank you to @tinfoileddd, nice to write smth silly and fun. and disgustingly filthy yay go read lid's sex pollen fic here!

&&

“Someone has to go,” Nancy says, looking around the room at the five of you, congregated outside of the Byers’ home. Each of you eye one another, no one wanting to volunteer for such a task. 

You can tell Steve wants to, though. You can tell he wants to even though he’s still reeling from what happened the last time the group made the trek to the Upside Down, because that’s who Steve is and that’s what Steve does, and when he can step in to avoid anyone else having to, he will. 

Steve opens his mouth, but you speak over him.

“Whoever it is shouldn’t go alone.” You cut him off, because if Steve is going to volunteer himself as the sacrificial lamb to see if something down below is causing the thick dust raining down onto Hawkins, you want him to at least have someone there with him.

“Well,” Robin says. “I don’t think it should be me.”

“That’s fine,” Jonathan quips, rolling his eyes a little, but you speak up again before Steve can, almost stumbling over your words as he opens his mouth because you want to get your idea out first.

“We should draw straws,” you suggest. “That way it’s random and fair.”

Steve clamps his jaw shut, looking over at you from the corner of his eyes.

“I agree.” Nancy nods. “I’ll go check with Mrs. Byers.”

“I’ll go,” Jonathan says. “I know where they are—she’s busy with Will.” He pauses, then sighs out the word, “Probably.”

He turns on his heel and leaves the four of you standing in a square, Robin’s shoulder pressed against Steve’s, while you look from them to Nancy, concern etched over your face. 

“This just feels,” you say, “I dunno. Bad.”

“Yeah, because it is,” Robin says. “This is like, the worst bad it could possibly be. Like, Defcon level 5 bad.”

“That’s the least bad one,” Steve says.

“What?” Robin asks, absently, almost like she forgot what she’d just said.

“Defcon 5,” Steve repeats. “That’s the lowest one. Defcon 1 is the really bad one.”

“Ok, then it’s Defcon 1,” Robin echoes him. “Whatever. Any Defcon sucks!”

The group lulls into an introspective silence until the front door to Jonathan’s house opens and he returns, clutching a handful of straws. He returns to the circle, fidgeting with the straws until he’s back between Nancy and Robin, and then just holds out his fist so you can all pull a straw from his hand.

“Three long,” he specifies, “two short.”

He offers them to Nancy first, who takes a breath, chooses a straw, and—admittedly—looks a little bit miffed that it’s not a short one.

Robin reaches out next, plucking a straw from Jonathan’s hand before you can. She tugs it free. 

Long.

Jonathan moves his hand over to you and Steve, and Steve gestures to you to pick first—there’s only one safe straw left, and he’ll suffer Jonathan if he has to, to make sure that none of the women in the little quintet you’ve cobbled together are in danger.

Taking a breath, you pinch the straw on your right between your thumb and index finger, before changing to the one on your left. You ease it out of Jonathan’s hand, and just swallow thickly when you see you’ve pulled a short straw. 

A slight tension settles over the group as you huff a short laugh through your nose, because of course that’s your luck. 

“Great,” you say, wanting to flick the plastic away but instead you hang onto it, watching as Steve and Jonathan stare each other down.

“You’ll be fine,” Nancy says. “Steve or Jonathan will be with you.” She steps closer. “Do you want to trade?” she adds surreptitiously. She’s more capable than you, she’d be the obvious choice—but you were screwed over by your own idea, so your integrity feels like it’s forcing your hand.

“No, it’s—you need to stay here with Mike. And…Will. If Jonathan ends up going with me. I’ll be ok,” you reply, glancing over at her. “Thanks, though.”

“Just pick one,” Jonathan is saying to Steve, and you watch as Steve reaches for the straw you almost chose first, taking it with no hesitation from Jonathan’s closed fist.

It almost pains you to see that it’s also short, so you’d have been going no matter which you chose. Typical.

Jonathan opens his hand to show his straw is long, just for the fairness of the game, and you turn to Steve, ignoring the way Robin is bouncing a little in place, hands curled into the hem of her sweater before she releases it and just crosses to you, putting her hands on your shoulders.

“You’ll be so fine,” she says. “Steve won a fight against a, like, Russian soldier.”

“He what?” you ask, but before you can get an answer, Steve just steps between you and Robin and meets your eyes.

“Let’s go,” he says. “We’re gonna need to gear up before we head down there again.”

&&

You end up with an old canvas jacket over a tank top, one that Mrs. Byers found for you in the back of the hall closet, the sleeves a little too long. Nancy approached you, shoving her own boots into your hands, and said you’d be better in those, as opposed to the tennis shoes you had on. Steve is still in his jeans too, now wearing an old t-shirt that Jonathan provided. It looks a little too small for Steve, his shoulders a little broader, but it’s hidden beneath his bomber jacket. He only shrugs his shoulders, stretching the fabric out over them before he leads you outside, Jonathan trailing behind, the designated driver to get you to the crossover point.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, mostly to you, because Steve looks a hell of a lot more composed than you do, your breath a little thin, your eyes unblinking as you fixate on nighttime scenery as it passes by. “It一shouldn’t be like, you know, before.”

“No bats?” you ask, almost laughing, because even though you saw the evidence of their story firsthand, even though you’ve been around long enough to know every detail they provided is true, it still sounds crazy to speak it aloud.

“No bats,” Jonathan promises, even though there’s no way he could realistically know.

“Ok,” you say, looking at Steve in the backseat. His jaw is set, and when he feels your eyes on him, he looks over at you.

“You can still sit this one out,” Steve says, and to his credit, Jonathan doesn’t speak for you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, frowning. “I一got a short straw.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says, “but you shouldn’t一have to. You’ve never gone down there, and you should keep it that way.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jonathan glance up to look at Steve in the rearview, undoubtedly wondering if the fucking Hair is gonna try to pull him along and leave you with the car.

“It was my idea,” you say. “I pulled a short straw fair and square.”

“Having to go down there isn’t fair,” Steve says.

“Well, you went last time, so having to go again is what’s not fair, isn’t it?” you counter.

“That’s not what I said一” Steve tries to protest, but again, you speak over him.

“I’m going,” you say. “End of story. The quicker you accept that, the easier this will be. Stop一thinking about me and focus.”

Steve huffs a little noise of disbelief, but quietens down and the rest of the drive passes with just the sound of the engine and the tires speeding over the asphalt, potholes and cracks in the road making him slow the car to a stop.

“This is as far as we can drive,” Jonathan says, holding his foot on the brakes as you and Steve both hesitate, looking at the red glow of the rift a bit further up the street, the entire area abandoned and desolate, destroyed by the X-shaped fissure quadrisecting Hawkins’ downtown.

What look like ashes or fiery motes dance above the broken earth, and you force yourself to move so Steve has no choice but to follow.

You feel for the door handle, not taking your eyes off of the red glow ahead of you, and push open the squeaky door, stepping out of the car. The gravel crunches underfoot as you stand and move back a step, slamming the door. Behind you, you hear the rear driver side door creak and slam too, and you look back to meet Steve’s eyes over the roof of the car. Neither of you speaks, but neither of you has to.

“I’ll be here waiting,” Jonathan says, to Steve一he’s rolled down the window on his side. “As long as it takes. But don’t take too long.”

“No sweat,” Steve says, clapping his hand onto the roof, displacing some of the dust that’s already settled onto the car, just by virtue of idling in one place. “We got this.”

You wait for Steve to start walking forward, joining him as you traverse the rocky, destroyed street, the headlights from the Byers’ car illuminating you from behind as you go.

“What’s it like down there?” you ask, carefully stepping over a large chunk of blacktop.

“It’s…” Steve says, his voice trailing off. “Not great.”

“That helps,” you snip, because you’d like maybe a little preparation before you dive in.

“I’ll go first,” Steve says. “it’s一a little trippy. Just… give me a sec after I go through, and then I’ll catch you.”

“Catch me?” you ask, but Steve’s already adjusting his jacket, fiddling with the flashlight he’s holding, running a hand back through his hair, dusted with whatever the fine granules are that have been falling over Hawkins constantly for the last day.

“It’s一I mean, it’s called the Upside Down for a reas一you’ll see. Just. The dizziness will pass quick, promise.”

You open your mouth to say something else, but even as you do, you realize you have no idea what to say or to ask. So instead, you just watch as he crouches down beside the rift, fingers curling over the edge, and as he leans forward, you look back to Jonathan, who’s standing outside the car now, leaning against the hood, watching you both.

When you turn back to look at Steve, he’s gone.

You startle, because yes, you expected it, and yes, you knew this was all real, but for some reason his there-one-second-gone-the-next disappearing act throws you.

“You can go,” Jonathan says, encouraging. “He’ll一be ready by now.”

“Have you gone down there?” you ask.

He pauses, then shakes his head. “Not yet.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, then snicker. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

He hesitates, then smirks. “Bon voyage.”

You hold his gaze for another moment, like he’ll stop you一of course he won’t, you wouldn’t if you were him一and then replicate Steve’s movements as closely as you can remember. Crouching down. Gripping the edge. That was all you’d seen, but you close your eyes and tip yourself forward, expecting一actually, you have no fucking idea what to expect, and as your own body weight propels you forward through the rift, you feel strong hands grip your upper arms, pulling you through the rest of the way until you’re in an environment that feels colder, inherently. Like there’s no warmth here, no sun, nothing living, only death and decay and rot.

You stumble, because like Steve told you, there is a moment when your equilibrium is so completely off it’s almost like you have vertigo. He does catch you, as promised and your hands grip his arms back for a moment until your body reorients itself and you can stand without holding onto him.

“Thanks,” you say, looking around. It’s uncanny一you’re in Hawkins, downtown. It looks the same but still so drastically different that you feel as though you’ve just stepped into a nightmare.

“Come on,” Steve says, gently, and you can tell he doesn’t want to linger in one place too long. His hand is still on your arm, even though you’ve turned enough that you can walk beside him.

All of the air is stale down here, and as you walk through the inverse version of your hometown, you start to become attuned to the strange sounds of this place, the一odd clicks off to the side, a rushing roar occasionally from behind or above you, but you never see anything, never feel anything other than Steve’s fingers pressing into your arm through the jacket.

You don’t know how long you walk for, and you lose your bearings in the dimness of the Upside Down, but Steve is confidently striding forward like he knows exactly where you are and where you’re going. Between you, it’s silent, which you don’t mind一just the sound of your breathing and a few short exclamations when your foot twists on a rock, or Steve drops the flashlight, his quiet little “Oops” actually making you smile a little as he ducks down to pick it up, wiping the dirt from the lens.

You walk further, Nancy’s boots clomping alongside Steve’s quieter hiking shoes, and when you reach the base of a hill, you both stop.

“Up?” you ask, and Steve finally releases your arm. You feel the absence like a presence, because you hadn’t realized how much it was comforting you until it was gone, but he glances over at you, nods, and then gestures for you to head up first.

“I’ll follow you,” he says, “make sure you don’t slip.”

Making sure you don’t fall一It’s thoughtful in the way you expect from Steve, even though you don’t know him that well. You’re only wrapped up in this insanity because you know一no. Knew…Eddie. You knew Eddie. He was your neighbor, a couple doors over, and you were friends in that way where you waved to each other when you were grabbing the mail, or said hi if you happened to pass at the store, or noticed when a girl died in his trailer while he was screaming bloody murder and had to go on the lam. It was hard not to get involved when you’d rushed outside to see what the fuck was going on with all the noise only to watch him split seconds later, peeling out of the lot. 

Your first mistake had been even stepping out your front door that evening. Your second mistake had been peeking inside his trailer, your third had been finding that Henderson kid he had mentioned to you a few times in passing…and probably your fiftieth fucking mistake had been suggesting drawing fucking straws to see who got to pay a fucking visit to this scenic fucking shithole.

“Over there,” Steve says, as you crest the hill, pointing vaguely in the direction of a thick copse of trees. “Pretty, uh, dusty.”

He’s right: The trees are surrounded by what looks like a hazy cloud of dust, dense enough to look like fog from afar. It’s practically shimmering even in the darkness, and as Steve shines the flashlight toward it, even though you’re a good distance away, it looks like you’ve agitated it, almost like being illuminated caused the fine particles to move faster. Like observing them made them, somehow, aware of your presence.

You dig the toe of your boot into the ground below you. “So that’s where it’s coming from then,” you say, eager to leave. “Let’s go tell Hopper and Dustin and everyone.”

You start to turn, ready to head back the way you came, but Steve’s arm hooks around your elbow again. You try to suppress how having him back in contact with you does make you feel a little bit better once again.

“No, come on. We need to see if something’s…doing that.”

“It’s just us, Steve,” you argue. “We don’t know enough about anything down here to just go walking into…whatever that is. It looks like…someone cast cloudkill or something.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow at you. “Please tell me you didn’t just bring D&D into this.”

“That’s what it looks like!”

“Dustin would be so proud.” He smirks a little to himself. “Ok,” he says. “I’m gonna go take a closer look. They’ll want to know more and I’d like to be able to answer whatever questions we can when we’re back topside. Just wait here.” He takes off down the hill, minding his steps as he goes. 

“Wait,” you try to call after him, not wanting to be too loud. You watch as his flashlight beam moves over the dust again, the swirling almost appearing to move faster as he approaches it, like it wants him to reach it. “Steve!”

You hiss the word as loud as you dare, and he pauses, stopping at the bottom of the slanted ground. 

“It’s ok,” he calls back up to you. “I’ll be right back.”

“Let’s just go back!” you say, glancing around behind you as something一somewhere back the way you came from一makes a noise that disrupts the otherwise quiet landscape. That clicking sound again.

“I promise it’s fine,” he says. “I won’t be long.”

“No, Steve—” you say, and he pauses, watching with pursed lips as you start forward.

“Come on, then,” he says, resigned, waiting for you as you also make your way down, the ground uneven and the dirt sliding beneath your feet as you descend.

He’s still in the same spot when you reach him, and he holds out a hand for you to take if you need it. Your gut wants you to reach for it, for him, but you ignore the impulse; you’re back on (mostly) flat ground now, you can walk without assistance. Besides… you both might need both hands readily available if shit goes sideways. Or, uh. Upside down.

You flinch at yourself for even thinking it, because that was stupid. So stupid.

“Hold on,” Steve says, holding his arm out horizontally so you stop walking, because while you were in your own little world lamenting your dumb joke, you’d gotten even closer to the treeline and the dust is very, very much thicker here.

“Oh,” you say, because the way it’s clouded there, it reminds you of when freshwater and saltwater meet but can’t mix, different viscosities preventing them from commingling. “That’s…”

“Weird,” Steve says, and before you can suggest that this is definitely enough information to bring back to the group, he steps forward, approaching the trees.

“Steve!” you hiss. “What the hell, why are you like this?”

He looks back at you, a faint smile quirking up one side of his mouth. “I wish I knew.”

You stand outside of the range of the… dust, or whatever the hell it is, until he reaches the trees. Even from where you’re standing, you can see when he shines the flashlight over them, they look diseased, dead, the bark crumbling, the trunks covered in thick vines. They shine a little in the light, covered in sap or… something far more vile.

“Come back,” you implore him, but he doesn’t listen, and you’re not sure if he can’t hear you or if he just ignored your request. “Steve!”

“It’s fine,” he says. “Come here, it looks like… just come here.”

You don’t want to, but you do, because the entire reason you’re even here is so Steve didn’t come down into this place alone. The air doesn’t smell or taste different when you take a step forward, but it feels softer almost, brushing against your skin like baby powder, and by the time you reach Steve, you feel like you’ve been wrapped in silk, or velvet maybe, like the very air itself is cradling you.

“Look at this,” he says, moving the flashlight closer to the vines. “Do you see that?”

You look closer, not sure what he means at first, until you do see it. It looks like a stem broken off of the vine, like a flower had been there and was now gone. You can see a scattering of them all up and down the vine, and the vines beside it; the entire tree is covered in the same stems. Like it had sprouted blooms once, but they’d shriveled, losing their petals but the central disc where the pollen collected remained.

“Flowers?” you asked.

“I don’t know…” Steve said, reaching out toward one of the stems.

“Hey!” you said, grabbing his wrist with both hands, stopping him before he can touch it. “We’re not touching them. No way.”

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “Just… back up a little.”

“Please don’t,” you say, not moving. Steve extends his arm again, using it to guide you back, and then presses one of the un-petaled flower stems down. You hold your breath, but nothing happens, and when Steve moves his hand back, the stem just rises back to its previous position, unremarkably.

“See?” Steve says, looking back at you. “It’s fine.”

You exhale heavily, nervous still, even though you now have the empirical evidence that yes一it was fine.

“I guess,” you admit, and before you can react, Steve is walking past the treeline, between the old, creaking trunks, twigs snapping beneath his feet. “I swear to god, Harrington…” You mumble it mostly to yourself, and then follow him, because you don’t want to have to explain to anyone that you lost Steve because you were too scared to follow him into some trees.

Even though you’re fairly certain, like, anyone would understand.

He’s stopping at random trees, shining the flashlight on them, but every flowered vine you find looks the same as the first one一flowers, no petals, the center bare of any pollen or residue.

“Maybe we can just一take one of the stems and bring it back. And leave. Now.”

“We don’t know that’s what’s causing the dust,” Steve says, and you actually grab him, spin him around, and stare him down with your hands on your hips.

“I think,” you say, lifting your hands exasperatedly into the air, “we can extrapolate that they are what’s causing it.”

But he’s not listening. You can tell because he’s looking behind you, the flashlight just a little bit off to your left. You turn to see what’s caught his interest, and find it immediately. It’s one of the flowers, but not barren. The petals are a sickly green-blue, the same as the rest of the vines, and the disc is very clearly covered in a thin layer of pollen. Steve shuts the flashlight off and you see how he noticed it一it’s bioluminescent.

“Oh,” you say again, looking back at him. “That’s…even weirder.”

“We should bring that one back,” he says.

“I still don’t think we should touch it,” you say.

“Yeah,” he agrees, surprising you. “Probably not, but一I mean…if we can learn anything about anything it’ll be from that one, right?”

“I…” you start to say, then sigh. “I guess.”

“All right, just,” he says, handing you the flashlight. “Hold this.”

“Do you need the light?” you ask, running your thumb over the button to turn it back on.

“No,” he says, stepping past you and reaching up toward the flower. “I got it一”

As soon as his fingers touch the stem, the flower reacts一actually reacts. It appears to contract, the way you’d expect a Venus fly trap to close when its prey triggers it, and then the petals fall away, down over Steve’s hands, his face, and the pollen follows, the glimmering particles landing on him, on you, wisping away through the trees to settle, no longer glowing, wherever they fell through the stagnant air.

“Steve!” you scold him, but even as you do, you start to feel… off.

“You ok?” Steve asks, turning to you. His eyes meet yours and you feel a pull, you feel the same vertigo you felt when you first arrived here.

“Yeah,” you say, before the world slides sideways. “Wait. No.” You move to brace yourself against the tree, pressing the side of your forearm against it, letting your forehead rest there for a moment as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Steve echoes you. “Yeah, me… me neither.”

“What the hell was that?” you ask, turning the flashlight on. With the beam lit up again, you can see how shaky your hands are, because you angle it up and despite your best effort, you simply cannot keep the stem of the flower that exploded centered in the light. “Jesus Christ,” you mumble to yourself, dropping the lit flashlight because seeing yourself so obviously affected by whatever you just inhaled is making you feel even more scared than you already are.

You register Steve moving away from you, walking around in the tight space, shaking his hands out like he’s trying to rid them of something.

You suck in a breath.

“Are you like. Hot?” you ask, pulling off the heavy jacket and draping it over your shoulder, just to have something to do with your shaking hands.

“What?” Steve asks in return, but you can hear the tightness in his voice.

You swallow, stepping away from the tree, and because whatever the fuck is happening to the two of you is happening, you bump into him just as he nears you with his pacing, neither paying any mind to the other. Where his hand brushes your arm, your skin tingles, tightens—feels like it’s going to blister. And then it happens to the rest of your body.

But just as quickly as it does, it dissolves away, leaving you feeling cold, wanting.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks again, in a way that you can tell he felt whatever that was too. But also in the way that you can tell he’s, maybe, handling it a little better.

“Still no,” you say. 

“Right,” Steve says. “Yeah. ‘Cause you just…” he trails off, and as soon as he mentions it you realize, belatedly, that the searing feeling of his bare skin against yours—your arms mind you—made you loose a moan from deep in your chest, low and unbidden, soft but heavy.

The moment hangs between you for a second, your heart hammering in your chest, an uncomfortable pressure starting to build between your legs.

“Hey,” Steve says, and you look up at him, and when you do you realize he’s much closer than he was moments ago, and he was already right beside you. “Hey, do you, um…” he trails off, and in the ambient light emanating from the flashlight on the ground beside you, you can see his gaze drop down to your lips.

Instinctually一because all of a sudden you feel like every single impulse and sense you have has been reduced to its basest level一you let your eyes lower to his mouth too, and when you see them, when you watch as his teeth worry his lower lip between them, when you see his cheeks hollow for a moment, when you catch a brief glimpse of his tongue, the same question that you’re certain he was about to ask you pops into your mind, and you answer what he didn’t even ask.

“Yes,” you say, and without further hesitation, without any thought at all, you take his face in your hands and press your lips to his.

Simultaneously you feel both immense relief and immeasurable desire, your stomach churning, your lips parting as Steve groans into your mouth. You can’t help but press your hips to his, parting your lips to let his tongue lick against yours, and your hands curl into his hair as you kiss him wildly, tongues and teeth and absolutely no reticence, the desperation clear on your part and his.

“Fuck,” you mutter as his hands tug your tank top up, pushing it over your tits, not bothering to unclasp your bra but just shoving that up and over your chest too, and you don’t even care that he’s undressing you in the middle of the weird ass woods in some alternate dimension. You don’t care that you’ve been stricken with the urge to fuck some guy you barely know, and only know because of some of the direst circumstances in history. You don’t care that he’s caging you in against the tree, the vines and bark scraping against your back as he leans down to bypass your neck completely and latch onto one of your tits, his mouth working at you in a way that you could tell on an ordinary night in an ordinary bed in ordinary Hawkins would feel wonderful, but now is only making the ache between your legs worsen, because you need part of him in contact with part of you and it’s not his mouth on your nipple.

“Steve,” you gasp, tone high, thready. “I need一oh my god, I can’t一” you stop yourself, because you know what it is that you want but you can’t very well tell him that you need his cock. You do not know each other like that, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind, he pulls back from you, shrugging off his jacket as well, letting it fall to the ground behind him as he undoes his jeans and shoves them down.

You’re on him before he even pulls his hands away from the waistband一both hands wrapping around his shaft, coaxing him to hardness even though he’s already most of the way there. Your entire being shudders with relief as soon as you feel his hot, girthy cock in your hands, and he rushes you back against the tree, mouth taking yours again as you stroke him with both hands, smearing the copious amount of precome he’s leaking all down his length. He’s so wet it coats your hands, your wrists even, as you accidentally let them brush against him as you jerk him off.

“This is”一you gasp out as he breaks away to move his lips down to your neck一“weird, right?”

“Yes,” Steve answers, but even as he says it, he’s moving his hands from your waist to your front, fingers curling into the waistband of your jeans and slipping the button. He undoes the zipper and doesn’t even bother trying to lower your pants down to your thighs like his are一he just shoves his hand into your underwear, palm skimming below your belly button until he reaches your mound, his middle finger sliding between your lips to touch your clit, the pad of his finger rubbing over it, not gently, but hard, harsh, immediate pressure that should feel good, but does absolutely nothing for you.

Strangely, you realize一you’re getting more enjoyment out of touching him, than you are from him touching you.

“God, that’s good,” Steve breathes against your mouth, and you realize he must be feeling the same一only getting any relief when he got his hands on you.

“What’s happening?” you ask, lips on the corner of his, breath warm on his cheek.

“I don’t know, I一” Steve says, licking into your mouth before pressing his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes as he thrusts his hand down further into your jeans, the force of it moving them down your hips without any help, and then his fingers are sliding through your folds. “You’re一so wet一I, I never felt anyone like, like this一”

“This is fucking,” you stammer, but the thought of exactly what it is leaves you as he curls two fingers inside of you, and he shudders in relief. You pull him closer by his cock, letting one hand move over it as you reach lower, cupping his heavy balls in your hand, massaging them and tipping your head back, eyes fluttering closed as you do.

“We should一stop,” Steve says, but you shake your head, then nod, then shake your head again.

“No, we can’t… Don’t want to,” you admit.

Steve’s voice is thick like honey, dripping with arousal as he speaks to you, tucking his cheek against yours so he can whisper directly into your ear. “Take一take everything off. Turn around.” It’s dark and deep and you reluctantly release his cock, let him slide his fingers out of you, and then the two of you strip the rest of your clothes off, denim landing on the dirt and leaves, his shirt landing in a heap as he helps you with your bra, and then you’re both naked in the cursed forest, and he’s pressing himself against your back, hands roaming your front. It feels nice but does nothing to assuage the arousal still coiling in your belly, and you push yourself into him, the heated skin of his cock smearing precome over your ass as his hips slide against you. 

“Steve,” you whine, and your tone spurs him into action, his hands landing on your hips, pushing you down, down to your knees and then all fours, and then one of his hands is sliding down your spine to stop between your shoulder blades, and then the next thing you know, your shoulders and tits are being pressed into the dirt, your ass up in the air, presenting yourself to him. You turn your head as much as you can to look back at him, straining as he holds you down.

He’s kneeling behind you, and you watch as his eyes meet yours, hazy with lust, with desperation, and he only nods once at you before you see him reach for his cock with his free hand and press the head against your weeping slit.

Your whole body quivers, and you would have pushed back if he wasn’t keeping you firmly in place, your arms trapped beneath you, hands scrabbling for purchase on your own thighs, holding onto yourself as you feel the pressure on your pussy increase when Steve leans into you with purpose.

He enters you in one deep, thick stroke, and as soon as you engulf him, as soon as you feel him splitting your walls open on his cock, you shudder and come instantly with a loud cry, sobbing from momentary relief, pleasure raining down over you as the sheen of sweat on your skin worsens. Your entire body is aflame like you’ve got a fever, and you clench around Steve's cock when you feel his hips grinding against your ass as you realize that he came too, suddenly, with a harsh gasp. 

But then he’s moving again, back out of you and then pushing in, pushing desperately, chasing the feeling again. Because your first orgasm wasn’t satisfying, barely any of the edge siphoning off despite how much it affected you, and the way he’s digging his fingertips into your hips as he pounds at you tells you his wasn’t either. He’s fucking his come back into your pussy, easing the slide, your thighs dripping with it already as flecks of his release land on your skin. 

“Steve,” you say, voice watery, because you haven’t even come down from your first orgasm and you can already feel another one cresting on the horizon.

“Do you一does this一feel good for you, t-too?” he asks, and you know he’s asking because he must feel the same as you一unsatisfied, wanting more, chasing another and another and another.

“Yeah, it一” you say, gasping as he leans over you, drilling his cock into you even deeper, reaching places inside of you you’ve never felt on your own. “You feel so一so good, Steve, please just一” You falter again, but unless you say it how will he know? How will he know how badly you want this, want him, unless you tell him? “Just keep一going, keep, keep coming in一in me, oh, god, I…” 

You’d feel embarrassed to sound so wanton and lewd if not for the way he answers you, pressing his hand more firmly against your back, sliding it up to your neck, and then finally, relenting for a brief moment so he can tangle his fist into your hair and use it to press your face down into the dirt.

“You have no一idea,” he replies, his hips snapping against your ass, his cock coated with his own spunk, your fluids, dripping down onto his balls, onto the forest floor. “How good you一you feel, around一fuck, you’re so一so一” He fucks into you again, and you feel his cock twitch deep within you, coming again, his release flooding you, his rigid cock not softening and not leaving your cunt, not fully anyway.

His voice sounds slightly more even when he speaks, but still frenzied.

“You feel that?” he asks, and you nod, sliding one of your hands up your stained thigh, sticky with your arousal. “Feel me inside you, right? Feel how一what you’re doing to me?”

“Steve,” you whimper, as he starts moving again, the wet sounds coming from between your bodies obscene, the sound of him fucking his own come loud, filthy, and it ensnares you, your lips parting of their own accord as you feel the saliva dribbling out of your mouth, but you can’t do much to stop it, not with him holding you down, with your arms tucked beneath you, with the way you’re now rubbing at your own clit because you feel so full with two loads in you that you need to come, need to feel it leak out of your hole around his cock, need the force of your orgasm to empty you so he can do it all over again on a clean slate.

“I can feel you,” Steve says, voice choked as he slams into you and stops, straightening up, releasing your head and your hair and clamping his hands down on your hips, rolling his front shallowly against yours, letting his cock just barely move out before it dips right back in, and the stretch of your slit around him, the feeling of your own hand working at your clit, finally sends you over the edge and you turn your face into the ground, hiding your shame as you realize he just came a third time, your pussy milking the orgasm from him as it spasmed and clenched down, begging it from him. The dirt sticks to your face, your lips and chin and you squeeze your eyes closed as you feel him pull out一again, not fully, only partly because you chase him, leaning back into him, wanting him to stay rooted deep within you一but even as you do, you still feel the thick drops of his come ooze out of you around him, rolling down your thighs, collecting in the crease of your knees.

“Do you feel any一better?” Steve asks, and in spite of the question, he pushes back into you, displacing more of his semen, forcing more of it out around him, staining your front along with his this time.

“Yes,” you answer, “no一can you fuck me a-again?”

Steve’s hands smooth over your back一you feel a little less heady, a little less one-track minded, but the burn is still there, the one that needs him moving into you again, pounding his front against your back, giving it to you over and over.

“I still need it too,” he says, and that makes you feel marginally better until he leans over you, letting his back rest against your front, letting your legs support his weight on top of you as he circles both arms beneath you, one hand pressing against up against your stomach, the other moving between your come-covered thighs to nudge your hand away and let his fingers work at your clit this time.

“Fuck一Steve,” you sob, because he’s not moving this time, just letting his cock sit inside you, heavy, slick with his own spunk, and his breath is heavy in your ear as he just rubs your clit, letting you squeeze down on him, unmoving inside you. Your walls flutter around him, gripping him tight, and Steve’s hand on your clit feels worlds different than your own did一your orgasm takes you over by surprise, hitting you out of nowhere so strongly that you buck back against him, wanting to feel him deeper even though he’s fully seated in you, riding out your orgasm with you until you sigh, eyes closed, cheek pressing to the dirty ground, smearing your own drool against the detritus below you.

His fingers slip away from your clit and he starts moving again, and even though you want it, you whine, the noise in your throat crackly and petulant, and without pulling out of you, needing to stay joined the exact same way you do, he holds you tight against him and rolls the both of you onto your side. He’s still inside you, and with the same arm that he’d just had looped around your stomach, he hooks your leg on his wrist, pulling your leg up to the side and holds it there, out of his way, exposing your cunt as he fucks you from behind this time, the new position just as intense but so, so much better, your back resting against his front, his skin slick with sweat as he clings to you, almost as desperate as you feel. 

“Almost一almost there,” he says, and you’re not sure what he means, because you’re still bleary with arousal, still want to come on his cock countless more times, still want to feel him lingering inside you for days.

“Please touch me,” you beg, “need you一need it to be you, it doesn’t一work when it’s me, Steve, please一”

“Sh,” he hushes you, his voice soft as he leans a little further into you, rising to prop himself up on his elbow. He doesn’t release your leg一to the contrary, he leans forward, pushing your leg further up to the crook of his elbow, holding your legs open at an even wider angle, and lets his now free hand slip between your folds to find your clit.

You sob when he does, because you come again the moment he touches it, the swollen bead throbbing beneath the pads of his fingers, kicking under his ministrations as he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, and you rise to your peak again, barely even coming down from the first一or maybe you just didn’t stop coming. You don’t know, you don’t care, because after this many, you’re starting to feel like yourself again, but the feeling is still there, you still need more.

“It’s一so much,” you mumble, and Steve presses a short kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“You feel so good, though,” he says, his hips still curling into yours, his cock not as deep now, both of you contorted around each other, back to front, limbs entangled, his fingers on your clit, the head of his cock in the perfect position to rub repeatedly against your g-spot, and you shudder a sigh as you feel yourself come again, weaker this time, your cunt sopping and sore.

“Come in me again,” you ask weakly, because each time he did, each time he filled you to the brim and it spilled out of you, a little bit of the haze lifted, the feverish impulse lessening.

“Almost,” he replies, thrusting into you, the head of his cock nudging your g-spot and you feel another orgasm beginning to rise, but not strong enough to overtake you yet.

“Please,” you beg, desperate now that you can feel the end might be in sight. You taste dirt in your mouth and feel itchy, skin irritated from twigs and leaves on the ground below you, but they’re the first sensations you’ve felt other than all-consuming arousal since the flower disintegrated onto you both, and you welcome them.

“Just一hold on another一another一” Steve says, and you feel him circle your clit quicker as he fucks into you, his cock dragging against your walls as you tighten up around him, and when he snaps them forward, up into you, shot after shot of his come spurting from the tip of his dick, your whole body tightens, loosens, releases after another orgasm一weak, feeble, and final, you hope一and then you still. Both of you, still, filthy, sweaty messes on the ground, dirty and sticky, skin slick between your thighs, his chest sticking to your back as you pull away from him. You stay on your side, wiping your face with the cleaner of your two hands, scraping away the dirt and spit stuck to your chin. You hear Steve behind you shuffle to his feet, and then his bomber jacket is draped over your shoulders, just to give you some modicum of modesty until you can stand and dress yourself.

“What the fuck happened?” you ask, wiping at the rest of your face now, adjusting the jacket to cover yourself as you feel his spend slowly trickle out of you. You twist, looking up at Steve where he’s standing, pulling his jeans back on. He uses his shirt to wipe his dick clean, his thighs, and then looks over to you.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, and zips his fly before kneeling beside you, making to lift the jacket to wipe you clean with his shirt too, but you bat his hand away. You wanted him so desperately, had him, even, the two of you unable to control yourselves, and now you don’t even want him to look at you.

“Can you get me my一shirt,” you ask, pointing to where your tank top landed.

Wordlessly, Steve gets you your clothes, handing them to you and looking away as you shift yourself to your knees. You suppress the whimper as you feel yourself gaping, the sticky mess of his come falling from your pussy lips, and you try to clean yourself up as best you can, dressing yourself in your jeans and snapping the jacket closed to hide the fact that you’re now shirtless. You both leave the other soiled garments in the woods.

The first half of the walk back is silent, your stoic expression unchanging even as Steve continues acting exactly as he had before: Letting you walk ahead of him, keeping an eye on you to make sure you don’t trip, illuminating your path with the flashlight rather than his own.

“Um,” he says, once you start to see the reddish glow indicating that you’re nearing the rift. “Can we talk?”

You sigh. Heavily. “About what.”

“About一what just happened.”

“What happened?” you ask.

His eyes widen, like he’s not sure whether you’re really asking. “We…had一”

“I know what happened, Steve,” you snap. “I mean, why? What was that stuff?”

He closes his mouth, then his eyes, lifting his hand to cover his face for a moment before letting it fall to his side again.

“I don’t know. But I just一I wanted to check whether you’re ok now.”

“I’m fine,” you say, a little sarcastic, but biting it back because he got the same faceful of fuck pollen as you did. “Don’t worry, you won’t catch me begging for your dick again any time soon.”

He blanches, then takes a step toward you. “Hey, that’s not what I meant.”

“Can we not一talk about it?” you ask.

Steve hesitates, frowns. Then nods. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

&&

The drive back to the Byers house is awkward. You let Steve sit in front next to Jonathan, let Steve answer the questions, let Steve tell Jonathan no一don’t drop you at home. You end up in the driveway of Jonathan’s house, waiting inside Steve’s BMW as he goes in and gives all the details to Nancy this time. He returns the jacket to Mrs. Byers.

He’d been careful with what he said to Jonathan. Some trees, weird flowers, some kind of pollen. It knocked you out for a little while, he explains, some kind of fever or something, that’s why you’re both filthy and sweaty. But you both feel fine now.

Sure.

Steve emerges from the house in another shirt, a polo he’d changed out of before this whole mess, and rounds the hood of the Bimmer. You watch him, wondering why you didn’t interrupt when Jonathan offered to drop you at your place. It would have been easier. You could have shut yourself up inside and never looked twice at Steve again. You only just got involved in this bullshit. You could extricate yourself just as easily.

But you didn’t.

You’d stayed with Steve even when you had the chance for an out.

You’d allowed him to insist that he drive you home, because he wanted more time to talk to you. Which you didn’t want to do but, admittedly, was probably a good idea.

The driver’s side door slams shut as Steve climbs in. You don’t move, legs pressed together, arms crossed over your chest, and Steve fiddles with the keys, not putting them in the ignition.

“So一” he starts, but you cut him off.

“I don’t want to talk outside Jonathan’s house,” you say.

“Right,” he says, starting the car and shifting into gear, heading out back onto the road. He clears his throat. “So.”

“Yeah?” you ask, and he just clears his throat again.

“Are you ok?”

It’s the question you expected but weren’t sure if he would actually ask. Because you’re not, and he’s probably not either.

“I mean, physically,” you say. “Sure.”

“I’m sorry. Obviously I didn’t一know,” he says, drumming his thumb on the steering wheel.

“I’m not blaming you, Steve.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” you say. “But I said I’m not blaming you. How could you have known, really.”

He glances over at you to find you already looking at him. You shrug as if to impart the age-old adage, c’est la vie. Even though it’s really, really not.

There’s another few minutes of silence, the car humming quietly in the night, and it’s almost peaceful except for the mess still between your legs, your body reminding you of it every time he hits a bump in the road and you feel sore all over again.

“That place… I shouldn’t have let you go down there. It changes you.”

“I’ll say,” you snarked, and Steve looked over at you, a little shocked at how blasé you were in that moment, then huffed an unamused laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. It’s一”

“No, for一bringing you. Jonathan should have一”

“I’d love to hear what would have happened if it had been you and Jonathan down there,” you say, keeping your face turned toward the window.

“Ok, well一that’s一” Steve stammers, and you can’t help but laugh a little.

It feels nice, actually, laughing after needing to use Steve’s body in the most perverse, insane way ever, and letting him do the same to yours.

“You didn’t have to drive me,” you say, as Steve turns into the lot where you still live, both of you averting your eyes from Eddie’s residence. Or… what used to be.

“I wanted to,” he says, simply, and when he pulls up outside of your door, he puts the car into park and turns it off, pulling the key from the ignition.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eyeing him as he reaches for the door handle and pockets his keys.

“Walking you to your door,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You want to question him, but you don’t. You just get out of the car, slam the door behind you, and wait for him to move next to you. You lead him, and when he follows you up the steps, holds the door for you when you open it, and enters behind you, you don’t question that either.

Nor does he wait for you to. “I don’t… sleep that great anymore, after… you know, going down there. Figured you might want. I dunno. A friendly face nearby. Just in case.”

You undo the jacket’s fastenings, but hold it closed, your bra shoved into the pocket, your upper half bare beneath the canvas.

“Ok,” you say, not fighting him on it, and just point at the couch behind him. “You can stay there. My mom works an overnight shift so if you can be out by 7:00, I’d appreciate it.”

Steve looks behind himself, then nods. “Sounds good.”

You wait for him to turn and settle down onto it before padding down the hall to the bathroom. The door sticks when you close it, so you never do, just leaving it barely ajar as you strip off the jacket and your jeans, the crotch still wet with Steve’s come. You leave the clothes in a pile on the floor and start the shower, waiting for the water to warm before stepping in; in the meantime, you examine yourself in the mirror. There’s still some dirt scuffed on your cheek; you try to wipe it away with the heel of your hand but it isn’t budging, so you just check yourself out otherwise instead. Your lips are still swollen from where you’d bitten them. You’ve got some bruises and scrapes on your shoulders and chest, your arms and elbows, but there’s no pallor to your skin so you figure you’re fucking fine. Just peachy.

You pull the shower curtain and step in, scrubbing your body hard, your arms and legs, focusing on the marred areas of skin, the places you know need some extra care. You wash thoroughly, your face, your thighs, everything in between them, and when you emerge wrapped in a towel, you see Steve dozing off on your couch. 

You pull the towel tighter around you, watch him for a moment longer, then call out to him.

“Hey.”

His eyes flutter open, taking in the sight of you in the hall, squinting a little like he might have missed something in the interim of sitting down and waking up.

“You ok?” he asks.

You don’t answer一at least, not what he asked you. “My bed’s more comfortable than the couch.”

He studies you一you can feel the force of his look even with how far away he is. He hesitates.

“I’m only offering once,” you say, and that, at least, gets him to move, shifting his weight to the edge of the sofa cushion.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” you say, unwavering, and he makes his way from the couch to the hall, looking down at you as he steps past you into your room. You follow him inside and close the door behind you with a low click.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08

[calelundaa]

someone let gator tillman know it’s coupon day and i have one im ready to give up

[cha0ticstranger]

hii i left this as a request in a comment section when like i didnt know how to request properly but

a drabble of movie night with perv!gator and hes just staring at your rack the whole time and like incessantly begging to touch them but reader is EVIL (jk just mean) and makes him beg harder

thabk u if yiu see and right this 🥹🥹

welcome to my inbox, nonnie! and what a spectacular thought! cw: reader has breasts, slight perv!gator, slight sub!gator

— Gator isn't as smooth as he thinks he is. You know what a guy wants when he asks you to come over and suggests The Wolf of Wall Street for the film of the night. Still, you show up in your jacket and pajama pants with the snacks Gator asked you to pick up.

— It's about thirty minutes into the movie before either of you gets comfortable on his two-seater couch. You've got your legs tucked beneath you, debating whether or not to take off your sweatshirt because the room feels way too hot.

— As soon as your fingers reach for the hem of your shirt, Gator's eyes move with laser focus. He doesn't comment, but you can hear the excited hitch in his breath. But you don't make a show of it, lifting the outer layer off unceremoniously and leaving you in a tight-fitting white tank top. The loss of heat causes your nips to perk up, pebbling against the cotton of your top.

— You passively glance in Gator's direction to catch him obviously staring at your chest. You're not even sure if he's blinked in the past minute. You reach over and swat at his bicep, "Pervert."

— Gator huffs in surprise but quickly recovers as he shifts closer to you, "Don't mind me. I thought you were just getting ahead of the evening."

"In your dreams, Gator," you chastise him, playfully shoving at his chest.

He chuckles in agreement, "Every night, sugar."

— As you continue to watch the movie, Gator does attempt the classic arm-around-the-shoulder trick. Except when his fingers dip too low, you catch his wrist: "What do you think you're doing?" "Oh, c'mon, sugar," Gator nearly pouts. His head dips down, nose trailing over your neck before he presses a chaste kiss to the skin peeking out from the low collar. When you hum, Gator thinks he has you pliant enough now, "Just let me take care o' ya."

You catch his chin, turning his head to meet your gaze, "I don't think you've earned it yet. Can't even finish a damn movie without you trying to mouth at my tits. Are you that desperate?"

— Gator's breath catches in his throat, rendering him speechless. He only nods in reply, waiting with bated breath. You hold his gaze, eyed slightly narrowed.

"Hmm, I know. But you've gotta learn some patience. So I'm gonna keep watching the movie, and you can watch to, or you can just keep gawking at my chest, but you're not allowed to touch until the last of the credits roll. Am I understood?"

Gator just nods again, but his silent obedience won't suffice.

"I asked you a question," Your fingers grip his chin a little rougher, nails lightly digging into the stubbled flesh, "Am I understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Gator answers without a second thought.

You finally release his chin, giving him a satisfied smirk, "Good. Now shut up and behave."

[cha0ticstranger]

gator taglist: @chlohemm @babygirldoll @sassycupcake12 @kravitzwhore @keer-y @moonstoneandmoonlight @harringtondarling @cpnsteverogers @snowgirlieee @jajajhaahaha @gatorgirlie

[aecd27]

♡ the pool of siloam ♡

part 3 of coward

pairing: blind gator tillman x fem neighbor reader

summary: new years eve was all about new beginnings. when you invite him to your friend's party, there's only one question on gator's mind. would this be the year he finally faced his fears? or would his cowardice be the death of him as well as the best thing he's ever had?

word count: 5.2k

warnings/tags: blind gator, explicit language, alcohol consumption, fluff, OCs (...or are they?), flirting, petnames, partying, NO use of y/n, first kiss, religious themes, blasphemy

a/n: oh. my. gator. this was originally supposed to be a little one-shot about blind gator being scared to kiss you, but i could not be more pleased to have turned that concept into my first series. i truly hope you all have enjoyed these two as much as I have. tys unbelievably m!! <3

'Twas the night before New Year's Day, and Gator was prepared to jump off a bridge.

Somehow, by the grace of God, you had convinced Gator to accompany you to your best friend’s New Year’s Eve party. 

Socializing, people, fun.

Gator was still deciphering whether or not you were sent to torture him.

It was no surprise that Gator still harbored a deep-seated hatred for social interaction. Even the thought of being amongst strangers was enough to send him back to bed. What could he say? The quiet safety of his own home sounded much better than the monstrous wasteland outside. 

There was nothing more to it. No secret code to crack. No mystery to solve. Gator Tillman liked being alone. Always had, always would.

Unless he was with you.

But that was different—frankly, you didn’t count. You weren’t a part of the danger awaiting him outside his front door. You weren’t affiliated with the mob that was surely tracking him down, or sent by the righteous hand of God to punish him some more.

No, you were the cathedral next door, offering asylum to forsaken sinners like him.

With your help, Gator uncovered sanctuary in the walls of his own home—in the walls of his own mind. You singlehandedly casted away every demon that lived in his head. You washed over his thoughts like holy water, cleansing him of his original sin.

You were Gator’s godsend—the savior he had begged for all his life. 

And he worshipped you every day.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t consider Sunday mornings to be the only time he believed. He no longer found restraint in religion, fear in faith. You didn’t confine him in commandments; you didn’t hold expectations over his head. 

All you asked was that he simply call you each day. It didn’t matter whether it was the first ray in the morning or the last star in the night. You just wanted to hear from him. From what he was doing, to what he was thinking, even to what he dreamed of the night before.

You never pushed him on his past. You didn’t demand details on his backstory. You approached his history like one would a scared animal. You let him come to you, get familiar with your scent before trusting your presence.

Time and time again, Gator convinced himself the next secret he shared would be the final straw—would be the thing that finally pushed you away. But you forgave all of his wrongs. You found the young boy behind all of his sins—the little kid who craved nothing more than love, who was only mean because of his daddy. 

You cherished every new puzzle piece he gave you—as if you were carefully binding every broken shard of him into a resplendent and breathtaking mosaic, one you planned to install on the walls of your heart.  

Gator had never been seen before. Not like this. Not like you did.

That must be why you were able to convince him to crawl out of his cave in the first place. Over a month ago, you managed to invite him over for Thanksgiving. Just you and him. The second you asked, Gator was as good as yours, for he caved immediately—physically incapable of letting you down.

Every instinct he survived on begged him not to go—too terrified of being vulnerable—but the second he knocked? You gave him a tour of your house, holding his elbow as you waded through every corner and hall as if he were there to make it his.

You confessed to having done research when he called you out on showing him where the light switches were—something he never thought about until he was blind. 

“I hope you’re not offended, or anything—I could understand if you were. I just—I thought asking you directly might—I don’t know—piss you off or something? I’m sorry, I just wanted to be prepar—”

“Sweetheart,” Gator interrupted. “Stop stressin’. I appreciate the thought.”

Gator couldn’t begin to tell you how much it actually meant to him that you so visibly cared for him—that you thought about him to begin with. It was more than anyone had before. 

And here you were now—still thinking of him.

Even if you were about to kill him doing it.

Gator’s watch beeped on his wrist, announcing the time.

10:00 P.M.

In sync with his watch, a familiar knock came from his front door. Dressed and ready, Gator unlocked his door, swinging it open with the biggest smile on his face. 

“There she is…”

A squealing set of arms embraced him in no time, invading his senses with that signature perfume that had leaked into his dreams. Another squeal escaped you as you pulled back to admire him. “You look so handsome!!”

He smirked smugly, slowly spinning himself on display for you. 

“Do I now? Gorgeous stylist picked it out fer me.” 

Thanks to you, Gator didn’t have to sweat about his outfit for tonight. The angel that you were, you had raided his closet earlier that week to find a suitable set of clothes to match yours. “Let me feel the dress?”

You sought out Gator's hands and brought them to your waist, letting him touch the sequin dress you were wearing for tonight—black, like his button-up. 

“Like it?” You chimed, no doubt wielding his favorite smile of yours.

“Fuckin’ love it, doll. Bet y’look like a million bucks,” Gator charmed, knowing exactly what to say to make you swoon. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed while Gator's hands trailed to your lower back, shamelessly nearing your ass. “You excited for tonight?”

Gator smiled. He had learned how to hold back his nerves a while ago. “Bet your ass. Can't wait t’show off my favorite girl.” 

That part wasn't a lie. He was fucking thrilled to show you off tonight. To flaunt you around the way someone as beautiful as you deserved. A long time ago, you had done Gator the courtesy of describing everything about yourself, even allowing delicate fingertips to trace your features. Gator carefully filed every detail of you into his memory that day, down to the very shape of your eyes.

Deep down, Gator knew you could've been lying about your appearance. You could've been painting a false picture for him so he wouldn’t be disappointed—so you could be someone you wanted to look like. 

But he didn't care. He wanted any version of you there was. The model, the bad hair day, the sinner, the saint—any iteration of you was celestial to him. 

The issue wasn't you. It was never you. The real reason for the turning of his stomach was none other than himself. 

Gator couldn't help but be mortified about something as simple as a New Year’s Eve party. A new environment filled to the brim with drunken strangers, paired with meeting your friends for the first time? 

Gator wasn't sure you were enough to keep him alive tonight.

But God help him, he wanted you to be. He wanted you to override everything that haunted him—to show him a life where he had nothing to worry about, where it was just the two of you.

You must have noticed Gator growing quiet. “Hey, my friends are going to love you. I promise,” you assured him. 

Gator bowed his head. “Y’dont know that.”

You found his cheek. “Yes, I do.” Your vow went deeper than any white lie Gator had grown accustomed to, cutting down every defense he relied on. 

“Hey…” You picked his chin up. “You trust me, right?”

Gator huffed. He hated when you did that.

 “Yes…” he muttered. 

“And you know I wouldn't hurt you?” You continued, running your hand through his hair—ungelled and loose. You once casually told him that you liked it better like this, when he looked more like himself than a drill sergeant. 

Gator's lips twitched in a sheepish smile. “Yea,” he caved, further thawing with your every word.

“So…” you straightened out his collar for him. “Trust me when I tell you tonight is gonna be just fine.”

Against his every instinct—every carefully developed layer of his shield—he believed you.

And come hell or high water, Gator Tillman would make sure that stayed true.

Ironically, the unlocking of the car clicked like securing handcuffs.

“Ya promise we can still run away if shit goes south, right?” Gator muttered as he followed you out of the backseat, his fingers trembling around his cane. Oh, how badly he wanted to ditch it and bolt out of here. 

You settled your fingers over his other hand, calming him before he could panic. “It's your call, Gator,” you promised. “Just say the word, and we’re gone.”

Gator nodded. He knew you well enough to know you would keep your end of the deal, but he also knew how important this night was to you. He couldn't ruin something so special to you. Not tonight. 

Gator used his cane to lead him up to the front door, your hand beside his the entire time. The music from the party was seeping through the door.

You squeezed his hand one last time. “Y’ready?”

Gator turned your way, presenting you with a gentle smile. “Course.”

“Alright then…” You allowed a brief pause between you before opening the door, freeing the music into the night. Right away, a chorus of cheers welcomed you into the party, screaming your name. Chills ran down Gator’s spine. 

Whenever he walked into a room before, he was met with disappointment, annoyance, or fear. He had never experienced what it was like to be celebrated for showing up—let alone by an entire room of people. 

It didn’t matter if the applause was for you; Gator still felt wanted, even through association.

“Hey!! Oh my god, girl! You look so gorgeous!!!” One of your friends squealed as they hugged you, taking your hand away from his. If Gator wasn't so happy to know you were, he was sure her high pitch could've given him a migraine. 

“Hi! Happy New Year's Eve!” You responded enthusiastically, joining Gator's side again. “This is Gator…” you dragged with a smile.

Gator extended his hand towards the voice. “Nice t’meet ya,” he greeted politely. Gator was determined to be on his best behavior. 

Your friend shook his hand kindly. “Gator,” she greeted back, a knowing tone in her voice. “Great to finally meet you! My name’s Drew.” Gator nodded, recalling what you had told him on the car ride there. 

“Drew’s like popularity in a bottle. I’ve known her since freshman year of high school. She's kinda one of those girls you would expect to backstab you in a high school movie, but she's actually one of the most loyal girls you'll ever meet,” you told him. “Oh, and she's always wearing this really sweet perfume—smells like the color pink.”

Shaking her hand, Gator could attest—she did smell pink. He noted the way her charm bracelet clinked as she shook his hand. “Heard a lot about you,” she chimed, letting go of his hand. 

Gator gave her another polite nod. “All good things, I hope.” 

“Oh, definitely,” she smiled. “Did you two want anything to drink? They have the place stocked.” 

You chuckled along with her as you squeezed Gator’s arm. “Sure, thank you.”

“Course, babe. I’ll see you later on the dance floor, kay?”

“You got it,” you agreed, laughing beautifully.

You led Gator to the kitchen island, running past random greetings the further you travelled through the house. 

“So, babe, huh?” Gator teased.

You laughed easily, releasing his hand to start fixing you both a drink. “Yep, that’s Drew for you.”

Gator smiled. “Long as she’s not tryna take ya away from me,” he teased, resituating his hand on your lower back.

“Oh, yeah. You’ve got a lot of competition, Tillman.” You ribbed back, placing a drink in his hand. You clinked your solo cups together. “To the New Year.”

Gator beamed back at you. “To the New Year.”

You both slammed your empty cups down in victory. “I totally won that, by the way,” you challenged.

“Oh, no fuckin’ way, sweetheart.”

“I’m serious!”

The two of you began to play around with each other until a new female voice called your name from far behind you.

“Sophie, hey!” You cheered as the voice came over to hug you.

“Sophie’s my lifelong friend. She’s pretty much my sister at this point,” you had told him. “She can get a little… enthusiastic when she’s drunk. She doesn’t really have a signature scent I can think of, but her voice is rather distinct.”

“Hi!” She screamed back. “When did you get here?! They played all of the good songs already! I had to do Wanna Be all by myself—”

“—No!” You shouted in utter despair. “Are you kidding?!” Gator had no idea what was going on.

“I know! Come on, you gotta get out here before you miss something else!” Sophie insisted, calling away from Gator now.

“Soph!” You laughed, startled. “Give me a second, okay? I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Okay! Just don’t take too long, or it’s on you if you miss Freek-A-Leek!” Sophie warned before returning to the dance floor.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Gator muttered, speaking for the first time since she came over. You laughed nervously. 

“Are you okay if I go on the dance floor for a little while?” 

The cruel part of Gator wanted to tell you no—to keep you all to himself. But he was trying to be better. He didn’t want to be a dick when it came to you. It didn’t matter if you were for only him to worship—Gator knew he would hate himself if he took you away from the rest of the world, if he was the reason why your smile was gone.

“Course,” he assured, finding your hand. “Have fun.” He pressed a featherlight kiss to your knuckles.

You responded by pressing a kiss to his cheek as you departed. “You’re the best.”

Gator felt the tips of his ears grow warm. He choked on nothing, his heart racing at lightning speed. The declaration, the kiss. You’d think after everything he survived before he met you, he wouldn’t be scared of someone as sweet as you.

Yeah, no. Gator was sure that at any moment he would find himself on a coroner's table, cause of death: you.

Before Gator knew it, it was ten minutes until midnight. Ten minutes before he left this year behind. Ten minutes before he lived in a year where he wasn’t alone. Ten minu—

“Yooo!! My man!” A loud and charismatic male voice howled in his direction—jubilant in a way that was foreign to Gator. A hand clapped him on the back shortly. “Gator, right? Oh my God, it’s so good to meet you, dude. I’m Alex.”

Alex. Right. 

“Alex is my best friend. He always throws the most insane parties. I can’t wait for you to meet him. Oh, and he’s always wearing like really expensive and unnecessary cologne.”

Gator granted him a tight smile, outstretching his hand. “Gator,” he returned politely. Alex’s hand was hefty—his handshake firm and commanding. Seconds into meeting him, and Gator already couldn’t help but feel intimidated by his strong personality.

Alex laughed heartily. “Man, I cannot begin to tell you how stoked I am to finally meet you.” It was as if Alex were a ball of energy, bursting at the seams with excitement. “Let me tell you—you sir, have been all she’s talked about since fucking Halloween, bro.”

Gator smiled briefly, the apples of his cheeks instantly growing warmer. “So!” Alex clapped. “You enjoying the party?!” Gator offered a curt nod to which Alex scoffed, obviously unconvinced. “C'mon, Gator. Hey, you say the word and I got you.” 

Gator couldn’t help but take notice of how Alex was so unashamedly himself—unafraid of anything. 

Gator envied it. 

“Nah. Thank ya, though.” He shook his head, graciously rejecting the offer—or at least, as graciously as he could. 

Alex sighed, notably disappointed at Gator's reluctance to warm up to him. “Not much of a party guy, huh?”

Gator ruffled a hand through his tousled hair. “Guess not,” he muttered.

Alex patted him on the back again. The force behind it felt scarily familiar, enough to set Gator on alert. He couldn’t begin to count the amount of times he had felt that very same hand.  Fortunately, Gator had spent his life discerning between danger and a warning shot. There was no callousness here, no hazard or caution. 

Gator knew he wasn’t in danger with Alex and his lavish cologne. The only danger was his own mind.

“You know, that’s a shame, man. She loves ‘em.”

Gator perked up with the new information. “...Really?” It wasn’t all that shocking to Gator. You were charming and confident. It wasn’t hard to imagine you would thrive in this environment. 

Gator just liked hearing about you. 

Alex snickered. “Uh, yeah, dude. You should see her right now.” Gator—oddly enough—directed his attention to the dance floor. He could vaguely hear you screaming along to the lyrics of whatever song was playing. “I swear, get her a little tipsy and she thinks she’s Britney Spears.” 

Gator snorted at the thought. God, how he wished he could see you right now. To see your hair swinging back and forth. To see you bursting with your unabashed confidence—the very thing that made him fall for you in the first place.

Fuck, he felt ridiculous with how much he wanted to admire you the way everyone else could. He wanted to worship the ground you walked upon. To degrade himself down to nothing more than your disciple—awaiting your every word as if it could grant him an explanation for all this suffering.

As much as he tried, Gator still couldn’t understand why he had been punished so severely—why he had been barred from bearing witness to the angel he was sent. For fuck’s sake, what God could be that heartless to deliver him such a message?

“I will show you everything, my son. Yet, I will deliver you a piece of heaven that you will never bear witness to.”

“—You are one lucky son of a bitch, you know that, Gator?” Gator could’ve laughed—out of everything he had been called, he had never been thought of as lucky. 

But Gator being Gator, took Alex’s statement as a threat—a burning feeling arriving in his chest. “Whadya mean by that?” He instigated, squaring his shoulders.

“Christ, man—” Alex exhaled in something akin to awe. Gator’s clenched jaw quickly turned into a scowl. Fuck it, if he was blind—that wasn’t gonna stop him fro— 

“—I have never seen her this happy.”

Gator halted, stopping in his tracks like a deer in headlights. 

“I swear to God, man—you are all she talks about. Twenty-four seven it’s Gator this, Gator that.” Alex exhaled through his nose in amusement. “She's so obsessed with you, she’s even got my boyfriend asking about you when I come home, wanting to know if there’s any updates on you two.”

“Oh.” Gator was sprawled across the pavement—those headlights seeing him to his death.

Alex didn’t falter, soldiering on with an unshakable smile. “I’m just saying—for someone who's known her since we were kids… I have never seen her fall this hard.” 

Gator’s heart constricted in his chest. His tongue felt dry, suddenly running empty on a tank he just filled.

“Are you?” Alex directed.

Gator stammered. “Am I…?”

“Falling for her,” Alex filled in. 

Gator swallowed roughly. He ducked his head backwards, facing the ceiling as if some merciful God would give him the right answer. How was he to pour out his shielded heart to a man he considered a stranger until two seconds ago?

Alex registered his hesitation. Setting his drink down on the counter next to Gator, Alex leaned closer, his voice coming out lower. “Listen, I don’t know about you, but that girl dancing out there, she loves like its breathing.” The soft statement reverberated somewhere deep in Gator’s chest. 

A sigh escaped Alex. “Gator… don’t let her fall for you if you’re just gonna let her down,” he added, more sincere and direct than he had sounded all night. “You and I both know she doesn’t deserve that.”

“‘S not that—believe me, I’ve…” Gator exhaled, shaking his head. “Never—in my entire life—have I felt so certain ‘bout anyone before. I can’t—I can’t imagine an honest life without her by my side.”

Gator was never one for confessional. When he was a kid, his father once beat him senseless for confessing to his other that Roy was responsible for the bruise on his wrist. He didn’t mean to—he just wanted to tell God he was sorry for breaking his mother’s glass, even if his father already punished him for it.

That was how Gator learned guilt was dangerous—that confession was suicide. After all, when you were a Tillman, secrets led to cemeteries, whether it was yours or someone else’s.

But the words fell from Gator’s lips before the noose could break his windpipe. “I like her so much it scares the shit outta me.”

Alex let out another sigh from beside him. He followed by leaning his shoulder against Gator’s. “Can I ask you something?”

Gator shrugged. Might as well go for broke. Not like his father could hurt him now.

“Why haven’t you kissed her?” 

Gator straightened immediately. “Hey, girls talk,” Alex instantly defended. Gator could almost see his hands up in the air in surrender—the bastard.

Gator swore under his breath. How much did your friends know about him? 

“...I mean, it’s obviously weighing on her,” Alex continued cautiously. “It’s not like she doesn’t want you to—”

“—I.” Gator hesitated. For shit’s sake, why was it so hard to admit something as trivial as the truth—the real reason for all of his hesitance? 

The confession floated in the air delicately, avoiding every point sharp enough to shatter it.

“I’m scared I’ll miss.”

Alex's voice came in closer, hushed amongst the chaos of the party. “What?”

Gator groaned. “I’m scared that I’ll miss,” he repeated, raising his voice enough to stick. “‘M scared I’ll lean in t’kiss her, an’ end up kissin’ her fuckin’ cheek or somethin’.” He stressed.

“I'm sure it's not as bad as you thin—”

“—Y’ever been blind?” Gator challenged, facing Alex straight on now. “Y’ever been so fuckin’ humiliated just existin’? Havin’ t'walk with a fuckin’ cane just t’get around?”

Gator exhaled roughly. “Ion't need eyes t’know everyone's staring at me like ‘m some fuckin’ circus freak.”

Alex had gone silent, obviously not knowing what to say. Gator knew this was a bad idea. There was a reason why he didn’t tell anyone what he was scared of. Gator Tillman was not scared. Gator Til—

“She doesn't.” 

Alex’s interruption caught Gator's attention. “What are ya talkin’ about?” 

Alex puts a hand on Gator's shoulder. “Listen, I—I know a thing or two about what it's like to be… stared at.” Alex started solemnly. “To feel shamed for something you can't control—for something you can't get rid of. Fuck, man. Just—I know what it's like to have something you didn't expect to come onto you change how people will see you for the rest of your life.”

Gator stayed silent. He could only assume what Alex was referring to.

“But, Gator, she doesn't stare at you… She sees you—she sees past what everyone else does. She did with me, and she does with you, too.” 

Gator freed a breath he didn't know he was holding hostage.

“When she looks at you, Gator, I swear—she shines at you.” Alex's voice was warmer than any man’s Gator had ever heard. “I promise you, man. She doesn’t see a freak—she sees a future.”

Gator’s thoughts stalled. Could it really be possible that you looked at him as anything more than a monster? 

Another tap on his shoulder returned him to the moment. “Speaking of…” Alex mused, his voice a step further away than before.

Gator’s eyebrows furrowed. “What—?” Before he knew it, he recognized a tender brush of fingers on his arm. 

“Hey…” 

It was you. You were back. The faint alcohol on your breath contradicted your soft, concerned whisper. “Are you okay? I thought I heard you getting upset—?”

Gator shook his head, smiling on instinct. “Hey… there y’are.” His hands found your forearms. “I’m okay, sweet. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout.”

Gator imagined a pout on your lips. “You sure?” He nodded, wrapping an arm around you—savoring the closeness.

“‘M all sure, pretty girl…” You pressed closer into his side, warming Gator’s body for reasons that had nothing to do with your body heat. 

“So…” he teased, accent drawling. “Heard y’were havin’ fun on the dance floor?” 

Gator chuckled when your head dipped into his shoulder.

“Shut up,” you muttered into the fabric of his shirt. “You're not supposed to know when I look stupid…”

Gator shook his head, laughing. “What, y’thought bein’ wit a blind guy meant I wouldn't know when yer bein’ cute?” he teased. “Joke's on you, doll. I got eyes everywhere.”

You giggled as he whispered in your ear, making you shiver. “Guess I was mistaken.”

“Sorely,” he affirmed, smirking. You pushed him on the shoulder, making him hold you closer. 

“Countdown’s coming up soon,” you informed him. “Got any resolutions for next year?”

“I got one,” he mumbled, still smiling at you.

“Yeah?” You fished. “What is it?”

He shook his head firmly. “Nope, can't tell ya.” 

You laughed in confusion. “What do you mean you can't tell me?”

He solemnly shook his head again. “Too risky. I tell ya, and it might not come true,” he shrugged—as if his hands were tied. “Sorry, teach. Can't compromise it.”

You huffed. “You know that's not how New Year's resolutions work, right?”

Gator just smiled. 

Someone proceeded to scream from the living room. “Ten seconds, bitches!!” Cheers followed around the room, a giggle falling from your lips.

“Ten seconds…” You repeated lowly. “Better act now, Tillman. Time's running out.”

A sudden feeling of action spurred in Gator’s bones. You were right. Alex was right. Who cared if he missed? He wanted to kiss you at midnight.

“Ten!”

Gator focused in on you. Recalling everything he knew about your features, his hand carefully found your cheek.

“Nine!”

Time stilled between the two of you as he mapped your position, cupping your other cheek as well. You were close. There was no way he could mess this up. All he had to do was lean down. 

“Eight!”

Your fingers morphed around his wrist—gentle as ever. 

“Seven!”

He guided his thumbs to your lips, mapping the corners like a cartographer.

“Six!”

One touch of your lips, and Gator realized all of his dreams were bullshit. 

“Five!”

They weren’t just soft—they were sticky from your lip gloss that no doubt reflected amongst the party lights.

“Four!”

Gator's tongue slipped out to lick his lips. It was now or never.

“Three!”

He cleared his throat, “I wanna—” 

“—Do it.”

“Two!”

Gator smirked at your assertive permission and finally bent down to find your lips.

“One!”

Layered cheers of Happy New Year echoed throughout the house like a drunken cacophony. But nothing got past the drumming in Gator’s ears. 

Everything was boiled down to you. The crowd, the screams, the scents battling for attention—all of it was gone. There was nothing else Gator could’ve been bothered with other than the flavor of your lips.

The alcohol coating your tongue did nothing to overshadow your true taste. You rivalled every vape he ever put to his mouth. Every hit, every puff—nothing could compare to this. He found himself addicted before he could even open his mouth. 

Gator almost choked on nothing when your other hand fisted his collar, heaving him closer—kissing him harder, your tongue breaching past his lips.

Holy fucking shit, you were something else.

He groaned into your mouth as your tongue waltzed with his. Fuck, he hoped you were always this confident when you kissed. One of Gator’s hands forked between the silk strands of your hair, as heavenly as an angel’s.

As Gator slowly began to tune back in to the world around him, he realized the applause that surrounded you both no longer had anything to do with the countdown. 

Your friends were cheering for the two of you. 

Something about the revelation made Gator’s head rush. He kissed you harder, deeper—taking pride in the action. You were his to kiss. Blind or not, you were Gator’s.

You smiled against his lips as you pulled away, clearing your throat. “Was wondering how long it was gonna take you to do tha—”

Gator didn’t dare hesitate before bringing you back, kissing you like it was a mission—like it was a show of faith. 

“Happy New Year, teach,” Gator smirked, the words falling into your open mouth. A soft exhale entered into his own. 

“Happy New Year, Gator…” Gator couldn’t stop himself from kissing you again. Could you blame him? It was you, and he was addicted. Whatever. Fine him, sue him, send him to the chair—he would still die the happiest he'd ever been.

“It was you, you know…” he breathed into your mouth. “Y’were my resolution.”

You tugged on his collar once again, shorting his breath briefly. “Yeah? How so?”

He nodded quickly—as if he was begging for mercy. Or for you to never stop. Honestly, he wasn't sure anymore. “Wanted t’kiss ya,” he muttered, breathless. “And tell ya I like you.”

He could feel your smile in front of him. “Well, you got the first part done…”

Gator almost snorted. God, you were relentless. 

“Might as well knock the second part out, right?” You hung your arms around his shoulders instead, granting relief to Gator's lungs. 

Gator smirked, shaking his head. You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

And he lived off of it.

“I like ya, teach,” he finally admitted. “‘N I wanna be yours.”

“Mine?” You chimed.

“Yes. Yours.” His hands found your waist again, head dipping near your ear. “I want t'be all yours, baby. Wanna worship the ground ya walk on, kiss you senseless every morning’...” Gator relished in your shiver.

“...I want to stop being scared,” he confessed, retreating from your shoulder to face you. 

Your hand brushed through his locks delicately—as if he were the most precious thing you had ever touched. “I want that, too, Gator.”

In all of Gator's dreams—all of his fantasies about this exact moment—he imagined the sounds. He pictured the softness of your voice, the fragrance of your perfume, maybe even the taste of your lips.

The one thing that always stayed the same, though, was the darkness. The lonely void he was sentenced to—as familiar to him as the oxygen in his lungs. 

But he was wrong. There was no more darkness. 

For the first time in what felt like years, he could see again. 

He saw it all. More than he ever saw before—more than he ever knew was there. 

Cleansed of all of his demons, bathed in your faith, he was reborn—the mud washed from his eyes.

It was only you. His start, his end, and every beautiful breath in between.

Gator Tillman was many things. 

But he would never be a coward again.

taglist: @kristywidget97 @dreamerjj @its-a-me-mario-21 @sespe08 @oohgeminii @willyoucry13 @mangowhim @louisbelongstome28 @calelundaa @lacywithdrawal @cpnsteverogers @deeplightblue @imnopsychic @eller41

masterlist

divider credits: @strangergraphics

[morninglesss]

Telling Steve “I bet im stronger than you” just to get him on top of me (please picture the freaky Cat gif)

Competitive!Steve, let’s gooooooo!

Also I’m off work today so if anyone has any Steve or Gator prompt/drabble/blurb ideas, I am Up For It.

“I bet I’m stronger than you.”

Steve looked up from his book. Looked at her. Looked back at his book.

“No you’re not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.” He turned a page. “I carried your boxes up when you moved in here. And your armchair. It’s leather, y’know. Solid wood inside. That thing’s not light.”

She was bored. He could tell she was bored because she’d been lying across the foot of the bed for twenty minutes making increasingly pointed observations about the ceiling, the walls, the curtain rod he’d been meaning to straighten, and now she’d arrived here, at this, which meant she wanted something and had decided to engineer it rather than just ask. He loved her. He found her completely exhausting.

“Blah blah blah, Harrington. That was then, this is now. Prove it.”

He sighed. Put the book down. Looked at her properly, which was maybe a mistake because she was doing the thing where she looked back at him like she’d already won.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he said.

“I genuinely believe I’m stronger than you.”

“No you don’t.”

She sat up, swung her legs off the bed, and stood. He watched her come over to him - a man who had made peace with his life choices and was very keen to see what would come next. He got up off the bed, and waited.

“Okay,” she said, hands on her hips. “Stand still.”

“What?”

“Stand there and try to stay standing. I’m going to push you.”

He stared at her, then looked over his shoulder, at the very solid nightstand behind him. “That’s not… I don’t think this is a -”

“Are you scared?”

He stood up straight, pinched the bridge of his nose, then waved any hint of doubt away with both hands. “Fine, sure, push me. What’s another head injury anyway?”

She put both hands flat on his chest and shoved. He moved back about an inch, mostly out of surprise, and she looked at this result with genuine scientific interest.

“See? Stronger.”

God, he thought, she’s adorable.

“You got me by surprise. Try again.”

She tried again, properly this time, her whole weight behind it, and he braced and didn’t move at all and she ended up with her forehead against his sternum, slightly out of breath, hands still fisted in his sleep shirt.

“Fine, whatever,” she muttered into his chest, her breath hot through the fabric.

“Are we done?”

“Nope.” She lifted her head and stepped back from him. “Your turn.”

He looked at her for a second, something shifting in his expression - the amused patience dropping away into something quieter and more focused. Then his hands came to her hips and he walked her backwards until her knees hit the bed.

“Sit,” he said.

She sat. It wasn’t entirely a choice. He stood over her, took his time looking at her, and she felt the room change in that way it did when Steve stopped playing around.

“Lie back,” he told her, one hand at her shoulder pressing her gently back into the mattress, and she went without a word.

He came down over her, slow and deliberate, and got both her wrists in one hand and pressed them into the mattress above her head, and she tested it - actually pulled, the way she’d pushed against his chest - and didn’t move an inch.

“Oh, okay.” Her voice came out different than she intended.

“Yeah, feel that?” He was looking at her like he had all the time in the world, which she knew from experience was either a promise or a threat, depending. “Still think you’re stronger than me?”

She thought about it. His weight settled over her, solid and certain.

“Let’s find out.”

His free hand slid under the waist of her shorts, warm and lazy with it, and she trembled and stopped pretending to be cool about any of it. He kept her wrists pinned while he learned her, which was something he’d always been good at - patience, when it mattered - and she pulled against his grip and arched up into his exploring hand and he let her, because this, all of this, was exactly where he’d wanted them.

“Steve.”

“Still keeping score?” he murmured, mouth moving up her throat to her jaw.

“Shut up.”

He laughed, soft, and shifted his weight. He let go of her wrists to get her vest off her, taking his time about it, and she thought about using her hands but didn’t. He looked at her for a moment after, just looked, in that way that still got her even now. Then he reached back to pull his own shirt off and she immediately pulled him down by the back of the neck, and he followed her (he always followed her), and she heard the smile in his voice.

“Stronger,” he whispered, nose grazing hers.

“Prove it - again,” she grinned, and kissed him, her hands threading into his hair.

[morninglesss]

Telling Steve “I bet im stronger than you” just to get him on top of me (please picture the freaky Cat gif)

Competitive!Steve, let’s gooooooo!

Also I’m off work today so if anyone has any Steve or Gator prompt/drabble/blurb ideas, I am Up For It.

“I bet I’m stronger than you.”

Steve looked up from his book. Looked at her. Looked back at his book.

“No you’re not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.” He turned a page. “I carried your boxes up when you moved in here. And your armchair. It’s leather, y’know. Solid wood inside. That thing’s not light.”

She was bored. He could tell she was bored because she’d been lying across the foot of the bed for twenty minutes making increasingly pointed observations about the ceiling, the walls, the curtain rod he’d been meaning to straighten, and now she’d arrived here, at this, which meant she wanted something and had decided to engineer it rather than just ask. He loved her. He found her completely exhausting.

“Blah blah blah, Harrington. That was then, this is now. Prove it.”

He sighed. Put the book down. Looked at her properly, which was maybe a mistake because she was doing the thing where she looked back at him like she’d already won.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he said.

“I genuinely believe I’m stronger than you.”

“No you don’t.”

She sat up, swung her legs off the bed, and stood. He watched her come over to him - a man who had made peace with his life choices and was very keen to see what would come next. He got up off the bed, and waited.

“Okay,” she said, hands on her hips. “Stand still.”

“What?”

“Stand there and try to stay standing. I’m going to push you.”

He stared at her, then looked over his shoulder, at the very solid nightstand behind him. “That’s not… I don’t think this is a -”

“Are you scared?”

He stood up straight, pinched the bridge of his nose, then waved any hint of doubt away with both hands. “Fine, sure, push me. What’s another head injury anyway?”

She put both hands flat on his chest and shoved. He moved back about an inch, mostly out of surprise, and she looked at this result with genuine scientific interest.

“See? Stronger.”

God, he thought, she’s adorable.

“You got me by surprise. Try again.”

She tried again, properly this time, her whole weight behind it, and he braced and didn’t move at all and she ended up with her forehead against his sternum, slightly out of breath, hands still fisted in his sleep shirt.

“Fine, whatever,” she muttered into his chest, her breath hot through the fabric.

“Are we done?”

“Nope.” She lifted her head and stepped back from him. “Your turn.”

He looked at her for a second, something shifting in his expression - the amused patience dropping away into something quieter and more focused. Then his hands came to her hips and he walked her backwards until her knees hit the bed.

“Sit,” he said.

She sat. It wasn’t entirely a choice. He stood over her, took his time looking at her, and she felt the room change in that way it did when Steve stopped playing around.

“Lie back,” he told her, one hand at her shoulder pressing her gently back into the mattress, and she went without a word.

He came down over her, slow and deliberate, and got both her wrists in one hand and pressed them into the mattress above her head, and she tested it - actually pulled, the way she’d pushed against his chest - and didn’t move an inch.

“Oh, okay.” Her voice came out different than she intended.

“Yeah, feel that?” He was looking at her like he had all the time in the world, which she knew from experience was either a promise or a threat, depending. “Still think you’re stronger than me?”

She thought about it. His weight settled over her, solid and certain.

“Let’s find out.”

His free hand slid under the waist of her shorts, warm and lazy with it, and she trembled and stopped pretending to be cool about any of it. He kept her wrists pinned while he learned her, which was something he’d always been good at - patience, when it mattered - and she pulled against his grip and arched up into his exploring hand and he let her, because this, all of this, was exactly where he’d wanted them.

“Steve.”

“Still keeping score?” he murmured, mouth moving up her throat to her jaw.

“Shut up.”

He laughed, soft, and shifted his weight. He let go of her wrists to get her vest off her, taking his time about it, and she thought about using her hands but didn’t. He looked at her for a moment after, just looked, in that way that still got her even now. Then he reached back to pull his own shirt off and she immediately pulled him down by the back of the neck, and he followed her (he always followed her), and she heard the smile in his voice.

“Stronger,” he whispered, nose grazing hers.

“Prove it - again,” she grinned, and kissed him, her hands threading into his hair.

[t-lostinworlds]

Joe Keery as STEVE HARRINGTON in STRANGER THINGS | Season 4 (2016—) / [inspo]

+Bonus

[t-lostinworlds]

Joe Keery as STEVE HARRINGTON in STRANGER THINGS | Season 4 (2016—) / [inspo]

+Bonus

[dailyjoekeery]

"Everything that people tell you is important, everything that people say you should care about; it's all just ... bullshit. But I guess you gotta mess up to figure things out, right?"

@pscentral​ event 48: silhouettes

[buckysbarnes]

WHY I WATCH STRANGER THINGS: THE “PLOT” - PART ONE 

[disasteracesstuff]

Saw this on TikTok

[keer-y]

Carriage House

pairing: gator tillman/f!reader wc: 4.4k tags/tw/cw: roy is a big meanie

MASTERPOST//all chapter links &&

Chapter 12: Plans in Motion

“You wanna tell me what happened, son?” Roy asked, seated at the breakfast table, the full ranch staff, Bowman, the twins, and Karen all present. All listening, all watching, except for you. Roy had made the decision to leave you in the carriage house for the morning—because Bowman had been waiting in the kitchen first thing, intercepting Karen as she’d been ready to head out to collect you.

Karen had gone for Roy, who had come down, bare-chested and scowling, while Bowman explained in a calm, cool voice what had occurred last night in the barn.

Roy had listened, standing at the bottom of the stairs, one foot still on the lowest step, one hand on the newel post. He kept his expression straight, stoic, brow furrowed.

“And where is she now?” Roy asked.

“Carriage house,” Bowman said simply. “Grabbed her, threw her back in there. Locked her in. Stood watch for an hour or so, then roused Phillip ‘nd had him watch. No movement from her since I heard her go upstairs.”

Roy nodded. He lifted his chin and studied the ceiling, eyes moving over the white expanse of it. “Leave her there for now, K,” Roy said, looking to Karen, who only nodded. “Get breakfast together.” He looked to Bowman. “Get one of the other girls in there to help her out.” Bowman nodded once, then turned on his heel and left to go collect one of the hands’ women. Roy looked at his wife again, once they were alone. “You think I’m making a mistake?”

“No,” Karen said, hurriedly, stepping closer. She reached out tentatively toward Roy, touching him only when he didn’t draw away. “Of course not.”

Roy let her skim her hands over his chest, his sides. “So you think putting Gator in charge of taking care of her is working out. Is that right?”

Karen blinked, realizing the trap that he'd lain. “No, I—”

“Get breakfast ready,” Roy said, brushing her hands off of him as he turned and started back up the stairs. Karen waited a moment, then shuffled into the kitchen, waiting for whatever assistance Bowman was finding for her.

Upstairs in the main house, Roy went about his morning—showering, shaving, brushing his teeth and dressing for duty, and as he cut out of his bedroom, he took in the second floor landing. His son’s bedroom door was open now, neon blue light still spilling out of it even in the morning sun, and so he took a step inside his son’s room to wait for him to emerge from the bathroom.

Roy hadn't been in Gator’s room in a while—years, probably. He never had a reason to, never wanted to. Gator was about as deep as a puddle—there was nothing hidden in this room that could offer any further insight into his son’s psyche that he couldn’t glean from a thirty second conversation with him. He was barely more than a disappointment—the kid couldn’t do anything right, which Roy had learned from watching Gator try to locate his wife. Nadine.

This new skirt Roy found—well, was gifted from Above, more like—would be like something more of a trial run if the goddamn kid could get his act together.

The bedroom wasn’t nearly as disorganized as Roy assumed it would be—there were tacky posters on the wall of women in bikinis and a questionable flag hanging above his bed, one that Roy couldn’t quite accept being there. But then—Roy wouldn’t expect Gator to understand the intricacies of his ambitions as sheriff and would, of course, liken them to a political statement like that goddamn flag. The Tillmans’ position of power in Stark County was so much more than either symbol hanging on his son’s wall.

Roy’s eyes skimmed over the unmade bed, the clutter on the dresser, the ten-gallon tank in the corner holding a greensnake that he’s sure the kid fished out of some scummy pond somewhere. Like a child would. Shaking his head, Roy closed his eyes, rubbing his face with his whole palm, because even if Karen wouldn’t tell him to his face, he knew—he had made a mistake. With Gator, with you, with everything he was trying to do on his ranch.

The bathroom door opened, and Roy set his jaw, slipping his hands into his pockets even as the smell of breakfast started drifting up from the kitchen downstairs. A minute, maybe two, passed, and then Gator strolled back into his room, clutching a towel around his waist, casual as anything. He rounded the door, reached out of habit for the closet doorhandle, then caught sight of Roy and startled, a quiet yelp leaving him.

Quickly, he cleared his throat, skimmed a hand back over his hair, loose and falling down over his forehead, and shook his head. “Fuck are you—what’s wrong?”

Roy said nothing, only held Gator’s gaze.

“Dad?” Gator looked his father over from head to toe, pulling the towel tighter around his hips.

“I need you to think, kid,” Roy said, not moving other than to turn his face more toward Gator. “Back to last night. Why don’t you run me through your evening after dinner.”

Gator swallowed, curling his fist around the terrycloth in his hand. “I don’t—what d'ya mean?”

“Think back real hard,” Roy said, his voice cold, a steel edge grating against Gator. “We had dinner like a family. Had a nice drink. Your little miss thought who she was for a moment.” Gator opened his mouth, but Roy lifted a hand, silencing him. “You walked her home. You walked yourself home. Am I missing anything?”

Gator lifted his free hand to muss the hair at the back of his head. “No?”

“No,” Roy repeated. “You’re right. I don’t think I am.” He took a step closer to Gator, who flinched away as his father approached, pressing his bare back to his closet doors under the guise of giving him space when he really wanted to put distance between them. “I want you to think. Real hard. About everything I just said. And you tell me if either of us missed anything last night.”

Gator just looked at his father, then nodded, once, uncertain but not about to argue.

“Good,” Roy said, reaching up to clap a hand onto Gator’s cheek, not quite a slap, but not quite a friendly gesture either; it felt like a warning. “Don’t take too long. Need ya down there for grace.”

Roy vacated Gator’s room, and Gator loosed the breath he’d been holding, inhaling deeply. Something had happened last night, something involving you, something he’d fucked up. His eyes skimmed around the room like it might hold answers. He went through what Roy said. Dinner. Drink. You. Carriage house. Back home.

Dinner. Drink. You. Carriage house. Back home.

He shook his head, taking a step back and closing his bedroom door, pulling clothing out of his closet and dresser, stepping into boxers and camo pants and tugging on a thermal henley.

Dinner, drink, you, carriage house, back home. He slicked his hair back with pomade as he wracked his brain. What the hell had he fucked up in between all of that? It was simple—it was what he did every night since they’d put you in there for the most part.

He looped his fingers into his boots, picking them up, then crossing to grab his tactical vest and sunglasses, making sure his vape was tucked into his pants pocket too.

Dinner, that was normal.

Drink, that had been when you’d first copped the attitude, but still, normal.

You, he knew what Roy was talking about. You were asking questions after you’d been told not to, and Gator knew it was only a matter of time before he would be expected to… remove that impulse from you.

Carriage house, he’d walked you home. You’d slammed the door before he could retort, and he’d left you fucking alone.

Back home, he’d gotten a call from Lemley, vaped, went inside, went to bed.

Dinner, drink, you, carriage house, back home.

Gator finished dressing himself, carrying his boots and vest downstairs, leaving them by the front door before he doubled back to the kitchen. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward him, faces all frowning except for the twins, who waved at him, Maude while holding her fork. Karen plucked it out of her hand and put it down beside her empty plate.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Gator took his place at Roy’s right hand, leaving an empty seat between himself and Bowman, where you usually sat. He glanced at it as he lowered into the chair, and without a word, Roy lifted his hands, extending them palm up, toward Gator and Karen. They each took his hands, and the rest of the table joined hands as well as Roy led them in prayer. Gator bowed his head, but he kept his eyes on your empty chair, your space occupied by his hand joined with Bowman, and as he did, his stomach fell into a pit.

Dinner, normal.

Drink, normal.

You, normal (as far as you went).

Back home, normal.

But: Carriage house. He hadn’t locked the door behind you. You’d snapped at him, thrown him off, slammed the door and disappeared into the house, and Gator had just walked away, the keys staying in his pocket.

Fucking Christ.

Keeping his head down, he flicked his eyes over to Roy, who was still speaking, eyes closed. Gator’s fingers twitched in his hand, nervous. He’d left your door unlocked, which could mean any number of things. 

Maybe you’d tried to run and gotten caught. Maybe you were laying in the carriage house right now, black and blue, beaten, dazed, unconscious.

Maybe you’d tried to run and weren’t caught. Maybe you’d been found somewhere out on the property, half dead. Or actually dead.

Maybe you’d tried to run and got away. Maybe they hadn’t found you. Maybe you were gone.

By the time Gator looked up, Roy was staring at him and Karen was spooning eggs and potatoes onto his plate. She moved onto Gator’s plate next.

“Been thinkin’?” Roy asked, and Gator nodded.

Behind him, the ranch hands, their wives, and Bowman started serving themselves.

“You wanna tell me what happened, son?” Roy asked.

Gator took a breath, cleared his throat. “I don't...” he began, but trailed off. He huffed an unamused laugh, leaning in toward Roy and gesturing to the rest of the table's occupants, some of whom were looking on, some of whom were just digging in to their plates. “We really need ta do this in front'a all them?”

Roy turned toward him, shifting his weight in his chair so it creaked beneath him a little, placing his left hand on his hip and his right elbow on the table, leaning toward Gator. Gator's nostrils flared as he exhaled, but he held himself where he was, not giving an inch, not wanting to concede.

“I think we do, son,” Roy said, matching Gator's quiet tone. “How else will you set the bar?”

“I—” Gator said, then just exhaled and straightened up.

Roy kept his eyes on Gator, waiting. When he didn't speak, Roy continued, keeping his voice low, still. “If you want to act like a child, I'll keep you at this table until you open your damn mouth.”

“Fergot t'lock the door,” Gator said, and it was clear that only Bowman and Karen knew what he was really talking about, in context.

“Which door?” Roy asked, and when he spoke, the ranch hands and the other women at the table turned to look.

Gator knew what his father was doing—going for humiliation as a lesson to never forget to lock the door again, but he was pretty sure that the early morning visit to his bedroom would have been enough to shock him into double and triple checking that that goddamn door was locked from that point forward.

“The carriage house door,” Gator said.

Roy hummed, then shifted his gaze from Gator to Bowman.

“Wanna fill everyone in?” he asked, inviting Bowman to speak.

“I found her in the barn,” Bowman said. “Toward the back.” He shook his head dismissively. “Grabbed her, threw her back in there. Ain't made a peep since.” He looked at Phillip, who nodded.

“Yeah, it was quiet all night, sir,” he said, looking from Bowman to Roy, nodding again.

“I want it to be clear,” Roy said, purposely not looking at Gator, though it was obvious that this was for him; Gator kept his eyes fixed on his untouched breakfast, “anything that interferes with her routine, anything that causes bumps or snags, anything that risks her presence on this ranch, is going to be taken care of. She's here to stay and through the grace of God we're fortunate enough to let her help make a home out of the carriage house.” Roy scanned the table, taking in Gator's head bowed in shame, though he kept his satisfaction at that tamped down. “Things are in the works. Things are changing. But in time we'll all reap the benefits. Including you, kid.”

Roy placed his hand on Gator's wrist, not squeezing it, not grabbing it, like he'd done the last time they'd touched, to snap some sense into him. Just... holding it for a moment.

“Get down to the station,” he said. “Y'got some work waiting for you on my desk.” He surveyed the rest of the table, the hands and their wives all watching, meals half-eaten. The twins were slapping at each other and Karen was trying in vain to get them to stop. “Eat,” Roy said, breaking into a smile and trying to ease the tension. “By all means, have your breakfast. Business over.”

Everyone only resumed their meals when Roy picked up his fork and knife.

&&

The morning came and went and you spent it with Aidy. Your ribs hurt from when you'd fallen to the floor the night before, but you were just thankful you hadn't hit your head. Unless you were about to be taken out and executed, you'd started to wonder if you might not see another beating from this. You'd been found on the property after all—not really trying to run. At least, not that they could prove.

You were running out of milk for her, and you'd have to try and get some more from the barn the next time that they let you muck the stalls—if they let you. But why wouldn't they? You were under constant surveillance before your attempted escape too, so what was really different?

The clock was showing 9:07 when you heard the click of the key sliding into the lock, and you made a mad dash upstairs to stow Aidy away in the smaller bedroom. By the time you emerged again, onto the upstairs landing, Bowman was standing in the living room, looking up at you, a frown affixed to his face. You waited; he waited. But you broke first, descending the steps.

He was holding a plate covered in plastic wrap, eggs and toast with two orange slices. You looked at the plate, then up at him.

“Starting the renovations soon,” Bowman said. “Need you out of the house.”

You tried to keep the panic from showing on your face. “For how long?”

“Day, roughly,” he replied. “You'll be back in the main house with the family for tonight.” He held out the plate toward you, and you took it. It was cold, and so was the food. “Shouldn't take that long. Just fixing the downstairs bathroom and taking care of the vermin upstairs. You do anything about those spiders?”

You blinked. “No. I don't—like bugs.” You couldn't be sure but you thought, maybe, a smirk tugged at the corner of Bowman's lips.

“Which rooms needed attention?” he asked.

“Um,” you intoned. “Downstairs bathroom. Upstairs bathroom has the spiders. Smaller bedroom has the mouse. I... didn't go anywhere else up there. Kitchen, living room, and mudroom are all fine. I think the...master bedroom too.”

“All right. Eat that, then head out to the barn. Horse stalls for you today.” He turned toward the door, but stopped when he reached it, looking back at you, because you spoke again.

“Wait,” you'd called.

Bowman quirked an eyebrow, like he was doing you a huge favor by listening to your request.

“When are—when are you guys starting this stuff? Do I really even need to—to leave if it's just the one bathroom being fixed up?”

“Starting today,” Bowman said. “And I didn't make that call. Orders from above.” He paused. “Leave anything you'll need tonight on the couch. It'll be brought over.” He looked you up and down. “Barn, then main house after work. Think you can find your way?”

It wasn't even really a threat, but you knew it was a comment on what you'd done last night. Despite that, you couldn't believe your luck—you were going back into the barn, where you knew the cat was, sometimes, at least. You could steal more food for Aidy, then look around for where to put her. Maybe the cat had a nest or den or something tucked into an alcove by the cabinet where you'd seen it the night before—anything that could help you make sure Aidy was taken care of after you left this fucking place would be what you were looking for.

The eggs were spongy and the toast was soggy by the time you got to it, but at least the oranges were fresh and tart, the perfect chaser to an otherwise mediocre breakfast. You chugged some water from the kitchen tap, then headed upstairs to make sure you were bundled up enough to be outdoors for an extended period of time. After you pulled your coat out of the closet, you looked down at Aidy, still on the bed. She was still too small to walk—her eyes weren't even open yet—and you had to decide what to do with her. Leave her here, hide her, bring her with you? It was just one day. It was one whole, long day. You could keep her on your person and hope not to be caught with her, or you could leave her here and hope that she was still fine tomorrow when you returned. As much as you hated both options, that one seemed less risky for both you and Aidy. But you weren't leaving her up here, where workers or Bowman or maybe even Roy would be strolling around. You took her in the crook of your arm and carried her downstairs. You'd fed her earlier, but you gave her even more to try and hold her over before carrying her into the mudroom, where the heat was always cranked up due to its door leading outside, and settled her down there. It pained you to leave her—you felt like a villain just doing it—but pet her on her tiny little forehead and whispered that you'd be back as soon as you could. She was purring in your hands, even as you set her down, hoping she'd stay hidden and safe.

Once she was tucked away, out of sight but nowhere near out of mind, you made your way out of the house and walked to the barn.

Most of the horses were gone today, again, except for a couple at the far end near the cabinet, which could potentially give you an excuse for lingering around over there while you looked for the barn cat's hideout. You began your work, startling only once as Bowman popped in, appearing in your periphery so silently that you wouldn't have been surprised if he'd just materialized there in a blink. Just as quickly, he'd left, like he wanted to make sure you were at work. Taking the chance, knowing it was a risk, you hurried to the cabinet and, with a glance over your shoulder, pulled the metal door open, crouched down, and this time took two containers of the milk supplement, tucking them into the back of your coveralls. Then, after straightening up and hesitating for a moment, you kicked them over so they toppled, hoping that the jumble on the bottom-most shelf would keep anyone who viewed them later on from counting them and noticing any were missing.

With the milk supplement tucked safely away, snug against the small of your back, you just had to worry about being caught with it on your person, but that wouldn't be for a while at least. As you mucked out the stalls, still looking for signs of the cat, you started to feel more and more anxious about the rigid edges of the packages cutting into your back, and so you finished one side of the barn and crossed to the door. Bowman wasn't there, but Phillip was, looking spectacularly bored. When your head appeared out of the doors, he startled, then squinted at you.

“Uh—what?” he said, and you weren't sure if he was trying to sound intimidating or not, because he definitely didn't.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you said, looking past him at the carriage house.

Phillip looked as though he wasn't sure what to say to that—he'd surely been told to keep watch for you, without further instruction for if you approached him or if something went wrong.

“Please?” you continued, trying to appeal to him, and he just cleared his throat. He, too, looked around for Bowman, but when it was clear that he wasn't around, Phillip just nodded to you.

“All right, main house,” he said, reaching for your arm—he'd probably been told to keep physical contact with you too, just in case you tried to make a break for it.

“No, um,” you said, thinking on your feet. “I need to use my bathroom.”

Phillip frowned, and you started bouncing on your feet a little, feigning a serious urge.

“It's an emergency. I won't make it to the main house.” You bounced a little faster.

“Well—they're doin' work in there,” Phillip said, gesturing—sure enough, as you watched, you saw the front door open and the old downstairs bathroom sink being carried out by a worker you didn't recognize.

“There's an upstairs bathroom,” you said. You reached for his arm, imploring him. He didn't look much older than you, was definitely younger than Gator. Then, without waiting for permission, you just took off, hurrying toward the carriage house with Phillip in tow.

You reached the door just as it opened, another worker you didn't know stepping onto the step, stopping when he saw you right there.

“Sorry, I gotta go,” you said, pushing past him. You made a break for the stairs, rushing past another man you recognized this time as another one of the hands, and slammed the upstairs bathroom door behind you. The spiders were gone from the corner, and it seemed like there was no one else up here, after the one guy had been heading down. Unless there was work to be done in the main bedroom—which you hadn't noticed when you'd peeked in there—you might have the upstairs to yourself.

You checked the door lock—it was on the outside of the door, but you trusted that Phillip would explain your urgency and that would buy you a few minutes—and then pulled the sealed containers out of your overalls. The medicine chest was too risky—too easy to open. You crouched and checked beneath the sink, but it was empty of anything else, nothing to hide the milk behind until you could retrieve it. The linen closet was in the hall, not the bathroom. You took a deep breath, composing yourself after your mad dash, and forced yourself to think.

Think.

Then, you turned, lifted the lid off the toilet tank, and placed the kitten milk inside it, replacing the lid. Confident that you'd be able to retrieve it later, hoping like hell that it stayed sealed and uncontaminated with water, you went pee and flushed the toilet for good measure, so they would buy your story at least.

When you emerged, the upstairs landing was deserted, and as you came downstairs, you saw that the men were concentrated in the bathroom, which they seemed to be gutting. You weren't sure why you needed to be brought to the main house for just one room, but you also knew that nothing Roy Tillman ever decided would make sense to you.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, just as you stepped off the lowest step of the staircase, the front door opened again and in walked the man himself, Roy, gaze fixed on you like the bead of a rifle.

“You just love bein' places you're not supposed to be, don't you, little miss?”

“I—had to use the bathroom,” you said, as Phillip stepped into the house behind him, and you would have felt betrayed if you’d thought that anyone here might give half a fuck about you. As it was, you figured that was just par for the course.

“Main house too far?” Roy asked.

You took a breath. “It was an emergency.”

Roy held your gaze, then smirked, like he was actually amused. “Good thing you made it.”

You stayed silent.

“Did you finish in the barn?”

You swallowed, then shook your head. “Not yet.”

Roy turned, glanced at Phillip, who retreated out of the house as Roy stepped to the side, holding the door open for you. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, inviting you to step past him and back outside, but still you hesitated, because you wanted nothing more than to stay out of his reach. But that wasn’t an option. You crossed to the door, giving Roy as wide a berth as you could, but he still leaned in to you, crowding you, keeping you from stepping out the door by taking up the space himself. You were trapped right between him and the doorjamb.

“If you get any more bright ideas like you did last night, you won’t want to know what’s in store for you,” he said.

Swallowing nervously, you looked up at him, meeting his eyes, the cold, dead blue of them burning you like dry ice.

“Get,” Roy said, stepping back, and you hurried past him, past Phillip, making your way to the barn.

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