k

26 Skateboards and boybands

[jorkingtodjo]

The way I moaned.

[keer-y]

oh my god the gator cast Drabble holy shit I’m obsessed

anyway thinking about Gator fucking you outside in the barn at night so Roy won’t catch him… just hot sweaty sex… anyway goodnight☺️😌😭

SMUT/MDNI- semi-public sex, sweaty sex, nipple play, oral sex (f receiving), [unsafe] vaginal sex, slight breeding kink if you squint, gator’s kind of an asshole, some manhandling

wc: ~2100

&&

“The barn?” you ask, as Gator pulls you in behind him. He got you started in his truck, fingers and tongue buried between your legs until you were just about to reach your crest above him, and then the next thing you knew he’d pulled away, kicked open the door behind him, and practically slung you over his shoulder to carry you, half-naked, from the truck to the barn.

You’ve been to the ranch before, never inside the house, but he’s also never brought you into the barn.

“‘S too hot in that damn truck,” he mutters, peering around. The horses are all absent一left out to overnight in the fields because it’s a damn sight cooler out in the fresh air than it is in the barn. It’s hot, stuffy, just like it was in his truck, and you feel sweat start to prickle at the nape of your neck, beneath your arms, a single drop rolling down to the small of your back.

“‘S too hot in here,” you hiss back, but he ignores your protestations and leads you back behind the horse stalls, to an area that’s relatively clean and actually has a concrete slab for a floor, rather than just dirt and hay.

Without further conversation, he pushes you back against the wall and you respond instantly, wrapping your arms around him, your open blouse billowing to your sides as he slips his hands beneath it. They find your tits again right away, rubbing at them over your bra before he just skims his palms further back and unclasps it, breaking away from you to push the shirt off your shoulders and tug the bra down off your arms.

You realize, as he lowers his mouth to your neck, one hand on your chest and the other teasing beneath your skirt, that your panties are still in his truck.

“Gator一” you gasp as he curls two fingers back into you, fingering your hot little pussy so fervently that you can hear it clearly, the wet squelch of your folds as he fucks in, and the slick slide as he pulls out.

“Hush now,” he says, sucking a kiss just above your nipple. “Don’t want no one ta find us in here.”

“Then why’d we leave yer一ah一truck?”

“Can’t fuckin’ breathe in’ere,” he says, lowering his mouth to your nipple, angling his thumb against your clit. “‘S better,” he mumbles against your tit.

You find you aren’t in a position to argue.

Gator drops to his knees, pushing your skirt up with one hand as your own palms come to cup your chest, tweaking your nipples between your fingers as you look down at him, though the skirt is somewhat obscuring your view. You don’t need to see it, though一you just need to feel it, and god damn you do.

He’s suctioned his lips to your clit, pulling on it with just enough pressure that you’re whining already, one foot propped up on his shoulder as he leans in, spreading you open wide enough that he can fit fully in there, his fingers still curling into you, lapping at your clit, your arousal staining his chin, your thighs. Your hands are still working at your tits, pinching and rolling your peaked nipples, tugging at them, because it’s only adding to everything Gator’s down to you below the flimsy skirt still circling your waist.

Your hips kick into his face as he works your clit between his tongue and his upper lip, moaning right into your cunt as he scissors his fingers, preparing you for his cock一he’s big, and you love the way he fills you. But you like feeling the stretch on him, so you whine a little.

“Stop,” you tell him, and he looks up at you, pulls his fingers out of you.

“Fucks’a matter?” he asks, almost concerned.

“Wanna feel yer一cock open me up,” you admit, face feeling even warmer than it already did.

And Gator一he just smirks. He moves his wet hand up your front, dislodging one of your hands from your breast and cupping it with his own instead, smearing your own fluids over your chest as he pinches your nipple between his middle and ring fingers, the two that were just inside you, and pulls on it while you roll the other between your thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, I know that’s right,” he says. “Like feelin’ this fat fuckin dick split ya apart, huh?”

Obscene. Fucking disgusting, but you just nod, because you’ve had it before and you want it again and you’ll do anything to get it.

“Love it,” you say, and he chuckles darkly before returning his mouth to your mound, sucking at your folds and tonguing your slit, licking at you from the inside and sucking at you, swallowing your arousal as it coats his tongue.

“Ya wanna come like this, or ya just want somethin’ a lil’ more… substantial?” he asks, face coated with you.

“I’m c-close,” you admit, and he just holds your gaze for a beat.

“Gonna want this shit ta last,” he says, “so I guess ya get two. Ya owe me one.” He presses a kiss to your thigh then buries his face into your pussy again, licking into your slit and using his free hand to rub at your clit with his thumb. It doesn’t take long一at all一you come within moments of the particular attention he’s paying to you, and once your body releases the tension, he doesn’t even give you a moment to breathe. He stands up, undoes his belt buckle and fly, pushes his jeans down, and lifts your leg to the side again, bullying his cock into you raw, just the head at first. You’re still spasming a little in your afterglow, little tremors running through your walls and he groans, dropping his forehead to yours to hold eye contact with you as he pushes in a little further.

He spreads you open around the head of his cock, then pulls out, your spongy walls clinging to him, not wanting to let him recede, but before you can miss him too much, he’s back, rolling his hips against you, feeling your body give as he moves in further and further, inch by inch, each thrust in and back out, until finally he’s fully inside you after what feels like eternity and a split second.

Your breath hitches as he hooks his hand under your knee, pulling your leg up so your thigh is practically parallel to your body, and he doesn’t move一he just sits there, sits in you, eyes still on yours.

Chest heaving, you stare back at him, breaths mingling in the still air of the barn. It thickens everything between you, making it even hotter, your thigh sticky against you, against his front where he’s resting against you. You’re both sweaty, heated, slippery with it and he crashes his mouth into yours, kissing you desperately, wantonly, and then he starts moving and you lose yourself, your thoughts slipping away just to focus on the pleasure coursing between you.

Your hair is a frizzy mess, the humidity of your own making wreaking having on your body and his. He’s dripping sweat, you can feel it, but so are you, your shoulders slick against the wall of the barn, his hand wet in the crook of your knee, holding himself so tightly against you that you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

Not that you care about that一no, what you care about is the hot thick rod inside you, pulsing against your clenching walls, the way the ridge of his cock is brushing against every spot inside of you that’s right, that’s making your eyes slide out of focus. Gator’s mouth on yours is a crushing force, your tongues tangled together, licking, tasting, swallowing each other’s spit as he fucks you so hard your ass and shoulders slam into the wall behind you.

“Fu一fuck, Gator一I一” you manage to stammer, but it’s nonsensical, and he’s not listening to you anyway. He’s just letting you ride his cock, letting you feel every single thick inch of him as he moves into you, savoring every moan and whimper you make into his mouth.

“Ya like this?” he asks, fucking into you so hard you feel yourself resting on his hips, your toes just barely in contact with the ground. “Like bein’ my perfect lil’ hole ta fill up, huh?”

“Yes,” you babble, because you’re not even listening to him either. “Fuck me一fuck一fill me up, please, I need it一”

“Ya need it?” Gator repeats, grinding his front against yours, and you whine at the feel of it, at him reaching places inside you that you didn’t even know were there.

“Yes, I need一need it一”

“Need what?” he eggs you on. “Say it. Whatcha need, huh?”

“Your一fuck.” You can’t say it一

“Say it,” Gator says, pulling out of you halfway and then fucking back in, slow but deep, filling you up again and again. Coaxing the words from your lips as he does. “Go on, angel, tell me whatcha need from me. Wanna give it to ya. Just need ya to tell me.”

“Your cock,” you try, but he snickers and noses in to your ear, licking the shell of it before his gruff voice comes.

“Ya already got that,” he says, nipping at your earlobe this time, then your jaw. “Try ‘gain.”

You turn toward him, nose brushing his, his eyes like dark brown velvet in the dimness of the barn.

“Gator…”

He reaches up and grabs a handful of your hair, tugging your head to the side to expose your neck, which he licks. A long, fat stripe, gathering up the sweat dripping there.

“Yer so close, angel,” he says. “All ya gotta do is tell me. Ya got my cock. What’s next?”

You swallow, throat bobbing as he holds your head at the odd angle.

“Your… come,” you say, and he grins, eyes darkening even more if it’s possible.

He releases your hair and lowers his hand to your hip, sliding sideways until he feels the soft, curled hair covering your mound. His thumb dips into the seam of your lips, rubbing over your clit, hard and harsh. “Now say it like ya mean it.”

“Fuck!” you cry, nodding now that you have control of your head again. He presses a soft, almost chaste kiss to your neck. “Want your一your come, please, fill me一fuck, fill me up,” you moan, and it’s almost like he was waiting for you to ask for it. Because he circles your clit quickly, and your body reacts, readying your second orgasm, but before you get there, you feel him.

He buries his face in your neck this time, lips on your skin as his hips piston into yours a few times in quick succession and then stop, deep inside, and then he’s pumping shot after shot of his spunk into you, flooding your pussy with his release, filling you up just like you asked, like you begged for, and you feel his lips twist into a smile before he pulls away.

His face is so close to you, his thumb still rubbing your clit, and he keeps his eyes locked onto yours.

“Go on, mama,” Gator says, the pet name making you tremble with how turned on it makes you, even though you’re already right on the edge. Every nerve in your body seems to end between your legs as he looks at you and talks you through it. “Lemme feel ya cream this cock.” He pushes into you even further, already starting to soften even though he’s inside you. “Make it feel good, go ‘head.”

You squeeze down on him, the heft of him even when he’s no longer hard still ample enough to grip, and it only takes a few kegels and a few more passes of his thumb over your clit before you do what he asked of you, and come on his cock. The force of it tips your head back and away from him, pushes his come out of you so it leaks down around his length and drips all the way to his balls, and as you come down, you feel him slip out and leave you gaping, leaking, his spend spread all over your spent pussy.

Gator’s mouth finds yours in the dark again, and he cradles the back of your head with his clean hand after he releases your leg.

“Barn ain’t so bad, huh?” he says, and you huff a short laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning into him, kissing him again so you don’t have to acknowledge such a dumbass question.

[ethanhunt-deactivated20230911]

Ahoy, ladies! Didn’t see you there. Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain. I’m Steve Harrington.

[zinainblue]

house arrest ✴ gator tillman

childhood enemy!gator tillman x reader - w.c. 16.6k

summary: when your dad takes off for a weekend fishing trip with his friend roy, he enlists the help of his son gator to keep you in line while they're away. unfortunately for you, gator might be the one person you hate enough to get grounded for.

tags/warnings: childhood enemy!gator x reader, no use of y/n, childhood/family friends (but you hate each other), enemies to lovers, reader and gator are 19, mentions of domestic violence, mean!possessive!douchebag!gator, hate sex, manhandling, play fighting but kind of not play (scratching, wrestling, etc), slut-shaming, degradation, praise, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), body worship, maybe elements of cnc if you squint?, cannot stress enough gator is mean in this

author's note: based on this request from a while back! i'm so proud of this and if no one reads it i will cry. please check the tags!

---

You stand in your driveway watching your dad pack up his gear, your arms crossed and your face set in a scowl.

“Don’t give me that look,” he calls to you, loading his tacklebox into the bed of his behemoth truck. “You made your damn bed.”

You don’t argue back, already sensing how futile it would be. Your father is many things, but unpredictable is not one of them. And now that he’s made up his mind about how you’re going to be spending the weekend while he’s out fishing with Roy Tillman, you know there’s no changing it. 

“Goddamn disgraceful,” Roy calls from the other side of the truck, where he’s packing his own fishing gear. “Nice young lady with that attitude toward her daddy. He oughta smack it outta ‘ya.”

Your frown deepens, but you wisely don’t reply. Your dad’s never hit you– you’ve always thought he just lacked the guts– but that doesn’t stop his best friend from suggesting it any time he sees you. So what if you’ve always been unruly, always balked against the town’s expectation you be perfectly quiet and chaste? It’s only a few more years till you’re out of here for good, and you won’t have to worry about Roy Tillman and his sycophantic male fantasies anymore. Or, arguably worse, his disgusting, intolerable, pain-in-the-ass son. 

As if your thoughts have summoned him, a black truck pulls up to the curb outside your house, and your mood darkens even further. You don’t mind your dad leaving for the weekend– you prefer it, actually. The issue, though, is that he’s decided you won’t be spending it alone. Instead, mostly because the last time you were left home unsupervised, you might have taken the opportunity to spend a couple hours with your then-boyfriend, and your dad might have found out from the neighbors, this time, you’re going to have a babysitter. 

The door of the black truck opens, and you watch as Gator’s heavy combat boots hit the concrete. He’s dressed ridiculously for the hot weather in a black t-shirt and that weighted tactical vest, his beige cargos thick and creased from the drive. His hair is gelled back, like he actually bothered to make himself presentable for this bullshit job. To top it off, he’s already taking a pull from his neon-tropical-vomit-flavored vape, blowing a pungent cloud into the air.

Your nose wrinkles almost unwittingly. You think dimly that you must hate him more every time you see him. 

Gator slams his door, and his eyes land on your stiff form immediately. “Hey, sweetheart,” he calls to you, a grin pulling at his mouth as he stalks up your driveway toward you. 

You freeze in place, willing your frown and your crossed arms into stone before him. It’s a practice you’ve perfected when dealing with Gator– a survival tactic, really. You’ve learned over the years just how many miles he’ll take if you relinquish that first inch. 

Roy catches the nickname, which Gator’s been teasing you with since you were fifteen, and frowns, too. Crossing around the truck to his son, he grips him by the shirt and warns him loudly, “No funny business. You hear me, boy?”

Gator raises his hands in surrender, and you can’t help your amusement as his tough-guy facade cracks a little under his father’s scrutiny. It’s maybe his truest weakness you’ve ever been able to detect. “Relax, Dad, I was just kiddin’ around,” Gator complains.

Roy releases him and turns to you, pointing one finger at you. “And you– honor thy father and mother. You know what that’s from?”

“Hamlet?” you guess innocently, ignoring the look your dad shoots you in response.

Roy’s jaw clenches, displeased by how he’s failed to intimidate you. “Be good,” he barks. “Gator here’ll make sure you behave.”

The shit-eating smirk is back on Gator’s face, and you fight not to let your face burn. You’re almost twenty– you don’t need a goddamn babysitter. This whole thing is ludicrous.

Your father calls his goodbyes to you, and without saying anything further, you turn on your heel and head back into the house. You don’t need to check behind you to know Gator’s following you.

You’ve probably hated Gator Tillman since he’d first learned to walk and talk and pull your hair.

The town of Lehigh is just small enough to get uncomfortable when you find someone you truly detest. And ever since that first moment you can’t remember, some family barbecue or church picnic too far back to recollect, whatever moment you first met Gator, you’ve known he was someone you were engineered to despise.

He’s loud and lewd and completely unapologetic about it. When he’s not shovelling food into it like he’s been starving for years, he’s got the foulest mouth of anyone you know. When the opportunity has presented itself, he’s never once failed to make a comment about how your ass looks. 

He’s despicable. Disgusting. He chews up women and spits them out, barbie after barbie, in and out of his tacky, red-pill bedroom at the ranch. He was the first one on the playground to call you names and the only one in the class to boo your presentations in high school English. Even if it weren’t for his crippling nicotine addiction, the ridiculous way he wears his hair, and the superiority complex that’s only worsened since he got his license to work as a deputy for his father, he’d still be the same arrogant, sexist prick you’ve grown up barely tolerating. 

In some ways, you think Gator might be even worse than his father. Roy’s an unbelievable asshole, it’s true. Apart from his insane, puritanical beliefs about women, the cruelty and abuse he levels at everyone around him, he’s got one thing and one thing only going for him: he’s honest. He might be evil, but it’s what he is.

Gator’s different. Gator isn’t evil, not to the core of who he is. And that’s what makes him worse– he could be different if he ever pulled his head out of his ass and stopped trying to be Roy. He could learn to love women instead of using them, to handle things softly, to speak gently despite that tough-guy voice in his puny brain. But he won’t do it– won’t make that choice. That, you think, might be weaker and more pathetic than anything.

And no matter how much you hate him, no matter how many times you’ve screamed into your pillow with frustration after a fight or stormed out of his truck when your dad has forced him to pick you up from some school event or another, Gator’s stuck to you like flies on shit. He seems to think it’s funny– some sick little game in his head to keep coming back for more. He’ll keep mocking you with flirting, teasing you about your hair or your clothes. He’ll keep threatening the guys you’re seeing to scare them off, thinking it’ll never get back to you. He’ll keep provoking a fight, even when you shove at his chest and fire insults right back at him. 

That’s just Gator. He’s never known how to leave well enough alone, how to keep his hands from clenching in a vice grip. Everything he’s once owned has bruises on it.

As you make your way to your living room, you hear him shut your front door, probably with a little more force than necessary, and drop his overnight duffel bag in the entryway. “What, no hello for me?” he mocks you, not bothering to take off his shoes as he follows after you. 

Set on ignoring him, you flop onto the couch and pull over the magazine you’d been flipping through idly.

You watch those idiotic combat boots stop a few feet before you on the living room rug. 

“You know, if you wanted to know ten ways to drive a man crazy, you could just ask me.”

You snort, not lifting your eyes from your magazine. “Yeah, I’ll pass. Repulsion’s really more your area, isn’t it?”

“You sure?” Gator goads you, and you don’t need to look at him to be able to tell he’s grinning down at you. “Bet I’ve got a tip you could use, sweetheart.”

You lower the magazine, finally meeting his stare with all the ire you can muster. “I’d rather stick my hand down a garbage disposal, thanks.”

Gator’s grin is absolutely feral. Quicker than you can avoid, he leans down and snatches the magazine out of your hands, and a fresh wave of fury rises in your gut as you scramble for it back.

“Now, what are you ‘n I gonna get up to this weekend?” he asks you, thumbing through the pages of the magazine as he strolls away from you. 

You leap up from the couch, going after him. “I have plans,” you inform him sharply. “You can do whatever the hell you want. Your bedroom’s in the doghouse out back.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head solemnly, closing the magazine and chucking it onto the dining table. “Your daddy said you’re under house arrest. That means no going out, little miss.”

“Oh, blow me, Gator. We’re the same age.” you spit back, face twisting.

“Well, sure, but someone still can’t stay home alone without gettin’ into trouble, now can she?” Gator teases. “Heard you had your lil’ boyfriend over last time. What’d you do, huh? Suck him off while your folks were gone?”

Your face goes brilliantly, vibrantly red. “You’re a pig from hell,” you fire at him, planting both your hands on his chest and shoving him back. “It’s none of your damn business.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Gator goes on crudely, his eyes tracing over your burning face. “Friends tell friends what they’re gettin’ up to. ‘Specially when they’re whorin’ around and need lookin’ after.”

He knows exactly what to say to get to you– he always has. If Gator Tillman ever had a talent, it was knowing the precise formula of words to lay down to make you go white with rage. 

“You’re just jealous,” you shoot at him. “I bet no one’ll come near yours. I doubt you’ve gotten head since Lottie Jameson during seven minutes in heaven.”

Gator steps closer, his eyes sparking with temper and challenge. “You wanna settle that bet, baby?”

You scoff, lost for a comeback at his heated expression, at the nickname that’s always completely disarmed you. “I can’t believe my dad thinks you’ll keep me out of trouble. He’d have better luck having me stay with a crack addict.”

“You got a dirty fuckin’ mouth on you, you know that?” Gator drawls, nonplussed. You watch as he digs in his tactical vest and pulls free his vape, and your brows shoot up. 

“Do not fucking puff that in my house, Gator,” you warn him, pointing a finger threateningly at his hand. 

Gator’s smile spreads slowly. “Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m not kidding,” you threaten him. “Those things are fucking disgusting. I don’t need this house to smell like you.”

Gator raises it halfway to his lips, and you take two sharp steps toward him, telling him just how quick you’ll make good on your promise of violence. He halts at your motion, amused, then smiles wider as he lifts the vape up to his mouth.

Unable to kill your temper, you lunge at him. 

Gator dodges your first attack, swerving out of the way of your hand as it grabs for the stupid pen. The second time you reach for him, he’s not as fast, and your nails dig into the skin of his hand as you wrest the vape from his fingers, pulling it free and quickly pitching it out the wide-open living room window. 

Gator’s eyes flare in shock as he tracks the precise throw, then turns back to you, now only inches from your face. “That one was a spare,” he goads you, reaching into his vest again and pulling out another, even more disgusting bar of e-cancer. 

“Give me that,” you spit, hands digging into his again. 

Gator growls as you wrestle with him, trying to pull away. “Quit fuckin’ scratching me– ow!” 

His free hand grabs for your wrist, and you work your elbow into him to try to wedge your way out, grunting with the effort. It lands somewhere against his ribs, but with the heavy vest, it probably hurts you more than him. 

The vape in Gator’s other hand clatters to the floor as he grabs for your wrists again. “Would you fuckin’ quit it?”

“Let go,” you hiss, twisting your arms to get him to loosen his grip on you. The wrestling match devolves between you, more frantic, less fair. You stomp your heel down onto his foot, and he swears, grabbing for your arms to try to pin them to your sides. To his credit, Gator doesn’t try to hurt you– just get you to stop laying into him, like he knows somehow it’d be wrong to rough up a woman who, despite her temper, still isn’t as strong as him. It must be the influence of the one loose brain cell rattling around in his head that hasn’t yet been corrupted by his father. Still, his hands are rough and his grip strength is completely ridiculous, so the dig of his thumbs into your biceps will probably bruise.

“Christ, stop thrashin’, woman!” he yells at you as you try to twist away from him, accidentally pinning yourself against his chest. “You’re like a wild fuckin’ animal. Will you– ow, fuck!”

Gator’s finally had enough– wresting his hands free, he grips your waist and hauls you into his arms, making you loose an aggravated yell. 

“Put me down, you fucking asshole!” You yell at him, slapping at his shoulders as he carries you back through the living room.

“Calm the hell down!” he barks at you, his hands a vice on your legs as heaves you up, throwing you over his shoulder completely. “Goddammit, woman, you’re fuckin’ relentless.”

You thrash against him, writhing against the unbending pressure of his arms. 

“Gator, I swear to God, if you don’t put me down–”

He reaches the couch and chucks you down onto it, and you yelp as your back hits the plush cushions. Gator comes over you, knees on either side of your thighs to keep you in place. Your hands reach up, probably to claw his eyes out or something, but you settle for slapping at him like you used to do when you two would fight like this as kids, the blows weak but sufficiently annoying. 

Gator’s hands try to still your attacks, fighting for control of your wrists again. “No, no– ah, fuck. Hold still, will you? There– hah. Gotcha.” His hands clamp down on your arms, finally pinning you to the cushions. 

“What the fuck?” you spit, blowing hair out of your face as you wriggle against him. 

Gator pants above you, triumphant. “You done?” he asks, brow raising. You loosened his hair of some of its gel when you yanked it, and strands hang down over his forehead as he looms over you. 

Something twists in your gut– unnamable, but so close to that same rage you always feel when you see him. 

“Get off of me, you bastard,” you tell him, fuming. 

Gator just smirks, his breaths evening. “Guess you’ll do anything to get me on top of ‘ya, huh?” 

The teasing makes you see red, and you move before you have a chance to think, driving your knee up between his legs. 

Gator blocks you with his thigh just in time, his eyes widening in shock and outrage. “Jesus, you’re a real piece of work,” he huffs, his breath ruffling your hair. “What the hell is wrong with you, woman?”

“Get off of me,” you say again through your teeth, thrashing again. “And don’t call me that shit.”

He finally releases you, sitting back on his heels as you scramble upright. He examines his hands, now sporting red lines from your scratching. “Cut your fucking nails,” he orders you. “You’re like a dragon.”

You push off the couch, rubbing at your sore forearms. “Don’t touch me, Gator,” you bite, stalking away. Your cheeks are red, your heart is pounding, and you’re absolutely humming with anger. And you have a feeling it’ll stay that way for a while yet.

A few hours alone in your room cool you off significantly. 

Despite the fact that you can hear the noise of the TV blaring whatever inane hunting show Gator’s put on while he lounges around doing fuck all, you spend the first hours of what was supposed to be your blissful, solitary weekend hunkered in on your bed painting your nails and calling your friends. All of them are outraged but unsurprised when you tell them about your fight with Gator, and none of them can admit to ever having come to blows with a man before. You tell them, of course they haven’t– and neither have you. Gator’s not a man, he’s a weasel.

You’re on speaker with your friend Emmie while you finish up painting your toenails, only just beginning to feel the hunger you’ve been dreading. Hunger means you have to get dinner. Dinner would require stepping out of this room and seeing the amoeba that’s taken residence on your couch. 

Emmie’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Come on, babe. It won’t be that long.”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff. “You’re not the one hearing the dulcet tones of Duck Dynasty through the walls.”

“Oh, please,” Emmie snorts. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying the view a little bit.”

You color despite yourself, your eyes flicking to your door, as if Gator will appear there and scare the hell out of you. It’d be in character. “I am not.”

Emmie laughs into the receiver. “Face it, hon. Gator Tillman might be the biggest asshole ever to walk the earth, but he’s hot. You’ve always thought he was hot.”

You narrow your eyes, picking your phone up to hiss into the receiver, “If there was ever a sliver of attractiveness in him, it was immediately overruled by how completely and totally revolting he is. I do not think he’s hot.”

“Yeah, right,” Emmie teases, unperturbed. “He had you pinned to the couch today.”

You scowl, though she can’t see it. “Shut up, Emmie. It’s not like I have a crush on him. I mean, I’m not thirteen anymore.”

You can hardly stand to recall those few months you’d had a teeny-tiny thing for Gator– right up until he made out with Mandy Collins in front of you and stomped your heart into the dirt. You knew better now than to let yourself fall for any kind of lie he told you. No part of Gator Tillman was worth the torture that was spending any amount of time around him. 

A creak of the floorboards in the hallway makes your head shoot up. Your eyes narrow, but when there’s no more noise following it, you relent and turn your attention back to convincing Emmie you’re still sane.

You talk for a while more, but eventually, your stomach starts growling louder than you can ignore any longer. You sigh and tell Emmie you have to go, then hang up and reluctantly rise from your bed. 

You open your door cautiously, looking left and right for any sign of him. Then, shaking yourself, you remember it’s your house, too, and you don’t have any reason to hide from him. In fact, if anyone should be embarrassed of your fight earlier, it’s sure as hell not you.

Without another thought, you make your way down the hallway, your nose in the air and your eyes forward. 

Gator’s not in the living room– in fact, he’s placed himself exactly where you’re going. The fridge is open, and he’s picking up containers from within it and throwing them down aimlessly, unimpressed. He must find one he likes– some kind of leftovers your dad must have stuck in there– because he takes it out and pitches it onto the counter. 

“Don’t eat that,” you snap. “I already made pasta for tonight.”

Gator turns, brows raised at your tone. He hasn’t fixed his hair since your fight, and you brush aside how much better he looks when he’s a little disheveled like this, his t-shirt rucked up a bit around his waist from lounging on the couch. “You cook for me, sweetheart? That’s cute.”

Your nose wrinkles. “I must have gotten you confused for a homeless person. Feeding you is kinda like doing charity.”

“Nah, I bet you made it special,” he teases you, rifling through the fridge to find the container you’re talking about. “You put my name on the label, too?”

“Just move out of the way,” you spit, knocking your hip into his to shove him over before he completely wrecks your organization of the fridge. “God, do you have to destroy everything you get your hands on?”

He shrugs, nonplussed, as he steps back and leans against the counter. “Lotta girls like what I do with my hands.”

You hiss at the joke and don’t reply as you find the container of pasta and set it on the counter, pulling down two bowls from the cabinets and moving for the forks. 

“Kinda sweet, you makin’ dinner for me,” he hums.

“I did not make dinner for you,” you repeat bitterly. “My dad said I was responsible for cooking this weekend. This was completely forced.”

“Whatever you say,” Gator replies mildly. “Doesn’t look that way, though. Almost looks like you have a crush on me, or something.”

Your fingers freeze over the silverware, your heart leaping into your throat. “The fuck did you just say?”

You turn over your shoulder to find Gator smirking at your back, utterly triumphant. “You heard me,” he insists. “You got a crush on me, sweetheart?”

Your fingers close around the two forks tight enough to hurt. “You were eavesdropping?” you ask in outrage.

“Kinda hard not to when you talk so fuckin’ loud,” Gator drawls.

Anger roils in your gut again, that quickly. You toss the forks onto the counter and glare at him. “Well, if you were listening at my door, you little pervert, you would have heard me say how deeply I don’t have a crush on you.”

“But you did,” Gator corrects you, a grin spreading across his face.

You fight the redness blooming in your cheeks. “I was thirteen and deluded,” you defend yourself. “I also thought I was gonna marry Justin Bieber."

“How bad did you like me, huh?” Gator asks, his voice needling deeper at an old wound you didn’t realize was still capable of hurting. “You write ‘Mrs. Tillman’ on all your notebooks?”

“God, do you need an ego boost that bad, that you’re digging at middle school me?” you scoff in challenge, refusing to let him humiliate you. “Why the hell do you care, Gator? Times have clearly changed.”

Gator pushes off the counter, something settling even and dangerous in his eyes. His voice is a low rumble as he tells you, “Maybe I’ve got a crush on you, too.”

Your heart pounds harder in your chest– so hard it’s embarrassing. So hard that for a stupid moment, you worry he might be able to hear it. 

“Yeah, right,” you make out roughly. You refuse to let yourself fall for it. This boy has burned you too many times for you to believe him now. “You don’t have a crush on anything that can say words with more than one syllable.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” he murmurs, stepping closer until he’s towering over you, his face slightly bent towards yours. Your breath hitches just the slightest bit, caught off guard by the close proximity. You pray he didn’t notice, but know somehow he did anyway.

“You’re insane,” you tell him, your voice weaker than you mean it to be. “I hate you. You hate me. You just don’t like that you can’t control me, so you play this game with me instead.”

“Maybe,” he hums, his eyes half lidded as they drop to your lips. “Or maybe I’m thinkin’ about you every time I get a minute alone. Maybe I’m makin’ some girl scream, and I’m picturin’ the way you’re lookin’ at me right now.”

Your chest feels tight, your heart beating an odd, off-kilter rhythm. “You’re repugnant,” you breathe. “You’re sick, Gator.” For some reason, your emotion feels almost too big to come to terms with. “I fucking hate it when you do this. It’s like sex is some competition to stoke your ego.”

His hand comes up slowly, and your eyes track the movement. Gently, he presses his thumb to the corner of your lips, his eyes studying the touch with rapt attention. “You have no idea what I’ve been thinkin’ about doin’ with this pretty little mouth.”

The touch entrances you, catches you in a cloying spell. It only breaks when his smirk returns, irreverent as always. 

His fingers drop away from your face, and before he can say another word, you put both hands on his chest and shove him backward. “Fuck you, Gator.”

His lips twitch upward. He knows he’s won. “You wish,” he mocks you.

Abandoning the food on the counter, you flee from the kitchen, fire alight in your belly. “Make your own damn dinner. I’ll eat in my room.”

“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that,” he calls after you, that smartass humor still lingering in his tone. 

You don’t care. You’re already gone. 

It’s only a few minutes later, when your noise-cancelling headphones are set firmly over your ears and you’re sulking to your moodiest playlist, that your bedroom door swings open and Gator reappears. 

“Knock, much?” You snap at him, already scowling. 

Gator stays in your doorway and snorts, waving a hand at you. “Like you’d be able to hear me with those huge fuckin’ things on.”

“Get out of my room, Gator,” you spit harshly. 

He reveals his other hand, which holds a steaming bowl of the pasta you made. Without ceremony, he throws the bowl onto your desk and sticks a fork in it. 

You blink. Gator Tillman sort of made you dinner. That’s fucking new.

“Here,” he drawls, giving you a flat look. “You women get cranky when you’re hungry.”

“Get out,” you yell, grabbing one of the pillows on your bed and chucking it at him. 

He laughs as he dodges it. “Have a good night, sweetheart. Don’t try to sneak out your window– I’ll know.”

“Why don’t you go blow yourself?” you yell after him. “It’s all you’re good at, anyway!”

His chuckle echoes down the hall.

The next morning, you don’t emerge from your room until you’re fully dressed and ready. 

Unfortunately for you, Gator’s always been an early riser.

“Cute outfit,” he calls from his place leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s showered since you last saw him, and he’s dressed more casually in jeans and a rock t-shirt, a baseball cap set backwards atop his ungelled hair. You guess he’s not going into the station today– probably no need, without his dad there for him to impress.

“Bite me,” you fire back, not looking at him. You’re still furious about the shit he pulled last night. You spent hours tossing back and forth in bed over it, actually– completely revolted at what he’d implied. Your sheets had been cloying and burning against your skin. And, petulantly, you’d hoped that somewhere in the house, in whatever room of the house Gator had finally crashed, he was sleeping even worse.

You can’t put your finger on why it bothered you so much that he said what he did. Gator’s always been that way– teasing, mocking, pushing entirely too far over the line of basic decency. He’s always used sex against you, whether you’ve been getting any lately or not. Maybe it’s that you’ve been single for a few weeks now, and the aloneness is starting to feel a hell lot like a dry spell. The last thing you need in the midst of all of that is Gator fucking Tillman telling you he jerks off thinking about you.

You shove that thought aside before it can torture you any further this morning. It’s all a game– it always has been. You just need to keep a grip on your anger and a firmer one on your composure and get through this godforsaken weekend.

The killer thing, you think as you stroll through the kitchen, feigning being unbothered by his presence, is that your outfit really is cute– an olive green tank and your shortest denim skirt, your nicest sunglasses pushing back your hair. No part of it is for him, however. In fact, today, you’re planning on putting as much distance between you and Gator as possible.

“So where we goin’ today, sweetheart?” he asks as you near him in the kitchen.

You grab an apple out of the fruit bowl and a bagel from the breadbox. “We are not going anywhere.”

“Now, don’t be like that,” he chides you, pushing off the counter and moving closer. “You and I could have some fun this weekend if we really tried.”

You ignore him and his innuendos as you nab the cream cheese from the fridge and start spreading it on your bagel, untoasted. “I’d hate to interrupt your busy schedule of kicking puppies and stealing candy from babies.”

He grins again. “I can raincheck it till next weekend.”

When you don’t respond, he moves closer. “Come on,” he presses you. “You got all dressed up for me. Can’t let it be for nothin’.” His hand slips toward you and tugs at the hem of your skirt, his knuckles skimming along your thigh. 

You go ramrod straight, your knee jerking forward and knocking against the cabinet in front of you, hard enough to make you wince. “It’s not for you,” you fire back when you regain control of your words. “I’m going out. Now get your hands off me before I find another use for this butterknife.”

“You’re goin’ out?” he repeats, disbelieving.

“Yes,” you spit, finishing with your bagel and moving away from him. 

Gator laughs dryly. “You’re not goin’ out.”

“The hell I’m not,” you scoff. “Emmie’s gonna be here in ten minutes. I’m getting the fuck away from you for a while.”

“Emmie,” he repeats, laughing again. “Yeah fuckin’ right. You think I’m dumb?”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “You really want me to answer that?”

“You’re sneakin’ out to go see your fuckin’ boyfriend,” Gator says in challenge, moving an inch closer. “And you think I won’t find out.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, you idiot,” you spit at him, taking a bite of your bagel.

“Then whoever you’re givin’ it out to this week,” Gator suggests, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter so much to me.”

“Oh, yeah?” you scoff, meeting his eyes with fire in yours. “‘Cause you seem pretty damn interested in where and when I’m putting out. You jealous, Gator?”

Something shifts in his eyes as he watches you, his eyes dipping to your mouth as you chew your food slowly. “You gonna give me a reason to be?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

His eyes sweep down your body, then back up. “It means I don’t see what I have to be jealous about when I’m the only one you’re always screamin’ at.”

“Oh my God,” you snort, though you feel none of the casual indifference you project. “You are so full of shit. I think your ego’s actually starting to infect the rest of your brain.”

“You’re not goin’ out,” Gator says with finality. “Pops told me to watch you, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

“You can’t keep me under house arrest, Gator,” you challenge, panic flaring within you at the thought of him actually trapping you in here with him all weekend.

“The fuck I can’t,” he snorts. “I’m the babysitter, ain’t I?”

“You’re not my babysitter,” you fire at him, your temper kicking up again.

“Oh, yeah?” he hums. “What am I, then?”

“My local parasite?” you offer, mockingly sweet.

Gator doesn’t take the bait– just smirks at you. “You try and leave here without me, sweetheart, and I’ll just have to call your daddy and see what he has to say about it.”

“There’s nothing to do in here,” you argue, trying desperately to make him see reason. “I’m gonna be bored out of my skull, and so are you.”

“Alright, then let’s find somethin’ to do,” Gator suggests. “You and me. Not Emmie or whatever fuckin’ guy you were gonna let put his hands on you all afternoon.”

“You’re such a fucking pig!” you nearly yell in aggravation.

“Come on,” he goads you. “You wanna play a board game? Want me to braid your hair?”

“I want to get as far away from you as possible before I catch something contagious.” You ditch the rest of your food and make for your room again, dimly aware that it’s becoming something of a fortress.

“It’s a small house, sweetheart,” he tells you as he follows you, right on your heels. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

You whip around and stick a finger into his chest. “I want you out of here, Gator. I want you gone. I don’t care where you go. Just get out of my fucking house and leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that,” he tells you, intensity back in his expression.

“I don’t care,” you repeat, shaking your head. You’re almost trembling with anger, your fists clenched. “I don’t care what our dads say about it. I’d rather be grounded until I’m dead than spend another moment with you.”

For a second, Gator doesn’t speak. And then, voice low, he mutters, “You weren’t kiddin’ yesterday, were you?” he asks, his eyes scanning your face. “You really do hate me.”

“I do,” you agree– probably the only time you ever have. “And you hate me.”

“But you think about me,” he murmurs without answering you. His voice takes on a low, dangerous edge, and you become aware again of how little space there is left between your faces. “Don’t you, pretty?”

“You’re delusional,” you hiss, the words coming out on a whisper.

“Nah,” he brushes you off. “I can tell, baby. When you’re all hot and bothered like this, when you get this fired up…” he lets out a breathy laugh. “I bet you toss and turn all night, too riled up to get to sleep ‘cause all you can think about is me.”

The words hit too close. They make your breath hitch, and like always, he can tell. It’s like he knew what you were doing in your bedroom last night– knew how long it took you to finally settle down, and only after you’d taken care of yourself a few times, just to pull some stress out of your brain. It’s like he knew what you’d been thinking about when you had.

Gator sees it on your face– that vulnerability, open and ready for him to exploit. And you can’t let him have it. And you’re running on five hours of sleep. And you’d rather die than let Gator win one over you like he has all your life. 

And you tell yourself that’s why you grip him by the neck of his shirt and haul his lips to yours.

The kiss is hard, abrasive, and pressing. You don’t give Gator a second to adjust, swallowing his breath of surprise, your hand fisted in his shirt.

And something in you, something you’ve been ignoring for your entire life, something that tortures you on nights like last night and days like today when you really can’t shove him out of your mind, settles and clicks into place. That dooming, disastrous secret you’ve pretended all these years you haven’t yet discovered. 

Heat licks up inside you, seeping into your belly. You want more, you realize– more than the slide of your lips against his, more than Gator still and receiving. You want hands and tongues and teeth. You want him to move, but for once in his pathetic life, Gator Tillman seems frozen.

With the hand still gripping his shirt, you shove him back, sucking in a breath. 

His face is torn in shock. He’s panting slightly, his shining lips just beginning to turn pink. His dark eyes rove over your face, wider and more focused than you’ve ever seen. 

Your stare traces from the few hairs sticking out of his ballcap down to his lips that were plusher than you’d thought possible for a man like him. And then you laugh, low and harsh. 

Without another look at Gator, your heart in your throat, you turn on your heel and disappear behind your bedroom door. 

You’re sitting at the high table of a coffeeshop next to Emmie, your feet propped up on the bar between your stool legs, when the sight of a black truck pulling up to the curb outside makes your heart drop through your shoes. 

It would be fair to say that, in the heat of anger, you did something pretty fucking stupid. 

After you’d kissed Gator and left him standing in the hallway, the retreat to your room hadn’t felt any less stifling than being in his presence. With Emmie still on her way to pick you up and the elephant sitting between you and your next interaction with Gator, you’d thought that then would be the perfect time to manufacture an escape. 

Ironically, Gator had given you the idea by himself. Your window was ground-level, and your dad had never bothered to stick a screen on it to keep out the summer bugs. Today, that would work in your favor. 

You left your music blaring out of your speaker and snuck out the window as gracefully as you could once Emmie had texted and informed you she was parked around the block. And then you’d driven into town and filled your friend in on everything you still couldn’t believe had just happened. 

Emmie had laughed herself sick when you’d told her you kissed Gator. You supposed it was fairly ridiculous, really– a stupid, uncharacteristic, poorly-thought-through move. It would cast a pall between you– that much, you knew. But you’d been too tired of him playing that game, holding feelings and attractions over you like you were the only affected one. So, there. Now, at least you’d shown him what you were made of. 

Emmie notices you staring out the window, and her eyes widen as she realizes why. “Is that–”

Gator jumps down from his truck and slams the door, his expression already awash with anger. You swallow as you watch him stomp toward the café and rip open the door, his eyes landing on you immediately. 

A jolt runs down your spine at that look– the total rage that’s directed only at you. He must have driven around looking for Emmie’s car– guessing at the spots you two frequent together. You wish you could say you’re surprised he found you so quickly, but Gator’s always had a good memory when it comes to cataloguing how best to drive you insane. Including but not limited to memorizing the name of your favorite coffeeshop.

Gator stalks toward you, and you register dimly that his hair is a wreck beneath his cap, his mouth set in a grim line. Oh, he’s furious you ran out on him. This was his one job, the one promise he made his dad for these two days– and you made him fail.

He stops in front of you where you still clutch your mug, not sparing Emmie a second glance. “Let’s go,” is all he says– not a request.

Swallowing, realizing you’ve pushed him to the limit, you rise from your stool and turn back to Emmie.

She’s watching the encounter with wide, skeptical eyes. “Babe,” she starts, her voice quiet. “Are you gonna be okay?”

You know what’s on her mind– what’s probably running through the minds of everyone in this café. They know Gator’s reputation, and they know his daddy. Worse, they know what it means when a woman upsets a man from the Tillman family. 

But you’re different for one reason– you know Gator. And no matter how hard you push, no matter the bullshit he spits at you, you know one thing about him for certain– he will not hurt you. You used to call it pathetic, just like with your father, but now you think differently. Gator wouldn’t hurt a woman because he doesn’t have it in him. And he won’t hurt you because all he wants to do is the opposite, even in his weird, twisted way.

“I’ll be fine,” you tell Emmie, pushing off your stool. “I’ll get you back for the coffee later, yeah?”

Emmie nods, watching as you turn back to Gator. 

He’s no less full of ire, but you can tell he’s satisfied by your compliance. He lets you walk toward the truck first, and you wonder if it’s so he can catch you if you try to run off again. 

When you reach the passenger side door that he holds open for you, you start, “Gator–”

“Get in the fucking car,” he snaps.

You clamp your mouth shut, still riling internally against his order, and climb into the seat.

The drive back to your house is wordless, but you can tell he’s still steaming about this. It’s only when you’re back in the house, the door slammed behind you and your jacket thrown over the hook again, that he finally pipes up. 

“You’re a real fuckin’ brat, you know that?”

“You wouldn’t let me go,” you argue flatly. 

“What are you, fuckin’ twelve years old?” he shoots back. “Climbin’ out your window? They weren’t kiddin’ when they said you needed a goddamn babysitter.”

“It’s my house.” Your expression contorts with frustration. “I should be able to leave it when I want to. And I don’t need some overgrown manchild guarding my door.”

He storms over to you, his expression stony. “Well, clearly, you fuckin’ do. I come in there to check on you, and you’re just gone. That’s real mature, sweetheart.”

“Check on me?” you scoff. “Oh, please. You were probably just worried I’d tell your daddy what you’ve been saying to me all weekend.”

“What I’ve been saying?” he huffs, outraged. “How ‘bout what you’ve been doing? You’re nothin’ better than a fuckin’ preteen, stompin’ around and escapin’ outta your room.”

You meet his stare, your brow set and low. “You think you can just keep me here– that I’ll just do whatever you want. You’re wrong, Gator.”

“It is my job to take care of you this weekend,” he snaps.

“No, it’s your job to watch me,” you correct him. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m supposed to know where you are. I’m supposed to keep tabs on you, woman. ‘Nd I don’t need you climbin’ out your window and runnin’ off ‘cause you want to fuckin’ rebel.”

You round on him, his attitude only feeding yours. “I told you I was gonna go crazy in here. You can’t lock me up, Gator. You’re not in charge of me.”

“Right now, I am,” he spits back. “Right now, you answer to me. And when I tell you to do something, you fuckin’ do it.”

“You’re a prick,” you breathe. “You’re the worst person I’ve ever met. Why the hell would I listen to you?”

He crosses the rest of the room toward you in three long steps. “Say that again.”

“You’re not mad about this,” You shake your head, meeting his eyes. “You’re not mad I ran off or got you in trouble.” You let your eyes scrape down over his face, then back up. “You’re mad because I did it after I kissed you. You’re mad I didn’t just fall at your feet like everyone else does.”

“You really wanna talk about the shit you pulled back there?” he asks threateningly, eyes widening. He looks crazed like this– almost feral. “You wanna go there? ‘Cause you don’t tend to like it when you ‘n I talk dirty.”

You will a smirk onto your face. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

Gator’s expression shifts. He’s almost shaking with anger. You’ve never seen him like this– never once. You’ve never seen him when he’s losing before.

“When you thought I meant it,” you clarify. “For a second there, I made you believe it.”

Gator doesn’t say anything, his eyes boring into yours. And that’s how you know– you won. It just doesn’t feel as sweet as it should.

“You don’t like me,” you shake your head, finally seeing the full picture. “You just don’t like that you can’t have me. That’s what I am to you– something you can’t stand for anyone else to put their hands on.”

He snorts, tries to wave it off. It’s not as convincing as he tries to make it. “‘Cause you know everything about what I think now?”

“Yeah,” you challenge. “Yeah I do know you, Gator. And what you’re doing here? It’s fucked.”

“Yeah, well I know you, too,” he spits out, his glare so hard it could chip rock. “I know you tell yourself you’re throwin’ yourself at all those douchebags ‘cause you’re rebelling, but really you just can’t stand anybody rejecting you. I know you take shit from your dad and my dad and everyone else ‘cause you don’t have enough of a spine to stand up to ‘em.”

“You don’t know me,” you say gutturally, the words landing sharp as gravel in your chest. “You don’t know anything. Least of all how to want something without hurting it.”

Gator’s fists are clenched to hide his shaking. “Fuck. You.”

“You wish,” you throw back, and you don’t need to say it harshly. Because for once, the words you pitch at him are true, and the both of you know it now.

Gator rips his eyes away and stalks back toward the living room. “Go hide in your room again. Do whatever the hell you want. You always do, anyway.”

You watch him walk away, and in your head, beneath the rushing anger, you make a decision. 

You’re not going to hide. You’re not going to slink away and let him have this– let him avoid what you’ve made him feel today, tonight, maybe for longer than you know. He doesn’t get to give up the game now that he’s lost the upper hand. 

So, that night, you don’t go back to your room. 

You do your summer homework at the counter with your headphones on while Gator fires off curt emails at the dining table. You eat a wordless dinner side by side, the leftovers somehow tasting worse than they had yesterday– but maybe that was the aftertaste of the fight in your mouth. Gradually, things even out, some of the tension slipping out of the air. Maybe it’s that it’s all on the table now– nothing left unsaid between you, and nothing to say that could possibly be worse.

You and Gator settle into a rhythm, the fizzing, livid frustration soothing between you as you move side by side, unspeaking, for the entirety of the night. The first time you exchange words again, it almost feels like things are back to how they were before.

Gator’s on the couch in front of the TV, but he’s not watching it. Instead, he’s observing you as you emerge from your room, where you’d changed into a baggy sweatshirt with your high school’s name on it and a pair of athletic shorts you’ve probably grown out of by about two years. Gator’s eyes track you as you make your way back into the living room, running up and down your body.

“What?” you snap, sick of his scrutiny.

“Nothin’,” he replies, not tearing his eyes away as he smirks. “Real sexy outfit, that’s all.”

You roll your eyes, though you might be secretly glad the two of you are any kind of back to normal. “I’m in my own living room. I'm allowed to wear what I want.” You flop down onto the other end of the couch from him unceremoniously and pick up the discarded remote. “You probably sleep in your jeans, you cretin.” 

Gator hasn’t changed out of his day-clothes yet, but his hair is sticking out further from the front of his cap. He adjusts it on his head, and you have to pull your eyes away from the way his arms flex with the motion.

Adjusting to be more comfortable on your end of the couch, your back against the armrest and your legs stretched out across the cushions, you change the channel, and Gator makes a noise of protest. “I was watching that.”

“You were watching 10 Things I Hate About You?” you deadpan, giving him a look. “Really?”

Gator fumbles a little for words. “It’s the guy from The Joker. I don’t know.”

You snort, clicking through channels. “Didn’t know you were such a fan of rom-coms.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he gripes, turning his eyes back to the screen.

When a few minutes have passed and you still haven’t settled on an evening feature, he makes a noise of exasperation and throws a hand out at the TV. “Will you just pick something already?”

“It’s my house,” you remind him imperiously. “It’s my TV. I'll take my damn time.”

“I’m gonna be dead by the time you land on a movie.”

“All the better for me,” you answer sweetly.

“Just give me the fuckin’ remote,” he insists, sitting up and reaching out for it.

“No, thanks,” you huff, holding the remote away from him in case he decides to snatch it out of your hands. “I have very little interest in watching Swamp People or whatever the hell it is you find entertaining.”

“Well, you’re gonna pick some girly crap, and I don’t wanna sit through that,” he argues.

“Then go to bed,” you propose, not looking at him as you keep clicking. “Nothing’s keeping you here.”

With no warning, a large hand clamps around your ankle, and you yelp as Gator drags you toward him by your leg until you’re staring up at his smirking face, your sweatshirt hitched up around your waist. The action, the audacity of it, steals the breath from you, and for whatever reason, you don’t fight him as his hand spans your calf to keep you in place.

Gator leans over you, and there’s none of the playfulness of the last words you spoke in his eyes. Instead, he’s staring down at you with such unbelievable focus it makes your heart pound in your throat. 

 It doesn’t even surprise you when he kisses you.

Gator’s lips are as plush as they were this morning, but this time, he doesn’t freeze. He pushes against you, hard and claiming, his head bowed over yours and his hands loosening their grip on your legs. The kiss is messy, his tongue pushing past your lips and sweeping your mouth, like he knows neither one of you can stand to do anything halfway anymore. 

You don’t even notice that he’s wrested the remote from your hand until he pulls back and smirks at you. 

You stare up into his face– his stupid, arrogant, triumphant face– as he holds the remote over you in victory, just like he’s held everything over you, every little thing he’s ever won. 

It’s less than a moment before you snake your hand around the back of his neck and pull him back down toward you. 

You kiss him again, harder this time, the push and pull of your lips igniting something in your gut you didn’t ever think Gator Tillman would be capable of eliciting. It’s intoxicating, that feeling– so close and intimate. You nip at his bottom lip, and Gator groans.

You have just enough sense left in your dazed brain to pull the remote from his fingers again, and he lets it go almost willingly. This time, you’re the one who pulls back, relishing in that last second of victory. 

The two of you hang there for a moment, staring back into each other’s faces. 

And then, in one brief, intoxicating second, the dam breaks, and all bets are off. 

The remote clatters to the floor. Gator’s hands surge for you, wrap around your back and band around you to pull you upright. Your lips lock together, messy and desperate, and the noises you’re making are absolutely indecent as he licks into your mouth like he wants to steal the sounds from you. You break the kiss only long enough to push yourself fully upright and onto your knees, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him, your loose hair falling down between you. 

Gator looks ravenous as you loom over him, hunger baked into his expression, so intense it makes your breath catch. You don’t pause long enough for him to mock you for it. 

You grab his face in both of your hands and pull him toward you again, teeth scraping against lips. You take a second to knock the cap off his head and pitch it away, and then you’re tugging his hair and he’s panting against your mouth as his hands squeeze harder than necessary at your waist and hips. 

You’re surprised– honestly shocked– he hasn’t made a move to grope at you yet. His fingertips press into you so harshly you think they might bruise– so rough and needy, like it’s been years of waiting for him to paw at you like this. Maybe it has.

Your hands run down his body, over his shoulders and pecs and tensed abdomen. You don’t break the kiss while your fingers grip his belt tightly, and Gator lets out another groan into your mouth. 

His hands dip a little lower, his fingers skimming under the hem of your sweatshirt, but that’s all he does. Fine, then– maybe all his big talk is just that. If you need to be the cleaver of what you’ve spent years convincing yourself is a normal, hate-hate relationship, then so fucking be it. 

Your hands scrabble to undo his belt without looking, the starched denim of his jeans rough against your bare thighs. 

Gator pulls away from you just long enough to catch his breath, his eyes hazy with lust as he looks up at you. “What’re you doin’?”

“Gonna fuck you,” you pant, surging forward to kiss him again. You finally make progress with his belt and nearly tear it open, but Gator’s not finished. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, one of his hands sliding up beneath your sweatshirt and settling flat on your back. “Thought you hated me.”

“I do,” you correct him, voice strained even now. You tear your lips from his to kiss down his neck, finger still working to pull his belt free. “I hate you so fucking much, Gator.”

You can almost hear his grin in his voice as he says. “Good. Just checking.”

His hands grip your thighs, and suddenly you’re in his arms, your legs wrapping automatically around his waist as he pulls you up with him as he stands. 

“What are you doing?” you ask against the skin of his neck, your attention honed on leaving an obnoxiously big mark there. 

“I’m not fuckin’ you on a couch,” Gator tells you dryly, and begins to carry you toward your bedroom like it’s second nature. 

“Such a gentleman,” you mock him. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I just want you spread out,” he says bluntly, his nose prodding into your hair as you continue to attack his throat. “Let’s not get things confused, baby.”

You give a muffled laugh against his Adam's apple.

When you make it to your bedroom, Gator actually throws you backward onto the bed, so hard you squeak when you hit the mattress with a bounce. “‘Course you got stuffed animals on here,” he drawls, moving over you on all fours. “You’re such a kid.”

“And you’re a heartless bastard,” you coo, your hands coming to rest on his chest. “They’re cute.”

With one hand, Gator sweeps your stuffed animals off the bed. “‘M not having them watching me.”

“You insecure, or something?” you tease, your voice a high pitch. 

Gator’s eyes narrow into a glare. “Why don’t you put your hand in my pants and find out, sweetheart?”

“Take your shirt off,” you demand, refusing to let him know what the challenge in his eyes is doing to you. With him hanging over you like this, his broad body commanding your attention, you feel like you’re on fire. 

“You’re pretty fuckin’ needy, aren’t you?” he goads, but he sits up and tugs his shirt over his head anyway. 

“And you’re doin’ exactly what I told you to,” you point out, though the effect of the teasing is a little lost when your eyes fall to his bare chest. 

You almost hate him just for looking as good as he does. The unfortunate side effect of the gym-bro identity he’s developed is that Gator’s had serious results. His pecs are sculpted, his stomach lean and toned, and his arms… well, if you weren’t seriously fucked before, you certainly are now. His biceps flex as he moves over you again, pulling you back into a harsh kiss. “Your turn,” he makes out when you break free. “Strip.”

“How romantic,” you croon. “What if I wanna keep everything on?” 

Gator shakes his head. “Nope.”

You give him a look. “Excuse me?”

“Show me your tits,” he orders you. “I’m gonna see every inch of you.” When you still don’t move, he barks, “Now.” 

“You know, your bossiness?” you hiss, fingers moving almost involuntarily to the hem of your sweatshirt, “One of your worst qualities.”

“It works, don’t it?” he huffs, watching as you struggle to free your arms. Impatient, he pulls back again and yanks you upward. “This is the ugliest fuckin’ sweatshirt I’ve ever seen.”

“Fuck you,” you breathe, and he drags it over your head and tosses it aside, baring you to the room. Your nipples perk up from the sudden chill, and the warmth in your gut builds as Gator takes you in hungrily. When he touches you again, he starts by smoothing down the hair he wrecked with your sweatshirt. And then those hands run over your shoulders and down your arms, soothing the goosebumps that haven’t gone away since the second he kissed you. 

“Fuck,” he blurts out, staring unabashedly at your chest.

Your skin prickles under his stare, the vulnerability of it. You’re not afraid of Gator. You just can’t tell what he’ll do when his walls are down, and that’s more thrilling than anything.

Without any more delay, he cups your right breast and squeezes gently, like he’s testing the weight in his palm. You squirm a little, and he tells you, “Hold still.”

“Gator,” you make out, a little put off that this is taking so long. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just shut the fuck up and let me touch you,” he says back, and kneads at your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “It’s the first time, sweetheart. Gotta enjoy it.”

Your breath hitches when he slaps lightly at your tender flesh, watching the movement with a smirk on his face. “You’ve got great tits, you know that?” 

You shoot him a dry look. “What, first time you’ve ever seen a pair?”

He lifts his other hand and presses into both at once, massaging with a care you didn’t know he had in him. “Mouthy,” he observes, frowning. “You should quit that. Pants.”

“What about them?” you ask indignantly, watching the way he remains fascinated by your chest.

Gator’s eyes flick up to yours. “Get them off.”

“I suppose ‘please’ is a foreign concept to you,” you drawl, laying back against the comforter. In the back of your head, you register that you’re letting him order you around, and that under normal circumstances you would be completely revolted with the way you’re giving in. Right now, it feels like the least of your worries.

“I like to have all the manners comin’ from you.” Gator breathes as he moves over you again, his face appearing above yours. He kisses you once, briefly, and then starts drawing a line down the middle of your body with his lips– your chin, your throat, your sternum. He gets distracted at your chest and diverts to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, and you arch up into the touch, letting out an embarrassingly loud gasp. 

Gator hums against your breast, satisfied by the sound. His teeth scrape gently over its peak, and your fingers curl in his hair in response.

“This doesn’t feel like fucking,” you mock him, though it comes out breathy and weak. 

“Be nice,” Gator tells you flatly. “Or I’ll stop being nice.” That’s ironic considering you can’t recall him ever starting. 

Your fingers dip into the waistband of your shorts just as Gator’s lips reach your stomach, and he helps you work them down your legs, his broad hands smoothing over your skin until you’re completely bare and he chucks the shorts away. You shiver, the reality of being so exposed in front of him hitting you beneath the hazy lust. Your legs tense up involuntarily at the realization, your knees locking together.

Gator’s head snaps up, and that sight alone almost rips another moan from your throat. His hair is falling in his eyes, mussed from your grip. “Hey. Don’t fuckin’ hide from me.”

Your jaw clenches. “Why the hell should I trust you?” you ask, the question tearing from you before you can stop it. 

His stare is absolutely wicked. “You spread your legs for all those other guys, don’t you? Doubt you trusted any ‘a them. Bet they didn’t even make you come.”

His mocking does nothing to quell your insecurity. “You’re an asshole, Gator,” you snap, pushing up on your elbows and drawing your legs away from him.

His hand reaches out and grips you around your ankle again, halting you. And then he says, his eyes intent upon your face, “I know you better than anyone. That’s why you should trust me.”

The words relax you without you meaning them to. Gator sees it, and he smiles a little– not quite devoid of arrogance, but something bordering on genuine.

And then he grips you by the ankles and props your legs up, eye-level with your cunt. 

He doesn’t touch you at first– just looks. 

“Gator–” you squirm a little, arching your back. From here, you can see the pleased expression on his face as he examines you, and something about the diligence in it is making it hard to stay focused. “Gator, either move or get back up here. I don’t care.”

“Just let me look at you, baby,” he throws back, nonplussed. One of his thumbs brushes against the skin around the center of you, and you shiver. “You’re so wet it’s unfair.”

“Stop staring at me, you pervert,” you make out, but the light touch is affecting you so much already that your argument sounds weaker than you mean it to. “It’s creepy.”

“Why?” he asks bluntly, that thumb guiding itself through your folds, parting you gently. “It’s pretty.”

Compliments are rare coming from Gator. You can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s legitimately offered you one. Which is probably why you’re trembling before he’s even touched you– not because you want him to so badly right now you can’t think straight. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I like?” you prod him, your voice low. 

Gator’s face dips slightly, his eyes still intent upon the center of you. “Nope.”

You snort. “And they say chivalry’s dead. Do you– oh.”

At the first broad sweep of his tongue, every argument falls from your lips. 

It’s fair to say you’ve been with a number of sexual partners. Not as many as Gator mocks you for, but you’re not what you would call naive to how sex should feel when it’s done right. You’ve had guys go down on you like they’re making out– slow and sensual and unhurried. You’ve had uncomfortable, oblivious experiences that ended in rolled eyes and faked orgasms. And you’ve had a few really stellar players, too– ones that don’t need to brag to tell you they know what they’re doing. 

As in most things, Gator feels different.

It might be the eagerness with which he latches his mouth to your cunt, or the immediate pressure he adds without reprieve. But something about the intensity of the strokes of his tongue, the slight drag of his teeth, the way his nose presses against your clit, is unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Gator goes down on you like he’s starving for it– like he’s trying to consume you, to press himself so deeply against your heat there’s no chance of retrieval. He laps at your wetness, his tongue spearing inside you, and you moan louder, your back arching off the bed and your thighs squeezing either side of his face. 

Harshly, he takes one broad hand and presses your right leg back to the mattress. He removes himself just enough to say, “Gimme some room to work here, alright?”

“Gator,” you breathe, overwhelmed. 

“What?” he responds as he dives back in, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You let out a cry, forgetting what you’d meant to tell him. It was probably something derogatory. You wish you remembered. 

“So fuckin’ responsive,” he laughs, the vibrations travelling along your center. “Can’t believe how wet you are, baby. I really turn you on that much?”

“Fuck off,” you pant, and Gator looks up at you through his brows. 

“What’d I just say?” he goads you, and without preamble, slides one of his fingers inside you. “Be nice.”

You gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets. “Gator– fuck, Gator.”

He pumps his finger inside you, then adds another just as fast. It’s almost annoying how he can tell immediately how to curl them to hit the spot that always makes you writhe, but when you move too much for his taste, he uses his other hand to slide over your lower stomach and pin you to the bed. “Go ‘head and hold onto me, sweetheart,” he tells you, seeing how badly you want to move. “I know– I know. It’s a lot, baby, but you can take it.”

Your cheeks sting at the way he’s talking down to you, but you can’t formulate a scathing enough reply. Instead, you snake your hand down into his hair, clutching at the strands so hard it probably hurts. 

“There you go,” he purrs, eyes on you as he lowers his mouth to your clit again, fingers still moving inside you. “That’s my good girl.”

The worst part is that he’s right– it is a lot. It’s too much, too fast, too far, but Gator doesn’t seem to care, and with the way you’re catapulting toward your orgasm, you can’t bring yourself to, either. Nothing about the way he laves and sucks at you, the way he nips gently at the apex of your core while his fingers make you bow off the bed with their consistent, unrelenting pace, is even pretending to be gentle. That’s not who Gator is– that’s not what he’s willing to give you. He’s always been this and only this– hard, rough, brutal where it hurts the best. What’s killing you even more than the overstimulating pressure is that you’re realizing in the back of your mind that he’s the best lay you’ve ever had.

“Fuck,” Gator mumbles against you, and retracts one of his hands to adjust himself in his jeans. “Jesus Christ, you taste good. Never had pussy this perfect before.”

You groan and grind your hips up against his face, and Gator makes a noise of approval deep in his throat. “Do that again.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hips chase his face as he presses harder into you, his fingers pumping faster and faster. “Fuck my face, baby. Come on— there you go. Give it to me.”

“Oh my God,” you pant as the coil inside you tightens and tightens, poised to snap. “Gator— Gator, right there, fuck—“ Your fingers clench in his hair, and he whines against you.

“Go ‘head, baby. Let go. Lemme see your pretty come face.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm tears through you, and Gator doesn’t let up for a moment as he works you through it, mumbling how good you’re being, telling you to let him see it. By the time it finally breaks, your entire body is tingling with leftover energy, and Gators tongue is still working at your center.

“Gator,” you plead, your voice a defeated whine. “Too— too much. I’m sensitive.”

“You made a real fuckin’ mess down here,” he says gruffly in return, licking over you— cleaning you up, you realize. “You can do it. Hold still.”

Now that your walls are down again, you find it in you to start disobeying like you’re used to. You squirm against his grip, your hips bucking. Gator uses the hand on your stomach to press you further into the mattress, letting him finish his diligent work. When he’s finally satisfied with himself, he presses a messy kiss to your inner thigh and moves over you again. 

“Still think I’m an asshole?” he asks, his smirk intolerably wide.

“Marginally less so,” you breathe, a little surprised, yourself. 

Gator grins and lowers his head to kiss at your cheek, your neck. “Guess the only reason you’re always bitchin’ at me is you’re too pent up to do anything else, huh?”

Your eyes flatten as he sucks at your neck, your fingers twisting in his hair. “Call me a bitch again. See where it gets you.”

“Aw, don’t feel bad, baby,” he croons. “You’re too stressed, in’t that right? Need someone to work it outta ‘ya?”

“And here I was, thinking my attitude gets you hard,” you drawl, too spent to bother being humiliated by his words.

“Maybe it does,” he offers. “And maybe I like bein’ the one to get you to finally fuckin’ relax.”

“Mm, what every girl dreams about,” you tease him. “Sex being relaxing.”

“You bored?” he challenges, pulling back to raise a brow at you.

“Whole lotta talking going on,” your return evenly, pushing down the thrill his expression sends through you.

“You’re pretty fuckin’ insufferable, you know that?” he gripes, and you grin as your hands slide up his bare chest and push him backward so you can sit up. 

“Says you,” you hum, shifting to sit cross-cross between his legs. “Pretty big talk for a guy who hasn’t pulled his dick out yet.”

“You gonna beg me?” he goads, his own grin growing.

“Over my cold, dead, rotting body,” you reply, your voice low and sultry.

Gator laughs and pushes off the bed, his fingers going for the zipper on his jeans. His eyes are on you as he shucks them down his legs and kicks them away, then follows with his boxers.

In one terrible second, the reason for every speck of arrogance in Gator clicks into place in your mind. He’s hung. Like, the kind of hung that you thought was a joke when rumors started circulating in high school. Every coy, teasing plan you’d had running through your head a moment ago curls up and dies, and your mouth goes dry as you stare at him in outrage.

“You goin’ dumb, sweetheart?” he asks you smugly.

You glare and point a finger toward his length. “Absolutely not.”

“What?”

“I can’t take that,” you shake your head, incredulous.

“Sure you can,” Gator waves you off, ego simmering in his eyes.

“Nuh-uh,” you scoff. “I’ll break. There’s no way that fits inside me.”

“Never know until you try,” he points out, crawling back onto the bed toward you. “I just warmed you up. You’ll be fine.”

“Gator—“

“Just shut up and lay back,” he complains, his face inches from yours. “I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart.”

He’s so uncannily good at that– saying things to you that put you immediately at ease, even while he relinquishes none of the control. Gator knows the formula of exactly how and when to push you, and he knows when it tips into too far. You didn’t think he had that sort of emotional intelligence in him, but somehow, even bare and exposed before him now, you’re not nervous.

Gator moves over you, his head lowering to kiss you again– slower and sweeter, like he knows you need the reassurance. There’s still that fire underneath it, that unkillable, tortuous want, but it’s settled somehow in the way he’s pressing your bodies together. 

“Condom?” he mumbles against your lips.

You scour your brain, trying to remember if you replaced the box of rubbers in your nightstand after the last time your dad raided your room looking for contraband. “Mm– I don’t know if I have one.”

Gator pulls back, looking downright appalled. “What?”

You roll your eyes at his expression. “I don’t actually put out that much, Gator.”

“You don’t have a single fuckin’ condom?” he deadpans. “What are you, some kind of virgin?”

“Just check the nightstand,” you snap.

Gator crawls off of you and reaches out to rifle through your top drawer. A laugh escapes his throat, and he withdraws a familiar, bright-purple object. “Now, hang on a sec. What’s all this?”

You groan and press your eyes shut. “Oh my God, just kill me.”

Gator flicks the vibrator on where he kneels straddling you on the bed, studying the way it jumps in his hand. “You think about me when you use this?”

“Gator Tillman is holding my vibrator,” you mumble to yourself. “I’ve died and gone to hell and this is it.”

“It’s kinda cute,” he says observantly. “Little. You want me to help you out with this?”

“Your window for putting on a condom and fucking me is closing,” you inform him dryly. 

He heaves a sigh, mischief in his eyes as he smiles down at you. “Fine. Some other time.” He flicks the vibrator off and sets it on the nightstand, then rifles through your drawer some more until he finds a single foil packet. “Fuckin’ finally.”

“Oh, and whose fault is it for taking so long?” you snap, pressing up onto your elbows as he sits back and tears the wrapper open with his teeth. 

“You know, you’re not real good at this whole ‘patience’ thing, baby,” he tells you mildly. 

You watch as he rolls the condom over his length and pumps himself once, twice. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll make it fit. You’ll be fine.”

“I mean having sex with you,” you retort flatly. 

“Oh, please,” he huffs. “You know you’ve been dreamin’ about this for years.”

“I fucking hate you,” you remind him, eyes narrowing. “I’ve spent my entire life hating your guts. And now you’re naked in my bed. I feel like I’m on drugs.”

“I’m not that surprised,” he tosses back, staring down at you spread out beneath him. “Been flirtin’ with you since I was twelve. Figured we’d get here one day.”

“You were not flirting with me,” you counter, the words sending color to your cheeks. “I think what you were doing qualifies as harassment.” 

“You think I talk about every girl’s tits like that?” He arches a brow.

“I know you do,” you hiss, slapping his thigh. “That’s what all disgusting, horny, deadbeats do.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve been droolin’ over you for years,” Gator snorts. “You’re pretty fuckin’ dense if you couldn’t tell, baby. Everybody else could. My friends gave me so much shit about it in high school.” Your cheeks burn redder, and he grins. “Yeah, you fuckin’ knew it, too. Your face always went red just like that.”

Determined not to let him hold it over you, you push further upright. One hand curling against his chest, you halt his movement over you and push him back into a seated position. “Is that why you’re so hard right now?” you coo, angling your head. “‘Cause I’m so affected? And you’re so above it all?”

He studies you, his eyes tracking the movement of your lips. “Never said I was.”

“Yeah, you look pretty fuckin’ desperate, too,” you murmur, your hand tracing gently over the lines of his abdomen. “I better help you out, huh?”

“Lay back,” he says again, the words low and gruff.

Your lips curve up into a smile, and slowly, you shake your head. “You had your turn– now let me have mine.”

His brows raise in surprise, but he doesn’t object.

Cautiously, you extract yourself from beneath him, pressing up on your knees to straddle him again. Your hand comes hesitantly down to touch his length, and you watch Gator’s jaw clench as you close your fingers around him. 

“Sensitive, huh?” you croon, and he glares at you. 

“You wanna move your fuckin’ hand?” he drawls. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m not gonna last too long.”

You huff a low laugh and give him a testing squeeze, moving your hand up and down. He really is huge– so big you have no idea if you’re going to be capable of your next step. That tinge of uncertainty finds you again, but it’s just as quickly soothed by the feeling of Gator’s warm hand spanning your thigh, smoothing over it. It’s enough to encourage you to rise higher on your knees and notch him at your entrance, gritting your teeth at the sensation. 

Gator hums at the feeling, too, looking up at you with smug admiration. “You gonna ride me, baby?”

“Shut up right now,” you mumble, eyes squeezing shut. 

He laughs roughly. “Come on– sit down. I’ve got ‘ya.”

With deliberate slowness, you begin to sink down, letting out a pathetic little noise at the stretch. 

“Good girl,” Gator coos, drawing out the word. “You’ve got it. You can take it all.”

You halt your progress to give yourself a moment to adjust, the stretch of him inside you walking the delicate line between pleasure and pain. 

“Breathe,” Gator orders you. “Breathe, baby.” You can hear the smile in his voice as you suck in a bigger breath and let it out. “There she is. Look at you, baby– face all screwed up. All stretched out on my dick. Keep going. I want you lower.”

You whimper and keep going, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders while one of his grips your waist to help you down. For a moment, it’s too much, and you stop again. 

A sharp smack sounds, and the back of your thigh stings as Gator lands a slap to it. When your eyes flutter open in surprise, you find him glaring. 

“Hey. I said lower,” he tells you. “Take it. Don’t make me do it myself, sweetheart.”

“Fuck. You,” you make out, your breath coming in pants. 

He smacks your thigh again, and you cry out. “Drop the fuckin’ attitude,” he snaps. “You don’t want me to flip you around and take care of it for you. Lower.”

“It’ll hurt,” you say through gritted teeth.

“You were built for me,” he murmurs, the hand on your waist coming up to push your hair behind your ears. “You’ll be fine.”

Your hands tighten on his shoulders, and you sink lower, inch by tortuous inch. It drags another sound from your throat, and Gator preens. “Thaaat’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. You’re doin’ so good for me, baby. You’re gonna get it all the way, huh?”

Your face burns, but the challenge gets to you like it always does. Jaw clenching, you shove yourself the rest of the way down, ignoring the jolt of pain and the way you gasp outright. It fades quickly enough into ecstasy at the sheer size of him– the fullness so intense it makes you wonder if any sex will ever be the same again. 

When you manage to come to, finally adjusted to the pleasurable burn, Gator’s hands are brushing over your cheeks, smoothing down your body, keeping you centered. “There she is,” he hums again, a smile blooming all over his face. “Knew you’d fuckin’ do it for me. You’re perfect. So pretty like this– my own little cocksleeve.”  

“‘M not,” you argue, your face falling forward into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“Sure you are,” he counters, hands slipping around to hold you close. “So proud of you. You took it so well, sweetheart.”

You whimper– at the words or at the stretch of him, you don’t know. You feel a little drunk on it– the headiness of being this close to him, the rush of anger at being so demeaned. You can’t tell if you love it or hate it.

“You’re gonna move now,” he tells you, hands slipping down to your hips. “You’ve got it. Go slow.”

You don’t have the faculty to disagree. Carefully, you begin to roll your hips, Gator’s big hands guiding you as you grind back and forth over him. Desperately, you find his lips and press them to yours, cupping his face like he’s some kind of precious to you. You clench around him, and he moans into your mouth.

The drag of him inside you is just the right side of too much. You move faster, chasing your pleasure and his, letting him push and pull you how he wants to. It feels like worship, your bodies working together like this. The fit is seamless, despite how unfathomable that would have seemed to you a day ago. 

“Your little boyfriends teach you how to do this?” he mocks you breathlessly, one of his hands tangling in your hair and tugging your head back so he can bite at your throat. “Were you this much of a slut for them?”

“Shut up,” you breathe. 

“Bet you learned all on your own,” he goes on. “None ‘a them fucked you like this. They made you do it all yourself, didn’t they? That’s why you’re so perfect for me now.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, temper flaring in you. “Quit fucking talking about them,” you bite. “I’m fucking you now, aren’t I?”

“Damn straight,” Gator huffs, his breath hot on your throat. “Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had. Shoulda been with me the whole time.”

“I’m not with you,” you gasp out. “I’m just– fuck, Gator– I’m just…”

“Just what?” he challenges, nibbling at your pulse point. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Having a– oh– momentary– lapse of sanity.”

He laughs roughly, pushing his hips up to meet yours. “We’ll see about momentary. Ah, fuck– squeeze me like that again. Jesus, you’re tight.” You let out a keening sound as you do as he asks. “Gate–”

He lets out a groan, arms squeezing tighter around you at the nickname. “Tell me how much you hate me.”

You fumble for words a little, your concentration completely shot. “What?”

“Talk,” he breathes. “Tell me. I know you want to.”

“You don’t know anything,” you pant. “You don’t know me. You don’t have any idea how much I– ah!– how much I hate that we’re doing this.”

“You don’t look like you hate it,” he murmurs.

“I do,” you nod, your eyes squeezing shut. “I fucking hate it. I hate you more than anything. You make my skin crawl.”

Gator groans.

“You’re disgusting,” you go on. “I hate the way you talk to me and the way you treat girls. I hate that you can’t live without your stupid fucking vape. I hate the way you gel your hair.” Your breath hitches as he thrusts up into you, and your rhythm falters. “You’re arrogant. You’re self-serving. You’re– fuck, Gator– you’re a prick. You’re the worst kind of asshole, and I wish I’d never met you.”

“You’re so pretty when you lie,” he moans, reaching a hand up to tweak your nipple.

You take a jagged breath. “I hate that you’re gonna hold this over me till I die.”

“This?” he scoffs, but his voice is a little weak, a little breathy. “Nah, baby. This is just for me. Can’t have anyone else knowin’ I got to see you like this.”

“Gator,” you eke out, his reassurance hitting you somewhere low and deep.

“Yeah, baby?”

You don’t know how to say it– how to get what you want without giving him his. You don’t know how to say that you need to be closer to him, to fuse your bodies together, to go over the brink with him and not care for an hour or two what sharp rocks are at the bottom of this pit you’re willingly throwing yourself into. You need him deeper, harder, more.

“More?” he mumbles, as if taking the words straight out of your head. He’s always been so good at reading you, for better or worse. It’s how he knows now to make sure you’re ready, to hear you say it even in spite of all the dominance, all the insults. It’s that fact that makes you wonder just how meaningless all this really is to him.

You nod frantically, and that’s all it takes for Gator’s hands to grip you again and lay you back down on the covers, still joined. He hitches your legs up to lock around your waist, and then he’s drilling back into you, his hips slamming into yours. 

“Gator!” you gasp out, your nails clawing at his back. 

He moans, taken over just as much as you are by the feeling of you squeezing him. “That’s it, baby. Fuck– so fuckin’ tight. Perfect little doll for me.”

Every thrust into your body drags another cry from your throat as you rake at his back, the drag of him against your walls driving you out of your mind. “Fuck– fuck– fuck, Gate, I need–”

His hand is already there– moving down between you, finding your clit as he keeps at his unrelenting pace. “You beg so– ah– so pretty.” 

You arch your back up into him as his fingers circle your clit. “Gate, I’m close. I’m– oh, fuck.”

“Can’t talk so well, huh?” he goads, pace increasing. You tip your head back at the new pressure, your mouth dropping open. “That’s okay, baby. I know I’m… know I’m fuckin’ you dumb.”

“Come with me,” you whimper, scratching at his shoulders. It’s all you need– all you’ve been able to think about for minutes now.

Gator’s head droops, and he hisses out, “Fuck.”

“Please,” you whisper– the first time you’ve said it all night. “Need it. Need– you.”

Gator kisses you hard, halting your words like he wants to seal them into permanence. His pace increases until you’re panting into each other’s mouths, and the warmth in your core is growing and growing, and you’re spiralling toward your peak–

You throw your head back and cry out his name as your second orgasm hits you, and it’s only seconds before Gator follows after you, spitting out curses with an intensity to match how he’s pounding into you. 

He works you through it, your heart beating in your throat, your bodies getting closer and closer with every slowing thrust. Eventually, you’re chest to chest, Gator’s bare skin pressed to yours, his weight an intoxicating blanket that does nothing to ease your exhaustion. 

Your fingers slowly release their vice grip on the skin of his back, your hands sliding up hesitantly to tangle in his hair. Gator lets out a defeated little noise into your neck as you scratch at his scalp. 

For a single, deluded second, you feel like you want to stay there forever. You know this has to end– know Gator’s bound to pull away any moment now, to toss you some shitty comment about not getting attached, shuck his clothes on, and walk back out of your heart with one more thing to hold over you forever. It’s a problem of yours– you’ve always hoped for more from him. For better. And even if you know this meant nothing, if you’re trying to cement that knowledge into stone in your head, a tiny, insane part of you wouldn’t be upset if maybe he cared, too. 

Which is why, when he finally does move, it surprises you more than anything tonight. 

Gator pulls out carefully and shifts his weight so he’s not crushing you, but his hands don’t relinquish their grip on your body. Instead, they slide slowly over it, spanning your ribs, holding you delicately. And then his mouth lowers, and he presses a soft kiss to your sternum. 

Your breath feels caught in your throat as he begins to place a line of careful kisses down your abdomen, his fingers brushing at your ribs and your waist. He’s touching you reverently, haltingly, like he’s mapping the expanse of your skin, worshipping the warmth of your form. It’s not sexual, and that’s perhaps what shocks you the most. It’s diligent. Curious. Purposeful.

He mumbles something against your stomach that you can’t make out.

“Gator,” you make out, your voice hoarse.

He moves back over you again, finding your face. Drops another kiss to your throat, your jaw, and then your cheek. 

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

He stares down at you, his eyes half-lidded. “Treatin’ you good.” You fight the urge to correct his grammar and focus on the words– the simplicity of them. “Why?”

Gator doesn’t blink. “‘Cause I never said I hated you.”

You reach down and grip his forearms, feeling the corded muscle there. You roll your eyes. “Come on. Be serious.”

“I am,” he insists, voice low. 

The statement drags a scoff from your throat, and you push at his arms to tell him to get off. 

“I am,” he repeats, shifting so you can slide out from beneath him. He remains on your bed, watching as you get unsteadily to your feet and walk across the room to get your robe. 

“This isn’t real, Gator,” you argue, but whether you’re convincing yourself or him is lost on you. “You don’t mean any of this. You’re just… high on sex, or something.”

“I know what the hell I'm talkin’ about,” he snaps. “You’re tryna’ tell me that wasn’t fuckin’ incredible?”

You clench your jaw, finishing off your robe tie harshly. “I’m telling you I’m not gonna fall for this, and neither should you.”

“What’s there to fall for?” he challenges, watching as you scoop his pants off the floor and toss them onto the bed for him. “I’m bein’ serious. Let me take you out tomorrow. We’ll get dinner.”

You huff. “No.”

“Lunch.”

“Gator—“

“Coffee,” he proposes. “Come on, baby. You know you want to.”

“I’m not playing this game with you,” you cut him off. “We’re not together, Gator. We fucked. That’s it. This was a one-time thing.”

“I like you,” he says baldly, rising off the bed to start dressing. “And I know you like me, doll. Don’t see what sense there is fightin’ it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, heaving a breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll start thinking you mean it,” you say in challenge.

Gator buttons his jeans and puts his hands on his hips. “Good. Something’s gotta get it through your thick head.”

“Nothing good happens when I let myself believe a word out of your mouth,” you return mildly, not rising to the bait. “Last time I was stupid enough to fall for you, all I got was humiliated and hurt. I won’t do that again.”

“Who says it won’t work out different this time?” he proposes.

“I say it won’t,” you tell him flatly.

He waves a hand. “You’re a cynic. I want a second opinion."

You hold back the aggravation in your tone and say firmly, “I don’t want to date you, Gator. You’d be horrible for me.”

“How do you know?” he fires back. “I’ve never been your boyfriend before.”

“I know because—” you sigh, frustrated. “You just are what you are, Gator. I can’t fix that. You’re always gonna be the guy that put gum in my hair in middle school and crashed my first date.”

He arches a brow. “I’ll also always be the guy that beat up Brian Murphy in senior year ‘cause he called you ugly.”

You flush a little at the memory— the embarrassment. The way Gator had looked as he sat outside the principal’s office, scowling at you like it was your fault he had a bloody lip. You guessed it sort of was.

Gators eyes narrow at your expression. “So what, I just can’t ever grow?”

“You can,” you correct him, tossing him his shirt, “But you won’t.”

“Three years ago, I wouldnt’ve fucked ‘ya like I just did,” he informs you, pointing to your rumpled bed. “That’s fuckin’ growth, sweetheart.”

You fight to keep your tone even. “One orgasm doesn’t just change a person like that. You’re still who you were when you walked into this house. I’m still me.”

“Yeah, and we fit pretty good, don’t we?” he drawls.

“You don’t like me.” You brace your hands on your back, determined to get this point across. “You want to… conquer me.”

Gator walks toward you evenly, sizing you up. He doesn’t stop until he’s towering over you again. “Maybe I like that I can’t.”

“And when you finally do?” you challenge, emotion working its way into your flat tone. “When I finally fall for you again? What are you gonna do when the chase isn’t interesting to you anymore?”

“Then we’ll get a little kinkier in bed,” he offers dryly, lifting a hand to brush a knuckle over your cheek.

The touch stills you for a moment, but it doesn’t quell your aggravation. “Stop it,” you roll your eyes, batting his hand away. “You suck, Gator. Just get out of here and we can pretend this never happened.”

You turn away, but Gator doesn’t let you get far. Gripping your arm, he turns you back toward him and hauls your face to his, locking you in another deep, pressing kiss.

You can’t help it— you’re only so strong. You forget your fight and sink into it, relishing the feeling of his tongue sweeping your mouth— the feeling you can't help but stupidly hope you’ll feel again.

When Gator pulls back, your expression must betray you, because he smirks. “You tell me you didn’t feel anything just then, and I'll let you go.”

“I—“ You fumble for words, shaking your head as you stare up at him.

“Go ahead,” Gator goads you, nodding his head to you. “Say it.”

You wrench your arm out of his grip and glare at him, wishing you had the faculty to just get it over with and lie. “Just because something feels good doesn’t mean it’s right,” you spit. “It’s not a reason to throw yourself into something blindly.”

“It’s the only reason,” he scoffs. “And you’d see that if you weren’t so fuckin’ scared.”

“I’m not–”

“It's alright, baby,” he interrupts you, lifting his hand to your mouth again, brushing at the corner. “I get it. You’re scared I’m gonna make you feel too good, right? Scared to let yourself have what you really want for once?”

You step back, wishing your chin wasn’t trembling as you answer him. “I’m scared you’ll end up just like your daddy, and I’ll be too obsessed with you to see it.”

Gator’s face shifts slightly– hardens. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“How do you know?” you press him. 

“‘Cause I’m not my daddy,” he says firmly, his voice lowering like he can’t bear for anyone else to hear it. “And you’re not like my mom.”

You still. Gator never talks about his mom. He hasn’t once brought her up in the time you’ve known him. But you’ve heard the whispers– everyone in town has. Linda Tillman, who ran off and left her boy– Linda Tillman, who Roy beat on till she just couldn’t take it anymore. Linda Tillman, who was the one and only person Gator might have loved more than his father.

She’s a cautionary tale in the back of your head– a lesson about what happens to women who fall for men like that. But, for all his faults, do you really believe Gator is one of those men? Do you believe there’s a chance in him to care more about something than proving himself– to care about you, in that stupid, deluded way you’d always secretly wished he would?

Gator must see the deliberation in your face, the desperate, feeble hope in you, because his lips soften, turn somehow sweeter as he stares back at you, not waiting for an answer. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he explains to you quietly, stepping forward and reaching up to cup your face. This time, you don’t stop him. “I’m gonna take you out. We’re gonna put our weapons down and talk. Really talk, alright? I’ll tell ‘ya whatever the fuck you wanna know. And you can keep bitchin’ about how stupid you think all this is for as long as you want.”

Your lips move to disagree, but he shushes you. 

“And I’m gonna convince you,” he promises. “I’m gonna win you over. Hold out for as long as you want to, doll. I’ll get through to ‘ya eventually.”

“Gator–” you start, but he silences you with another kiss, deep and consuming. 

He doesn’t pull back far. He’s only millimeters from your face when he whispers, “Just lemme take you out, okay?” Let me show you how good I can be to ‘ya.”

You make a noise of disagreement, your eyes shut as you take in the sensation of him– always so abrasive, so difficult to swallow. Gator Tillman has never had any difficulty commanding the entirety of your attention.

“You want me to get on my knees for you, doll?” he offers, his smile spreading as your resistance gives way under his hands and lips. “‘Ya liked that before.”

You can’t help it– you huff a laugh against his lips, and Gator grins. “There she is.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you inform him, allowing your hands to come to rest on his bare chest, still blazing with heat. 

Gator kisses you again, his smile searing against you. “Yes?” he surmises, though you’re certain by now he’s already torn the answers from your hands, already seen through your unwillingness and plunged through to the part of you that wants him with a desperation. 

So you stare into Gator’s hard, dark eyes, softened in pursuit of you, and tell him, “Fine.”

---

[graywrenhart]

SUCKER

Teasing Steve with a lollipop during a slow shift at Family Video...

“How does this place even stay open?” Steve mutters. He’s standing behind the counter with you, squinting out into the mid-day sun. “Zero customers in…what’s it been? Three hours?”

It’s one of those afternoon shifts at Family Video.

The ones where every time you glance at the clock on the wall, it’s only been two minutes since the last time you checked, so you spend the whole time in agony trying not to look at it.

It could also have something to do with the fact that you're trying not to notice how attractive your coworker looks in that green vest.

“I don’t even know," you reply, picking up a nearby cloth and dragging it across the counter in an attempt to keep your hands busy. "The passage of time down slows here. Like, a black hole."

There’s literally nothing left to do. All the returns have been shelved, the store is tidy and organized, but actually, you haven't cleaned under the register...

You’re shoving at the hunk of metal, attempting to push your rag underneath it when something catches your eye.

There, at the edge of the counter, sits the complimentary candy jar.

You and Steve have been steadily cleaning the thing out during shifts like these all summer. (And then guiltily re-filling it so you'd have something to give the kids who come in every now and then.) However, since you hadn't had a chance to buy more after your recent attack on the thing, you thought it was empty.

But there, at the very bottom, sits one lonely lollipop.

You risk a glance back at Steve, but his eyes are already pinned to the candy. You look at each other, then the jar, then each other again. 

And you both lunge in unison. 

His shoulder bumps yours, but your elbow digs into his ribs, forcing a grunt from him. His fingers are longer, so he reaches it first, but you pin his wrist against the cool glass with your own and pry it out of his hand. 

“Goddamn it,” he mutters when your fingers close around the candy. “It’s a mystery flavor one, too!”

You grin triumphantly and pull out your prize. “Nice try. Sucker.”

“You’re not funny.” He settles back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning as you unwrap the lollipop. “Technically, I touched it first.”

“Well, technically...that doesn’t matter.” You brandish the stick, then pop the candy in your mouth. “ ‘Cause look whose mouth it’s in.” 

And he does. Look at your mouth, that is. You try to ignore the swoop in your stomach as the afternoon light catches in his mussed hair, making it look as soft as warm caramel.

“You know,” he says slowly, “we could call it even and just…share.”

You snort. “Share? You can’t share a lollipop, are you insane?”

“Why not? 

“It's juss—” You take the sucker out of your mouth to speak clearly. “Like…purposely swapping spit?”

He shrugs. “What’s wrong with swapping spit? You drink out of my water bottle all the time.” Steve’s eyes flick to yours. “It’s not any different than making out.”

Oh. 

How can he just…say shit like that?

As if kissing your coworker is a perfectly normal thought to have. Of course, it is a frequent thought for you. Okay, more like an all-consuming one, but—whatever. 

“At least tell me what flavor it is," he begs, taking a step towards you.

You hum, squinting up at him and twirling the candy in your mouth teasingly. “Kind of like strawberry, but less sour? Too tart for watermelon. I don't know, but it’s soooo good.”

His gaze drops to your lips. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“What? Flaunting my win?” you say, voice full of false innocence. “I would never!”

He huffs a laugh, then his hand finds the counter behind you with a smack. Your vision fills with broad chest, and he presses you back against the ledge, so close that you have to tip your head up to look at him. 

“Careful,” he says. “I might have to revoke your water bottle privileges.”

You roll your eyes, then pull the lollipop out again. “Fine, Harrington. You want a taste that bad?”

His eyes drop to your lips. “So bad.”

You hold the candy up between you, but when he reaches for it, you snatch it back at the last second. 

He swallows hard as you slip it back into your mouth, twirling your tongue around the hard sugar and blinking up at him from under your lashes. 

When it clicks against your teeth, his eyes darken.

Suddenly, Steve grabs the sucker’s stick and pulls it from your mouth, and you’re not really sure who moves first, but a second later…his lips are on yours. 

Your breath hitches as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips, then dips inside, tasting the sweetness there, and—God, it’s everything you dreamed of.

Steve groans softly, his exhale hot against your cheek as his fingers spread over your lower back to pull you closer, making your vest whisper against his. Your hands fly to his shirt, gripping the fabric for support as the carpet beneath your feet seems to tilt. 

You could kiss him like this forever, actually. It’s syrupy sweet, the sugar on your tongue melting with the taste of him and creating this intoxicating, addictive—

Just then, the bell over the door chimes. 

You break apart instantly, chests heaving. Steve chuckles as your hands fly to your flaming cheeks, and you whip around, putting on your best customer service face for whoever just walked in.

The sucker lies forgotten on the countertop. Something for you to clean up later.

 “Oh, and by the way,” he whispers over your shoulder before turning back to the register. “it’s cherry.”

steve masterlist

[kassy-djomunson]

he’s so pookie and he doesn’t even know it

[herstarburststories]

his hands | gator tillman x reader

warning: 18+

there are a lot of things to like about gator tillman, despite popular belief. the way the corner of his lips curve backward, making the slightest pout when you pull away after a kiss; his sharp-as-knife jawline, his nose that always brushes against your clit when he gets too excited while eating you out, the way he's always leaning towards you — either it's just by being close, fingers brushing your back, arms touching slightly, or even knee-to-knee when you are sitting next to each other.

but there's one thing that has always caught your attention the most.

his hands.

at first sight, he already looked like the kind of guy who worked with his hands. gator lived on a ranch and he was a cop. the outline made a clear painting: a man, in the worst sense of the world. tough on the outside, spouting revolting shit out loud like he was proud to be an asshole, and a whole lot of sadness hiding underneath the cool facade.

tillman could dress his misery up in any way; the deputy uniform, the snake-like smirk, the tough talk, the smoke hanging from his lips. he could hide whatever he wanted with the right amount of bullshit.

except his hands.

gator could never hide the truth in his palms.

his hands were calloused, worn out, appearing to be more like a tool than a part of something, a someone who was once a kid. holding his hand was like touching something rough. it had unnatural marks, made by someone who did things he wasn't proud of, or by something that thought to be someone. pretty much like battle leftovers, a tangible reminder that monsters can look like fathers.

sure, gator had some scars sprinkled across his body like glitter after a party: you never knew where you'd find the next one, and most were so small you wouldn't even notice if you weren't paying attention to it. but you always did.

you never talked about these marks.

he never offered you an explanation, either.

yet, you knew. it was impossible not to. roy tillman was a hard man for hard times; the thing is, he made up the hard times. roy saw everybody as an accessory or a target. gator was just both.

therefore, you kissed his scars.

he shivered under the weight of your tender lips.

you let him get away with it.

and gator touched you back like you were the first thing he could ever call his. maybe you were.

his marred hands touched you in many ways: possessive grabs to your waist, deep fingers inside your dripping pussy when he was getting you ready for his cock, clumsy and impatient tugs when he wanted to take off your bra, soft pulls when he pulled your hair, wishful holds when he brought you near, lust-driven squeezes when he put his hands on your tits, a teasing palm when he slapped your cunt, rude fingertips when he grabbed your jaw like he wanted to imprint his digits on you. but, sometimes, his touch was gentle despite the tough hands. he'd let you lean into it.

it was calm. it was too soft for men like him.

but you didn't say it.

still, he glared at you like he knew.

some things are better left unsaid.

when gator kisses you, it feels like the man he could've been. if his dad wasn't roy tillman. if his mother stuck around. if he had a fair chance with the world. if he wasn't born being fed violence for breakfast.

in your bed, he was that man. a better version of himself. perhaps his true version, you don't know. you doubt gator knows either— too many voices in his head, most of them sounding like his dad. they talk down on him, take something good and twist it until he comes out looking like he could uphold the tillman last name.

when he's with you, he's just gator. maybe you're the water he floats in, maybe you are the prey he's gonna kill when he's done playing around.

when he touches you, it doesn't matter.

his calloused hands feel soft on your skin. gator pulls you to his lap and you ride him. the deputy's lips are on you in no time, wrapped around your tit. he sucks on it and leaves tender bites that make you whimper. His free hand squeezes your left breast a bit too rough, but you couldn't care less, holding tight to his shoulders while you go up and down on his cock.

“gator.” you moan, and it's the only time he actually believes his name makes sense. when you are dizzy with pleasure, fucking on his dick like you're gonna die without it.

“I know, dollface.” he mutters as your walls clench around him. fuck. if anyone ever touched your tight cunt, he'd kill them on spot. that was his sweet thang, only his. “so needy, mama. don't worry, I'll fill you up nice. gonna leave ya dripping. anything for that pretty pussy. it always get so wet for me. I love it.”

the words hang in the air. gator always talks too much, his mouth works faster than his brain can fathom. somehow, love has been slipping into his luxury haze more often lately. never directly, but never missing an appearance as if he couldn't run out of things to love about you.

you don't mention it.

but when gator comes, his hands are on your waist and he squeezes so hard it will leave marks. his hands guide you on your back. his hands clean you up when his mouth doesn't say anything. his hands brush against your arm when he thinks you're asleep. his hands pull you to his chest.

his hands never lie.

so, yeah. there are a lot of things to like about gator.

but when he's tongue-tied, when his eyes get dark, when he gets bloody, when he runs away like a coward, when everything else fails him.

his hands always remind you what, who he keeps a hold on.

gator tillman masterlist taglist request nav

man, it feels good to be back. :) hope you liked it! PLEASE LIKE & REBLOG.

[djo0opy]

i love when he dresses like teenage dirtbag rockstar bf

[gaptoothluv]

Return The Favour

pairing: steve harrington x older!fem reader summary: after your car broke down a few miles from home, you were happy to invite the handsome man that saved the day over for dinner. after a few glasses of wine, it deemed only fair that after he saved your ass, you returned the favour. wc: 10.9k warnings: explicit 18+ (minors dni), strangers to lovers, oral (f&m recieving), masturbation (f&m recieving), dirty talk, nipple play, praise kink, choking, degrading, spanking, use of slut, use of daddy, creampie, kinda mean steve, filthy mouth steve, squirting

It was around Cornwallis that your car had started spluttering, making a turn onto Kerley that it started jolting beneath you. Rocking you backward and forward as your rickety old vehicle was coming to a halt. You bore your hand down on the dashboard, as if striking the car with your hand would suddenly make it work, but it was no use. 

The streets of Hawkins were desolate. It was the beginning of summer, so you figured that everyone was either at the pool or swanning off on vacation. But this was also only your second week in town, you had nobody to call to come and help you or even ask what to do. You didn’t even have the number of a local garage. 

As you stepped out of your car and slammed the door behind you, you could hear the hum of an engine from far down the road. You pried your fingers at the edge of the hood, trying to pop it open to no prevail. 

The hum of the engine grew closer, now accompanied with the sounds of the stereo pouring out from the windows. You glanced over your shoulder to see a maroon car driving toward you, then slowing down as it reached closer. Your palm curved above your brow to shield the sun from your eyes, squinting to gauge a look at the car as it stopped across the street from you. 

“Are you alright over there?” A voice called out from the car as you made eye contact with the man sitting in the driver's seat. 

Upon first glance, he kind of took your breath away. His muscular arm was hanging out of the open window, his polo shirt being swallowed by his bicep. His smile was kind, the kind of smile that made you return one without even realising.

You didn’t bother looking left or right before crossing, as there were no damn cars for miles. You simply strode over, your hips swaying with confidence as your eyes set on him. You leant down slightly to gauge a better look, resting your palm on the hood of his car.

There was a girl sitting in the passenger seat, with a short blonde bob and wide eyes. The two of them were wearing green vests, you assumed they must be on their way to or from work. 

“My car just totally died on me,” You huffed a small laugh as you turned to point at the dead vehicle behind you. “Don’t suppose either of you are a car mechanic?”

“No, unfortunately not.” The handsome man beneath you chuckled softly. You nodded softly as you straightened, patting your hand on the hood of his car before taking a few steps backward.

“No worries. Thanks for stopping, anyway.” You lifted your hand in a wave, peering your head down to wave at the girl in the passenger seat before making your way back across the street to lean against your car to wait until a miracle happened. 

You heard the two of them whispering, turning slightly heated which made you glance back over your shoulder just as the man leant back out of the window. “I can drop you home, if you want? Where do you live?”

“Uh, giving my address to two strangers? I may be new to town but I’m not naive.” You spoke playfully, your arms snaking across your chest as your head tilted slightly as you looked down at him. Your comment earned a loud laugh from the girl causing a small smile break against your own lips. 

The man nodded softly, his hand raising to his chest. “I’m Steve, and this is Robin,” He pointed his thumb to her, and she toothily grinned up at you and gave you a small wave. “There. Not strangers anymore. Can I give you a ride now?” 

A small laugh snorted from your nose as you nodded softly, offering the two of them your own name in return. You glanced over your shoulder at your car behind you, ultimately deciding it would be fine there until morning. You cleared your throat as you told him your address, pulling open the back door and slipped in. 

“So, you said you’re new to town?” Robin turned herself to face you in the front seat, her blue eyes twinkling as she smiled softly at you. 

You nodded softly, glancing out of the window beside you as Steve drove off before turning your attention back to Robin. “Yeah, I just moved like a week and a half ago. I don't really know anyone, I don’t start my new job until September.”

“Oh that’s so cool! What’s your new job?” Robin turned back to face forward, pulling down the mirror in front of her and digging in the glove compartment of the car, digging around for some chapstick. You thought to yourself that it was cute, he kept his girlfriends’ things in his car ready for her. 

“I’m gonna be teaching at the middle school. I did my four years at college at the University in Indianapolis, then I was teaching in Chicago for four years but an old professor at Indy referred me for this job in Hawkins so, here I am.” You looked between the two of them in the rearview mirror, flashing them both a bright smile.

You saw Robin’s brows knit together as she caught your eye in the mirror. “Wait, how old are you?”

“Robin.” Steve interjected, speaking through his teeth as he threw a look over his shoulder at her. The normalcy of it gave you the feeling that he has to tell her off quite a lot. 

Robin’s head jerked back slightly at Steve’s reaction, glancing back at you over her shoulder with an apologetic look. “Sorry–” 

“No, no, you’re good,” You spoke with a laugh and a small shake of your head, “I’m twenty eight.” 

“Oh damn–” Robin started, her eyes widening complimentarily. Her lips parted as if she wasn’t finished with her sentence, but of course, she was interrupted again. 

“Robin.” Steve warned again, more sternly this time. His eyes found yours in the mirror, giving you an apologetic look which only made you smile wider. 

The car pulled to a stop outside your house after a few more minutes of Steve and Robin telling you that they worked at Family Video, and if you ever wanted a free movie they could totally slip you one. 

You thanked the two of them as you opened the car door, waving at them as you shut it behind you. As you began to walk toward your house, you heard the familiar whisper-shouting between the two of them that you’d heard when you’d approached them. 

“Hey,” Steve called out to you as he got out of his car, briefly glancing each way before jogging toward you. “Let me, uh– walk you to your door.” 

“It’s like, two o’clock in the afternoon.” You laughed softly, glancing up at the taller man and trying your hardest to fight the smile that was growing across your lips for the man whose girlfriend was sitting just a few metres away. 

He beamed down at you with a small shrug of his shoulder, casual like he did this all the time. “Think of it as part of the welcome package. We’ll save you on the side of the road and make sure you get home safe.” 

You laughed gently at his words, fishing in your back pocket for your house key before turning to look up at Steve. “It was really kind of you and your girlfriend to drop me off, I’ll definitely be coming in for a movie one night this week.” 

“Woah– Girlfriend? Rob– Ha, no. No, no, she’s not– We’re not– No, I’m single. I’m not seeing anyone.” Steve stuttered over his words, his hands resting comfortably on his hips as he looked down at you, exhaling a short breath before you both shared a short laugh. 

“Oh. Well, in that case,” You glanced over to Robin who was totally watching the entire interaction, quickly looking away when she noticed your gaze. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, biting back a smirk as your lashes fluttered up at Steve. “Seeing as I don’t know anyone in town, would you wanna come over later? I can make us some dinner, you can give me the rundown of Hawkins. It’s the least I can do, return the favour for you rescuing me and all.” 

Steve’s jaw fell slack, his eyes widening gently at your proposal. It wasn’t until you cocked your head at him slightly that he fell back to reality, quickly nodding down at you. “Yeah, yeah. Totally. How’s uh– Eight o’clock?”

“Perfect, I’ll see you then.” You nodded softly before pushing your key into the door, throwing Robin a wave over your shoulder and ducking into your house. 

As this was your second week in Hawkins, your house didn’t entirely feel like home yet. You’d unpacked everything for the most part, considering you had endless amounts of time on your hands as you didn’t start your new job until September, but there was still something missing. 

This place was a lot different to your apartment in Chicago. There, you’d lived in a five floor walk up with practically only three rooms, and no central heating in the winter. But here, you’d managed to score a cute one storied house on a quiet street where you even had a backyard. 

Leaving all of your friends there was hard, especially moving to a place where you knew absolutely nobody. You figured that meeting people here would be difficult, a lot of people your age nowadays are settling down with kids. So, you thought, what's the harm in trying to make a friend? 

There’s no harm in inviting over the hot, single guy who you caught trying not to stare at your chest when you bent down to his car window? You’d have some dinner, listen to some music, and maybe end the evening doing whatever it is that two hot, single people do. 

By seven thirty, you’d already started on the pasta sauce, simmering the tomatoes and tossing in chopped garlic and onions, pouring in a splash of white wine. Your dining table was perfectly laid with two bowls, two wine glasses and water glasses, and a set of fresh flowers that you’d picked up yesterday. 

You were applying the finishing touches to your makeup, laying your pink lip gloss over your lips before flattening your hands over your skirt in the mirror. You went with the safe option, one of your favourite sundresses, hugging your figure perfectly. You fixed the strap of your dress to hide the strap of your bra, the bra that was matching the laced underwear you’d chosen for the occasion. Not for any particular reason at all. 

The ring of your doorbell carried through the house, hitting your ears as you gave yourself one final look over in the mirror. You placed your lip gloss back in its place, shutting the door behind you as you made your way to the front door. 

As you pulled it open, Steve was standing only a few feet in front of you, his face covered by a huge bouquet of beautiful flowers. Once he’d heard the door open, he was quick to pull it down to his chest. 

“Hey,” He beamed down at you over the red roses and pink lilies, offering them out to you with a slightly cheesed grin. “I uh– picked these up for you. You know, as a welcome to Hawkins.” 

You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks at his gesture, trying to think back to the last time a guy had ever bought you flowers. “Thanks, honey. That’s so sweet, come on in.” You took the flowers from his hand before extending the door open, taking a step back for him to enter. 

“God, it smells amazing in here,” Steve said as he glanced around your place. His eyes settled on the archway through to his kitchen before looking back at you as you closed the door behind him. “Where can I put my shoes?” 

“Oh, anywhere you like,” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at his manners, a smile warming across your lips as you watched him toe off his sneakers. “Can I get you a drink, Steve? I’ve got beer, a bottle of chardonnay, or just some water?”

Steve followed you into the kitchen, leaning his hand against the island as he watched you grab a vase from beneath the sink and fill it up with water. “Oh, whatever's open, I’m easy.”  

Your head slinked over your shoulder to glance at him at his choice of words, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth as you turned off the tap. He hitched a small laugh, his lips parting as if he couldn’t find the words before you grabbed the flowers to unwrap them. 

“Alright then, chardonnay it is.” You said as you placed the vase of flowers on the window sill in front of the sink, a perfect home where they’d get plenty of light. 

The dinner was done shortly after you’d poured the first glass. Steve was insistent on helping you dish up or carry in the bowl of pasta or the side salad you’d prepared to go with it, but you were quick to brush him off, reassuring him that this was a thank you for his help earlier. 

Steve was nothing like you’d expected. Of course, he was gorgeous – like, really, really gorgeous, but you were pleasantly surprised by him. You weren’t sure what to expect, perhaps a pretty face with not much going on behind those gorgeous hazel eyes. Simply a nice view to look at whilst you enjoyed your dinner. 

But he was anything but. He was really interested in you, asking you about what your class was like in Chicago and what your favourite things about teaching were, what was the funniest thing that had happened in one of your classrooms. He asked you where you’d learnt to cook so well, even respectfully asking more questions when you’d told him your grandmother had taught you when you were young. 

He was also surprisingly funny, and his laugh was like music to your ears. And when he’d smile at you over his glass of wine, huffing a laugh into it as his eyes met yours, you could feel the faint fluttering of your heart in your chest. 

The two of you talked about your favourite movies, your favourite books, your favourite music. He’d told you about his first job at an ice cream parlour where he’d had to dress like a sailor, then how the mall had burned down. He’d told you about his first ever girlfriend who broke his heart in the bathroom at a Halloween party. By the time the bottle of chardonnay was finished, it felt like you’d known each other for years. 

“So, you’re working at Family Video right now? Do you like it?” You asked as you leant back in your seat, the bottom of your glass resting on your knee that was crossed over the other. 

He started by nodding, before humming gently as it turned into a small shrug. “Yeah, I guess. I like working with Robin, of course, but it’s hard figuring out exactly what I want to do next. So, rewinding and sorting through tapes is fine for now.” He offered you a small smile, taking a small sip from his glass. 

“Robin,” You stated as you leant forward, resting your elbow on the table and resting your chin on your hand as you met his eyes over the table. He nodded at you softly before you continued. “She’s cute. How come she isn’t your girlfriend?”

A small laugh huffed through his lips as he lifted a hand to brush the hair behind his ear, offering you a small shrug as he pondered his words. “She’s my best friend, that’s all there is between us. Trust me.” 

“I do.” Your voice fell past your lips like honey, the sweetness of it causing Steve’s lips to curve into a small smirk. 

He leant forward to place his glass on the table, leaning his arm flat on the table cloth as you watched his eyes trail across your face and slowly graze across your shoulders, and then your chest. “What about you?” He asked, pulling his eyes back up to yours. “Did you leave any boyfriends back in Chicago?”

You gently shook your head to the side, your teeth pulling your bottom lip between them before lifting your empty glass from your knee back onto the table. “No, no boyfriends. Just me, all alone.” 

Steve’s head tilted to the side slightly, his brows knitting together briefly before speaking. His voice had dropped a few octaves, croaky as it left his lips. “You don’t have to be alone, not when I’m here.” 

Your hand raised from beneath your chin to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, running your tongue across your lower lip as you smiled at Steve. “How about I get another bottle of wine, and I’ll show you that Bowie record? It’s uh– in my room.” 

“God– yeah. Yes, can I help you clean up?” Steve had already stood up, reaching out to grab the plates from the table when you laughed softly with a small shake of your head. 

“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’ll get it later,” You lifted from your chair, leaning over the table to grab his empty glass and your own. You wandered back into the kitchen, pulling the fridge open to grab the bottle. 

When you turned back around, Steve was leaning in the archway waiting for you. He leant easily, resting his weight on his shoulder like he’d done so a hundred times before. As you made your way closer, his arm lifted from his side for you to lead the way. 

Once the door to your bedroom clicked shut behind you, you turned to watch Steve as his eyes trailed over the details of your room. You watched his smile widen at the picture on your dresser of you with your friends from Chicago, a small laugh escaping you when he noticed you watching him and retreated to the edge of your bed like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. 

As you sat beside him, the mattress creaked beneath the weight of you both. You handed his glass back to him, using your spare hand to twist open the next bottle of the night. 

You could feel his eyes trailing across your collarbones and your shoulders as you leant closer to pour the liquid into his glass, pouring some in your own before turning to place the bottle on the bedside table. 

“So,” Steve cleared his throat gently, adjusting himself to face you properly as you turned back to face him. “Do you like Bowie?”

You couldn’t help the small smile breaking across your lips at the nerves that were now radiating from Steve, the eagerness he’d shown you five minutes before now hidden away behind his eyes. 

“Yeah, I like Bowie,” You nodded softly. Your spare hand came up to push your hair over your shoulder, letting your arm rest on your knee to softly brush your fingertips against Steve’s thigh. “Do you like Bowie, Steve?”

His eyes trailed from the shoulder that you just revealed to him, down your arm to the gentle brush of your touch through his denim. He nodded gently, you watched his throat swallow thickly before he spoke. “Like a lot of his earlier stuff, yeah. And the new stuff – I like it all.”

“What else do you like?” Your voice left your lips in a sultry tone, your head cocking to the side as your eyelashes fluttered up to him, taking in how the hazel in his eye twinkled as his gaze met your own. 

A small huff of air blew out past his lips, pulling his eyes from your own to glance across your room as he thought. “Oh, uh– Prince, Queen. What else? Some of Elton John’s stuff–” 

“Think we already covered all of that, honey.” You said softly, pulling your glass up to your lips to take a small sip. 

Maybe you’d read the situation wrong. Maybe Steve wasn’t as interested in you as you thought. Maybe it was just a bit of harmless flirting over dinner. And if you hadn’t shared a bottle and a half of wine, you probably wouldn’t be itching to find out. 

Your fingers laced around the stem of your glass, turning around to place it next to the bottle on your nightstand. Once you turned back to him, you leant back into the mattress on your hands, your chest protruding as your eyes explored his features. 

“Did I– read this wrong?” You asked gently, causing Steve to pull his eyes from your seemingly very interesting dresser to finally look back at you, watching his gaze as his eyes wandered across your chest. You took in a short breath, before speaking quietly. “Don’t you want to kiss me, Steve?”

His eyes widened gently at your words, his tongue parting his lips to trail across his lower lip. He shifted his body toward you, leaning to the side to place his glass on the floor before speaking gently. “Fuck, yes. Yeah, I wanna kiss you.” 

“What are you waiting for then?” You spoke with a soft laugh, your leg falling off the edge of the bed to give him space, pushing yourself up from leaning back to bring your hand to his chest. 

A small smirk crept against his lips as his eyes fell to your own. His hand lifted from his lap, the tips of his fingers brushing against the apple of your cheek before pushing through your hair, holding you steady as he leant in. 

As his lips found yours, your hand slipped over the fabric of his t-shirt to wrap your fingers around his collar, pulling him closer into you. His lips tenderly pressed into your upper, both of you working with each other like you’d done this a thousand times before. 

His fingers curled through your hair at the nape of your neck, his other hand finding your waist to hold you steady as your tongue pressed at the seam of his mouth. His lips parted for you, a soft sigh escaping him as you coaxed your tongue against his own. 

Your other hand lifted to join at his collar, pulling the fabric around his shoulders together, urging to pull his shirt over his head. You pulled your lips back from his, your smirk widening at the soft groan that escaped him as he leant forward to chase your lips. You pressed a small peck against him, then another, before pulling his shirt over his head. 

His hands pulled from you to work with you in discarding it, his chest heaving slightly as you tossed it to the floor beside you. You took your lower lip between your teeth as your eyes dropped down. 

God, he was somehow even more beautiful with his shirt off. The moles and freckles that you’d been staring at over dinner trailed across his shoulders, his chest and his stomach, living happily beneath a coarse span of hair across his chest. You trailed your fingertips across his chest, your eyes following the trail of it that led beneath his tight denim jeans, and the bulge that was now evident. 

“You’re so handsome, Steve.” Your voice left at a whisper, your eyes glued to the curve of his stomach as he sat upright, your smile widening as it flinched under your touch as the tip of your index finger inched through the hair against it. 

“You’re a goddamn dream.” He whispered as his hand found your cheek again, his thumb gently tapping against your chin causing your gaze to pull away from his body. When you looked up at him, he was leaning back into you. 

A small sigh fell from your lips against his as the plump of his lips moved with your own. Your fingertips found the button of his jeans, and you pulled your lips back to dip your head to watch as your other hand came to assist you in locating the zip. 

“I wanna make you feel good, honey,” You mumbled gently as you lifted your gaze back up to him. You lifted yourself from the mattress and shifted to the floor, kneeling in front of him. Once his jeans were unzipped, you splayed your palms against his thighs, gently dragging them back and forth. “Can I do that for you?”

Steve’s throat bobbed as he nodded, his eyes glassing over as he watched you drop to your knees before him. His hands wrapped around the waist of the denim, lifting himself up as he pulled them down his thighs. “God, fuck. Yes – yes, please.”

A small giggle fell past your lips at his eagerness, assisting him in pulling his jeans over his knees and down his legs before your hands settled at his thighs again. You leant forward, peppering soft kisses against the span of his stomach. 

Your palms slipped up his thighs as your lips fell just above the band of his boxers. Your hand cupped over his bulge, your fingers curling around him through the thin fabric. Steve gasped softly under your touch, his stomach that is now damp from your wet kisses heaving with anticipation. 

As your fingers curved around the band, you tugged it down slowly. Steve’s cock fell against his stomach as you freed it, a small gasp falling past your lips at the sight of him. His heavy, thick length that was already leaking for you. 

You hummed softly as your spare hand pushed his underwear down his thighs, the other slipping around his base. As your fingers curled around him, a low groan fell past his lips. You watched intently as you circled your wrist, your hand working up and down his length.

“Fuck.” He murmured as he watched you, your eyes fluttering up to meet his, your lips parting as you leant forward. Your tongue parted your lips, slowly circling his meaty tip, collecting his precum on the tip of your tongue. 

Steve’s hand slinked through your hair as you took him between your lips, suckling on his tip before sinking down further. You could only manage a few inches before pulling your head back up, your fist picking up its pace as saliva pooled in your mouth. You angled yourself above him, your spit drooling from your mouth as your hand continued working at his base. 

“So fucking big, baby,” You mumbled as your lips dragged down the side of his length, your tongue working against the silky skin. “Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

Your jaw twinged as your mouth sank down on him again, attempting to take of much of him as you could. Steve’s moans were hitting your ears and driving straight through you, straight between your legs. Your lips sank lower with each bob of your head, breathing out through your nose as your fist worked what you couldn’t reach. 

“I’m– Fuck,” Steve whined from above you, his head tilting to the side as his hands came to brush your hair out of your face. You could feel his hips rutting upward beneath you, desperate to match your pace. “I’m fucking close, baby.”

Your hand slipped off of his length, steadying on his thigh as your nose hit the coarse hair that laid at the base of his cock. A loud string of moans escaped his moans as his hips thrusted up, holding you steady as he fucked your face, his cock hitting the back of your throat with ease. 

You let him have his way with you, using your mouth until you felt his hips stuttering. You pulled your lips up his length, a mixture of his arousal and your saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth as your hand resumed its action. “Come on, honey. Are you gonna come for me?”

Steve nodded tightly, his chest heaving as his hips fucked into your hand. Your tongue swirled around his tip, eager to collect everything you were coaxing out of him. Your eyes fluttered up to watch him as you pulled your lips back to speak. “Such a good boy, Steve.”

His head threw back with your words, and when you felt his cock twitching in your hand you were quick to resume your mouth around him. Sinking down on him and using your fist to work him through his orgasm. 

You moaned around him as you felt the spurts of his warm, thick come depositing into your mouth, swallowing down everything he gave you. Your spare hand moved to hold his thigh steady as you worked him through it, milking his cock with everything you had. 

Steve’s moans choked past his lips, your name falling with them as you pulled your mouth off of him. The movements of your hand were slower now, your wrist working in lazy circles as you worked him through his climax. 

“Holy shit,” Steve mumbled, almost in disbelief as you let go of his cock. Your eyes fell to your palm, lifting it to your mouth to lick at his spend that had leaked onto your hand. “You’re – Holy shit.” 

A small smirk grew on your lips as you popped one of your fingers out of your mouth, pushing your weight onto his thigh as you lifted yourself up. His thighs parted for you to stand in between, his hands lifting to your waist as his neck craned back to look up at you. 

“You taste good, you know.” Your voice was soft as you looked down at him, your hands resting on either side of his neck as your thumbs gently ran back and forth against his skin. 

Steve’s hands slipped from your waist to the backs of your thighs, your skirt bunching up as his hands lifted beneath it. “Oh, do I?” His large palms inched further, until they found the globes of your ass, his fingers kneading the flesh as he smirked up at you. 

You nodded softly, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you lifted your fingers to push the hair out of his face. Steve’s hands pushed the fabric of your dress to your waist, slowly inching it further until you nodded softly again, giving him the permission he was seeking.

“Well, then I think it’s only fair that I get to taste you too.” His voice was hoarse as he spoke, inching the material higher until you overtook, your fingers wrapping around the skirt and pulling it over your head. 

As you pulled the dress over your head and dropped it onto the floor beside your feet, Steve’s hands found your waist again. He leant forward, his lips pressing against the skin beneath your bra before mumbling against your skin. “You’re so beautiful. Did you put this on just for me?” 

His fingers trailed down your side, toying with the black lace of your underwear that matched the black lace of your bra. You nodded softly, your hand holding the back of his head against you. “I did, baby. Just for you.” 

With that, you heard him growl gently. His grip tightened on you, pulling you back down onto the mattress beside him. He rolled on top of you with ease, his body hovering over your own as his lips pressed against the span of your neck. 

“So beautiful,” He repeated against your skin. He settled next to you on his side, his eyes landing on your chest as his hand slipped up your waist to snake around your back to unclasp your bra. “Can’t believe you were wearing this all night, just for me.” 

You nodded softly as you lifted your back for him, your eyes not leaving his as your hand lifted to brush your fingers against his temple. He was so gorgeous, so soft that you couldn’t not be touching him, you had to feel him under your touch. “Yeah, I was kind of hoping this would happen.”

The two of you huffed a laugh as he leant forward, brushing his lips against yours as his fingers wrapped around the straps of your bra, pulling them down your shoulder and your arms before moving to the other side and repeating until he pulled the garment off of you completely. 

“Fuck.” Steve mumbled after pulling his lips from yours and glancing down at your bare chest. His hand slipped to cup your breast, kneading the flesh between his fingers as his mouth dropped to press between your tits.

His lips fell to your nipple in an instant, moaning at the feeling of your hardening bud against his tongue as his other hand toyed with the nub between his thumb and index finger. You huffed a pleasured sigh, your chest heaving into him as his tongue ravished you. 

His mouth left you with a small pop, wasting no time to move to the other as his hand switched to toy with the nipple that was now wet with his saliva. Your fingers curled through his hair, holding him against you as your head fell back into the mattress. 

“Fuck, Steve. So good– You feel so good.” You panted as your back arched into his touch, your thighs squeezing together beneath him, beginning to feel desperate for him to touch you. 

Steve’s mouth trailed to the underside of your breast, making sure every inch of you got his attention as his hand slipped to hold onto your hip. His thumb dug into your skin, holding you steady as he began trailing his lips down your sternum, inching closer to where you needed him most. 

As his hot breath hit the curve of your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipped down to the backs of your thighs. His hold was gentle, spreading your legs open for him as he dipped between them to press his lips to your thigh. 

His wet mouth left sloppy kisses on your skin, anticipation building between your legs as you felt Steve hum against your inner thigh. “Bet you’re gonna taste so fucking good, baby.”

You huffed a pleasured sigh as Steve’s lips trailed over your clothed cunt, his nose nuzzling against your mound. His mouth suckled at the dampened fabric, his grip tightening on your thighs to hold them in place as your body writhed in pleasure. 

“Want you to stay still for me, baby, can you do that?” Steve mumbled against you, pulling his head back to catch your eye. You nodded gently down at him, lifting your hand to run through the strands of his hair that had fallen over his forehead.

Steve’s fingers slipped up your thighs to wrap around the band of your laced underwear, slowly pulling them down. You lifted your hips for him, manoeuvring your legs for him to slip them off of you. 

He leant back slightly, his eyes wandering across your body as you laid bare for him. A low whistle past his lips as his palms found your thighs again, his hands tenderly rubbing the soft skin as he spoke in a low tone. “Look at you, honey. Already so wet for me, huh?”

A small gasp left your lips as you felt Steve’s thumb slip through your folds, his index finger joining to spread apart your slick folds. You lifted your head from the mattress to watch his eyes take in the sight before him, the tip of his finger tracing each inch of you that’s laid before him. 

Just as you part your lips to tell him to move, to do something, anything, you watch as he leans closer, his tongue parting from his lips to pool at your entrance. Collecting your arousal on his tongue and spreading it against you, making sure he doesn’t miss a spot before his lips close around your clit. 

As his tongue flattens against the swollen nub, his middle finger presses against you. Your back arches from the bed as you feel him slipping inside of you, his name falling from your lips and hitting his ears like honey as he slowly, teasingly thrusts his finger into you. 

“That’s it, baby,” He coos against you, the hum from his voice causing a shiver to shock up your spine. The flicker of his tongue picks up its pace, toying with your clit as you writhe above him. “Feel so tight around me, such a tight little cunt. All mine.”

“S–so good, Steve– Fuck.” Is all you can manage as the thrusts of his finger picks up their pace, his ring finger slamming into you and curling up against the spongy spot inside of you that’s already making you see stars. 

Both of your hands flew down your body to latch onto his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as your hips began rocking into his touch. His spare hand found your hip, squeezing you for substance as he worked you toward your first climax of the evening. 

The sound of his fingers fucking into you, your cunt squelching around him and the feeling of him groaning into you was enough for you to feel that familiar feeling build in your stomach. 

Your thighs trembled around him, his fingers bullying against your sweet spot as he slipped his hand from your hip to press against your mound. He pulled his lips off of you, his thumb replacing his tongue as his eyes bore into you. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, wanna watch you come,” His voice was rough, hitting you deep in your stomach as the pad of his thumb drew perfect circles against your swollen, throbbing clit. “Need to feel you, baby. Such a good girl for me.”

His words were enough to send you over the edge. Your fingers curled into his hair, needing to hold onto something as the roll of your hips assisted you in finally coming undone. 

Your moans were falling past your lips uncontrollably as you came around his fingers. They continued fucking into you, curling against your sweet spot as Steve coaxed your orgasm out of you. His lips pressed encouraging kisses against your inner thigh as he worked you through it. 

Steve pulled his fingers out of you slowly, his hand leaving your hip to press into the mattress to pull himself back up to you. He laid on his side beside you, bringing his glistening fingers up to his lips to clean your arousal off of him. 

Your chest was heaving as you looked up at him, your breathing sporadic as you lifted your hand to push through the hair on the back of his head. He hummed around his fingers, the sound of him practically sucking them dry made your knees knock together again. 

“You taste so fucking good,” He spoke as he pulled his lips from his mouth, using his pinky finger to brush back the few strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead. He leant down, his lips softly brushing against yours as he whispered against them. “Have you got another one for me?”

You were quick to nod, turning your body to face his own as your hand pressed into his chest. Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips danced against your own, you could taste yourself against his lips and it only made you eager for more. 

It has been a while since you’d been with someone as well endowed as Steve. Your hand slipped further down his chest, aching to feel him in your hand again to get him ready to fuck you – but his hand clamped around your wrist to stop you. 

“Get on your front.” He mumbled against your lips, pulling back slightly to look down at you. A small scoff left your lips, pulling your head back to read his face. His hand slipped to your waist, giving it a small squeeze before he rolled backward and pushed you down against the mattress. 

As you laid on your stomach on the bed, your arms crossed beneath your head to rest on them. You craned your head over your shoulder to watch Steve get up and position himself behind you, a small smirk catching against his lips as he caught you looking at him. 

“You alright down there?” His voice was soft as his hands found your hips, guiding them upward so your ass was in the air. His palms flattened against your ass, spreading your cheeks apart to catch another look at your ruined pussy. 

“I’m on the pill, Steve–” You mumbled softly as your back arched further, your hips swaying gently into his touch. “You can do whatever you want to me.” 

Steve cursed under his breath, and you turned your head away from him, letting yourself relax for a moment to ready yourself for whatever he was giving you next. 

You gasped softly, as a small blow of air hit your pussy. His palms spread you open further, as his tongue reached out to circle your clit teasingly before slowly trailing across your labia, taking his time to explore every inch of you like he hadn’t just minutes before. 

“God.” He mumbled against you as his tongue finally slipped across your dripping hole. His palm rubbing small circles against your ass as he pulled himself back. You whined softly at the loss, before feeling his mouth latch onto you again. 

His tongue slipped inside of you with ease, thrusting in and out of you with fever as your palm flattened against the mattress, collecting the sheets in your fist as you pushed your hips back into his touch. 

“Holy shit– Steve.” You whined into your arm, breathless as his mouth pulled off of you to replace his tongue with his thick fingers. Two of them bullied into you, curling perfectly inside of you as his large palm steadied your ass, holding you open for him. He pulled his hand back, striking down on your cheek with a loud smack.

You gasped under his touch, your walls tightening around him. “That’s it, baby. You gonna give me another one? God, such a tight little cunt, keeps sucking me in.” His words only edged you on, the new angle of his fingers fucking you hitting deeper, and deeper with each thrust. 

You whined in pleasure with each thrust of his fingers, each perfect curl stroking inside of you causing your legs to weaken beneath you. A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt Steve spit against you, landing on your asshole before dripping down your perineum to his fingers. 

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He cooed from above, his fingers picking up their pace as he felt your pussy tightening around him. His palm striked you again, smoothing over the skin before slipping from the flesh of your ass to your hip to steady you as your body weakened under his touch. 

You nodded, unable to find the words as your orgasm washed over you. Steve’s fingers took no mercy, continuing to piston into your cunt as it squelched around him. Pleasured cries left your lips as you released again, a rush of heat barrelling through you as you soaked his fingers and the sheets beneath the two of you. 

“Holy shit, baby,” Steve breathed as his fingers worked you through your orgasm, letting your knees drop and your lower half fall onto the mattress. His fingers slowed down, almost soothing you as he leant down over your body to press gentle kisses against your shoulder. “You’re fucking perfect. Such a good girl.” 

It took a few minutes for you to regain your breath and come back down to reality. Steve had settled on his back beside you, his head nestled into the pillow as his hand rubbed small circles at your lower back. 

“Are you okay, honey?” His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to his tone from moments before. You nodded softly, lifting your upper half up on your elbows to give him a smile as your hand reached out to trail your fingers back and forth against his side. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, then get us some water, okay?” Your voice was still shaky, starting to push yourself up when Steve interjected.

“No, no, I’ll go–” Steve started, shaking his head as he moved to get up but you were quick to flatten your palm against his chest to push him back down. 

You lifted yourself up as you pushed your weight onto him, his hand steadying against your back. “You stay. Don’t move, ’m not done with you yet.” You leant down to brush your lips against his own gently before pushing yourself off the bed. 

The floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you padded across the room, turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glance at Steve as you left the room. He was watching you, a fond smile across his lips which you returned before disappearing into the bathroom. 

After you peed and washed your hands, you were quick to bumble to the kitchen – avoiding the windows as you filled up two glasses of water. Your body was still feeling weak, definitely needing a protein bar before getting back to it, but you knew you could power through. 

But when you crept back into your bedroom, you were met with Steve curled onto his side, happily snoring into your pillow. 

You couldn’t help your pout as you crossed the room, placing the glasses onto your dresser before turning to your bed. You had half a mind to wake him up, but God, did he look so cute when he was asleep. 

Instead, you grabbed the blanket that laid at the end of your bed and crawled into bed beside him. You laid flat on your back, turning your head to watch the way his eyelids were fluttering and the rise and fall of his freckled shoulders as he slept. And with him laying beside you, you weren’t far off either. 

When the sunlight poured into your room the next morning, it woke you up first. The harsh, blinding light cutting over your eyes, realising you were so swept up in last night you didn’t close your curtains. 

Somehow, in both of your slumbers, Steve had tucked you beneath his arm. He was laid flat on his back, one arm resting beneath his head whilst the other wrapped around you, keeping you closer to his side. 

Your hand grazed across the hair on his chest, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as it tickled your palm. You leant forward, unable to help yourself, and softly began pressing kisses against each mole that graced his skin. 

Your lips pressed to his collarbone, his chest, even down to his stomach before somehow your lips had found his nipple. You couldn’t help yourself, your eyes fluttering up to his face as your lips gently pressed against the nub. 

Steve began stirring above you, his grip on your back tightening. Once you’d established he’d woken, your lips dragged across his chest to the other side, letting your teeth graze against his nipple, causing his eyes to blink open slowly. 

A small, breathy laugh left his lips as his eyes squinted open. His hand slipped from your side and up your back slowly, the sleep in his voice directing straight to your core. “Good morning to you too.” 

“Morning, honey,” You mumbled against his chest, you couldn’t help the small laugh escape you as you pushed yourself up his body to brush your lips against his own gently. “Did you sleep okay?”

He hummed softly, indulging in your kiss lazily as his hand crept to the back of your head, holding you steady as he mumbled against you. “Slept so good. You’re like a furnace, though.”

You snickered softly against his lips, your hand pressing into his chest as you pulled your lips from his slowly. “You were fast asleep when I came back in, I was kinda disappointed.”

His eyes opened fully now, his ears pricking up as you spoke. His hand fell from your hair to the mattress beside you, swallowing thickly as his eyes wandered across your face. “W–what? You were disappointed last night? Was I not–”

“No, honey, you were great. But – y’know.” You hoped he’d understand your insinuation, that you were wanting much more than his fingers last night. When you leant forward to kiss him again, his head turned slightly, causing you to pout up at him. 

He adjusted himself slightly, moving his arm from beneath you to prop himself up on his elbow as he looked down at you. His eyes had darkened, all remnants of sleep had drifted away. His voice was hoarse, serious as he spoke down to you. “What’s your safe word?”

A small smile crept at the corner of your lips, your palm flattening against his chest as your head tilted up at him. “Steve–”

“I’m serious,” He started, his hands found either side of your hips and pulled you on top of him. Your knees fell to either side of him, your palms pressed against his stomach as his hands dragged down your thighs. “If you’re so disappointed, then I think it’s time you prove yourself.” 

Your lips parted slightly as you looked down at him. He looked like a dream, his hair mussed and lips swollen laid beneath you with his head buried into your pillow. His eyes were dark, but the small smirk that was present across his lips grounded you. 

His hand slipped from your thigh to wrap around his cock that was already half hard, his throat tightening as he circled his wrist, his fist waking up his cock just for you. Your eyes trailed from his, your hips inching back to watch his actions. 

“You just gonna sit there?” His voice was tight as his hand picked up its pace, his thumb spreading across his tip to work into his touch, soft sighs passing his lips as he looked up at you. 

You brought your hand up to your mouth, spitting into your palm before lowering it to his length, taking over from his hand. His hips rutted into your touch, a choked moan passing his lips as your hand worked the silky skin of his cock. 

“Steve.” You whined as your wrist circled, your other hand settled against his chest and you leant your upper body down to his. His hand found your hip, squeezing you with encouragement. As you leant in to kiss him, desperate to feel the plush of his swollen lips against your own, his spare palm came up to wrap his fingers around your throat. 

“Sluts like you don’t deserve that,” He spoke with grit, your fist squeezing gently around his cock at his words. His hot breath hit your lips, his eyes deepening into yours as he continued. “Now shut up and make me come.”

You practically moaned at his words, all you could do was nod as you blinked up at him. Your fist picked up its pace, but when his hand left your throat to fall to your hip, he lifted you upward, and you knew what he was wanting. 

“That’s it, good girl.” He cooed as your palm flattened on his chest and your chin tucked into your chest as you glanced between your bodies. You readjusted your hips, watching as you pushed Steve’s fat tip through your folds. 

Your breath hitched as his meaty head notched against your clit, his grip tightening on your hips in response as you began working his cock between your folds. When you lifted your eyes to look up at Steve, his head had rolled back against your pillow, his jaw slack. 

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath which caused Steve to lift his head to look up at you, his smirk drawn proudly across his lips. His hand left your hips, taking hold of his heavy cock and positioning it at your entrance. 

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, waiting for the other to make the next move. Your teeth sank into your lower lip at the feeling of his tip pressing against you, urging to stretch you open. 

Steve’s hand found your hip again, giving the flesh a squeeze for good measure before pushing them down, sinking you onto his cock. 

You cried out in pleasure, your head rolling into your shoulder as your cunt stretched around Steve’s thick cock. The feeling of him inside of you was staggering, heat pulsing between your legs at the size of him bottomed out in you. You let yourself lean forward, both of your hands steadying on the headboard as your hips seated on his cock. 

“Fucking slut. Just have to take all of me, huh?” Steve whined from beneath you, his voice clipped as his hands slipped to the flesh of your ass, kneading it in his hands before he lifted you up slightly, urging you to move. 

You nodded, your head tipping forward as you mustered up your strength to start moving your hips. With his assistance, his steady hands guiding you, he guides your hips up and down his length. His eyes were glued to the sight before him, your pussy swallowing his cock as he started fucking his own hips to match the pace he’d set for you, his jaw slack watching your bodies meet perfectly with each thrust. 

“God, look at those fucking tits,” His voice was tight, leaning his head back to watch the bounce of your breasts with each of your thrusts. “Squeezing that cunt on my cock, fuck– Holy fuck.”

Your grip tightened on the headboard as Steve’s cock hit deep within you each time your hips sank down on him, mindless words passing your lips as he fucked you. One of his hands slipped from your hip up to your chest, his palm pawing at your breast as he rolled your hardened bud between his thumb and index finger. 

“I’m– I’m so close, Steve.” You whined with pleasure, your head rolling backward as you felt your walls tightening around his cock. You hadn’t been at it for long, you cursed yourself for not being able to hold on much longer, but after last night you were certain you deserved it. 

Steve grunted from beneath you, his hands settling tightly at the backs of your thighs. He lifted you off his cock, a frustrated swear passing your lips at the loss of him. Once he’d pulled you off of him, he let you fall backwards onto the mattress. 

His hands were quick to find your knees, keeping them open as he lowered himself to press his lips against your stomach. You tensed under his touch, your cunt fluttering around nothing, desperate for him to be back inside of you. 

“Look at you, such a mess.” He muttered against your skin, his palms keeping your legs spread as his lips fluttered against your inner thigh. You knew that he was avoiding where you needed him most, getting you back for your earlier words.  

“I need you, Steve. Need you so fucking badly.” You panted breathlessly, lifting yourself up on your elbows to watch him between your legs. 

He only smirked in response, his middle and ring finger pushing through your soaked folds as he spread them apart. He drew his head back slightly to spit against you, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he watched his saliva drip throughout you, mixing with your arousal. 

“Do you think that you deserve to come, baby?” His breath was hot against your skin, his words burning between your legs as you desperately nodded. 

Steve huffed out a small laugh, his palm flattening over your mound and grazing his thumb ever so teasingly over your slit as his other hand pressed into the mattress to lift himself up to you, lowering to your ear. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me, honey?” He croaked, his lips gently kissing beneath your ear before continuing. “Be a good girl and make daddy come?”

You’re certain you could’ve come just from his words alone. Your hand wrapped around his arm that was lost between your legs, squeezing as you desperately nodded. As your head rolled back in pleasure, your brain was fuzzy, attempting to find the words but they got lost on your tongue. 

Steve pried his hand from between your legs and wrapped his fingers around your jaw, the tips of his fingers pressing into your cheeks to make you look up at him. “Come on, baby. Sluts like you need to use their words.”

He lowered his lips to yours, teasingly brushing his lips against your own. He could feel your body writhing beneath him, your hips rutting desperately for an inch of his touch. “You wouldn’t shut up last night. Look at you now, huh? The only words you need to know now are daddy, and please”

“Please, daddy,” You managed as you looked up at him, inching your chin forward as much as you could despite his grip to brush your lips against his own. “I’ll– I’ll be so good, please. I need you.” 

His lips curved into a proud grin, his grip from your jaw dropping as he finally kissed you properly. His tongue slipping straight into your mouth, eager to taste you on his tongue as his hand slipped between your bodies. 

Your hands slipped to hold the back of his head, mostly to keep him from moving again, needing to feel his lips on yours. You whined against his lips as you felt his hand graze between your legs, your back arching from the breath of contact. 

Just as you pulled your lips off of him to beg him to fuck you, you felt his heavy tip press at your entrance. And before you could prepare yourself, his hand was holding your knee apart for more access as he drilled his hips into yours. 

With each deep thrust, you whined in pleasure against his lips. Your arm snaked around his neck, desperate to hold him close to you as his cock hit places inside of you that you didn’t even realise could be reached.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” He mumbled into the kiss, pulling his lips from yours to look down at you as his hips drilled into you. “Wanna see you when you come for me.”

Your lips parted in pleasure, jaw slack as you nodded up at him. Your nails dragged across his back, scratching across his soft skin as the sound of Steve’s cock filling you up, bullying into your sopping cunt filled up the room around you. 

“Holy shit, I’m so close – Steve, fuck.” Your head rolled into the pillow as your leg lifted to wrap around his waist, your heel digging into him in an attempt to keep him inside of you for as long as possible, not ever wanting to know what it’s like to be without him again. 

“Come on, baby, come for me. Come with me, I’m gonna fill up this tight little cunt. Filthy little slut, milking my cock. Fuck–” Your hips began working with his own, you could feel your orgasm approaching you with each hit Steve buried into your cervix. 

As he felt the walls of your cunt tightening around him, he kept the steady pace of his hips. His head dipped to your jaw, his lips sucking against your skin as his hand braced against your thigh, his moans vibrating into your neck. 

“Oh– Steve, I’m coming, fuck–” You cried into the pillow as your grip on his shoulder tightened, your front arching into his as your cunt tightened around his cock. You couldn’t hold back any longer, finally releasing over him.

Steve’s hips stuttered as he felt you convulsing around him. With a couple more shallow fucks, his hot come spurted deep inside of you. His thick spend painting your walls as he continued thrusting, riding out his orgasm as your body writhed beneath him. 

“I’m a good girl, huh?” You whispered breathlessly as you lifted your head from the pillow, Steve’s own head rising from the nape of your neck to look down at you. “I’m your good girl.” 

Steve nodded softly, his fingers resting beneath your chin as his thumb softly wiped at a slither of drool that had slipped out of the corner of your mouth. He held your chin as he leant down to kiss you, his cock slowly pulling out of you as he whispered against you. “Yeah, baby. Such a good girl for me.” 

Once Steve pulled out of you, he fell next to you on the bed. His hand cupped your jaw as he kissed you tenderly, pulling his lips to press to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek before settling beneath your ear. “Such a good girl, honey.”

You preened under his praise. Your eyes fluttered shut as your arms lifted above your head, leaning back onto your pillow as you let yourself come down from your high. You thought to yourself that this was a perfect start to your morning, maybe you’d drift back off to sleep for an hour, maybe go make some eggs –

But you were pulled from your thoughts when you felt Steve’s finger brushing against your sensitive clit. Your eyes opened, head jolting upward to see Steve back between your legs. Of fucking course. 

He snaked one of his arms around your thigh, resting his head on it like a pillow as he shallowly pushed two of his fingers back inside your pulsing heat, his eyes watching the way your cunt swallowed his fingers. 

“Steve, baby–” You whined, practically huffing a laugh. You remembered what it was like being with a guy in his young twenties, remembered the stamina. 

“Mm,” He hummed, tilting his head to press his lips to the skin of your inner thigh before leaning his head back down. “It’s all dripping out of you, baby. Just making sure it’s all in there. So fucking wet, baby, such a mess. You go take a hot bath, and I’ll change the sheets.” 

Your teeth sank into your lower lip, your hips rocking into his touch. You don’t know what was coming over you, but somehow you could’ve gone again. Your body was craving him. His tongue, his kisses, his fingers, his cock. Whatever you could get, you’d take. 

Just as Steve was lifting his head from the plush of your thigh to ravish you one more time, the alarm clock on your bedside table blared through the room. Steve’s eyes darted toward it, his fingers pulling out of you as he pushed himself up.

He dragged his hand over his face, his voice consumed with panic. “Fuck. Is that the time? Shit, I started work an hour ago–” He cut himself off, his hand resting at your waist. 

He looked at you as if he wanted you to beg him to stay, to tell him to call in sick and stay here with you all day. You pushed yourself up on your hands, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips before speaking. 

“It’s okay, Steve. I don’t want you to get in trouble, go to work,” You spoke softly, your fingers lifting to brush against his cheek as you leant in to kiss him again. “Go.”

He practically groaned against your lips, pushing himself off of the bed and began scurrying around your bedroom to find his clothes that had been long forgotten about. He mumbled under his breath about his vest, that maybe he’d have one in his car. 

You watched him fondly as he hopped around the room scurrying into his boxers and his jeans, messily pulling his shirt over his head before glancing over at you. 

He crossed the room in three swift steps, both of his hands coming up to hold your cheeks as he stole one last kiss goodbye. Your hands lifted to scrunch his shirt, trying your hardest not to pull him back into bed with you, but he pulled away first. 

His forehead leant against your own, his lips curling into a smirk before he pressed one last kiss against you. “I’m so glad that your car broke down.”

Your head rolled back as you laughed, shaking your head before your hands shoved him at his shoulders. He held his hands up to you, laughing along with you as he finally made his way to your bedroom door. 

He stopped in the doorway, spinning on his heels as his fingers brushed through his hair, attempting to style the sleep and sex out of it. “Will, uh– Will you call me?”

You had to bite your lower lip between your teeth to hide your smirk, softly nodding at him as you spoke. “Yeah, honey. I’ll call you tonight.”

Steve’s hand gripped at the edge of the door, you could tell it was taking everything in him to leave and go to work. He simply nodded back at you, flashing you an easy wink before pulling your bedroom door shut. You sat there, listening to his footsteps receding through your house until you heard the front door slam. 

You laid back against your pillows, mind blank as you stared up at your ceiling. The last twelve hours seemed like a dream. But there was one thing that you were certain of. 

You too, were so glad that your car broke down.

[thinkingth0ts]

I’m going insane I need everyone to be looking at this right now

[kingjoeykeery]

Well…

[fa3riecore]

GUUUUUULP

[thinkingth0ts]

I’m going insane I need everyone to be looking at this right now

[kassy-djomunson]

the size of his hands is fucking insane

[kind-of-a-writer]

Omg okay so i just saw a TikTok where a girl was doing the TikTok trend “calling my bf a friend to get his reaction” and someone in the comments said “i can hear the “this is what a friend does to you huh” and all i can think about is gator tillman pls do something with that im freaking thinking about it

a/n: oh my god yes i fucking love that. also big thank you to @tellcherhesgone for helping me with this a lil <3

“friend” tags: reader ragebaits gator (and it works), smut, p in v sex, yeahh

It started as a harmless joke. Something you saw on your phone thinking it’d probably be really funny if you could get Gator’s reaction to it. 

“What’s this?” Gator looked at your phone, mildly disinterested. He didn’t really pay attention to social media trends, so this was perfect. He wouldn’t know what you were trying to do. 

“It’s just a video Gator, can’t you do this for me?” You asked. 

He looked at you then, rolling his eyes at the pleading look on your face. “Fine.”

You quickly set the camera down, knowing Gator wouldn’t have the patience. You pressed record, grinning, unable to keep the smirk from your lips. Gator looked at you a bit skeptically, but leaned back, facing the camera, crossing his arms so it’d bulge on camera. The show off.

“So… I got a few snacks to try on camera, with my friend Gator of course, and-” 

“Excuse me?” Gator cut in, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. You ignored him.

“First, we got this spicy beef jerky, my friend here really likes-”

“The fuck?” Gator fully turned to you now, anger evident on his face. His eyebrow twitched a little, making you stifle a laugh.

“What?” You tilted your head innocently, as if you had no idea what you had done wrong.

“Wanna try that again, baby?” he said coolly, voice low. That’s how you knew you were pissing him off but he was trying to not let it show.

“Try what?” You blinked, feigning confusion. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he grumbled, “I’m not your fuckin’ friend.”

“Got no idea what you’re talking about, Gates.” You got up, internally laughing at how furious he was. You tried not to let it show, turning your back to him as you approached the table to get more snacks. 

And that’s how you ended up in this position. Bent over the desk, your skirt pulled up, panties tugged down to your knees. He hadn’t bothered taking you to the bed, no, you hadn’t earned that luxury with your behavior. Because to him, being called your friend was an insult. Like he wasn’t allowed to have you at his beck and call, eager to have him leave his mark on your body to show everyone you were his. Not his friend - his. 

His cock was heavy against your thigh, thrusting his fat, wet tip in and out, slow and not nearly enough. It was driving you crazy and he was enjoying it, relishing in the way it was making your thighs tremble every time he slid his tip in. 

Soft, heavy breaths left your lips, your palms awkwardly pressed down against the table. Your clit pulsed against the cool air, puffy and wet — a delicious tinge of pleasure spiking through your body every time his tip nudged against it, making you sigh. But he pulled back just as quickly, not giving you an inch. 

“Still gonna call me your ‘friend’?” his breath was hot against your ear, lips brushing against your jaw, setting your skin aflame. 

“It- it was just a joke,” you tried to speak between soft pants. Your thighs twitched with every little contact, the way his breath fanned against your cheek, the way his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips. 

“I’m not laughing,” said Gator, voice low, his tip catching against your clit once more. He hissed softly at the sensation, giving away that this was getting to him more than he was letting on. “Are you?” 

You shook your head, fingers curling around the edge of the desk, pathetic moans leaving your mouth. 

“Use your words, darlin’,” Gator muttered, a sharp smack against your ass sending a surprised jolt right through your body. A little squeak left your throat, and he smirked at the sound.

“No. Not laughing,” you mumbled. “Not funny.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, large fingers pushing your cheeks apart to spit on your cunt. He watched the way it dripped down your folds. You couldn’t see him, but you felt his smirk. “You wouldn’t let a friend do this to you, yeah?” 

Gator’s hand slid around your face, hooking his thumb into your mouth when you tried to speak. You were drooling, spit soaking his thumb as he pressed down against your tongue. 

Your lips closed around his thumb, sucking softly, earning a low groan from Gator. 

Maybe he couldn’t take it anymore, or maybe he decided he was done punishing you for your silly joke. Either way, it didn’t matter. Because he finally slid his thick cock inside your aching pussy with a rough slam. Your walls fluttered, the stretch tangling a perfect mix of pain and pleasure that had you pressing back against him, aching for his cock deeper inside you. 

“Mhm, that’s it,” Gator said, and your toes curled at the praise. His balls were thick, heavy against your ass. “My friend takes it so good.”

You glanced back at him over your shoulder, panting. Eyes hazy, you were already looking fucked out and he hadn’t even started moving yet. 

“What, baby?” he asked, his eyelids heavy. “Don’t like being called my friend?”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond, pulling out before slamming all the way back in. Brutal, deep thrusts driving into your cunt like he was trying to make his point; carve the shape of his cock inside your pussy. Your fingers gripped the desk tighter, knees almost buckling when a particularly sharp thrust slammed right against that spot that made you dizzy, that familiar haze overtaking your senses until all you could think or feel was him. 

“Say it,” he muttered, “say you’re mine.” 

His hand moved to the small of your back, pushing your body further against the desk as he angled his cock deeper. The wet squelch of his dick sliding in and out filled the room, your walls squeezing tightly around him. 

“I’m yours,” you said pathetically. 

“Good,” said Gator, slamming into you harder, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your thighs trembled, teetering close to the edge already. “My girl.”

Then his thumb reached down, circling your puffy clit, sending another wave of pleasure over your body. His balls were heavy against you, slapping against your skin with every thrust. And you were gone.

Your body shook as your orgasm hit you, drool dripping down your chin, your knees nearly buckling again, but he held you up. Gator wasn’t far behind you, his movements turning erratic as you pulsed around his dick. You bit your lip to muffle your moans but was useless, your pathetic sounds filling the room. 

“Fuck, gonna fill you up,” he groaned, breaths heavy. His fingers dug into your skin, keeping you in place as his cum filled your fluttering cunt, sending another delicious shiver down your body, still shaking from your climax.

You kept your head down, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Gator yanked your panties back up - now getting soaked with his cum that was leaking out of your still wet cunt. His touch was softer now, satisfied that he'd made his point, as he smoothed your skirt back down.

Gator picked up your phone that was still set on the table - still fucking recording. His lips twitched up, handing it to you with a lazy smirk on his face. “You should post that.”

“Funny,” you muttered, snatching your phone from his hands - but letting him lean forward and kiss you anyway. “Should we try the video again?”

“Fuck no,” he said, snatching the packet of beef jerky off the desk, settling back into the chair and tugging you onto his lap.

You hid your smirk. You’d gotten what you wanted anyway.

[kassy-djomunson]

he's so fucking dreamy i need him

[kassy-djomunson]

kissy keery