mourning dove⋆

⏾⋆.˚ 23 ࿊ | teacake’s wife sideblog

[djob00bies]

the art of patience.

— ✶⋆.˚ gator tillman x fem!reader

after being stood up at a party, you run into your old college fling.

warnings: 18+ MDNI — smut, semi-public sex, car sex, oral (f!receiving), rimming, unprotected sex (do not try at home please), creampie, (a little bit of) cockwarming.

wordcount: ~9.2k

hello! welcome to my first post! this fic is dedicated to my dear friend @keer-y, you make me insane and i love ya for it bud, this one’s for you. anyway, vv nervous to get back out into the writing scene— this is my first fic back after a really rough couple of months :) hope y’all enjoy!

The music thumped loudly against the floor as you stood with your back pressed against the wall, patient eyes trained on the door. House parties were never your scene— and living in such a small town, not to mention the one you grew up in, house parties were basically just a petri dish for regrets, rumors, and worst-case scenarios.

But tonight was different, you hoped. At least that's what you told yourself in your bathroom mirror as you doused glitter onto your eyelids.

The guy you were seeing, James, had invited you out tonight to his old college buddy’s house party. You agreed to meet him under the guise of finally being introduced to some of his friends. He told you he’d meet you right after he ran a few errands straight from work and yet, an hour into the party, two weak ass drinks later, James was nowhere to be found.

You sighed with your eyes still glued to the front door, hoping it would just swing open and reveal the face of the person you were waiting for. Someone you knew, at the very least. 

Your dress clung to your back like it resented you, sweat beading at the base of your neck. Could have been nerves, could have been the clear lack of air conditioner running through the house. Either way, you weren’t a fan of sweating like this. Who told them it was wise to host a party in mid-August with no AC?

Your little silver clutch was slung over your shoulder, the chain pressing into your collarbone in the most irritating way; you hadn’t noticed it when you first arrived, nor when you put it on at home. And now, since you’d started waiting, you could feel every single sliver of fabric that stuck to your skin, every piece of jewelry that dawned your chest and wrists, every stroke of nail polish painted onto your fingers. It was wildly overstimulating. Your head was pounding in time with whatever shitty Top 100 song was playing over the speakers, and when you pulled your phone out to check the time, the pounding got worse.

9:47. An entire hour and a half of waiting. You ran your thumb down the side of your phone, tracing the volume buttons absentmindedly and squinting down at the time in disbelief. You were just about ready to let your fingers fly in the text bubble beneath James’s contact but he, unfortunately, had beaten you to the punch.

He had finally responded to the where are you text from an hour ago. And his reply was short– whether it was sweet can be left up for debate:

Look, you’re really sweet and this has been fun but, I don’t think this is gonna work out. Sorry.

As your eyes scrolled across the screen, a familiar prick of embarrassment, no, humiliation, stings at your tear ducts. Rejection almost never phased you, you were smart enough to know that the number one rule of playing the field required thick enough skin to get pushed into the dirt. But for some strange reason, you took quite a liking to James. He was sweet, and well mannered. He worked a quaint job as a bank-teller and wore ties that matched his pocket squares. He took you out on ice cream dates and drove the long way home to watch the sunset.

Sure, James lacked some of the more rugged attributes that you fancied in a guy, but in this moment, at your age now, stability was something you’d felt like you needed in your life. He wasn’t a tornado that ripped through you and left you beaten, battered, and heartbroken.

James was normal.

Now attempting to fight the burning sensation that rose up in your throat, you furiously shoved your phone back into your clutch, your back still stuck to the hallway almost hoping that the door would swing open, James would be standing there, and this entire thing was just a fluke in your imagination.

People were still funnelling into the party fashionably late, you felt nailed down to the floor as you helplessly watched yet another large group of girls funnel over the threshold. You expected there to be some stragglers, a piece of you still thinking this was all too fucked up to really believe.

However, you didn’t expect to look over that sea of party updos and messy beachwaves and lock eyes with your worst nightmare.

Gator fucking Tillman.

You froze at the sight of him; those familiar hazel eyes not once leaving yours as the pack of girls he was herding all squished their way down the hallway. You wanted to think he looked away because he didn’t recognize you; though the coil that snapped in your stomach as he licked his lips and fought a smile made you certain that that wasn’t true.

“A’right ladies, keep it movin’,” he shouted above the music at the girls, all of their high pitched, phony giggles reaching your ears and making them ring, “We’ll getcha’ all fulla’ liquor in no time.”

With wide eyes, you scanned his frame; he was in his civilian clothes. The typical cargo pants and a simple black tee that strained against his biceps, the fabric curling up a little as he ushered the bottle blonde that walked in front of him, his hands pressed wrists-up into her back. She squeaks when his fingers slip down to pinch her ass, your stomach immediately performing backflips at the sight.

The playful, cocky smirk that dawns his face makes you want to cave in on yourself even more. You took notice of the backwards trucker hat he wore, the one that he’d probably had for at least five years and hasn't washed since he was given it by the station. His combat boots commanded the floorboards as they thumped when he walked; if there was one person who knew how to make an entrance that made the room groan, it was Gator Tillman.

The history between you and Gator was complicated— if you could even consider it history at all.

The two of you met in your freshman year of community college, you being the smartest person in your 300 level English class and Gator being half a letter grade away from flunking out entirely, the two of you were paired up in a peer tutoring program.

It was chaos at first sight.

He would constantly tease you, crumpling up the notes you’d taken for him, telling you that you were ‘wound too tight’ and needed to ‘live a little’ when all you wanted to do was study while he had your back pressed against the autobiographies section in the library, trailing open mouthed kisses down your jaw. You weren’t sure how things had escalated so quickly. Gator was cute, sure. And you were more than willing, hungry for the rush that came with sneaking between library shelves for a hook up. 

Your attraction was merely transactional. Every time you saw Gator on campus, he acted like you didn’t exist. Not in a way that was intended to hurt you, but simply because he was too much of an airhead to consider how that might make you feel. He was offputting, bleeding the Tillman family heirloom of cockiness, but was somehow still a gentleman about it. He walked with a potent arrogance that made you want to scream yet there were, undeniably, butterflies floating around your stomach every time your phone pinged with a message from him.

we studyin tonight little lady?

u should wear them gray shorts u got. drive me fuckin crazy.

As much as you tried to push back on Gators advances, attempting to recenter your studies once that dreaded peer tutoring program came to an end before the last bit of the fall semester, you simply couldn’t stay away. The more he persisted, the more he grew on you. 

Sneaking out at odd hours and trying not to wake up your roommate to meet Gator in the parking lot, letting him drive the two of you in circles for hours in his truck before pulling off into a deserted overlook and fucking your lights out. How sometimes he would walk you back and forth between campus buildings when your art classes ended late, not dropping you off without stealing a sloppy kiss or pulling an orgasm or two from you with his fingers in the vacant dorm hallways.

It was all too enticing to give up; he was the vice between your virtues. The slice of your life that you let Gator into was sweet.

Until it wasn’t.

Once Gator had dropped out of his associates program to join the police academy, your casual (yet towing the line about it) relationship had seemed to just crumble beneath your feet. What was once an occasional hookup had turned into something off kilter, with Gator becoming less and less courteous of the fact that you were, indeed, a human too.

As you finished off your studies, building yourself a respectable resume and a bulletproof reference list, Gator lost himself in the power trip of law enforcement. He was less respectful, more demanding, expecting everything he wanted, when he wanted it. You were too busy to entertain a dumb ego death, and Gator couldn’t wrap his head around it. It had only taken seeing him once after he graduated the academy to realize just how much he’d really changed. The first time you actually built up the courage to stick up for yourself when it came to him bit you right in the ass, leaving three and a half years of your weirdly-tumultuous situationship to end with a screaming match in the general store parking lot.

That was the last, and final, time you spoke to Gator Tillman. From that night on, you had decided that you hated his guts.

Surely, he felt the same about you.

“Long time no see, little lady.”

The smell of strawberry kiwi fogged your senses, a puff of vapor fanning across your face as the figure stood before you made himself known. He was propped up like there was a hand up his rear, his thumbs slung into the pocket of his stupid cargo pants.

“Gator,” you address him, your expression lifeless, as if he were simply a familiar stranger.

Technically, he was.

“That ain’t no way to greet an ol’ friend. S’been a while, hasn’t it?”

You swallow at his words, dodging his eye contact like it were bullets shooting from his face.

“It has.”

Gator lets a dry chuckle slip past his plump lips as he puts his hand up to prop himself against the wall above you. You shiver at the closeness— wondering how he could be so forward after all this time. Especially after the way things ended.

“Has ta’ be years since I last seen’ ya. What were ya’, twenty? Y’ were real cute n’ sweet back then.”

You fold your lips in on themselves, still avoiding eye contact by any means necessary. The last thing you needed after being stood up by a man who felt like he could’ve been your calm before a storm was to be approached by the storm in question.

“What do you want, Gator?”

His eyes darted down at the way you were still clutching your purse, smirking down to himself at the way your fingers twitched. You were always slightly trembly when it came to him, and Gator remembered it well.

He always used it to his advantage, anyway. How could he forget?

“Don’t want nothin’ but yer’ time, little lady,” he says, “Y’don’t think I’ve been curious about what’cha been up to?”

“Nothing to be curious about.” Your arms are now crossed against your chest, acting almost as a shield. He hasn’t changed a bit since college, and the realization was hitting you now.

“Don’t be too sure, missy. This town ain’t that big, y’know. I‘ve got eyes ‘n ears everywhere.”

Gator’s hand had dropped from the wall, back into his pocket. You stiffened when he stepped a millimeter closer, hoping that the uncomfortability of your body language would be the hint he needed to back off.

Hint not taken.

“Shouldn’t you be following around that flock of birds you came in with?” you ask, the bitterness and sarcasm oozing from your tongue.

“Birds,” he scoffs, tongue clicking against his teeth, eyes finally disconnecting from yours for a moment, “Yer’ sense a’ humor ain’t changed a bit.”

There’s a pause in your interaction, but it isn’t awkward. There was just simply nothing that could fill the space of three years of history. Three years of dancing around the obvious and however many more of pretending it never happened. It was a silence that only you and Gator knew, and it somehow decided to come back to haunt you at the worst possible time. 

Your body was more relaxed as you stood there, silently, watching Gator as he looked behind his shoulder at the crowd of girls he came in with while taking a long pull of his vape. You could tell by his body language, he didn’t care for any of them— they were simply just pieces of ass to distract from how fucked up of a life he has. Despite feeling satisfied in coming to that conclusion, you resented the fact that you could still read him like a book.

God, you fucking hated it.

“So, yer’ here alone tonight, eh,” he lets out a deep breath, chest falling, “where’s Jamsey boy?”

Gator breaking the silence, and mentioning James, made your entire body tense up. Stiff as a board, you raise an eyebrow, the words barely tripping off your tongue, “H– How do you— what?”

He laughs, yet the smile on his face quickly recedes into his signature snarl, “How do I know about James? Yer’ askin’ dumb questions, lil’ lady. Told ya’ I got eyes n’ ears everywhere. Hell, I got ‘em on the front and back of my fuckin’ head.”

You frown, your brows woven into a tight line.

“Who told you about James?” You felt your blood start to pump red hot, Gator’s knowledge of your personal life feeling like the utmost intrusion.

“Nobody told me shit.”

“Gator,” you warn, the anger you felt making headway to tinge your cheeks pink, “I’m not fucking around.”

“Neither ‘m I.” He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, hand curling around his jaw before speaking again, “Friend’a mine’s hostin’ this party. May ‘er may not ‘ve gotten some insight. Y’d know that if ya’ socialized a bit. ‘Stead’a standin’ in the corner n’ starin’ at the door like a weirdo…”

He’s close enough now for his breath to fan across your face, his condescension permeating through the warmth of his chest as he ducked down to whisper in your ear.

“...Waitin’ for a loser that you know damn well ain’t comin’.”

Without much of a thought, you splay out your hands onto his chest and shove him backwards. He stumbles a few steps, not phased much by your force, and puts his hands out and up to feign innocence. The side of his mouth curves into a smirk, the gum he was chewing on poking out between his teeth.

“Fuck off Gator, I mean it,” you spit, your tone bratty. Bitchy.

“What did’ja see in that dummy anyway? Just an uptight prick, workin’ at the bank like some lame ass.”

“He was a good guy,” you murmur, your voice much weaker than you intended, “Had his head on straight, worked a decent job; he was good to me.”

“Yeh? That right?” Gator’s hand is back on the wall above your head. He is completely unphased by you pushing him, completely unmoved by the fact that you told him to leave you alone several times within a few minutes. He continued egging you on, something he always found joy in doing, even before the police academy fucked his personality sideways.

“Yeah, he was— nice.” You reiterate. You aren’t sure how else to say it.

“Hm. Nice. That’s what y’decided t’ settle for?”

You don’t reply.

Gator scoffs, the hand of his that wasn’t against the wall moving to sit against his hip. He’s closer to you now, as close as he was when you pushed him away, “Little lady settlin’ for nice after she used ta’ let me bend ‘er over th’ hood’a my truck n’ fuck her ‘till she couldn’t stand up. Ain’t so inta’ nice back then, huh?”

Your entire face was flushed red, your fists balled up at your sides. You wanted to walk away, the hurt from James standing you up still lingering like a fresh wound, Gator’s colorful tongue just digging the knife deeper, a knot of heat forming in the pit of your stomach.

“Don’t fuckin’ talk about me like I’m one of those bimbos you walked in here with Gator,” you finally snap, your head jerking towards his face, “you know damn well I meant a’ hell of a lot more to you than that.”

For once, Gator stammers, the loudest man in the room at a loss for something to say. He lets his tongue jut out to wet his bottom lip, leaving it pouty, glistening. You hone in on it for a moment, but shake your head upon remembering exactly where you were.

“Yer’ enterin’ dangerous territory here,” he says, voice subdued and hoarse as ignores the weight of what you said, “‘nd when’d’ja get so bitchy, huh? Jamsey boy couldn’t fuck the sense outta’ ya like I could?”

You gasp softly when his hand connects to your waist— a lightning bolt of electricity shocking you the same way it did all those years ago. His hands felt larger now; more weathered, more experienced. His index finger danced between one of the side cutouts of your dress. 

You had no choice but to let him.

“This isn’t about that,” you mumble, your hip leaning into his touch involuntarily. Like you couldn’t dial it back and control it.

“Then what’s it about?”

For a moment, you see the glass in his eyes shimmer— the browns and greens that swirled together, deepened by a lack of sleep and the haze from a beer or two. Gator Tillman was the king of intensity, the champion of eye contact. The heat rising between your legs as he blinked slowly was proof of that.

“Be honest with yerself now, sweetheart. Did ya’ think that you were gonna’ come t’ this party tonight in this tight little thing, with ‘yer eyes all sparkly n’ yer tits practic’ly screamin’ t’ get outta that dress… t’ go home to Jamsey boy?”

“I didn’t know you were gonna’ be here, asshole.” You let the insult hang in the air for a minute. But Gator’s eyes just widened, a shit-eating smirk followed. You’d just given yourself away.

“C’mon little lady, I ain’t talkin’ t’ a wall here. If y’ say that sex ain’t what this is about, then what is it?”

Your jaw ticks as you begin to mutter, “Nothing. This– this is– nothing. This is stupid and dumb and I cannot believe you, of all people, have me fuckin’ cornered here right now. God I— I should’ve just fuckin’ stayed home.”

Gator laughs. He laughs at your internal struggling, the pain you once felt now twinging into something deeper. A little more existential. Truth was, you really just wanted this to be over.

Even though the both of you knew exactly how this night was going to end.

“James’s a fuckin’ jerkoff.” Gator’s eyes narrow, like he’s trying to study you.

“So are you, Gator.”

“Y’know what, maybe we do have that ‘n common. You’ve got yerself’ a type,” he shrugs, that hand of his still ghosting around your waist, letting his pinky slip just below the fabric of your dress to press against your hip, “But you know damn well he ain’t makin’ you scream the way you know I can.”

Without even a second to collect yourself, your body is betraying your mind and any sense of reason you had left. You grabbed a hold of Gator’s wrist, wrapping your fingers around it tightly as you made a beeline for the door that you’d been staring at for the better half of two hours now.

Gator’s boots thump clumsily behind you, attempting to keep up with your angry strides as you guided him through a short sea of drunken partygoers. He mumbled and laughed from behind you, watching you swing the door open out to the cool summer breeze and wincing to himself when the knob practically made a dent in the wall inside.

“Slow th’ hell down lil’ lady,” he grunts, forcing you to skid to a stop at the lip of the patio stairs, “Gotcha’ all worked up f’no reason.”

“You drove here?” you pant, ignoring the pleasantries, still unsure of what demonic spirit was possessing you at the moment.

“Shit, yeh, I drove here. Always fuckin’ do. Why?”

You shake your head and wince, as if the angel and devil on your shoulder were fighting to the death right in front of your nose. Were you still recovering from the blundering awkwardness of being stood up by a guy you really liked, at a party that he invited you to? Sure. What’s not to be embarrassed about.

However, the desire to leave that suffocating party wasn’t because of the bile that rose up in your throat when you read a text that let you down so awfully gently, no. You knew you wanted to leave this party the instant you saw those honeyed, hazel eyes. The ones you’d sworn off the existence of. The ones that helped you through some of your toughest days, your most sleepless nights. 

The ones that you didn’t realize still meant anything to you at all.

Gator rests his hand on your elbow, that cocky, devil-may-care attitude slightly faltering as he watches your eyebrow twitch whilst you contemplated existence.“The fuck’s gotten inta’ y’—”

But before you could even stop yourself, tell him to fuck off or shut up like you normally would, your lips were on his.

After all this goddamn time.

Gator’s shoulders tensed when you cupped his cheeks, the action much more tender than you’d hoped, your lips pressing against him roughly enough to push him back a few steps. Despite the initial shock, he molds against you, the concerned grip he had on your elbow loosening and dropping down to hold your waist. He sighs, almost melting, a faint dreamlike sound vibrating against his throat.

The party continued on around you, though neither of you seemed to care.

The kiss deepens and in no time at all, your arms are tangled around his neck, your body pressed flush against his front, the strong, woodsy smell of his signature mahogany teakwood cologne flooding your nostrils.

His broad arms held you upright, palm splayed against your spine, your back curving slightly as he leaned in to meet the fervor you kissed him with. His tongue pleaded entrance, albeit much politer than you were used to, prodding against your lips and parting them as he slid his tongue across yours.

You couldn’t help but let your hands fall to the nape of his neck, down past his shoulders, pressing against his chest. Not necessarily to push him away, but to keep yourself grounded in the fact that what you were doing with Gator right now was, more than likely, a huge mistake.

“Y’— y’ain’t changed one bit,” Gator blurts, the words knocking against your teeth as he comes up for air, only to occupy it, “eager lil’ thing, ain’t’cha?”

You pull away from him, making sure your eyes sparkle with eagerness and a hint of something more— sinful.

“If I were you, Tillman, I’d stop talking and get me to your truck before I change my fuckin’ mind.”

Like a soldier at ease, Gator salutes you, motioning for you with his head to follow as he thumped down the porch steps and practically jogged down the front walkway.

“Parked a bit down th’ street. Hope ya’ don’t mind walkin’,” he comments, spitting out his gum a few steps ahead.

You follow behind and before you know it, you’re approaching a blue pickup. That same one he’d driven all those years ago, with that same dent in the front bumper and that same scratched up—now sun-bleached and weathered—heart shaped bumper sticker on the passenger side door. Your stomach lurches as you recall the day you slapped it on without Gator knowing, after buying it at a gas station that he brought you to to grab a Redbull before one of your study sessions.

Once he found out, he was, of course, pissed. But had gotten over it mere seconds after you’d tucked his dick into your cheek that same night.

“You still drive this hunk of shit?” you ask him as you jiggle the back door handle, hearing its familiar squeak and chuckling in disbelief.

“With style n’ grace, lil’ lady. They say Fords ‘er s’posed t’ run forever.”

You hold back an endearing chuckle as Gator steps beside you, “Yeah? Who’s they?”

“Dunno’. The people who put test dummies in their driver’s seats.”

“From test dummies to real dummies,” you tease, pressing your finger against his chest between his pecs, “they know their consumer market well.”

“Yer’ bullshit vocabulary don’t intimidate me no more, missy,” Gator’s eyes narrow, “I know y’ just wanted a reason t’ call  me a dummy.”

“Insulting you is free therapy.”

You hum when Gator’s closeness forces your back against the side of the truck with a thud, his eyes low as he dips in close, lips ghosting over yours, “So is lettin’ me fuck ya’ ‘till ya can’t remember how t’ talk.”

Gator scoops his hands in yours, pressing them against your chest as he kisses you again. You groan, a delayed reaction to his comment, but are quickly shut up by him wedging his knee between your thighs.

“Gator—” 

You immediately fold at the pressure, his name knocking off your lips onto his.

He hums, merely reactionary to hearing his name, giving you a moment before nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

In a flurry of sloppy kisses, wandering hands and shifting body weight, Gator opens the backseat door without disconnecting once. He backs away from you when it flings open, his eyes wide, and hazy.

“Gonna’ feel like old times,” he comments lackadaisically, making your stomach hurt, “haven’t had a chick in th’ back seat since the night we called it off.”

“I find that hard to believe. You walked in with like, 10 different girls.” You suck in a deep breath. You hadn’t intended to be rude but— that was your gut reaction.

“I know,” Gator scoffs, stepping one foot up onto the platform of his truck, his hand gesturing for you to hop in, “Who said I ain’t have one or two of ‘em up in the front?”

You smack him on the shoulder before stepping up into the truck, the scent of old leather and cologne in the backseat hitting you like a train. Nostalgia is one hell of a drug.

Gator slides in shortly after you, wasting no time in taking hold of your sides and pushing you into the opposite door with a rough kiss.

“Gator,” you can’t help but giggle, “the door’s still open.” 

“So what? Let ‘em see. They were all in our business in college, askin’ questions n’ shit. How ‘bout we give ‘em somethin’ new t’ talk about?”

That first part was true. Living in such a small town caused rumors about you and Gator to spread like wildfire. The sheriff's cocky son, and the only journalism major in the entirety of the city. The amount of bullshit lies that had gotten told at your expense within the three years you were casually seeing Gator were enough to turn a small village upside down. 

Most of them got back to Gator right away; though he never denied nor confirmed them. He was the more infamous half of the two of you, knowing more people through his last name, and through the countless girls who would attempt to throw themselves at him.

But he never picked any of them.

Not that you knew of, at least.

When his cool hands slid beneath the side cutouts in your dress, you shivered; the open door essentially creating a wind tunnel for the summer breeze. You groan, Gator’s mouth sloppily disconnecting from yours and trailing down to your jaw. Down to your neck. Down to your chest. The only thing he’d noticed is the way the cold air perked up your nipples through your dress.

“Gate– fuck, Gator. The door, please. It’s— ‘m chilly.”

“It’s August.” He deadpans, his face halfway buried in the crook of your shoulder.

With a huff, you pull his face up to meet yours, but rather than looking into his eyes and telling him off like you intended, he’s swooping back in for another kiss. It’s much rougher than the first few, his body somehow slotting between your legs perfectly, despite being propped awkwardly in the back seat.

“Y’ were always so fuckin’ stubborn. Never let shit jus’ happen. Always used ta’ get on ya’ fer bein’ too uptight. Thought I’d squeezed that last bitta’ stubbornness outta’ ya’ in school but, shit. I dunno’.”

“I– I’ve changed a lot, y’know,” you say, breathless from his lips knocking the air out of your lungs, “Learned to stand up for myself.”

“And who do ya’ have t’ thank fer that?”

When you intend to reply, the sound is swiped right out of your mouth. Gator is pawing at the straps of your dress, dropping one, then the other, off your shoulder. Wordlessly, you watch him as he attacks your chest with openmouthed kisses and scratchy love bites, assisting him in his travels by lifting your back off of the door so he could shimmy you out of the top half of your dress. 

Gator always had a thing for marking you up; you figured it was just a machismo thing. But one night cozied up in your twin XL dorm bed, after an athletic post-study fuck session, he admitted how much he loved, not liked, loved, everyone on campus knowing exactly who you belonged to.

“Y’eard me?”

You shake your head out of its daze, completely enraptured by the way his tongue dragged across your collarbone just seconds ago, “Huh?”

“I asked who ya’ had t’ thank fer growin’ a damn spine.”

“You’re fucking annoying,” you scoff.

Gator eventually shimmies your top half out, leaving you in a lacy bralette— the only one that looked good enough to wear under this sad excuse of fabric that they called a dress.

“Say it,” he persists, eyes honed in on yours, the contact intense enough to make you dizzy.

“No.”

His hand slides down your side, all the way to the bottom hem of your dress. His fingertips curve around it, hesitating for a moment.

“You know I hate it when y’ don’t listen, little lady.”

“Gator.” Your warning packs absolutely no heat, face flushing when his hand finally slides over your thigh. You wanted to curl up into a ball of embarrassment at just how worked up you were from a few kisses and his fingertips running feathery lines up and down your legs. You were swimming in his eyes, a sea of gold and green. 

If you drowned, you wouldn’t fucking complain.

“Wanna’ hear you say it. Wanna hear’ ya admit I made ya’ into this new little firecracker y’are now.”

Without saying anything, or egging you even more, Gator frees your breasts from the bralette. He massages them for a moment, mirroring your stammering, open mouth as he circles one of your peaked nipples with his thumb.

“C’mon, baby— shit, missed these fuckin’ tits.”

He interrupts his own train of thought by taking that same nipple he’d been teasing fully into his mouth, your stiff peak aching as he soothes it with the swirl of his tongue. You moan on impact, getting a glimpse of the outside when he ducked his head down. There was not a person, nor a car in sight. Nobody to walk by and hear the obscenities flying from your lips into Gator’s ears, the hushed rhapsodies egging him on enough to let him know just how eager you were for him.

Maybe he was right. You were still a bit uptight.

“You, Gator,” you finally moan when he gives one last rough suck to your nipple, disconnecting from it with a pop and glancing up at you, satisfied, through his lashes. “It was always you.”

“S’what I thought,” he smiles, the faint freckles splattered across his nose and beauty marks that dusted his cheeks more prominent than ever in the moonlight, “Love it when y’say my name.”

Your eyes flutter closed, the arousal that pooled in your panties getting harder and harder to ignore. You rolled your hips and let your dripping pussy grind slightly against the leather as Gator slid down your body. He inched lower, and lower, taking that same hand from before and using it to fully push up the lower half of your dress.

“Haven’t missed this,” he joked, now on his knees on the floor, crammed in the backseat, eye level with the— now soaked —underwear that you had misfortunately chosen to wear beneath this dress.

He pauses for a moment and admires you, reaching down, arms crossed, pulling off his shirt as he just stares at the wet spot that had formed against the heather grey.

“Jesus, lil lady. Really gotcha’ worked up,” Gator puffs, while you just can’t help but trace your index finger gently against the beauty marks smattered on his shoulders.

“Yeah.” Was all you could manage. You’d soon realized that he’d taken his shirt off because of how much you hated being the only one exposed. It was mindless. Inherent, even. The fact that he remembered made your head spin.

Gator immediately moves into action, he cups your thighs with his hands and yanks you forward, a quiet squeak falling from your lips as you shift down in your seat. He smiles up at you, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. The only thing separating his mouth from where it absolutely wanted, needed, to be was a thin layer of cotton. He eventually hooks his fingers around the waistband, sliding your panties down and off. Your legs are quickly tossed his shoulders, his face now caged between your thighs.

“‘Bet Jamesy boy ain’t getcha’ wet like this while countin’ pennies at th’ bank. I’ve barely fuckin’ touched ya’.” Gator’s astute observation makes your face hot. 

You cup your face in your hands. “Shut the fuck up,” you murmur, before reaching down and knocking the trucker hat right off of his head. The brim thunks when it hits the floor, and Gator just smirks, his hair now tousled and pomade free.

Just the way you liked it.

Gator wastes no time diving into your throbbing heat, his tongue languid and loose as he licks a long stripe up your slit. He savors the taste of you, after being deprived of your essence for all these years.

“Fuckin’— shit.” He curses, more or less under his breath, but your body reacts viscerally upon hearing it; the sound of his voice so unadultured and saccharine. You grab a handful of his hair, your cunt clenching around nothing as he continues his torturous drawl.

Gator was always a giver; skilled with his tongue, even more of an ace when his fingers were involved. He never held back, including now, lapping up your juices like a man starved as they continuously dripped out of your needy slit and made a mess of his leather interior. The hums and quiet moans of delight that he let slip past the concentrated expression on his face made your stomach heave.

“Gator, fuck, feels so— ah.” You can barely form a coherent string of praise, his clipped brown locks spread between your fingers. You give them a tug at the root, earning yet another sweet mewl from deep within Gator’s throat.

You nod, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, biting down on it so roughly that it was sure to be tender later tonight and into tomorrow. The obscene sounds of your arousal being lapped up by Gator’s eager tongue makes your legs shake. He stiffens his tongue and dips it into your heat, fucking it in slowly and drawing it back out within a second. You whine, even the slightest feeling of him filling you being ripped away was making you needier than you ever wanted to admit.

He fucks his tongue into you a few more times, alternating between that and suckling at your clit; the sensitive bud shooting lightning bolts up your back, causing you to tug even tighter against his hair.

“Fuck.”

That was the only word uttered as Gator came up for air; he was panting, his face glistening with a mix of saliva and your secretions, dawning his chin and lower lip like a trophy. He smiles and his lips shine, not long before he’s gathering more saliva from his cheek, taking two fingers to spread you open, and spitting directly onto your already needy cunt.

“God,” Gator puffs, concentrating now on the way his two fingers sink into your pussy with ease, “she’s a fuckin’ greedy thing, ain’t she?”

“Gatorrr,” you whine, tossing your head back against the car door. He begins to pump his digits within you, scissoring them open every so often and curling them just enough to press against the sweet spot that made you see stars on the backs of your eyelids.

You’d wondered what he was doing to occupy his mouth, since he’d kept quiet for a few minutes. But your question was soon answered as you felt him press a few feathery kisses onto your inner thigh, still curling moans out of you like he was mining for gold.

“Fuckin’ soaked fer’ me, huh? Can’t believe how long it’s been since I got a good taste a’ ya’, sweet girl.”

Sweet girl. That fucking nickname. You could've come then and there. You remember so vividly the first night he’d pulled that one out; a similar scenario to the one you were in right now. Your legs were tossed over his shoulders as he coaxed a second orgasm out of you. “Come for me, sweet girl. Can’t believe this pussy’s all fuckin’ mine.”

Distracted by your own reminiscing, your body jolts when you feel a welcomely familiar sensation; down past your dripping heat, Gator took his time and lapped slow circles around your rim. You moaned in pure shock, in delight, in bliss, that handful you had of his hair becoming more of a lifeline than just a habitual thing.

His tongue worked in tandem with his fingers, their relentless paces syncing up to drive you nearly up the wall. His tongue prodded at your hole while his fingers fucked into you deeply— you couldn’t help but glance down and watch the concentrated notch in his brow turn into a face of pure ecstasy the moment he felt your walls tighten up around his digits.

“Gonna come fer’ me, sweet girl? Yeah, I know— feels good, don’t it? C’mon baby gimme’ a good one. Let it aaaaaall out.” 

And just like that, you were coming undone. Adding to the list of hundreds of orgasms that Gator had coaxed you through with only his mouth. Your body falls limp, your back slick with sweat and sticking uncomfortably to the leather. You felt tangled in your dress; Gator could tell.

“Y’good?” Gator asks, his hands pressing against the tops of your thighs and massaging the last bit of pleasure through your veins.

“Fine,” you choke, shifting up in your seat and reaching up to shimmy yourself out of your clothes. Gator sits back on his knees, watching you undress.

He chuckles to himself, sounding appalled simply by the sight of you, “Ain’t seen ya’ naked in a long time.”

“No shit,” you quip back, kicking your dress off of your ankle and letting it stay where it landed; draped over the driver’s seat headrest. Gator hadn’t moved much at all, only shifting his weight back on his heels to watch you. You felt overexposed; his eyes alone sending shock waves down your spine as heavy silence hung in the air. You swallow hard, looking over his shoulder to the outside, then back to him.

“Gator—” 

You bat your eyelashes, your knees now tucked to your chest, legs crossed at the ankle. He takes you addressing him as his permission to slide back up to the seat, crowding your space once more with his broad frame. His hand slides down to part your legs again, humming in delight as they relax when his lips attach to your neck. You writhe beneath him, your own hands crawling up and down his arms, settling against his shoulders.

“Could’ taste y’ fer hours. Every last bit’a’ ya’. Missed it. Missed ya’.”

His last words were more muffled than the others, giving you the impression that they were ones you weren’t meant to hear.

Your hand tangles in his hair when he sucks on your neck, finally getting around to leaving the bruises you know he just couldn’t get enough of. Gator took his time with you, he always did, worshipping your body like you were Venus herself. It didn’t take much to get Gator worked up when it came to you, though— you felt his cock straining against the dual layers of fabric that kept him confined, his hips rutting it only slightly against your thigh as he engulfed your lips in yet another kiss.

“Gate—” you say, easing him to sit with his back against the seat, you now on your knees. He unexpectedly reached up to grab your face, calloused palms gently scraping your cheekbones.

“Want y’ t’ ride me,” he admits; shameless, voice hoarse and wanton, “Like old times.”

You don’t reply, only cracking a seductive smile and nodding as you reach down and begin to undo his belt. He joins you in doing so, lifting his hips to let you slide it out of the belt loops. He chuckles, but it seems impatient, less condescending than usual.

“Takin’ yer’ sweet ass time,” he teases, though there’s a rawness to his voice that feels like a punch to the gut.

“You just fucking whipped me through space and time, Gate’. A minute to catch my breath would be appreciated.”

A cocky smile breaks through onto his cheeks, your face still being held now by only one of his palms as the other mingled with yours to undo his button and fly, “Ladies first.”

“Well, aren’t you a gentleman?”

You eventually get his pants down, but not fully; he stopped halfway to reach into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and a clunky, neon green vape. You watched with a slack jaw as he leaned forward to toss the vape into the cupholder in the front seat, then flip open his wallet and pull out a familiar black and gold wrapper.

“‘Came prepared, I see,” you comment, gesturing towards the condom as he discards it at his side for a moment, “unless you’ve got a magic condom in there that regenerates every time you use it.”

“Y’know I ain’t like that.”

“Do I really?”

“I really oughta’ shut up that big mouth a’ yours.”

The rest of Gator’s undress continues through a sloppy, frantic kiss. Your hand that rested against his chest, tangled within the patch of thick chest hair, slowly slid down towards his stomach. You sighed, pawing at the bit of muscly pudge that sat right above the band of his boxers. Gator hissed when your fingertips breached just below the elastic, his teeth knocking against yours.

“Yer’ a fuckin’ tease,” he murmurs into your lips, his hands unable to keep still as the traced every curve of your body like it were muscle memory. He stopped in all of the right places, groping and giving attention to the ones that made you shiver.

“I got mine,” you shrug, voice languid and sultry, stretching your leg over his hips to straddle his waist, “I guess I better I help you get yours.”

“You want this as bad as I do, lil’ lady. ‘S written all over that gorgeous face.”

You blush, the compliment making this feel all the more real. Surely you weren’t dreaming when you locked eyes with Gator as he walked through the door tonight. And you definitely weren’t dreaming now.

You palmed Gator’s aching cock through his boxers, his mouth falling open and letting airy breaths tumble from within him. His head falls back, eyelashes fluttering as he fights to keep his eyes open.

“Fuckin’— can’t do this slow shit no ‘more. Need ‘ya on my dick. Now.”

You raise an eyebrow, still palming at him, now making it a point to squeeze his shaft through his briefs, watching with a satisfied, almost evil smile as his face contorts in pleasure.

“Listen, you may have taught me how to stand up for myself,” you begin to say, stroking him still, managing to find the head of his cock through the fabric by the stain of pre that graced them, “but who taught you the art of patience?”

“Fuck ‘re you sayin’?” Gator strains, the words sounding almost painful coming out of his mouth, “Buncha’ bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Gator. You’d be a fuckin’ bottle rocket if it weren’t for me. I taught you to be patient, and that’s exactly what you’re gonna be for me now. You hear me?”

Gator’s eyes shoot open. You think he’s about to bite back, raising that spiteful, malicious tongue that you worked so hard with him to manage. But rather than letting loose on you, using his words as armor, he simply settles in his seat.

“Loud n’ fuckin’ clear.”

He pulls you in by the back of your head for yet another deep and desperate kiss, fumbling around blindly to aid you in getting his briefs off. You waste no time in straddling his hips as his tongue licks into your mouth, the hand that cradled the back of your head moving down to lay flat against your spine.

You break away for a moment, glancing down between your eager, sweaty bodies. His cock was already fully perked up, tip red and angry, glistening with the bit of pre-cum that was already evident through his underwear. You take a hold of it, and Gator practically whines.

“Gonna’ kill me, little lady,” he pants, your hand jerking him slowly and watching his stomach contort with wide, hungry eyes, “I fuckin’ mean it. Y’keep lookin’ at me like that n’ I’m gone.”

You meet his eyes, already looking fucked out yet without even having a taste; his hair is mussed up with a few rogue strands framing his russet eyes like curtains. There was something different about Gator in this moment; he was pliant and timid, a stark contrast to how he usually behaved. You almost felt like reaching up to pinch his cheek, rewarding him for good behavior.

But you felt like that may ruin the moment.

“C’mon baby,” Gator cuts the silence, the moment you’d taken to admire him interrupted, “fuckin’— please.”

“Patience, Gator,” you accentuate your sentiment with a roll of your hips, letting his cock slide between your slick folds as you let out a deep breath of your own, “patience.”

Gator shudders, the bare minimum of contact seeming almost too much for him. He tilts his head back to rest against the leather, still slightly panting as you start a slow rhythm, rocking your hips. He grips your waist tightly, squeezing the soft flesh like it were the only thing keeping him grounded to this earth.

He just can't help but pull you in, attaching his lips to yours with fervor that packs a punch. His tongue glides across yours, exploring your mouth as if to memorize exactly how you taste, holding you close, chest to chest.

You let out a few wracked moans of your own at the feeling of his length sliding between your folds, the ridges of his cock nudging against your clit at just the right angle. You could tell that Gator’s patience was wearing thin; he had detached himself from your waist to blindly feel around for the condom. He grabs it, and you hear the crinkle. But you grab his wrist, stopping him before anything.

“What’dja do that fer?” Gator asks, eyes wide.

“A lot’s changed since we last saw each other,” you say crudely, plucking the condom from his fingertips and holding it between your faces, “Tonight’s your lucky night.”

Gator can’t do anything but laugh, jaw slack in astonishment as you toss the condom aside, “Holy shit. You’ serious? Yer’ messin’ around, ain’t you? That’s fucked up if y’ are—”

You really didn’t feel like explaining that you’d started taking birth control a few months after you’d stopped seeing him. So instead, you took his face in your hands, his eyelashes fluttering when your nose brushed slightly against the tip of his.

“Just— shut up and fuck me, Gator.”

Soon enough, Gator is lifting your hips, and reaching down to angle his cock against your entrance. The both of you sigh; Gator at the newfound feeling of fucking you raw, yourself because it’s been a few weeks since you’d gotten any action.

James was far less generous than Gator was.

“Oh my God,” Gator breathed, watching his cock disappear as you sank down onto his lap. The initial pressure of his girth stretching you made your face pinch, attempting to savor that first stroke with everything inside of you. But Gator was just too eager; too willing and ready to find out just how much he actually missed you.

“Gator, oh my—” you moan, bracing your hands on his shoulders, beginning off slowly by rolling your hips, rather than bouncing. You were afraid Gator might explode if you moved any faster.

“Holy shit. Holy fuckin’— yer’ so tight ‘round me, sweet girl. Missed fuckin’ this pussy.”

You kiss him, seemingly for the millionth time tonight— eager, amorous, starved. You craved this feeling again more than you ever considered. Gator pants into your mouth, his lips disconnecting momentarily only to latch right  back onto your neck. He suckles at the taut flesh, leaving more bruises in his wake. Your head falls back as though it weighed a ton, while Gator takes it upon himself to start to bounce you onto his cock.

“Gator,” you sigh, it’s almost a plea, “you feel so fucking good. F–feel you everywhere, baby.”

Your walls tighten around him when he kisses the tops of your tits, the lewd sounds of your arousal combining with that of his mouth as he sucks at your nipple. If there was one thing Gator was good for, it was paying attention to you, to the signs that you wanted— needed —more.

“That’s it,” Gator praises, watching you unravel and fall apart, piece by piece, “ride my fuckin’ cock, sweet girl. Ain’t so sweet now, are y’?”

You could tell that now, after getting acclimated to the feeling of you with no restraint, with no small layer of latex holding him back, he was gaining his confidence right back. You never doubted it, not for a second, that vulgar mouth of his was still very much alive.

“Ridin’ me like a damn’ cowgirl, shit. Milkin’ me fuckin’ dry, lettin’ me fuck you raw? Jesus Christ, lil’ lady. Jamesy boy don’t know what he’s fuckin’ missin’.”

“Don’t—” you stutter, the feeling of him filling you whole a bit too distracting, “don’t bring him up. N-not now.”

He groans, and it's borderline pornographic. “Y’don’t like when I talk bad ‘bout yer’ little boyfriend, huh?”

“Gator, fuckin’ stop it,” you bark, though you didn’t sound tough at all.

You pinch your eyes shut, Gator’s bouncing you fast, and hard, his hips bucking up to meet yours as yours come down.

“Bet he don’t know ‘ve got his girl in my truck… Fuckin’ her senseless. He ain’t know how good he had it.”

You whine, the words he spoke into the crook of your neck making you dig your fingernails into his back. That only egged him on to fuck into you harder, his tip plunging against your g-spot with each and every stroke. You were so, so close to your second orgasm of the night; Gator attaching his thumb to your clit and rubbing it in quick circles was exactly what you needed to get you there.

“Cum inside me Gate— need t’ feel you.” You blurt it out before you could stop yourself, him filling you to the brim and fucking you within an inch of your life had driven any and all logic and reason to leave your body.

“M’so close. So so close.”

Gator’s blubbering, you’re whining, the sound of his hips snapping against the backs of your thighs was echoing around the inside of his truck and making your ears ring. Everything about this was so overwhelming— you had gone from not seeing Gator in almost five years straight to this. You’d sworn to yourself all that time ago, you hated his guts from then on out.

But with the way his eyes sparkled, drunk on your essence and completely enamored with the way your face melted, not once breaking eye contact as the two of you chased your orgasms and let loose in perfect synchronicity—

Maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you thought.

Your body finally relaxes, your rhythm coming to a slower, more managable pace. Gator’s release shooting out in hot spurts, filling you up and dribbling out as he stays tucked inside of you. Your own orgasm had left you seeing stars, Gator milking the last bit of those aftershocks out of you by gently circling your clit, amused as he watched you twitch.

“As good as y’ remember?” he asks quietly, as if not to disrupt the peace of the afterthought.

“Better, somehow,” you admit, smiling at him through the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes. He reaches up and pushes it away, letting his thumb linger on your cheek.

“Yeah? That right?”

“We’re older now,” you shrug. It was obvious he’d kept things pent up since you called it off, but you humored him, “maybe it’s that.”

Gator nods, completely unphased by still being inside of you, unperturbed by the open truck door. “You’re prob’ly right.”

You chew at your bottom lip, your hands still slung lazily over his shoulders.

“I always am,” you smile, before swiping one last kiss from his pouty lips.

—

A few hours passed and you were still in Gator’s truck. Only now, you were perched in the passenger seat, dawned in the emergency clothes that Gator kept in his gym bag— a loose and worn Stark County Sheriff t-shirt and a pair of sweats with a couple of holes in the thighs.

The two of you did nothing more than just talk, catching up on the years of news you’d missed in your time apart. Gator was leaned back in the driver’s seat, cargo pants back on, his legs spread comfortably as he took a pull from that strawberry kiwi vape you’d seen earlier.

“I know I kept sayin’ y’ain’t changed but, I think y’did. ‘Think we both did.”

You pause for a moment, but nod nonetheless, “As I said, we’re older now. Both having lived more life did us in, I’m sure.”

Gator’s hands fidget mindlessly down in his lap, the black tee from earlier replaced with a grey one that almost matched yours identically. “Y’know, maybe livin’ more life did a good thing.”

He seemed apprehensive, the thought coming out not as complete as you expected. Gator was always sure of himself but right now, that wasn’t the case.

“What are you trying to say, Gator?”

His hand reaches up behind his neck, scratching it gently, before adjusting the brim of his hat that he had annoyingly put back on after you told him you’d preferred him without it. The sound of crickets and summer night’s ambiance took the reins for a moment as Gator collected his thoughts.

“Y’think y’ might be willin’ to give this another try? Y’know,” he points vaguely at the space between you, “us?”

Your eyes widened; that was the last thing you were expecting to hear from Gator Tillman tonight. Hell, it was the last thing you’d ever expect to hear from him at all. 

You hadn’t considered what you had with Gator a relationship in the slightest, and that was back when the two of you thought your on again, off again hookup phase was more important than Gator’s failing English grade. You weren’t willing to have a boyfriend who wasn’t dependable, who would vanish like a ghost and leave you guessing. But you kept him around because you knew he was capable of being that sweet and caring guy you’d dreamed about.

You had to just peel back the surface and you, unfortunately, realized that a little too late.

“I don’t mean t’freak y’out but, I dunno’. I’m real different now. I was a piece a’ shit back then. Y’ain’t deserve a man like that. Y’don’t have to answer me now, give yerself some time t’think on it. Maybe sleep on it. Y’still have my number, r—?”

“Yes.”

“Huh?”

You swallow, taking a second to process your own affirmative before doubling down, “We can try again, if you really want.”

You locked eyes with Gator, his face had lit up ten fold, the boyish charm he exuded when you first met him flooding in hues of brown and green as the moonlight lit up his irises. You smile in return, blindly reaching for his hand. He takes it without a question.

“Serious?”

“Serious, but— don’t fuck it up. I’ll kill you. For real, this time.”

Your small hand is engulfed by his larger one as he pulls it to his lips, tenderly kissing your knuckles. He shakes his head, pure disbelief written all over his face.

“Won’t fuck it up, promise. I’ll be real, real good…. If ‘yer willin’ t’ be patient.”

[frootybb]

Smudged Berry

Stepbrother!Gator Tillman x Reader

Summary: At a tense Tillman family dinner, you finally kill your old lipliner. Your pervert stepbrother Gator notices immediately and offers you a fancy new one right there at the table. What starts as a “helpful” touch-up quickly turns into something much filthier in the bathroom, his truck, and his bed. Gator’s always been a little too attentive to your mouth…

Word count: 5.8K

Warnings: NSFW, explicit smut, oral sex (m/receiving), unprotected p/v sex, step siblings incest, dubious consent/power imbalance, crude language & dirty talk, slight exhibitionism risk, Gator’s canon typical daddy issues & insecurity mixed with heavy perv behavior, no plot just horny

A/N: going back to my stepbro!gator roots with this one lol. Hope I still got it!

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The fluorescent lights in the Tillman kitchen buzzed like angry hornets overhead, casting a harsh glow over the chipped Formica table and the mismatched plates piled with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans swimming in canned mushroom soup. It was another one of those mandatory family dinners, Roy Tillman’s way of pretending the household wasn’t a pressure cooker of resentment and old scars. You sat squeezed between the edge of the table and Gator’s broad shoulder, your stepbrother’s knee occasionally brushing yours under the tablecloth like it was an accident. It never was.

You were the outsider who’d somehow become family when your mom married Roy a couple years back. Not blood, thank God, but close enough that Roy treated you like another extension of his empire: quiet, obedient, useful. Gator, though? Gator treated you like something he wanted to poke at until it squirmed.

Dinner had dragged on with Roy droning about some case, his voice all gravel and authority, while Gator slouched in his deputy uniform, vape pen tucked behind his ear like a trophy. He’d been watching you the whole meal, those restless hazel eyes flicking from your face to your hands and back again. You tried to ignore it, focusing on scraping the last bit of color from your lips with the cheap drugstore lipliner you’d been nursing for weeks.

The tube was ancient, the product worn down to a nub. You twisted it up one final time, angling the mirror of your compact under the table so no one would notice, and swiped it across your lower lip with a quick, practiced motion. The color came out patchy, more habit than pigment at this point. You pressed your lips together, blending, then capped it with a soft click that somehow cut through the low hum of conversation.

Gator’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. His lips twitched into that crooked, shit-eating grin he wore like armor. “Well, shit,” he drawled, loud enough for the table to hear but casual enough that Roy just grunted in annoyance. “You finally killed it, huh? That poor little pencil’s been hangin’ on by a thread for months.”

Heat crept up your neck. Everyone glanced over, Roy with his perpetual scowl, your mom offering a polite but tired smile, even the distant cousin who’d shown up uninvited. You shoved the empty tube into your pocket, muttering, “It’s fine. I’ll get a new one tomorrow.”

Gator leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He was built like someone who spent more time lifting weights in the station gym than actually doing paperwork: tall, broad-shouldered, with that messy dark hair he kept pushing back like he was in a damn cologne ad. “Nah, don’t bother with that cheap crap. I got somethin’ better.”

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his tactical vest, because of course he wore the damn thing to dinner and pulled out a sleek black tube. It looked expensive, the kind of brand you’d see in those glossy makeup ads with models pouting in infinity pools. Gator twirled it between his fingers like a cigarette, his eyes never leaving your mouth.

“New lipliner,” he said, voice dropping just a notch, that pervert edge slipping in like smoke. “Saw you finishin’ the old one right here in front of God and everybody. Figured you might need a refill. This one’s the good shit—long-wear, won’t smear when you’re… y’know. Eatin’. Or whatever.”

The “whatever” hung there, heavy and suggestive. Your mom cleared her throat, but Roy just chuckled low, like his son’s weird little gifts were normal bonding. Gator’s knee pressed firmer against yours now, deliberate. You could feel the heat through his jeans.

“Thanks,” you said flatly, reaching for it.

He pulled it back just out of reach, grinning wider. “Hold up. Lemme see if it matches first. C’mere.”

Before you could protest, Gator scooted his chair closer, the legs scraping loud against the linoleum. His free hand cupped your chin, fingers rough from years of gripping steering wheels and guns, but surprisingly gentle as he tilted your face toward the light. The table went quiet again. Roy muttered something about “kids these days,” but didn’t stop him. Gator’s thumb brushed just below your lower lip, wiping away a nonexistent smudge.

“Open up a little,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear the pervert lilt in it. His breath smelled like the mint vape he’d been hitting earlier mixed with the faint tang of the beer he’d snuck despite Roy’s rules. “Gotta make sure it don’t look like clown paint on you.”

Your heart hammered. This was classic Gator, pushing boundaries in front of everyone because he knew no one would call him on it. Not really. He was Roy’s boy, the deputy who could flash a badge and make problems disappear. You parted your lips slightly, more out of shock than obedience, and he uncapped the liner with his teeth, the plastic clicking softly.

He leaned in closer than necessary, his face inches from yours. Those eyes, dark and hungry locked on your mouth like it was the only thing in the room. The tip of the pencil touched your cupid’s bow first, cool and waxy, gliding with a precision that surprised you. Gator’s hand was steady, but his breathing wasn’t. You could see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, the faint flush creeping under his stubble.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” he whispered, the word dripping with that fake-sweet tone he used when he wanted something. “Wouldn’t want to mess it up. Though… bet it’d look pretty smeared anyway.”

Your stomach twisted, half embarrassment, half something warmer and more dangerous. The rest of the family was pretending to eat, forks clinking awkwardly, but you felt their eyes. Gator didn’t care. He traced the liner along your upper lip with agonizing slowness, then the lower, his thumb still anchoring your chin. When he finished, he didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he rubbed his thumb across your bottom lip, “blending” it, pressing just hard enough to feel the give of soft skin.

“Perfect,” he said, voice husky. “Matches your pretty little mouth just right. Bet it tastes good too.”

“Gator,” your mom started, half-scolding, but Roy waved her off with a grunt.

“Boy’s just bein’ helpful. Ain’t that right, son?”

Gator finally leaned back, but not before his fingers lingered a second too long, brushing your jaw. He capped the liner and tossed it into your lap under the table, where it landed warm from his pocket. “Keep it. I got more where that came from. Figured you’d run out eventually, the way you’re always playin’ with your lips at the table.”

You clutched the tube, cheeks burning. Dinner resumed in strained silence, but Gator’s gaze stayed glued to you. Every time you licked your lips, testing the new color, the smooth glide, he smirked like he’d won some private game.

Later, after the plates were cleared and Roy had retreated to his study with a cigar, you escaped to the upstairs bathroom to wash up. The house was old, creaky, full of shadows and the faint smell of gun oil and leather. You stared at your reflection: the lipliner looked expensive on you, a deep berry shade that made your mouth look fuller, poutier. It suited you too well.

The door clicked open without a knock. Gator slipped in, locking it behind him with a soft snick. He filled the small space immediately, tall frame, broad chest in that tight black tee under the unbuttoned deputy shirt, jeans slung low on his hips.

“Couldn’t wait to see how it looked up close,” he said, leaning against the sink beside you. His voice had dropped the dinner-table casualness; now it was all raw, needy edge. “Fuck, it does look good. Real good.”

You tried to step back, but the wall was right there. “Gator, what the hell? Dinner was bad enough.”

He chuckled, low and rough, crowding you without quite touching. “Aw, c’mon. You know I was just lookin’ out for my little stepsis. That old liner was pathetic. This one…” His eyes dipped to your mouth again, dark and heavy-lidded. “This one won’t budge even if you’re on your knees suckin’ cock or somethin’.”

The words hit like a slap, crude and deliberate. Heat pooled low in your belly despite yourself. Gator had always been like this: pervy comments wrapped in “brotherly” concern, lingering stares when you changed clothes, “accidental” brushes in the hallway. He was insecure as hell underneath the swagger, desperate for any scrap of attention that wasn’t Roy’s disappointed glare. And right now, that desperation was aimed square at you.

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your voice lacked bite.

He grinned, stepping closer until his boots bracketed yours. One hand came up to trace the liner on your lip with his thumb again, pressing in until your mouth parted. “Make me. Or better yet… lemme see if it smears.”

Before you could protest, Gator dipped his head and kissed you, hard, hungry, nothing like a stepbrother should. His mouth was hot, insistent, the faint taste of mint and meatloaf mixing with the waxy berry of the liner. He groaned into it, one hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you in place while the other gripped your hip, fingers digging in possessively.

You gasped, and he took the opening, tongue sliding in to taste you properly. The kiss turned filthy fast, wet, open-mouthed, his teeth nipping at your lower lip like he’d been thinking about it all through dinner. When he pulled back, the liner was slightly smudged at the edges, but mostly intact.

“See?” he panted, forehead against yours. “Told you it’s good shit. Stays put even when I’m fuckin’ your mouth with my tongue.”

“Gator…” Your hands were on his chest, not pushing him away as much as you should’ve.

He smirked, that crooked charm cracking open to show the pervert underneath. “What? You gonna tell Dad I’m bein’ inappropriate with his new daughter? Go ahead. He’ll probably just tell me to ‘handle it like a man.’” His hand slid lower, cupping your ass through your jeans and squeezing. “Or maybe you like it. Bet you do. Always catchin’ you starin’ when I’m out in the yard liftin’ or comin’ back from a shift all sweaty.”

You swallowed, the new liner making your lips feel slick and sensitive. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole stepbrother.” He kissed you again, slower this time, grinding his hips forward so you could feel the growing hardness in his jeans pressing against your thigh. “Been watchin’ that mouth all night. The way you licked the fork, finished that liner like it was nothin’. Got me thinkin’ about other things you could finish with those pretty lips.”

His free hand wandered up under your shirt, calloused palm skimming your stomach, thumb brushing the underside of your bra. Gator wasn’t smooth, he was eager, a little clumsy in his desperation, like he needed this validation more than air. Roy never gave him enough, so he took it wherever he could. Right now, that was you.

“Gator, someone could hear,” you whispered, even as your body arched into his touch.

He laughed softly against your neck, nipping the skin there. “Let ’em. Whole damn family knows I’m a fuck-up anyway. Might as well be a pervert too.” His fingers found the button of your jeans, popping it open with practiced ease. “C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme show you what else this liner can handle. On your knees for me? Just for a minute. I’ll be quick.”

The bathroom felt too small, too hot. You should’ve shoved him out, told him no, reminded him of the thousand reasons this was messed up. But Gator’s eyes were wide and hungry, that insecure boy peeking through the cocky deputy mask. He wanted you to want him. Needed it.

You sank down slowly, the tile cold through your knees. Gator’s breath hitched, hands fumbling with his belt like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Fuck yeah. Good girl. Knew you’d look perfect down there.”

He freed himself, thick and already leaking, and guided your head forward with a gentleness that contrasted the filth coming out of his mouth. “Open up. Let me see that new color wrapped around me. Bet it’ll look even better smeared all over my cock.”

You took him in, the taste of salt and skin mixing with the berry wax. Gator groaned loud enough that you worried about the walls, his hips jerking shallowly as he tried not to thrust too hard. “Shit… just like that. Your mouth’s so fuckin’ warm. Been jerkin’ off thinkin’ about this for weeks. Ever since I saw you puttin’ on lip gloss in the hallway mirror, all innocent-like.”

He talked the whole time. Pervy ramblings mixed with praise, his hand gentle in your hair even as his words turned nasty. “Swirl your tongue—yeah, fuck. You’re a natural. My perfect little stepsis slut. Roy’d kill me if he knew, but goddamn, it’s worth it.”

The liner held surprisingly well at first, but as he got closer, it started to smudge at the corners of your mouth, glossy and messy. Gator’s eyes were glued to it, pupils blown wide. “Look at that… perfect. Just how I imagined.”

He came with a choked groan, hips stuttering, spilling hot across your tongue and a little on your lips. You pulled back, breathing hard, the berry color now artfully wrecked: smeared at the edges, mixed with spit and him.

Gator hauled you up immediately, kissing you messy and grateful, tasting himself on you without a care. “Fuck, you’re amazin’. Knew that liner was a good pick.” His hand slipped back into your open jeans, fingers finding you wet and sliding through slick heat. “Now it’s your turn. Gotta return the favor, right? Can’t have my girl unsatisfied.”

You didn’t correct the “my girl.” Not yet.

He fingered you right there against the sink, two thick digits curling just right while his thumb rubbed your clit in messy circles. His mouth stayed on yours, or on your neck, whispering more filth: how pretty you looked with his cum on your lips, how he’d buy you a whole set of makeup just to ruin it all over again, how no one else got to see you like this.

You came hard, biting his shoulder to muffle the sound, body shaking against his solid frame. Gator held you through it, murmuring soft praises now that the edge was off. “That’s it, baby. So good for me. My secret little thing.”

After, he helped clean you up with a warm washcloth, surprisingly tender. The liner was a lost cause, smeared beyond repair but he just grinned and pulled out another tube from his pocket, same brand.

“See? Told you I got more. Keep this one in your room. I’ll check on it tomorrow night. Make sure you’re usin’ it right.”

You rolled your eyes, but took it. “You’re such a pervert, Gator.”

He winked, adjusting his uniform like nothing happened. “Only for you, stepsis. Only for you.”

As he slipped out the door, checking the hallway first, you stared at your reflection again. Lips still tingling, new liner clutched in your hand like a dirty secret. Downstairs, Roy’s voice boomed something about patrol schedules. The house felt heavier now, charged with whatever this was becoming.

Gator wasn’t done. You knew that much. He’d find excuses, another “gift” at breakfast, a late-night knock on your door after Roy passed out from whiskey, more pervy comments disguised as brotherly advice. And part of you, the part that craved the attention in this cold, fucked-up house just as badly as he did, was already wondering what color he’d pick next.

The days blurred after that. Gator made it his mission to “help” with your makeup routine. Mornings, he’d corner you in the kitchen while your mom was out and Roy was at the station, pressing you against the counter to “test” the new liner by kissing it off. Afternoons, when he came home from a shift, he’d drag you into his truck in the driveway, tinted windows hiding the way he’d pull you into his lap and grind against you until you were both breathless, his hands under your shirt, mouth on your neck leaving marks he’d cover with more “helpful” suggestions.

One night, after a particularly tense dinner where Roy had chewed Gator out for botching a simple traffic stop, Gator showed up in your room at 2 a.m., eyes wild and needy. “Dad’s asleep. C’mere. Need you.”

He was gentler that night, the insecurity raw after Roy’s words. Instead of the usual rush, he laid you out on your bed and took his time kissing down your body, murmuring how soft you were, how no one else made him feel like this. When he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, hips rolling steady. “Tight little pussy clenchin’ around me like you were made for this. My stepsis… shit, we’re so fucked up, but I don’t care. You’re mine.”

You came together, his hand over your mouth to keep quiet, bodies slick and tangled in the dark. Afterward, he didn’t leave right away. He stayed curled around you, tracing patterns on your skin with those rough fingers, the empty lipliner tube from dinner sitting on your nightstand like a trophy.

“You know I ain’t good at this shit,” he admitted quietly, the tough-guy mask slipping. “Roy says I’m a disappointment every damn day. But with you… feels like I’m doin’ somethin’ right.”

It was messed up. Deeply, undeniably. Step-siblings in a house ruled by a corrupt sheriff who’d probably lose his mind if he found out. But in the quiet moments, Gator wasn’t just the pervert deputy with the ego and the daddy issues. He was the guy who noticed when your old makeup ran out, who bought something nice because he paid attention. Who craved touch and validation so badly he’d risk everything for it.

And you? You kept using the liners. Kept letting him “test” them. Kept falling a little deeper into whatever this toxic, heated thing was.

Weeks turned into a secret routine. Gator would text you from the station crude photos of new makeup hauls he’d “confiscated” (stolen from some evidence locker, probably), followed by promises of what he’d do when he got home. At family barbecues, he’d sit beside you, hand on your thigh under the table, whispering how he couldn’t wait to smear that pretty color all over his dick again.

One evening, Roy was out of town for some law enforcement conference, leaving the house empty except for the two of you and your mom, who’d gone to bed early with a migraine. Gator wasted no time.

He found you in the living room, flipping through channels, and hauled you upstairs to his room without a word. It was messier than yours. Posters of bands he barely listened to, empty vape cartridges, his deputy gear slung over a chair. He pushed you onto the bed, crawling over you with that predatory grin.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he said, stripping off his shirt to reveal the lean muscle underneath. “You in that little sundress at dinner, lips all shiny with my gift. Drove me fuckin’ crazy.”

He didn’t bother with slow this time. Clothes came off in a frenzy, your dress hiked up, panties shoved aside, his jeans barely pushed down his thighs. He thrust into you hard, the bed creaking under you both, his mouth latching onto yours in a bruising kiss that destroyed the fresh layer of lipliner you’d put on just to tease him.

“Gator—ah—slow down,” you gasped, but your legs wrapped around his waist anyway.

“Can’t,” he panted, hips snapping relentlessly. “Too good. Too fuckin’ tight. Gonna fill you up, make you walk around tomorrow with me still leakin’ out. Bet you’d like that, huh? My dirty little secret.”

His hand found your throat, not squeezing, just holding, thumb pressing over the pulse point as he fucked you deeper. The pervert in him loved the control, the risk. But underneath, there was that desperate edge: the way he buried his face in your neck afterward, whispering “Don’t leave me, okay? Everyone else does.”

You held him close, fingers in his hair, the smeared berry color staining his lips now too. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It wasn’t love. Not the clean kind, anyway. It was need and rebellion and the twisted comfort of two broken people finding solace in the one place they shouldn’t. Gator kept buying more lipliners: different shades, different brands, leach one an excuse to watch your mouth, to ruin it, to claim it as his.

And every time, at dinner or in the truck or in the dead of night, he’d lean in with that crooked smile and say, “Open up, sweetheart. Let’s see how this one holds up.”

The Tillman house kept its secrets, just like it always had. But yours and Gator’s? They were written in smudged berry and desperate moans, in the quiet aftershocks where a pervert stepbrother became something dangerously close to yours.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

Taglist: @stydiaforeverbitchezz @keerygirlie98 @exooojongdaeee @stoneyggirl @gatorgirlie @soggycerealtbh @whispersoflost @louisbelongstome28 @needylittlebabyintherain @silkscreams @ulalalauwu @lacywithdrawal @stoneyggirl2 @sanctumdemunson @luminousdoomsellsword @shecleansup @maaaachiii @sespe08 @kristywidget97 @lookalivesunshine-x @calelundaa @drlangdonapologist @cuddlyeren @harringtondarling

[djob00bies]

ok i’ll ask for real and not on anon

can you give us a little teaser or preview of what your next fic is about? 🙂

NO!!!!!

(kidding)

many moons ago, i posted this poll. my up and coming fic is the winning option of said poll 😎 (yes, it is true, even though teacake and i are loftily wed and i am the real and not fake Mrs Meacham, i cannot escape the greedy, dastardly clutches of gator tillman).

here’s a snippet for your troubles, beneath the cut!

[djob00bies]

yes mamma we need more fics from u

I’m freaking trying guys… it’s rough out here. But i will pull through just for u ❤️

[djob00bies]

does anyone miss me….? ask me stuff…. I’m bored and want attention…….

[djob00bies]

….if I said my sophomore fic was almost done would you guys pay attention to me?

[djob00bies]

talk about teacakes massive jugs

he’d probably let you use them as pillows during movie night

i also think he’d do the thing where he’d just mindlessly put his hand in his shirt and cup one of them (maybe because he saw you do it and accidentally picked up the habit)

jokes about motorboating him never get old and will always, without fail, make him laugh

[djob00bies]

does anyone miss me….? ask me stuff…. I’m bored and want attention…….

[keer-y]

eight months

pairing: gator tillman/f!reader wc: 5300 (the sexting part is roughly 2100; the actual fic part is roughly 3200) tags: sexting, spit kink, oral sex (m + f receiving), face fucking, deepthroating, come eating, wet & messy, tit fucking, intercrural sex/thigh fucking, clit play/f masturbation (both at the same time) a/n: a swg fic with an actual title? get outta here. as always: G = gator, — = reader; any typos are intentional.

part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4 • part 5 &&

G: so ur gma hates me btw

一???

G: pretty much wants me dead

一what are you talking about? 一and why are you texting me about this, just come over here

G: cant

一why not?

G: ur with ur uncle 

一ok?

G: he hates me too

一what? gator what are you even talking about. he was just telling me that he likes you

G: he did not say that

一he did? i mean not in those words

G: whatd he say then

一i mean 一he said i could do worse but for uncle petey that’s like the equivalent of singing your praises

G: this sucks man G: when ur parents supposed to show up?

一they’re always late, my mother is incapable of showing up on time to anything

G: guess thats where you get it from

一excuse me?! 一we were the first ones here this morning to set up

G: yeah im aware G: woke up w u half on top of me nice n warm had me all ready to go from the second i opened my eyes and then i get fuckin blue balled n have to take a cold shower cause we gotta get to the park and set up the picnic tables or whatever G: n u wearin that fuckin skirt

一it’s a skort actually

G: got my fuckin dick tucked up inta my waistband i swear to fuck if you dont take me into the forest and suck me off im gonna die

一you’re not going to die, gator

G: i might G: and then try explainin that to your family G: “o sorry my bf died because all the blood in his body went straight to his massive cock because i was a tease this morning and then wore the shortest skirt known to man. his cock is so big that literally it takes so much blood that it cuts off blood flow to his brain and he died”

一i’m wearing a skort

G: do u honestly think my dick knows the difference

一well considering it currently has more bloodflow than your brain, maybe

G: ur so fuckin funny

一i know 一anyway look, you’re overthinking this. my aunts all LOVED you and my uncles like that you’re a cop

G: im a deputy G: dont say its the same thing

一same thing

G: its not the same thing

一and a skirt isn’t a skort 一you’re OVERTHINKING gates. babe, i promise you, they all like you. can you stop pretending to vape and come over and sit with us, please?

G: i really am vapin

一yeah that was a perfectly timed cloud 一ok, look 一if i help you take care of your massive erection will you come sit with us please

G: are you serious?

一yes.

G: fuck yeah ok. G: ill meet u by the trees

一i’m not going with you?? i’m sitting with my family lol they’ll notice if i go missing too

G: o so they dont actually care about me and where i am

一well you’re being weird rn so kinda not 一when my parents get here you better show face im so serious

G: idk y u wanted to introduce me to ur entire family all at once G: like cut a man some slack

一because this is just easier, gator. we’ve been dating for almost 8 months and you still haven’t met my family. you’re well past meeting just my parents, you’re part of my life now.

G: ew G: when u put it like that it sounds so G: serious

一are we not serious to you, gator?

G: aint what i meant and u know it G: but u know what i am real serious about? G: [image attached]

一GATOR TILLMAN 一MY GRANDMA JUST SAT NEXT TO ME

G: show her. maybe shell like me more

一i cannot stand you.

G: not true G: p sure you love me and my massive cock

一say it’s massive one more time and i’m throwing my phone in the lake

G: it’s astronomical

一you’re the worst

G: didnt think id like a chick bein mean to me but its kinda working G: keep talkin G: tell me you hate me and see if i cum faster

一i do hate you

G: ok that didnt work lets go back to the regular stuff

一oh you think you deserve it still?

G: ru fuckin kidding me G: i got my dick out in the woods and ur gonna cocktease me G: AGAIN?

一😝 一no 一i just need to make sure no one sees what i’m saying to you

G: unless grannys as nosy as you she wont

一do you want to do this or not? 一whats your problem today

G: i been horned up since 7am G: n now im about to jack off next to a tree G: AND my girls family hates me G: take ur pic

一[image attached]

G: fuck is that

一it’s me blowing you a kiss! you said take my pic

G: when i get u home later i swear to god

一yeah?

G: yea

一gonna teach me a lesson? 一gonna hold me down and fuck my face?

G: shit G: yea, maybe

一yeah? 一i hope you don’t grab me by the hair and just use me however you want

G: no?

一nooo… that would be SO terrible 一feeling you moving into my throat and tasting you as you slide back out 一gagging around you when you fuck into my mouth 一your hand on my neck from underneath so you can feel it too 一i DEFINITELY dont want to do that

G: dont wan me to come down ur throat?

一nuh uh 一i wanna taste you 一i want you to fuck my throat but pull out at the last second 一so you come all over my tongue and pull out before you finish so it gets all over my face and my tits

G: yeah?

一uh huh 一want you to get me all sticky and wet with your come and after you finish lick it off me

G: off ur tits?

一yeah 一or my neck or my face wherever you got it on me 一id be covered, you always come so much

G: u like that?

一its so hot gator 一when you cover me all over with it 一so nasty

G: u dont know what nasty is

一oh, no? 一show me.

G: [image attached]

一fuck 一so pink

G: i know u like that

一god your cock is so pretty 一i wnt you to just rub it all over me later 一anywhere 一just rub up against my tits or my face or between my thighs i want to feel it everywhere

G: lol ur fuckin jonesin bad huh

一and what are you doing then?

G: just been touchin it nice n slow

一slow?

G: tryna pace myself G: dont want to end this too quick G: hopin once i bust a nut ill calm the fuck down n be able to meet your peeps

一dont ever fucking say that to me again with your dick in your hand

G: what? bust a nut?

一[image attached] 一this is a peep gator. pink marshmallow chick

G: just so im clear were doin this while im mid jack off G: just tryna understand

一sorry its just 一youre very distracting but they keep talking to me

G: go sumwhere else

一i cant 一its fine 一they’re talking about something else now 一so… 一stop going slow.

G: ok

一i want you to bite your lip the way i do when i’m touching you 一can you do that

G: done

一think about what i said before 一about dragging your cock all over me

G: ok

一its so big

G: thx

一so soft but so heavy 一wanna feel you between my tits can you do that? for me?

G: yea

一tell me what youre doing

G: pullin on it G: bitin my lip pretend its you G: dont feel good as u tho

一play with the tip like i do

G: howdo i always forget u do that G: ok fuck thats G: really good

一yeah?

G: yea

一go faster. like you want to come

G: feels t good

一too good to come?

G: yea just like this feels perfect G: wish i cld hear u G: always sound so pretty fr me

一tonight you will

G: not if im chokin u wit my dick fuck

一like that? thinking about that?

G: yea

一thinking about fucking into my mouth so hard it pushes my head back so all i can do is look up at you?

G: now i am yea

一the way id be drooling everywhere 一puddle on the floor probably 一drips of spit down the side of the bed

G: n my legs

一and your legs 一and my tits

G: ohh yea

一and you’d pull out of my mouth once you got close and just jerk off onto my tits right

G: can i?

一yes baby 一do it now 一come for me, i want you to

G: no chance u can cum find me b4 i do?

一no baby 一but i want you to come now 一please?

G: fuck G: fuck, ok G: yo is it weird that we did this right before im about to meet ur folks

一yes.

G: well shoot

一but um

G: yea im on my way back G: dont worry i made sure i didnt get cum on my shorts G: licked my hand clean for u n everything 🤪

一no uh 一i had to kind of excuse myself

G: u ok?

一my underwear was fucking sticking to me everytime i moved

G: oh word?

一i had to get up and walk away i was fucking squirming

G: where ru? ill come find u

一no you have to go sit with them

G: who??

一my family gator

G: what! why

一bc they’ll think something’s up

G: something is up

一yeah and they cannot know that 一just go take my seat and do me a favor ok? 一i’ll do anything you want tonight

G: let me put my dick on ya anywhere i want?

一fuck 一yeah

G: u touchin ur self already?

一yeah

G: jesus whered u get off to?

一im behind the bathrooms

一jesus christ im fucking dripping

G: ill never understand how ur so wordy when ur only usin one hand to type

一built different 一are you there?

G: yea. yer grandmas givin me the stink eye

一deal with it were not talking about her right now

G: fair enough G: seein u talkin about me fuckin ur mouth got me thinkin bout u doin the same thing to me

一fucking your mouth?

G: yup. just grindin n mashin ur sweet lil puss all up on my mouth while i just sit there lettin u do what u wanna w me

一o hfuck

G: yea? u like that?

一no sorry there was a spider

G: oh

一its gone now 一i think 一let me read that 一oh fuck

G: yea thats what im sayin

一youd let me do that?

G: yup G: just sit there 👅 n let u do whatever u want with me G: less u tell me to do somethin

一i want you to lick my pussy

G: then i would baby G: lick u and fuck u with my tongue G: can i touch u too?

一yess

G: fuckin suck ur fat little clit while i smack ur puss like u like hows that

一im gonna try

G: to what

一hit it 一like you do

G: oh shit ok G: didja?

一surprised you didnt hear me 一fuckin 一moaned so loud lol

G: knew i shoulda waited to cum G: ur gonna get me all worked up again

一no im 一almost there i just 一fuck, im so wet gator

G: hows it taste?

一youre digsusting

G: waitin…

一she tastes good

G: bet she does

一want your tongue instead

G: where?

一ANYWHERE IDC

G: tonight baby

一youre gonna fuck me tonight?

G: u better fuckin believe it G: gonna fuck ur tits and ur thighs G: cover u everywhere with my cum before i finally put it in G: ya like that? G: …baby?

一yes fuck gator 一fuck, i was just 一imagining it 一you rubbing your come into my tits 一and then my stomach 一then watching it get all over my thighs after you pull out

G: id lick em clean too

一god you might need to come lick them clean now 一im wet EVERYWHERE

G: im on my way

一no dont 一fuck

G: ?

一my mom just texted me 一they just parked 一act normal

G: ok

一OTHER PEOPLE normal not us normal

G: wat u think i been doin this whole time? kept a straight face n borrowed some hand sanitizer from ur cousin penelope n then got ur gma some iced tea G: im so fuckin normal G: she likes me now btw

一keep telling yourself that

G: i will

&&

The second the door to your apartment closes, you’re on him. Vaguely, across the living room, your pet cat lifts her head to look over at you before laying it right back down onto her paws, resuming the nap you’d so rudely interrupted.

Not that either you or Gator even noticed she was there. He’s got your skirt flipped up around your hips already, his hands groping at your ass through the shorts that were hidden beneath it as he marches you backwards to your bedroom. You let him guide you down onto the bed, taking a seat on the edge and looking up at him, already fumbling with the button to his shorts as he pushes his fingers back through your hair, curling his hands into fists as you push his bottoms down. You open your mouth, but he stops you.

“Wait一” he says, then steps back, tugging your shirt up and over your head. You hurriedly unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side and grasping at his hips, moving him closer as you part your lips again, and this time you take hold of his cock, angling it into your mouth as you slide down his length, moaning at the taste and feel of him, still heady at the tip, your tongue teasing him like you can taste his release from earlier in the day.

Gator’s hands find their way to your hair again, taking hold of your head like he’d said he wanted to, and you slacken your jaw, letting saliva roll out of your mouth, down your chin, onto your heaving chest, and Gator groans when he realizes. He lowers one of his hands from the crown of your head to cup your cheek instead, his thumb slicking over your lip as he feeds his cock into your mouth, and then snaps his hips forward into you. So hard it pushes your head back so all you can do is look up at him. Eyes wide, lips stretched around his girth.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Gator says, then pulls out just enough to give himself room to do it again, your eyes locked on his, unblinking, wet from the strain, his hand still on your cheek as he holds you still with the other, tangled into your hair. He’s got a tight grip on you, but it doesn’t hurt. It just keeps you stationary as he fucks your mouth, and you just let yourself get wet and messy, let your spit leak out of the corners of your mouth, dribbling down onto your chin, your tits, and Gator’s thighs as he fucks in, the wet half-choked moans that emanate from you making it clear just how much you really are drooling for him.

There are flecks of your saliva on his thighs as he moves his hand from your jaw to your head again, and this time, he pulls you forward into him, the hem of his shirt tickling the bridge of your nose as he leans into you and buries your face against him, the smell of soap from his morning shower still just clinging to the thick hair at his base, mixed with a cloying wisp of sweet summer sweat and cologne.

He’s in your throat, his cock twitching inside your mouth as you refuse to swallow around him, just letting it leak from the corners of your mouth, coating his length with your spit as he pulls out.

“Finish it, baby girl,” he says, and your eyes flutter closed as you wrap your fingers around his cock, drenched with your spit, wet and messy as you listen to the lewd sounds of your hand moving over him, stroking the part of him that isn’t in your mouth. “That’s right.”

He smooths your hair back and flexes his hips, his cock dipping back into your throat enough that you feel it, feel yourself open up to take him back in, but he doesn’t go that deep, not again. He waits, thighs twitching, as you twist your hand around him, and then just like you asked for一he comes, the first couple of shots of it landing against your palate, your tongue, thick heat slipping down your throat without you even swallowing it, and he pulls out, pushing your head back as you just barely manage to aim his cock at your chest, angling it just down enough that you feel the last few spurts of his release stain your skin, rolling down over your collarbones, the swell of your breasts, your nipples.

“Shit,” Gator gasps, then drops to his knees, your texts from earlier burned into his mind. Without you reminding him, he puts his hands on your hips, pulling you closer, your legs spreading open on either side of him as he lets his tongue drag over your front, collecting his spunk from where it’s stuck to you, white lines criss-crossing your body.

Your hand cards through his hair as he cleans you up, mouth closing on each nipple in turn, sucking kisses to the underside of your breasts, then in between them, up to the spot where your neck bobs as you swallow. He licks you clean, drinks his own spunk down and then kisses your chest again. He starts slowly, one breast, then the other, drawing your nipple in between his lips and sucking at it while you arch your back. His hands rub at your thighs, starting by your knees and slowly making their way up, closer and closer, until you’ve got your hands on his shoulders and are staring down at him. He reaches beneath your skirt to pull your panties off, before remembering the damn thing isn’t actually a skirt.

“Fuckin’一whoever invented skorts better be burnin’ in hell,” he says, reaching up to the waistband, tugging the damn thing off of you along with your panties and letting both garments fall to the floor at his knees. You watch as he angles his face up to yours as he leans in, trying to keep the eye contact until he simply no longer can. But by then he’s got his face exactly where he wants it and you need it, and the tip of his tongue traces over the seam of your lips before you pop your hips forward into him, parting your legs even further to open yourself up for him.

He delves into your folds, the sound of his mouth on you making you shudder, the smacks and sucks of his lips, the slurps and groans he makes against you. You sigh and he slows to a stop, thumbs teasing each side of your labia, massaging it to hold you open as he waits, his nose gently nudging your clit every couple moments.

“Fuck,” you sigh, remembering一it’s your turn to use him. “Ok.”

You feel his cheeks round up into a smile and then your hand is curling into his hair, holding him against you as you lean back, your other hand flat against the bed behind you. You buck your hips up into his face, and he moans, the sound of it muffled, and despite that, it’s still loud. He’s getting off on you using him just the same as you are by doing it.

Your breathing quickens, your arousal spilling from your slit as you fuck your hips up against Gator’s mouth, feeling his tongue drag against you, his lips suck at you even as the spot they were just worrying moves away. It doesn’t deter him, doesn’t stop him. He just licks where you want, sucks where you pause, reduced to a mouth for your pleasure, his hands still gently rubbing at you, thumbs circling over your lips as your thighs start to quiver.

“Taste一good?” you ask, licking your lips, because you know. You remember the flavor of your own pussy from before. Heady, earthy, uniquely you and somehow leaving you craving more一the thought of your fingers coated in your essence between your lips making your hips kick against Gator, almost unintentionally bucking him off. He takes it in stride and dives right back in, mouth magnetized to your clit as you just hold him still and let him suck, working you over with tongue and lips and just the slightest bit of teeth, giving you little pops and pinches of pain that have you gasping out his name.

He digs his thumbs into your labia, pulling you open as he sticks his tongue out fully, licking you from your asshole to your clit, collecting as much of your arousal as he can, before he spits it right back against your slit. You jump at the suddenness of it, the way it smacks against you harshly, and then he’s fucking you with his tongue and you’re riding his face, holding him firmly against you as you roll your hips, legs splayed wide open, not giving a fuck that you must look like you’re in a frenzy一you need to come on your boyfriend’s mouth. You need it.

And you do一he flits his tongue out against your clit, teasing and tantalizing and the next thing you know, the arm holding you up fails below you and you fall flat against the bed, writhing with your legs clenching tight around Gator’s ears, spasming against his mouth for what feels like a solid minute, your back arched as your legs tremble with the force of it.

Slowly, you fall back, laying flat on the bed with your knees bent over Gator’s shoulders. He eases your legs off of him, then pushes himself up, laying over you. His bare lower half rests against yours, and your spit-soaked chest stains his shirt with residual semen and saliva, but neither of you care. You let him lick into your mouth, tasting yourself on him and groaning when you do; you suck his tongue lazily, eyes closed, until you feel him start to pull back.

“Ya done?” he asks, and you open your eyes, taking him in. He’s pulling his shirt off, letting it fall to the carpet. You shake your head and smirk. “Go get yerself comf’table, then.” He gestures at the pillows at the head of the bed.

While you do as he told you, he turns to the bedside table, grabbing a condom一but he doesn’t put it on yet, he just flicks it to the bed beside you, then clambers back on, throwing a leg up and over your chest.

You take a deep breath, because the position of him straddling your torso reminds you of what he’d texted: gonna fuck ur tits and ur thighs. cover u everywhere with my cum before i finally put it in.

Tongue licking at your upper lip, you press your hands against the outside of your tits, pushing them together and looking up at Gator as he smirks down at you, reaching with one hand above you to clutch the headboard, while the other takes hold of his half-hard prick, letting it slide between your tits. He tucks his chin and you watch as he puckers his lips, a thick glob of spit dangling from them. You huff a short groan as it lands on the top of his prick, then he fucks in between your tits, the slide eased a little by his saliva, and you flick your fingers back and forth over your nipples as he jerks his hips over you, fucking your tits. He’s still not hard, not yet一he will be soon, though, you’re sure一but for now, this is just play, for fun. Neither of you will come from this, and neither of you wants to.

He enjoys the view though, you can tell, your fingers toying with your sensitive nipples; he watches your hands, not your face, and as you sigh at the feeling of your pert little buds, he pulls back, away from you, and moves down between your legs.

“How bad ya want it?” Gator asks, wrapping a hand beneath each of your thighs, lifting your legs in front of him, exposing your ass and your cunt, but he doesn’t focus on either of them. He hugs your legs to his chest, reaching down to drag his fingertips through your slick folds, waiting. “Well?”

“Bad, babe,” you say, breathy and eager. “Please.”

He snickers, and you feel his hold on your legs loosen just a little, though he’s still holding them up at a right angle to your body. There’s a moment where you don’t feel anything一and then you do, the blunt head of his cock poking at the backs of your legs, moving in between them, the fat of your legs enveloping his prick as he fucks your thighs. The hard ridge of his cock drags against your mound, the friction and pressure of his balls against your pussy not quite getting you there but making you interested, your arousal beginning to build. It feels like getting fucked一the rhythm, the slapping skin一but without any of the actual stimulation.

“Oh, fuck,” Gator moans, and you realize it must be better for him, even though your thighs aren’t wet like your pussy一but they arere soft and warm, and he snaps his hips into you enough times that you feel his precome smearing all over you as he humps you erratically. It might not be doing much for you physically, but holy shit seeing Gator like that is getting you there mentally, and that’s all that matters sometimes.

His eyes are squeezed shut tight, his lips parted as little breathy puffs of air leave them, his cheeks flushed, his hands clinging to your legs, one your ankle, the other your knee, as he loses himself fucking your thighs.

“Gator,” you whimper, because he fucked in between them and stopped, grinding against you, his heavy balls rubbing over your wet pussy, the two of you joined in a new, different, kind of actually really fucking hot way.

“Didn’t一think this would, uh,” Gator pants. “Work so well fer me.”

“It’s good?” you ask, squeezing your thighs together and watching him groan.

“Yeah,” Gator says. “Yeah, it’s一fuck, I like it.”

“Feels really nice?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Gator says, his lips dragging against your calf muscle.

“Show me how nice,” you say, because if he’s this worked up, he deserves the finish line.

“Fuck, ok,” he breathes, and then he’s moving again, his cock dragging against your mound, smearing precome all over you, mussing the short hair that covers you there, his balls hitting your pussy and making it clench up around nothing, wanting more but not able to have it, not yet.

“Fuck, baby,” you mumble, and Gator sinks lower on his knees, stance widening, fucking between your thighs as you tighten them around him.

“Didn’t一fuckin’ know, shit,” he huffs, then sucks a wet kiss to your leg. “Gonna一come on ya, fuckin’一I’ll show ya, fuck, can I一can I? Please, can I? God, please, can一can一”

“Show me,” you tell him, and his hips stutter against your ass, his stomach and chest pressing tight to the backs of your legs, chest hair tickling your knees as you feel him finish, his come seeping out from between your thighs, dripping down to pool on your stomach, beneath your bellybutton, his translucent release collecting on you. “God, look at it,” you say, reaching down to trail your fingers through it, then lifting your hand to your mouth and licking it clean. “You felt so good, didn’t you?”

He’s still shaking a little, his cock still between your legs, and when he pulls out you feel the head of his cock drag against your folds as he sits back on his knees. “Felt fuckin’ amazing,” he enthuses.

You laugh a little, reaching for him and he lays down beside you, his hand dragging up your thigh, skimming his fingers through the little puddle of come on your body, trailing it up over you, tweaking one of your nipples and rubbing his come into you there as he kisses you. He dips his hand down again, swiping up more of his come, and this time, he lifts his hand to your mouth, both of you licking his fingers clean as your tongues meet around his fingers, swallowing his seed.

As you kiss, tongues licking at each other’s, filthy and dirty and tasting like the pair of you mixed together, you reach down your body, legs bent at the knee and spread open. You curl your fingers into your wet slit, whimpering against Gator’s mouth as he reaches down, letting the pads of his first two fingers glide over your clit. It’s hard and swollen and once he touches it, your body gives a kick, ready for its own release.

“Feels nice?” Gator asks you. “Really nice?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, fucking two fingers into yourself as Gator rubs your clit, circles your bead, pressing hard then soft and gauging your reaction, before sticking with the one you like better.

“Show me how nice,” Gator echoes you from earlier, and you groan, letting your legs fall even further open, welcoming a third finger inside yourself, as Gator rubs your clit faster. “Baby, show me.”

“I’m trying,” you grit out, letting your fingers slide out of yourself and instead rubbing your clit in tandem with Gator, your fingers then his then yours again一you feel it spasming under your touch, feel your cunt throb and ache, your wrist sticky from his come cooling on your stomach, but all you really feel is the way your body is tensing up, the way you’re coiled to snap, Gator’s mouth on yours, his eyelashes tickling your cheek, his breath soft on your skin and his voice, pulling you along where you need.

“Show me how nice it is,” he whispers. “I wanna see ya. Please, baby. Lemme see ya.”

You cry his name, voice breaking as your body does too, your orgasm rolling your eyes back into your head, a silent, stuttered scream parting your lips一he rubs you through it because your hand has stopped. He nudges your fingers out of his way and keeps the same pace on your clit, thighs wet with your come, until you finally relax beneath him, though you refuse to let his mouth leave yours.

“Stay with一me,” you sigh as you snuggle back into the pillows, and Gator lowers himself so he’s half on top of you, laying with his arm thrown over your stomach, placing gentle kisses to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Gator answers you, several beats later.

You both lay there, basking in the afterglow, in each other, and then Gator speaks and ruins it.

“I think yer parents liked me.”

You glare at him, look down at your naked, spent bodies to make the point, and then just sigh.

“Yeah, they did. Guess I’m stuck with you.”

“Ya say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your lips quick into a smirk. “Show me it’s not.”

His smirk mirrors yours. “I’ll fuckin’ show ya, all right,” he says, his hand dipping down your front again.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @snoopyharrington @cheugy-djobe @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08 @xoxocelestial @kristywidget97 @calelundaa @mistyblueinks @projections-mortal @cupofdjoplease @tenderlyuniquepatrol @treebabe @entercarolina @louisbelongstome28 @crescentwillow @softlypaleprodigy @radioharrington @amy-brooklyn99 @yikesmama3 @keerystff @lacywithdrawal @us3r4682 @whoreforbarnes @sunkssedhoney @s3xytosomeone @idk-harrington @harringtonsdiary @aecd27 @foreverserving @stoneyggirl2

[keer-y]

TILTED

[til-tid] / tɪl tɪd / 1: when a player becomes frustrated, resulting in risky play due to the influence of emotion &&

pairing: keys mckey/f!reader wc: 22k prompt from @levanswrites: here to request a blurb w keys: mean gamer persona vs loverboy bf. over vc he's super intense, competitive, maybe a little degrading... but the second he’s with you, it’s like a switch flips and he turns into the softest sweetie pie ever. and you can't stop thinking abt what the other keys is like in bed... tags: slice of life, fluff and smut, first time (together), soft keys, mean ish keys, toxic gamer attitude, softdom!keys, degradation/praise kink, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f + m receiving), handjobs, sex toys, rimming, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms a/n: hi i have no chill &&

You met Keys through a mutual friend's Discord server. Lexy. She told you he was a little intense in the games they play together, but she really thought you guys would vibe because he was fucking fantastic at Minecraft—like, his builds were next level—and he had over 500 hours in Stardew. And those kinds of games, the cozy ones, were way more your speed. So when you made a joint farm or visited his island in Animal Crossing: New Horizons, you couldn't really wrap your head around this “intense” persona that Lexy swore up and down Keys had.

They knew each other through work, and you knew her through school, so it wasn't a long-distance relationship. Or, well, it didn't have to be. You'd both admitted that you were vibing, but you were almost too shy to meet up until Lexy suggested making it a group thing. A handful people from their office, and you. Like that wasn't intimidating as all hell.

But you showed up. It was a group of 6, including you, Lexy, and Keys, and all you were doing was seeing a matinee movie before grabbing some coffee afterward to hang out and talk.

You'd seen Keys on video, of course, both of you on camera when you were playing from time to time, but you weren't quite prepared for his actual, physical presence. He was tall, but hunched over, probably from hours being bent in front of a keyboard and monitor. He smelled nice—which, for gamer boys, was not always the norm. And, even better, he actually treated you like a real gamer, even though you self-deprecatingly said with alarming regularity that you only played “cozy games” and those didn't count.

“They absolutely count,” Keys said. “Who tells you they don't? Don't listen to them. Do you feel like a gamer?”

You paused, waiting for him to go on, until you realized he was actually asking. “Oh. Uh, yeah.”

“Then you're a gamer! Come on, it's so fucking lame to gatekeep shit like that. So, I know you don't love FPS games, but you're a huge Squirrel Girl fan, right?” He talked a lot. But, you were impressed that he remembered you saying you liked Miss Squirrel Girl herself, Doreen Green, in passing once a few months ago. “Have you ever heard of Marvel Rivals?”

&&

You didn't think that counted as your first date, even though Keys really pushed for it to be. You'd been at a table with four other people and yet, for the whole hour and a half you whiled away at the cafe, you two primarily only talked to each other.

Your next excursion—still not something you'd consider your first real date—had you both heading out to Newbury Comics, lamenting how they used to have much cooler shit and now only had t-shirts and Pop Vinyls.

“I bought a plushie TARDIS here once,” you said. “Years ago.”

“Well, now you buy socks that have curse words on them,” Keys said, grabbing a pair from a rack nearby.

“I feel like they should have more comics for a store with 'Comics' in the name.”

“Want to hit a real comic shop?” he asked, and you looked over at him, beaming.

“Yeah!” you enthused, and he took your hand—he took your hand—and led you back onto the street, dragging you uptown to a store that had new releases and back issues upon back issues.

He bought you a trade paperback of The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl, despite your protestations, and when you stopped at the subway entrance to head back to your apartment, he took your hand again.

For a moment you thought he was going to kiss you—he didn't, which is why it was not a date—and asked if he could see you again soon.

You agreed, and he grinned, adjusting his glasses on his nose before he pulled out his phone.

“I know you can just message me on Discord,” he said, “but maybe—you could text me when you get home instead?”

You gave Keys your phone number and promised you'd respond to his text the second you were back at your place.

&&

—home

K: Good! Hi.

—what's your real name?

K: That's dangerous to just tell people willy nilly

—lexy won't tell me —what do you think i'm gonna do? —dox you?

K: That, or fae bullshit. K: My government name is a well-guarded secret. K: Not for the faint of heart.

—lexy said keys is short for your last name

K: Dude K: Seriously? K: Traitor

—i've known her a long time. if she trusts me you should too

K: That is just what someone would say if I c a n ' t trust them.

—i gave you my phone number outside of the subway. the least you could do is tell me your first name

K: But Keys is so much better!

—because you write code?

K: Yes!

—i'll tell you one of my secrets

K: … K: You first.

—i think you're really cute —and i wish you hadn't just taken my phone number today and said bye

K: … K: What should I have done instead?

—💋

K: Walter McKey. When were we hanging out again?

—LOL —walter. that's cute.

K: Now you see why I go by Keys.

—i do see why you go by keys but walter isn't that bad —i promise

K: So what should we do next time we hang out, given we now know each other's deepest, darkest secrets?

—game night?

K: Pretty AND smart. I owe Lexy big time.

—i'll bring my switch :)

K: And maybe we can try Rivals. You can play on my pc and I'll play on the Playstation.

—no promises

K: Just think about it.

&&

You did think about it, which is to say you decided on “Not doing that” and didn't mention it again to Keys. You packed up your Switch and caught the subway to the stop nearest him, then walked the couple blocks down to his building. He met you at the door and let you in, leading you to his apartment.

It was cleaner than you expected—like, nothing out of place, vacuum lines over the area rug in the living room, and even a brand new candle burning on the small dining table. It looked as though he'd just lit it before he came downstairs to meet you.

“Cute place,” you said. “I thought for sure it would be way nerdier than this.”

“Oh. No, it is, this is just—I don't really hang out out here that much.” He gestured down the hall, and once you looked, you could see the room he meant. It was dark inside, but you saw the ambient glow of lights rotating through a variety of colors and the very edge of a computer tower, the fans also glowing different colors.

“Ok, that makes more sense,” you said, not bothering to wait to be invited in, but instead kicking off your shoes and heading straight to the game room.

It was small, but still impressive. He had his PC on his desk, the fans pulsing from red to blue and then back, and the LED lights on the wall cycling through the rainbow.

“Do you stream?” you asked, once he was in the room with you, and you turned to your left, where a futon was angled toward the back wall, a TV with a PS5 and a Switch hooked up to it rested.

“Um... sometimes,” he said. “I'll do more like, Let's Plays rather than livestreaming. Or sometimes I'll post a timelapse of something I built in Minecraft.”

“Oh, speaking of—are we playing Animal Crossing? Or Minecraft? I got it on Switch just for today.”

Keys smiled at you as he settled into his desk chair, gesturing for you to take your seat on the futon. You did. “I was thinking we could start with Minecraft, grind a little, then maybe try Rivals...? And then if you hate that, Animal Crossing. I finally got Fuschia to want to leave my island, weren't you looking for her?”

“You'd give Fuschia to me?” you asked, flabbergasted. She was your favorite villager—had been for ages—and now Keys was going to give her to you just like that?

“I'm still holding out hope that I'll find Ketchup someday,” Keys replied.

“Yes. Please. Oh my god. I'll give you Nook Miles tickets so you can try to find her.”

“Not necessary,” Keys said, laughing and turning back to his computer, jostling the mouse to wake it and then opening Steam to fire up Minecraft. “But I won't say no if you just... drop them on my island somewhere random for me to find in a week when I'm digging for fossils...”

“Deal,” you said, pulling your Switch out of its case. “Thank you so much.” He wasn't looking, so you spoke louder, more emphatically. “Keys. Seriously—thank you.”

He glanced back at you, grinning. “Hey, anything for you.”

You were only a little taken aback, but tried not to read too much into the statement—Lexy had told you how sweet he was, so that tracked. You tried not to take it personally, anyway.

Minecraft was incredible but cut a little short when you dug too far down and accidentally fell into a huge cave, groaning aloud once you hit the ground, all of your items scattering around your character's body.

“Did you just die?” Keys asked, smirking a little over his shoulder at you. “Fell from a great height, maybe?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, dropping your Switch to your lap. “Let's try Rivals. I couldn't possibly feel worse than I feel right now.”

“Don't sweat it,” Keys said, closing Minecraft and opening Rivals. “I'll carry you.”

“I hate that you think I'll need to be carried but I also hate that you're right.”

As the game loaded, Keys stood up from his chair and gestured for you to sit there instead of him. “I'll get you set up in the training range while I get the Playstation going. Here.”

You'd already sat down in his chair, but he leaned over you, his hand covering yours on the mouse, as he clicked around the screen, choosing Squirrel Girl for you, but also showing you how to change characters if you wanted to.

“If you don't feel like DPS, you might like Cloak and Dagger or Luna Snow,” he suggested.

“Wow, so girls can only play support characters?” you asked, turning to him, very conscious of his hand still atop yours.

His eyes glinted a little. “Do you want to tank?”

“...No,” you admitted.

“Then stick to Squirrel Girl,” he said, finally pulling away. The back of your hand radiated warmth where he had been touching you.

While you messed around as Squirrel Girl in the training range, shooting explosive acorns and sending out Squirrel Stampedes, Keys puttered around behind you getting himself situated on the futon. After a moment, an invitation to join his group popped up on the screen, and you accepted. He queued you into a match, against real people, and you turned to look at him as the map loaded.

“Shouldn't we try versus the computer first?”

“Nah,” Keys said, his back to you as he selected Magneto. “We'll be fine.”

You sighed, moused over to Squirrel Girl, and selected her, loading into the match.

It went... fine, actually. Keys played eerily well and your other DPS definitely carried you, but the supports on your team were great at keeping you up, and so while you heard Keys behind you getting a little worked up every time he died or you missed a pick, it seemed pretty standard gamer stuff. You also got pissed off whenever Lexy forced you to play Dead by Daylight and you found that you actually could not run killers or hit skill checks despite her telling you it was easy.

By the time you loaded into your second match, two other players had already locked tanks, so Keys chose a DPS (Spider-Man), and you chose a support, one of the ones he mentioned: Luna Snow. She seemed less complicated to learn on the fly, plus her hair was pretty cute, so, you figured why not?

You weren't doing great, and while Keys wouldn't blame you, you could tell he was getting frustrated.

“Fuck,” he'd muttered at one point, but still—that was par for the course.

All was quiet for about a minute. Then—

“Fuck off!” he'd half-shouted, after the enemy Iron Fist managed to corner him and kill him. “Oh my fucking god.”

You looked back over your shoulder at Keys, gripping the controller with each hand like a vice, and—since you were both waiting to respawn, because he'd died, you'd died trying to get to him to heal him, and once you were both down the whole team got rolled—spoke.

“You ok?” you asked, voice high and quiet.

Keys turned to look at you, the smile betraying his previous tone, and just quirked his head to the side. “Yeah, 'course. You good? Wanna stop?”

“Oh,” you said, “no. It's... I kind of like Luna.”

Keys grinned, then turned back to the TV once he saw on your screen that you were both back in the spawn room. “Cool, you're doing really good with her.”

That felt like news to you, but you just twirled his desk chair back around and focused on the game. You always kept one eye on Keys, sometimes to the detriment of your team, but he was your friend—ish—so you felt an obligation to keep him alive if you could.

At one point, he managed to get the jump on the Iron Fist, even going so far as to solo ult him, laughing darkly and following it up with a “Get fucked, you piece of shit,” which felt so out of left field that you just... didn't acknowledge it.

What he was saying wasn't ideal, but... the tone his voice took on, the dark edge, the rough anger—you wouldn't admit it to him but maybe it was doing something for you. Which was new. Because you'd have sworn up and down that Keys wasn't the toxic kind of gamer, and yet there he was, swearing and being sweaty and ok, why was this getting you a little wet in his fucking gaming chair? You had to lock in and not get distracted by this guy who hadn't even kissed you yet.

“Get fucking owned,” Keys yelled, and you noticed in the kill feed that he’d killed Iron Fist again. “Gonna focus this clown until he switches,” he added absently; you weren't sure if he was talking to you, or to himself.

“Good idea,” you said in agreement, voice low, and sure enough, two more shouting matches with himself later, Iron Fist had switched to Scarlet Witch and turned the tide of the game even more. Your team won, and Keys immediately turned over to you.

“Hey, sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I get kinda into the game.”

You just looked back at him, nodding, then shaking your head. “Yeah, no worries.” You gave him a weak smile, because intense was the word Lexy had used to describe him and although it wasn’t that far off, you also weren’t sure that it was the correct word to use. You weren’t sure arousing was right either, but holy shit that was how it felt.

But maybe it was a fluke. You weren’t sure, really.

You loaded into a third match, choosing Luna again, while Keys opted for Magneto once more. This time, he didn’t have to bring out his alternate personality, and you won the match 2-1.

It wasn’t your kind of game, you didn’t think, but it was fun with Keys, especially when his alter ego came out to play (you’d have to think up a nickname for it, a la Darkiplier or Antisepticeye), and when you finally logged off of Rivals for the evening, he turned to you on the futon and grinned, back to his normal demeanor.

“Hungry?”

Almost like you’d timed it, your stomach gave a huge growl, and you laughed. “I guess that’s a yes.”

Keys stood up and motioned for you to follow him, leading you back out to the kitchen and opening the junk drawer. Or—what you assumed would be the junk drawer but was in fact actually just full of takeout menus. Indian; Chinese; at least five different pizza places all marked up with certain items crossed out or circled which you took to mean he’d sampled the menus enough that he knew that Tony’s had shitty garlic knots but fantastic bolognese, while Nonna’s Pizzeria was the only place to get a decent grandma pie but under no circumstances should you even think about the pasta from there.

“What d’ya feel like?” Keys asked, fanning out the menus toward you. There were five, and you chose one at random because you weren’t picky and he’d already narrowed it down to what he wanted.

“Falafel,” Keys said, approvingly. “Hell yeah.” He gave you a smile so sweet that you almost couldn’t conflate it with how he’d acted when you were playing Rivals.

He insisted on paying too—”They have my info on file,” he’d said, “it’s just easier”—and let you choose the movie to put on while you waited for the delivery and while you ate. You picked one of your favorites (The Princess Bride), laughing when Keys screwed up his face and said “But that’s a kissing movie.”

“Well, that’s what I want to watch,” you replied, stepping away from him and going back to the game room to flop yourself down onto the couch.

You heard Keys open his fridge, a little bit of rattling, and then he followed you in, plunked two cans of Cherry Coke onto the little folding table that you figured must be a fixture in this room. One was open, so you grabbed the other one, fiddling with the pop tab because you didn’t want to open it too soon and risk it being flat by the time your dinner arrived. While you rolled the can between your hands, Keys snatched the controller to awaken his Playstation again. 

“You’ll never guess,” he said, and when the homescreen loaded, he navigated over to the disc icon floating there.

“No way,” you said, laughing, because The Princess Bride was already in the disc drive.

“I had it on the other day while I was working,” Keys explained, reaching up to card a hand through his hair. 

“But it’s a kissing movie,” you said, mocking him, and he smirked.

“Yeah, well,” Keys said, leaning over to you, face to face, far too close but somehow, not close enough. “Sometimes kissing isn’t so bad.” His lips brushed yours, and then stayed there, pushing himself closer. Your tongue flitted against his mouth, tasting the cherry soda he’d sipped, and once you’d done that, he parted his lips further, kissing you properly, tongues barely meeting before he pulled away. He looked shy even though he’d initiated the whole thing.

“Sweet,” you said absently, reaching up to touch your lips with cold fingers, then his. Then, mortified, you lowered your hand and looked away.

“I have my moments,” Keys replied, starting the movie and settling back against the cushion of the futon. He made no movement to indicate he wanted you to move closer, seemed perfectly content to just watch the movie, but you weren’t. Not at all. In fact, after the man had just kissed you, you actually felt a little put out that he didn’t want to keep kissing you, and so you leaned forward, reaching across him to put your can of soda down beside his, and once you were basically stretched across him, you turned to him, settled half on his lap, took his face in your hands, and kissed him again, the residual desire from the first, admittedly somewhat chaste kiss, still lingering. And then there was the whole matter of everything you’d felt when he was angry during Rivals, still weighing down your stomach with want, tainted need because of how sick you felt being attracted to the meaner side of him.

Not to say you didn’t like the normal, nice guy too.

But… just something about the other version of him, right?

“Oh, hey,” Keys said against your lips, one arm moving around you, the other settling on your leg to move up your thigh. “We just put the movie on.”

“We’ve both seen it,” you said, taking his lips in another kiss. He let you in, his hands remaining in the respectful places on your body: Thigh, far away from your crotch, and mid-back, not daring to dip too low. 

What had started out as eager, heated kissing on your part slowly mellowed into languid, easy making out, you taking your time and Keys savoring every single liplock until his phone chimed from where he’d left it on the kitchen counter, and his hands finally moved to your hips, but only to move you off of him.

“That’s dinner,” he said, “wait here.” You fell back beside him on the futon as he leaned in one last time, giving you another cherry soda-tinged kiss, and then stood up, his long legs carrying him out of the room in far fewer steps than it would take you. You heard his front door open and close, and then there were a few minutes of silence wherein you opened your own can of soda and took a sip, nursing it as you watched the movie in Keys’ absence.

But your thoughts wandered. You’d always hated toxic gamer guys—it was part of the reason that you didn’t fuck with FPS games or even battle royales, and the entire reason you never went on voice comms. You had to wonder if you hadn’t been on something akin to a date with Keys (was it a date, now that you’d kissed?) would he have also been trash talking your performance in the game? He didn’t seem like the type to lie to get into your pants—he could have done it twice over by now, when he’d first kissed you and then when you were sat on his lap. But he didn’t, which led you to the conclusion (at least for now) that he was just a nice guy with a little bit of a hot head when he was in the thick of a game. Nothing wrong with that. For every F-bomb he’d dropped during Rivals, you’d surely said twice as many and even worse while playing DBD with Lexy.

And ultimately, it turned you on and you weren’t going to forget about it because you deserved to be horny too, ok?

The front door opened again and you heard Keys’ gait as he closed the door behind him, kicked his shoes off, and made a pitstop in the kitchen. The sound of a crinkling paper bag reached you followed by a heavy sigh, the opening of one drawer, a pause, the opening of another drawer, the metallic tinkling of cutlery, and then both drawers being rolled closed before the paper bag crumpled up again.

“They sometimes forget to give me forks or whatever,” he said, re-entering the room. “This is the third time. Had to note the menu.”

You smiled a little as he placed the bag on the folding table, rummaging in it before handing you your order first, then taking his. He proffered a fork in case you wanted one despite ordering yours in a pita; you took it, tucking your knees up against your chest and holding the tin with your food in one hand, poking at the falafel with the fork. You both ate without talking, the silence in the room broken only by the movie, and by the time your bellies were full and your Coke cans were empty, you were back cuddling up to Keys, his hand cradled in both of yours, on your lap as you rubbed your thumbs over his. 

“It’s getting late,” Keys said, and it wasn’t suggestive, it was actually tinged with concern. “You want me to get you an Uber instead of taking the subway?”

“I can get my own Uber,” you replied, smirking. “If you wanted to come see my game room, you could just ask, you know.”

“Can I come see your game room?” Keys asked, leaning in to you, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he kissed you again. You smiled against his lips, parting your own for him to allow him entrance, taking him in as he turned more toward you, but he pulled away, his forehead against yours. “It is actually getting late though. Do—if you need to get home, that’s ok.”

Despite the close proximity, you looked into his eyes, then leaned your forehead a little more against his, angling your head down to look at his lips. They were softer than any man’s lips had any right to be, the freckles on his cheek just barely visible in your periphery, and no. You didn’t need to get home, much less did you even want to.

“No one’s waiting up for me, if that’s what you think,” you said, turning your face just slightly to let your lips brush over his cheek, those little moles dotting his skin, and he exhaled shakily, then squeezed your hand, still in both of yours.

“I don’t—usually…” he said, trailing off. “I just mean—it’s never been really so easy with anyone else.” He made a small noise in his throat, like he didn’t like that statement either, and then tried to kiss you again, ducking his head a little to do so. You let him. “I know this is just—our first, you know, date, if you wanted to call it that”—you smiled to yourself because yes, you did want to call it that—“but what I mean is… You’re… I’m just getting…”

“Good vibes?” you asked, half-joking, but he nodded.

“Yeah, just—” he smirked, like he’d just remembered he could make jokes and references that you would understand. “You’re, um, matching my freak.”

You did laugh at that—it was a phrase Lexy used all the time on the Discord server and purposely never in the right context, just like now. Not that he was wrong—you had a lot in common.

“I also like how things are going,” you said, trying to be as clear as possible, because in your experience, guys were morons on a good day, and guys who gamed a lot were even worse. “I like you. I… would like this to be our first date,” you confirmed, “and if you were inviting me to stay over… I would like that too.”

To his credit, Keys managed to look extremely normal about the prospect. “Ok, cool,” he said (typical guy), but then leaned in to kiss you, tugging his hand out from yours and wrapping it around your waist. He didn’t pull you closer, just held you, until you were kissing him even deeper, your hands on his chest and your tongue in his mouth, and his hands settled on your back, lower than before, but not low enough to trigger thoughts that he was trying to hook up with you on his futon.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the kiss and letting your tongue flit over your upper lip. “Can we, um… maybe—go somewhere else?”

Keys looked up at you, like he didn’t realize he was going to get lucky on your first date that had only recently been christened as such, but nodded, vehemently. “Yeah. Um, yes, yeah, we can—my room,” he said, waiting for you to climb off of him before he got up himself, then stood there alongside you for an awkward moment only to reach down and take your hand again, tugging you along behind him as he left the game room and angled left into a door across the hall, a dimly-lit room that you could now tell was not supposed to be the master bedroom. No, Keys had utilized the larger bedroom for his gaming equipment, leaving just a full-size bed shoved into the smaller space obviously meant to be a child’s room or home office.

The bed was against the far wall, tucked into the corner, and there was a chest of drawers right up against the foot of the matress—rendering the bottom two drawers useless, as they could not be opened—with a television on top of it. Beside the TV was a Switch dock, a PS3, and a GameBoy Color with a little Tupperware container full of old game cartridges. The room, despite the lack of space and furniture shoved into it, was clean, orderly. His bed was even made—he had you beaten in that aspect.

You looked around, squeezing his hand as you spoke to show him you were kidding, “If you tell me you usually sleep on that futon…”

Keys made a small noise, halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “Care to… finish that sentence, so I know how deep in I may be about to dig myself?”

You laughed, pulling him forward this time, leading him over to his own bed. “Honestly? I can’t say I’d blame you. I bet it’s nice to fall asleep to the lights changing colors like that,” you said, referring to the rotating LEDs he had in the game room.

“It kind of fucks,” he said, standing over you as you sat down on the edge of his bed, finally letting go of his hand as you reached over to pull the covers down. You expected white sheets—Keys was an adult man, ergo, adult sheets—but even in the dimness of the room you could tell they were blue with—

“Spider-Man?” you asked, biting your lip.

“Ok, first of all—”

“You have Spider-Man sheets?”

“It’s just the topsheet! And it was only because it was all I had clean. I didn’t have the quarters to do laundry so I just—used what I had.”

“And it was Spider-Man?” you looked closer at the sheets. “Miles Morales Spider-Man? Hey, ok. You get points for taste.”

“I’m taking it off,” Keys said, pulling at the sheet even though you were sitting on both it and the comforter (thankfully plain light and dark brown squares patterned together). 

“No, leave it,” you said, laughing as you pushed yourself back onto the bed. “It’s fun and whimsical and proves you’re not self-conscious.”

“How?” Keys asked, still trying to displace you by attempting to roll you side to side as he pulled at the bedding.

“It just does,” you replied, then grabbed at his wrists to stop him from trying to unmake the bed, and ushered him onto it with you instead. He flopped down beside you, and the two of you moved toward each other with no hesitation, atop the rumpled comforter. “I have Powerpuff Girls sheets at home,” you divulged. “I mean—I don’t use them, but I have them.”

“If you’re trying to tilt me in bed,” Keys said, chuckling a little—just edging on the dark tone he’d laughed with earlier during Rivals, “it’s almost working.”

The thought struck you—because you hadn’t been trying to piss him off, but now it almost seemed like the best idea you’d ever heard.

But—your lack of response only had Keys laughing a little lighter, his hand on your side a little softer.

“Kidding,” he said, lifting his mouth to yours and kissing you, nudging your knees with his own to try and get his leg in between yours.

You kissed him back, letting him press his thigh up against your clothed pussy, and you gasped a little, quietly. He used your parted lips as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, letting you rut down against his thigh until your hands were grasping at the back of his shirt, pulling him closer, half on top of you, your arm trapped beneath him and his weight heavy on top of you in the best way.

“What do you—want?” Keys asked, but didn’t even give you a chance to respond as he kissed you again, and again, gently pushing his thigh into your crotch as you sighed softly against his lips, your legs spread as wide as you could get them. He eased himself half on top of you, the heavy press of his leg against you still giving you a little friction, but you craved more.

“Keys, I—” you said, gasping as he rolled his hips down against your front; even slightly misaligned, it still felt good, still left you wanting and eager for more.

“Tell me,” he said, moving one hand down to your hip, tugging your shirt up and letting his fingertips slip just beneath the waistband of your jeans.

“Touch—me?” you asked, sighing, head rolling back against his pillows, because he could touch you or eat you or fuck you and you’d be happy.

“Touch you,” he repeated, almost like he needed to give himself the assurance, the guidance, the instruction. He rolled half off of you, and together you both removed your jeans, letting them fall to a pile off the side of his bed, his mouth back on yours as he covered your mound through your panties, rubbing you through them with his whole palm, but pressing against your lips with two fingers a little more firmly than the others. 

“Keys,” you sighed, and he swallowed his name as it came from your lips, only to reply himself.

“You’re already so wet,” he mumbled, and you whined a little at the way he pointed it out, but had no time to linger on it because he’d slid his hand up to your stomach, and then back down between your legs, but this time, he was inside your underwear, no thin, soaked cotton between you.

His fingers parted your folds easily, rubbing at you with a deft hand that already had you lifting up into his touch, and you reached for him, one hand grasping at his arm, feeling it flex as he rubbed you, and the other curling around the nape of his neck, guiding his mouth down to yours again to kiss him as he found your clit.

Your chest gave a little kick, your body jumping at the instant gratification, the sudden pleasure of the pad of his finger circling the sensitive bead, and he let you use his mouth as he lowered his hand, bending his wrist and curling just one finger into your slit, easily, slowly, testing that you were ready for it before committing.

“Oh, f—K-Keys,” you half-moaned, holding back a little because it felt silly to call him that but you weren’t sure if you were fully on, well, a first-name basis yet.

And you hadn’t thought it was all that obvious, but he pulled away from you, leaned down to kiss your neck a few times as he fingered you, still working just one in and out of you even as he teased entrance with a second—and then you felt his breath on your cheek, his nose tickling at your temple as he whispered, “You can call me Walter if you like that better.”

It wasn’t what he had said. It wasn’t the permission to use his real name. It was the way his voice had skimmed over you like thick, rich velvet, pleasant for now but rough if you crossed it.

“I,” you stammered, because you didn’t know what you liked better, all you knew was that his practiced hand was working at you in ways that you’d never expected anyone other than yourself to understand. But Keys—Walter?—was reading every subtle cue you gave him, taking in the miniscule shivers of your legs and tremors of your cunt, the way your walls would tighten up on his fingers as he eased two back into you, the way your clit would jump against his thumb if he caught it at just the right angle.

“Wa-Walt—hnn,” you panted, and you felt his cheek round up against yours, his lips curling into a smile that you could only intuit was there but not see from the way his face rested on yours.

“You’re so…” Keys mumbled, pausing to turn just enough to kiss you. You took his mouth with yours desperately, your ass lifting up off the bed into his hand of its own volition, your body wanting more from him, needing more, and Keys—without a damn word from you—understood exactly what your body was asking for. He pushed his fingers into you deeper, curling them upward, making a come-hither gesture deep within your cunt, massaging your walls from the inside even as he doubled down on your clit, his thumb streaking over it side to side, then up and down, circles, ovals, until you were kicking up against him, and he stuck to the pattern you liked, making you mewl out his name again, and again.

“Wa—fuck,” you cried, your body feeling like it might snap in two from the force of your orgasm, your legs curling up, bent at the knee, your body recoiling from itself, your hips jerking up against Keys’ hand as he worked you through it, his thumb on your clit slowing but still rubbing at you, his fingers unmoving inside you as you clamped down on him, your mouth attached to his, sucking his lip, or his tongue, you weren’t sure and didn’t care as your teeth nipped down on him, hearing his sharp intake of breath but your eyes were closed, shut tight.

Your breath stuttered out of your lungs as you felt a soft kiss on your closed eyelid, his lips just barely brushing over your eyebrow too as he pulled away, his hand sliding out of your underwear only once you’d relaxed back down to the bed. You rolled onto your side, your thighs squeezing together as your pussy just kept going, aftershocks rippling through you as you caught your breath, and when you opened your eyes again, Keys was on his side too, and his hand was on your hip, rubbing you through your shirt.

Your lips curled into a smile when you met his eyes, and then you firmly planted your hand on his shoulder, pushing him onto his back and propping yourself up onto your elbow. With your free hand, you started to remove your shirt, with Keys assisting you as best he could until you were finally able to wriggle out of the garment and it joined your jeans on the floor of his bedroom, and even though you’d just positioned him how you wanted him, he sat up to remove his own shirt, lanky body now on view, the slight tummy he had folding over his belt. It was cute, but it disappeared when he laid back down.

Together, you worked his jeans down, his boxers too, his cock flagging down over his thigh even though he was half-chubbed up. 

You didn’t say anything, but your gaze lingered a beat too long, because Keys shifted himself on the bed, and when you looked over at his face, his expression was mixed between smug and embarrassed, like his mouth couldn’t help but curl into a little bit of a smirk—you were staring—while his eyebrows were knitted just a touch together, like maybe you were disappointed or suddenly uninterested since you didn’t actually make any moves closer.

“You, um—” he started to say, but you leaned in, eclipsing his body with yours as you wrapped your fingers gingerly around his prick, making him inhale sharply, and whatever he’d been about to vocalize was gone, your lips on his, scattering all words away.

You kissed him, mouth open, tongue sliding over his, a little more intense, a little dirtier now that you had a hand on him, and stroked up and down over his length, purposely not letting your grip brush the head until he was bucking his hips up into your hand, and then you slid your hand down to the base of his cock, not pushing him but leading him to rest against the bed. Leaning up and over him, you searched his face for any sign that he was going to maybe get a little mean, a little attitude, bossy and annoyed like when you’d been playing Rivals—but no. He just looked up at you.

He just… looked up at you. With soft, wide, desperate eyes, and kiss-bitten lips, and his throat bobbing, and one eyebrow screwed up on one side, like he didn’t know why you were doing this to him but also didn’t know how to get you to do more.

Your lips teased his—he tried to kiss you, you pulled back just enough that he couldn’t—and then you curled your hand over the tip of his dick, rubbing your curved palm over the tip of his cock, marveling in the way he reacted with his entire body. His chest arched up first, and then once his shoulders were back on the bed, his hips lifted up against your hand, and you easily took him back into the circle of your fingers, stroking him off again, eased by the slick you’d collected from his weeping slit.

Keys sighed out your name, one hand lifting up to curl into your hair, moving your mouth back to his as he kissed you, whimpering quietly into your mouth as you jerked his cock, pausing at the head every few passes to tease the slit, letting the pad of your middle finger just play with it, spreading each hot, sticky bead of precome over him until he was pulling away from you, turning his head away to break the kiss, only to turn back to look at you again.

“Please?” he asked—begged. You’d taken his shaft in your hand again, just below the ridge of the head, and you felt a hot dribble of precome as his cock drooled all over your hand. “God, please,” he asked, and you smiled, kissing him again, this time moving your hand in earnest to get him off, the heel of your hand and your wrist smacking into the front of his hip with how quickly you moved now, your intent to watch him come undone just as you had, and it worked—

Keys sucked your tongue as you kept your hand working at his cock, twisting it side to side every now and then just to hear him react to it, the whines heavy and loaded with lust. It didn’t take much longer for him to come—you felt his cock twitch in your hold, and then his whole body stilled with tension for a long moment, poised to snap—and then he did, moaning your name loudly, really fucking loudly actually, as ropes of his come streaked over the pair of you, landing on your arm, his stomach, even one on your hip, staining your underwear just because you’d lowered your hand enough that his cock angled to the side.

You pressed one final kiss to Keys’ lips, and as you pulled away, he covered his face with both hands, rubbing at his cheeks and his eyes before lowering them and looking down his body at you, still above him, your hand on his stomach now, absently rubbing his spunk into his skin, playing a little with the line of hair leading down below his bellybutton.

“Glad I asked you to stay,” he mused, and you laughed, leaning in to kiss him again before you pushed yourself to sit up next to him.

“Oh, is that what you did?” you asked, still playing with some of the short, curly hair at the base of his softening dick.

“Definitely,” he said, lifting a hand to touch yours. Not to stop you, but to gently rest his fingers on the back of your hand, your wrist.

“Then I’m glad you did too,” you said, glancing at the door to the hall. “Um… bathroom?”

“Door next to the game room,” Keys said, and you clambered over him, stopping once he grabbed your wrist. “Wait—do you want something to sleep in? Like—sweats. Or whatever.”

Your cheeks warmed—you hadn’t expected that. You’d figured he’d expect you to sleep naked—if you even slept at all. “Oh, ok. If you have.”

“Yeah,” Keys said standing up, pulling up his boxers and pushing down his jeans, then crossed to his closet doors, pulling them open. On the floor of the closet were the remaining two dresser drawers, and you snorted with laughter as Keys started digging through the one stacked on top of the other, coming up with a pair of black sweatpants, the ends of the legs frayed, with a big hole in the knee. “I know,” he said, poking his finger through one of the other, smaller holes near the waist that you hadn’t noticed upon first glance. “But they’re my most comfortable pair, I promise.”

You bent down to retrieve your shirt, then took the sweatpants from him and made your way to the bathroom, readying yourself for bed. He was right—they were unfairly comfortable. You’d had some pajama pants for years that weren’t nearly as soft as these were. You… might liberate them someday, if things ended up going well.

While you were attempting to brush your teeth with Keys’ toothpaste and your finger, you heard the floor outside the bathroom door creak first one way, and then a few minutes later, the other way, back into the bedroom. 

You emerged to a dark apartment, the only light a bluish glow emanating from Keys’ bedroom, and then as you approached, you heard the telltale menu music of Animal Crossing: New Horizons emanating from Keys’ TV.

You crossed the threshold, your panties and bra balled up in your hand, ready to tuck them away into your jeans, but when you entered the room, Keys only smiled at you, patting the bed beside him where, you noticed, your Switch case was resting.

“I figured we could get you Fuschia before it gets too late and she goes to bed,” Keys said, tapping the button on his Joycons to speed through Isabel’s welcome speech. “I’ll open my airport while you load in.”

You stood there, admittedly a little dumbstruck. Because you’d been worried about Keys not letting you sleep.

Truth was, you were pretty sure there was nothing you wouldn’t do to this man, if he’d let you.

&&

And he did. You’d gotten Fushia to agree to move, sold some of your native fruit at Nook’s Cranny for double the usual price, (thankfully before it closed), then did a few Mystery Tours in search of a tarantula island. Then, you sucked his soul out through his dick and the pair of you fell asleep.

In the morning, Keys insisted on accompanying you back to your apartment, which he claimed was because he wanted to see your game room, but really he just wanted to buy you breakfast on the way. He took you to a deli a few doors down from his apartment building, got you a bacon, egg, and cheese with an iced tea, then promptly told you he didn’t eat breakfast while also snagging a Code Red Mountain Dew.

“You need to eat something,” you insisted. “Most important meal of the day.”

“That’s debatable,” Keys said, but grabbed a plastic-wrapped packaged cinnamon bun, just making you laugh as you bit into your sandwich.

“Whatever,” you said, stepping out of his way at the register because you’d lost the argument about paying yet again.

“I can buy my own food,” you said, “you didn’t have to get me breakfast after you already got me dinner.”

Keys slipped his wallet back into his pocket. “You know what, you’re right. After I let you take Fuschia from my island and everything, wow.”

You chewed angrily toward him. “So let me pay you back for your sugar rush.”

Keys glanced down at the cinnamon bun, then shoved it into his hoodie pocket. “Nah.”

“You’re so annoying!” you half-shouted as you pushed the door open to the street, but you were laughing so it wasn’t exactly convincing. Keys only smiled to himself as he followed you out and down to the subway entrance. The car wasn’t too busy on a lazy Sunday morning, so you were able to sit together—closer than was really necessary, thighs touching, his fingers brushing your lips as he fed you the heart of his cinnamon bun—and by the time you were off the train and heading to your walk-up apartment, your hand was in his, sugar-sticky fingers and all.

“It’s not as… robust as yours,” you said, pushing the heavy front door open and leading Keys inside, bypassing everything else in your place and taking him straight to the game room. Contrary to what he’d done, yours was in the smaller spare room, because you actually liked to have room to do things like get dressed and put your laundry away.

Even though your game room was smaller, and you only had a PC, Switch dock, and your PS2 set up for nostalgia reasons, Keys still walked in like he was in awe. His decor was mostly functional aside from the LED lights, but you had a ton of fanart of various fandoms, all pastels and soft colors; it must have taken forever to curate the pieces that you were displaying, and as you crossed the room to replace your Switch, he stepped closer to a small collection of framed cross stitch pieces.

“Did you make these?” he asked, pointing.

“Um… yeah,” you said, joining him. He was leaning in, inspecting them—they were all Pokemon, your favorites, and even a cross stitch of what was ostensibly your trainer’s avatar from in-game.

“Would you make me one?” he asked.

“I—ok, sure. What’s your favorite Pokemon?”

“Magneton?” he said, sounding unsure even though he couldn’t be. “Or maybe Deoxys.”

“Not Klefki?” you asked, teasing. “I mean…”

He turned to look at your mischievous grin. “You know what, if you wanna be like that, sure, I’ll take Klefki.” He hesitated, then reached out to let his hand brush over your wrist, down to your pinky.

“I’ll surprise you,” you said, taking the half-step needed to close the distance, and lifting your face up to his. You’d barely managed to kiss him before both of your phones vibrated at the same time. You’d both been getting pings and texts here and there all through the previous evening and all morning, but never at the exact same moment.

You grabbed your phone first, and looked up at Keys as he fished his out of his pocket.

“Discord?” you asked.

He glanced down at his phone. “Discord. Lexy wants to play R.E.P.O.” He turned his wrist to show you the notification like you didn’t have the same “@ everyone” ping.

“I’m just glad it’s not Dead by Daylight,” you said, glancing at your computer, and Keys shifted his weight a little, taking the hint.

“You wanna play?” he asked.

“I… mean, yeah, but you can join when you get home!” you said, reaching out with your free hand to tug at one of his hoodie strings. 

“Not a friendslop guy,” he said, grimacing and making you laugh.

“Right, sorry, you only play the most revered, serious games around, like Marvel Rivals and COD—” 

He cut you off with a kiss, making you draw up a little straighter as his hands landed on your hips.

“Speaking of Rivals,” he said, “message me if you want to play again?”

“Is you asking me to be your girlfriend contingent on me playing Rivals?” you asked, and then snapped your jaw shut, because you hadn’t meant to say that out loud. You hadn’t really been planning on saying it ever. It was a half-formed thought that you weren’t anywhere near pathetic enough to ask, and yet, you’d just asked it. “Sorry, I know this is—still new, that wasn’t—you know, it’s, we can just—” You felt like Keys must have felt when he was trying to explain how much he liked spending time with you.

Thankfully, his face only softened, like he remembered how he’d fumbled over his words too. “I mean, if I say yes, then I’m the asshole, right?” he said, laughing. “No, of course not. You don’t have to be a Celestial Rivals player to date me.” He winked and added, “But it helps!” You scoffed out a laugh. “I’m kidding.” You scowled at him. “Kidding,” he said, and then almost like he was worried he’d blown his shot, he pulled you a little closer by your waist, leaning down to kiss you again. “I could see things going… really well. Between us. I would love to take you out sometime. Like—actually out. Maybe to dinner.”

“Can I pay this time?” you asked, a little smirk playing at the corner of your lips, because he’d made you feel a little better about your gaffe.

Keys pursed his lips, then leaned down to kiss you again. “I’ll think about it.”

“Then I’ll think about saying yes,” you joked. Keys kissed you one more time, and then let you walk him to the door of your apartment. “Think about R.E.P.O. too.”

“I just might,” Keys said, stepping out into the hall. He lifted his hand to give you a two-fingered salute, and as you laughed you saw him make a face at himself, clearly wondering why the fuck he’d done that. “Sorry. Bye.”

“Bye,” you said, smiling as you shut the door, your right hand easing it shut while your left hand slid the chain and then moved down to turn the deadbolt. You let your palm rest flat on the door while your left moved down to the knob, just to have something to hold on to, as you placed your forehead against the back of your hand, lips still curved, a secret for just you to know. You’d said much more awkward things to guys before, and Keys still liked you. 

Even fifteen minutes later, when you’d broken the Chunky Vase and had Lexy screaming at you about it (it was entirely your fault and you knew it), you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

&&

Your job didn’t afford the same luxury of working from home that Keys’ and Lexy’s did, so you weren’t able to meet him for dinner for another week, and your commute left you unable to game for longer than an hour and a half max after work, since you had to be awake so early to make your trains (and bus). That left you with the only option you really had to hang out with Keys, even virtually: Animal Crossing. 

Which was fine—you’d check turnip prices and sell fruit, go fishing while he ran around trying to find the last bug he needed for his museum (stick bug. He always missed the thin line of pixels and scared them away before he could catch one), and then end up seated on the hidden beach on the back of your island, camera angled up as high as you could get it to look at the sunset, since you couldn’t very well see it all that well in a city full of high rises. You’d just sit in quiet conversation in a Discord voice call, listening to the sound of the waves from your game, until you’d inevitably say “I have to go,” and Keys would say, “Tomorrow?”

Until Friday night, when “Tomorrow” no longer meant playing Animal Crossing together and actually meant “Dinner date.” Keys had finally relented and agreed to let you pay, so you’d gotten to choose where you wanted to go, which was an outrageously gaudy family-style Italian restaurant that was going to serve you way too much food for just two people, but would also furnish you both with enough leftovers for several days.

And sure enough, after you had dinner, you’d invited Keys back to your place to start a new run of Kingdom Hearts 2. You walked back to your apartment—“Good for digestion,” you’d said—laden down with doggy bags of food that you stuck in your refrigerator before settling in in your game room. 

You chose to try the game on Proud Mode, swapping off with Keys every now and then (you were better, you noticed), and after the fourth time you’d let the controller change hands, Keys stood up and left the room. Figuring he was going to the bathroom, you didn’t think anything of it until he returned in barely a minute, an aluminum tin of pasta in one hand and a fork in the other. You paused the game and looked over at him.

“How can you be hungry?” you asked, and he shrugged.

“Just am,” he said, twirling some of the fettuccine around the fork.

“That’s mine,” you said, indignant. “We agreed that you’d take home the manicotti and I’d get the fettuccine alfredo.”

“Ok, fine,” Keys said, lifting the huge mouthful of pasta he’d just picked up and holding it out to you. “Here.”

“That’s—” you started to say, but before you could finish the thought, he had nudged your lips with the fork.

“Open,” he said, and you were so surprised that you could only do what he’d asked, letting him feed you the bite. “Very good, thank you.”

You blinked, chewing slowly, until you just picked up the controller and unpaused the game. Because what the fuck was what and why was it the hottest thing ever? Thanking you for obeying him?

Swallowing the bite he’d given you, you looked over at him from the corner of your eyes, but Keys was just sitting there happily chowing down on your leftovers, and when he noticed you looking and decidedly not playing, he turned to you and grinned, a little bit of sauce clinging to his upper lip.

He was too fucking cute to ask to be mean, rough, stern with you. At least—not tonight. Tonight could be for other things.

Kingdom Hearts 2 sat on pause again, the fettuccine and fork on the couch, as you pulled Keys to your bedroom, climbing on top of him and letting your hips roll down into his as you kissed him silly.

&&

A couple more dates in a couple more weeks, and finally, you confirmed what the entire server had been speculating and suspecting since you and Keys had changed your profile pictures to matching ones of Professor Layton’s hat and Luke’s hat. Just weird enough to catch attention, just innocuous enough to potentially mean nothing. (It did mean nothing—it was just a joke because you both liked those games. Seriously.)

But you’d had to tell the truth, because a few of your other friends had been trying to plan a D&D oneshot for months. So when Hakeem had announced that they’d found a DM for you, and asked was everyone free tonight even though it was short notice? Well, you had to let them down easy.

cant, i have a date was all you’d said before your post got no less than six different replies, and perpetual thorn in your side (Lexy) was calling you while simultaneously sending you text after text.

“—th WHO?” Lexy shouted, the moment you picked up, already speaking before you’d even answered.

“Lexy,” you said, but she was not to be deterred.

“Is it Keys? It’s Keys, isn’t it? I knew he would never change his profile picture from Ichigo without a good reason. And you’re the best reason, obviously.”

Since she already knew, and you didn’t want to straight up lie, you just told her everything. The date, the hookup, the inside jokes and the game nights, the way he’d given you Fuschia and even bought you a bootleg Amiibo card for her in case you ever wanted to restart your island (you didn’t, but the gesture was so sweet you were almost tempted).

“Oh my god, I just knew he’d be the best fucking boyfriend,” Lexy said, sighing. “And he’s so sweet.”

You hummed in agreement, because he sure was. Not that you’d forgotten that other side of him that you’d yet to draw out since the first night.

“Hey—so, do you think I could play Rivals with you guys again sometime?”

“Wait—really?”

“Really,” you said. “It’s not so bad with Keys.”

“It’s not so bad with Keys?!” Lexy repeated. “Girl. What? He’s so toxic in shooters.”

“I mean… I get like that when we play DBD,” you said.

“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re shit-talking me, you’re complaining about the killer. Keys will lay into anyone on Rivals. Enemy team, our team, even us.” He hadn’t said a goddamn word about you, actually, so that part was kind of news to you.

“Well, can I anyway?”

You practically heard Lexy roll her eyes. “Sure. Don’t say I didn’t want you.”

“I’ve already played with him,” you said.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Lexy said. “Hey—have fun tonight, ok?”

“I will,” you said. “Thanks.”

She let you off the phone and you looked at the screen, notifications still pouring in from Discord. While you were looking, Keys texted you, sending a screenshot of his own app icon, bursting with 14 notifications. You were at 35, and all of them were your friends and Lexy’s coworkers still replying to your post, first asking who it was, then slowly devolving into everyone asking if it was Keys, before they all started posting screenshots of interactions you’d had and of course, the matching icons.

you guys are taking this way too far you said.

It’s our job to give you a hard time! 🍭 said Veronica, your first ever best friend and partner in crime, before you’d even met Lexy.

You muted the server for the next 24 hours and then navigated to your texts with keys.

K: [screenshot attached]

—i’m so sorry —i didn’t want to lie to hakeem because they’ve been wanting to play dnd for months and have been SCOURING reddit for a dm and finally found one —and i just couldn’t lie to them because it’s so so important to them!

K: Haha it’s ok

—you’re not mad?

K: Why would I be mad?

Worth a shot.

—no reason —just wasn’t sure if we were not telling people

K: We were not NOT telling people. K: I kinda told my brother I was seeing someone. K: So.

—you told your family about me?

K: I told my brother. Very different.

—how? —that’s family

K: My brother is a little shit who always says I make such a cute couple with [insert Video Game or Anime Girl here]. So now that I have a real girl who likes me, I had to brag.

—so who else are you dating?

K: Oh, well. K: Ada Wong, Yuffie, Faith from Mirror’s Edge, Luna Snow, Ryuko from Kill la Kill, and one time Tanjiro.

—??? —from demonslayer?

K: The very same.

—i’m sort of sensing you have a type

K: He thinks I have a type. You hang up one poster of Ada Wong one time when you’re 16 and any time he sees anyone who vaguely resembles her…

—tanjiro?????

K: I did say he’s a little shit.

—that’s true. so anyway. i guess we could have had this conversation in like an hour.

K: Want anything for the movie? I’m stopping to get candy on the way.

—snocaps!!!

K: ?

—the candy

K: I know the candy. It’s just chocolate chips with sprinkles on it.

—yeah!!!

K: That’s what you want?

—yes walter that’s what i want

K: I don’t understand you.

And yet, when he took you home that night, he seemed to understand you and your body language just fine, soft touches and insistent licks wherever you needed them, feeding his cock between your lips and then between your legs as you begged him to fuck you, facedown, ass in the air as he rode you from behind, body folded over yours, hands soothing you, exploring you, pressing chaste kisses to your fingertips as he lifted them to his mouth, contrasting the way his hips slapped into yours with his tender mouth.

It was good—it was really fucking good—but you still hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask for a little more just yet.

&&

“You know,” Keys said, batting the side of your face with a Twizzler as you opened your mouth, biting at it and missing, half because he was teasing you and pulling it away, and half because you weren’t really trying, “you’ve had girlfriend status for a month now and we still haven’t played Rivals again.”

You pouted, though it devolved into extreme giggles as he kept poking your lips with the licorice.

“That’s not my fault,” you said, “the timing just keeps not working out.”

“The real BBEG: Scheduling.”

“Hold on,” you said, pausing the Let’s Play you were watching of one of your favorite PS2 games (Haunting Ground) and grabbing your phone. You opened Discord, navigated to the gaming channel, and tapped out a message:

@ everyone tomorrow keys and i will be playing marvel rivals at 7PM so be there or be square

You felt Keys’ phone vibrate in his pocket against your lower back, where you were leaning against him, and then watched as people started reacting to your post. You got a few ✅s but also several ⬛️ which you took to mean those gamers would not be joining you. The checkmarks ticked up to 8 total, which was more than enough for a full group.

“Easy,” you said.

“I mean, flawless, really. You make it look effortless.”

You arched your back, leaning up toward him even though at the angle, you were upside down. He kissed you anyway, because you just knew it reminded him of Spider-Man and Mary Jane, and when you finally pulled away, he fed you your Twizzler properly, and you returned to the video, Fiona calling out to Hewey every two seconds, something you could tell you and Keys both would be imitating for days to come.

The next day, you’d settled down to your computer at 6:30 to try and get some practice matches in before everyone joined you, but as soon as you loaded into the game, you received an invite from Keys to join his group. You did, then tabbed over to Discord to join the voice chat that he was already in.

“I didn’t want you to see me being bad,” you said, as Keys queued you for a Quick Match, which instantly pulled you into a game.

“You’re not bad,” he said, locking Magneto as you chose Mantis. “That’s new,” he commented.

“I wanted to try something else,” you said. “Thus logging on early.”

“Mantis is good,” he said, “just watch your cooldowns.”

You knew, logically, what he meant—but Mantis’ kit was so different from Luna Snow’s that you did have some trouble balancing her heals. You could hear Keys getting frustrated whenever he died before you got your Healing Flower back, but he always blamed it on the other healer, even though they were doing twice your healing output with half the deaths.

By the time Lexy, Hakeem, Serena, and Torbjorn (one of Lexy’s friends from Overwatch who refused to tell anyone his real name) joined, Keys was barely speaking and you could tell everyone else were all going to have one hell of a night because of it. And then there was you, imagining his tongue in his cheek, poking at the inside like it did when he was hyperfocused or annoyed, and getting yourself all turned on from just the thought alone.

“How’ve the games been?” Lexy asked, and Keys didn’t respond so you took it upon yourself.

“Not great,” you answered.

“Well, you’re still learning,” she said, and there was a general murmur of assent as Keys invited everyone to the group, and then you queued. Having a six stack in a voice chat would help in terms of coordination and comms, but you also had the feeling that the matchmaker in the game would put you against other large groups, which meant you’d be going against people who had the same advantages. Except they were all probably better than you. Even if it was just by virtue having more time in the game.

You locked Luna almost exclusively, even though Hakeem suggested Rocket Racoon or Cloak & Dagger because they were a little easier, but you explained that you felt most comfortable on the ice-themed K-pop star.

The first game didn’t go too badly, and Keys even sounded like he was smiling as he made calls, joining in on praising whoever got a good pick or saved him when he was cornered—especially you, but no one commented on it.

It was after an hours’ worth of pretty decent games in a row that you got matched against six other players who were absolutely fucking cracked. Their Black Widow got a headshot on you as soon as you walked out of spawn. Their Jeff swallowed four of you several minutes into the game, when you’d finally gotten a couple picks to start to push the objective. And when you saw him get a quad kill on the feed, you heard Keys pipe up.

“Fucking bullshit, man,” he said. “Can someone please kill the fucking Jeff?”

It was hard not to take that personally, and also as an order—you were playing strategist, your job was to help keep the team up, not go for kills.

“Actually,” Keys said, “if anyone could kill anything, that would be spec-fucking-tacular.”

You fell silent, while Lexy and Torbjorn told Keys to relax, and Hakeem changed off of Captain America to go Moon Knight to try and haunt the other team with la luna herself.

“Hulk’s two,” Serena said, flanking as Star-Lord, and just as she was about to finish him off, her name popped up in the killfeed and she half-shouted, “Fuck!”

“This fucking guy,” Keys said, his voice dark and flat. “If he fucking—can somebody kill the Jeff?” He asked the question just as Jeff ulted beneath the team again, managing to swallow three of you this time, spitting you off the edge of the map. Again.

“You could kill the Jeff,” Lexy suggested.

“Are you kidding?” Keys countered, as the team fell back to regroup. “I’m too busy trying to shield you guys from all this fucking damage.”

“We can’t keep you up,” Lexy said, who was your fellow healer in this match. “I’m trying to shield you but it’s tough on an escort map.” As she said it, she placed Invisible Woman’s shield in front of Magneto, but Keys moved right through it, needing to advance the cart toward the end of the map.

“We just need picks,” Keys replied.

“I have ult,” Serena said. “If I can get to their backline you guys should be able to wipe the rest of them.”

“Might as well,” Keys said, but his tone was far from placated. If anything, he sounded incredulous, like that wouldn’t work at all. His follow up grumble proved that thought: “We’re getting fucking rolled either way.”

“They don’t know I’m back here,” Serena said. “Keep them distracted up there.”

Hakeem and Torbjorn were playing a little up from the cart, behind Keys, while you and Lexy stayed toward the back, providing heals when you had to and shooting at the enemy team when you could. It was when the other team’s Star-Lord moved a little too forward, aggressive because thus far, he had been without getting punished for it, that Serena made her move and ulted behind the other team, Star-Lord’s laugh followed by “All right!” rang out, and the killfeed pinged. She’d taken out both healers and even the other team’s Scarlet Witch.

“Let’s fucking go,” Keys said, and sure enough, once the other healers were down, you were able to wipe the other team, staggering their Hulk so he would respawn after and maybe even give you the chance to actually push the cart to the last point.

“Great job, Serena,” you said, earning yourself a “Thanks!” in return, but the friendly exchange was overshadowed by Keys.

“Picks, picks, picks,” he was saying, like your team needed the reminder.

The countdown at the top of the screen was nearing 0:00, and you weren’t even at the halfway point of the map yet—it had been a fucking struggle.

“Can we please”—Keys said, drawing out the word angrily, as the enemy Jeff swallowed him, only him, and spit him off the edge of the map—“kill the JEFF?”

It didn’t matter—the clock at the top of the screen ran down, and DEFEAT appeared on your screen.

“Hey, that was my last one,” Torbjorn said, leaving the group before anyone could even say anything.

“Yeah, me too,” Serena said, leaving. Hakeem said nothing, just dropping out of the call, and that just left you, Lexy, and Keys.

“One more?” Keys asked.

“Um,” you said, because everything that had just happened had been a lot, and even though he was mean, he wasn’t mean to you, and you really needed to figure out why you liked it so much. At least—when your pussy wasn’t currently pulsing in your fucking seat. Because you wanted to talk to him alone, wanted to get to the bottom of this, wanted to—

“I’m gonna go too, actually,” Lexy said, and you saw a DM from her pop up in the bottom of your screen.

You ok?

yeah you said back. you?

I’m used to him she said. If he’s getting too tilted you can just dip

“I’m gonna log off too,” you said, in the voice chat.

To Lexy, you replied i’ll talk to him.

“I had fun,” Keys said, his voice back to normal, and you heard Lexy laugh before she replied.

“Always a pleasure, Walter,” she said, then left.

“Um,” you said. “Can I—can we talk not in here? I don’t want anyone else to come in.”

A valid excuse—you’d gotten 8 checkmarks on your invitation asking people to play, so theoretically, Maxine, Franky, Dom, or Natalia could pop in at any moment if they saw you still on Rivals.

“Oh,” Keys said. “Yeah—call… call whenever.”

You left the voice chat and then navigated over to your DMs, finding the one with Keys only and then calling him through Discord. He answered immediately.

“Hey,” he said, before you even could, “I’m sorry.”

“Keys,” you tried, but he kept going.

“I just get—so into it, it’s really lame, I know.”

“Keys—”

“I just get so competitive—”

“Walter,” you said, using his real name and emphasizing it enough that he stopped speaking.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll—try to rein it in. Maybe we shouldn’t play Rivals anymore. I don’t want you to have to hear me like that.”

You stayed silent.

“Are you—are you on mute?” Keys asked. “I can’t hear you if you’re talking.”

“I’m not on mute,” you said. “I was waiting for you to finish so I could talk.”

“...Sorry.”

But now that you had the floor, you worried that what you were about to say was actually insane.

“No. Um,” you said. “I just…” You sighed. “I definitely want to keep playing Rivals.”

Keys snickered. “Even though I’m salty?”

You bit your lip. “Kind of… because of that?”

You could practically hear his head tilt through your headset. “What?”

“I… kind of like it,” you said, voice quiet. The only reason you could tell that it was even audible was the little green ring showing up around your icon in Discord.

“You like—what?”

“When you… I don’t know, get all angry and bossy and frustrated.”

“Are—seriously?”

“Yeah,” you said, breathy. Your throat felt tight and you swallowed nervously. Your stomach felt full of butterflies—and between your legs was still all hot and ready. You’d be willing to bet that if you checked, you’d be wet.

“So you like me like this?” Keys asked, voice clipped, and the tone with which he spoke made your cunt clench down on nothing.

“Kinda, yeah,” you said.

“Well which is it?” he asked—demanded, maybe. “Kinda? Or yes?”

“Yes,” you answered.

“This turns you on?” Keys asked, derisively, and the judgement—real or perceived, you couldn’t tell—made you actually moan a little as you squeezed your thighs together. For a moment, the real Keys reappeared. “Holy…shit, you’re—you’re actually into this?”

“Uh huh,” you intoned. “Yes, yeah, I am.”

A pause. And then—“Well, why don’t you stop wasting my time and tell me just how much?”

You swallowed again, thickly, your lips smacking a little as you parted them, and you moused over to turn off the mic setting for noise reduction to filter out background noise, because you wanted him to hear every single thing he possibly could. 

“I’m really wet,” you said, because you could feel it now, as you pressed your thighs closed: the slick slide of your pussy lips.

“Touching yourself?” he asked.

“N-not yet,” you said.

Keys loosed a short laugh. It hit you in your core. “What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing,” you said, standing up and unbuttoning your jeans, pushing them down and just stepping out of them. For the first time, you wished you had a standalone mic so you could hold it down by your pussy so Keys could hear everything, but he’d just have to settle for your words.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Keys said, and while his voice had the edge to it, you could still hear the kind undertones of your regular boyfriend.

“Getting undressed,” you said, and just pushed your boyshorts down too, stepping out of them and then glancing at the crotch. It was a slightly darker blue than the rest of the fabric, the wet spot entirely visible and not even a little bit subtle. 

“Finger yourself for me,” Keys said, and you sat back down in your chair, slumping down so your pussy hung off the edge of the seat, one of your legs thrown over the arm to keep yourself open.

“How many?” you asked, and by the way he groaned, you could tell he didn’t expect the question.

“Two,” he replied. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Are you—touching yourself too?” you asked.

Keys chuckled darkly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you squeaked, curling two fingers into your slit. Fuck, you really were just as soaked as you’d told him. “Walter, I’m—really wet, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “Easy to fuck yourself, huh?”

“Yeah,” you echoed. “Feels really good.”

You heard what sounded like him spitting over the call, and just as you were about to ask, he groaned loudly again.

“Trying to get my—myself as wet as you,” he said, faltering only for a moment, and you wondered if this was his first time fucking around over a voice call, because it wasn’t always easy to say shit like that out loud.

“I’m dripping,” you said, because sometimes, it was.

“Yeah?” Keys asked. “Let me hear it.”

You hesitated, then fumbled with your headset with your clean hand, pulling it off your ears and holding the microphone down between your legs. You pulled your fingers out and rubbed them over your folds, watching as the green ring around your icon lit up with each squelch of your fingers, each wet, slippery sound that came as you started spreading your arousal over your clit, rubbing it. You saw the same green ring light up around Keys’ icon, meaning he was talking to you but you couldn’t hear him.

Slowly, with a shaky hand, you lifted your headset back up and put it on as well as you could with just one hand, and you heard him talking, just barely, the sound of his wrist hitting into—his front? his hip, his thigh?—just as clearly as he must have heard you.

“Gonna come for me?” you asked, and Keys barked a laugh, the question clearly unexpected.

“‘Course,” he said. “Guess you proved you deserve it, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you replied, still working your fingers over your clit, dipping down every few strokes to rub at your slit, curling your fingers inside just enough to feel the stretch, then returning to your swollen, sensitive bead.

“You first,” Keys said. “Wanna hear you, ‘k? Once I hear you—I’ll—I’ll—”

“Ok,” you replied, then bit your lip and took off your headset again. This time, you held it halfway between your face and your pussy, so you could hear him a bit better but also, hopefully, he could hear you. You fingered yourself, spreading your legs a bit wider, the slick sounds of your folds almost covering the rhythm of his hand moving over his dick, but you could still just hear it, hear his moans and his encouragements, telling you how much he liked hearing you, how much he liked knowing you were like this for him. 

You focused on your clit, and replaced your headphones where they belonged again, letting him just hear your whimpers and mewls as you got even closer, his own heavy breathing and sighs of your name shoving all thoughts other than your own impending orgasm away.

“Wal—Walt,” you whined, loud, and then as you rubbed two fingers over your clit, up and down, faster, faster, faster, you came with a loud cry, half a sob and half a scream, the sound ripped from your throat as you choked on it on its way out, the moan broken and unending.

Keys followed after you, your name coming repeatedly from his lips, again and again, drawing it out longer and lower as he came too, you could tell—his hand had stopped moving and he was panting a little. And then, his voice in your ears.

“Was that good?” Keys. Back to normal.

And the switch was flipped.

&&

Things didn’t change much after that fated Discord call, even though you thought that they might. But to the contrary—you and Keys went out on dates, more frequently got together for game nights, finally joined Hakeem for their D&D oneshot, and even found time to fool around, learning more about each other’s likes and dislikes, what was compatible between you and what wasn’t. And even as you grew closer, as you found that you were absolutely, definitely compatible both personality-wise and physically, you still never brought up the other side of Keys, and he never seemed to realize that you wanted him to let it loose.

Even when you purposely were a little bratty to him in bed, even when you antagonized him just enough to try to get him to snap at you, he just smirked at your petulance and kissed you right on the end of the nose, and then fucked you six ways to Sunday and kind of made you forget about how enticing you found Mean Keys in that moment, though the thought always crept back up on you later, after he’d fallen asleep next to you or as you rode the subway home the next morning.

It was on another Rivals night that the universe decided to make your move for you, because by pure luck and happenstance, you were at Keys’ apartment when Lexy pinged in the Discord, asking for all Marvel fans to report for duty (actually, what she’d said was AVENGERS ASSEMBLEEEEEEEE, so). You’d met Keys’ eyes across the game room, where you were sitting playing through Gone Home on your Switch, curled up on his futon, while he was working on some project for work, trying to get ahead of a deadline.

“I could go for some Rivals,” you said, shrugging one shoulder.

“You sure?” he asked, glancing at his computer, saving his work, and then looking back over his shoulder at you. “I know how it gets you.”

That was the first time either of you had mentioned your… proclivity toward his alter ego, and you slowly lowered your Switch, unsure if you should feel embarrassed, called out, or excited.

“You mean how it gets you,” you said. 

Keys only smirked, maybe a little self-deprecating, but just a little, and half-shrugged one shoulder, partially nodding his head to concede the point.

“Well,” you started to say, but Keys continued.

“And I just want to be clear, if you want to, I’ll take you across the hall and let you have as much of me as you want.”

He wasn’t even nasty yet, the way you wanted, but you just nodded, because the prospect was too much to waste.

“I’ll take everything,” you said, voice hushed, and then cringed after a moment as he laughed.

“All right, Rogue,” he said, because you’d just inadvertently quoted the character’s ultimate voice line, then winked at you. “Gambit never folds.” Of course he would hit you back with Rogue’s husband’s voice line. God, you almost wanted to skip the games—but no, you wanted him in the right mood more. Wanted him to show you who was boss, and most importantly, wanted him to spit the attitude at you in just the right way to get you soaked, fucking dripping wet for him.

And after five matches, he was right there.

“How the fuck did we fuck that up, guys?” Keys asked. You’d been about to win—the enemy team’s cart was right at the end of the map, and you’d been picking them off one by one. They kept resetting the overtime counter by trickling in, and unfortunately all it took was one perfectly timed Scarlet Witch ult to get enough of you off the objective to allow them to roll it to the final point.

“My freeze was on cooldown,” you said, having gone back to Luna Snow after realizing that Mantis just wasn’t for you the last time.

“You could have put your shield up,” Maxine suggested to Keys.

“I have cooldowns too,” Keys said.

“Oh, you mean you weren’t managing them correctly, just like the rest of us?” Lexy said, because Keys had been shitting on everyone for exactly that, and he knew it.

“One mistake in five games,” Keys said. Lexy scoffed, but Keys asked anyway, “More?”

“I’m down,” Hakeem said, and you heard them take a drag on their vape, meaning they were exponentially more level-headed dealing with Keys tonight than they had been last time.

“Sure,” Lexy said, at the same time Maxine hummed her assent.

“Actually,” you said, looking over at Keys, who was on the futon, playing on his console while you were seated in his desk chair, pressing your thighs together. “I think I’m kinda done with Rivals for tonight.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Lexy said. “Hey, Keem, can you let Bryan know we have open spots now? He wanted to play but we were full.”

“Got it,” Hakeem said, and you watched the bottom corner of Keys’ center monitor flash with a Discord message from the server.

“Later,” you said, leaving the voice chat at the same moment that Keys did.

You turned to him, reaching down to cup yourself through your jeans, but Keys only shook his head.

“Do you think you played well enough for me to let you touch yourself?” he asked.

You immediately withdrew your hand and placed it on your knee.

“Thank you,” Keys said, and you felt your clit throb a little as you squeezed your pussy down around nothing. You hadn’t even done anything but listen to him. “So… what is it you’re looking for? When you have me like this.”

“I just—like when you’re… kind of mean, you know? When you talk down to me.”

You saw a look of uncertainty cross his face, because you had the distinct impression that this was new to him, that this was never something someone had asked him to do before.

“All right,” he said. “Why don’t you show me how bad you want it?”

You weren’t sure if even Keys knew how that question sounded, but your response was to stand from his desk chair, tug up the hem of the hoodie you’d borrowed from him when you’d arrived, and then push down the leggings you had on. Keys stayed perfectly still on the futon, watching, because you stepped out of the leggings and then hooked your thumbs into your panties, and you realized that as affected as you were by Keys being more stern with you than normal, so too was he affected by your obedience, your lack of inhibition.

His eyes rose from your hips to your face, then dipped back down as the waistband of your underwear rolled down around your hips, just a hint of your pubic hair peeking out, the wet spot you were sure was there visible to Keys, at least. You watched as he swallowed, his hoodie falling back down around you as you pushed your underwear down far enough that you were able to let them fall to the floor where you stood in front of his desk. And then you were standing there, half dressed, wearing your boyfriend’s hoodie with the promise of exactly what he’d wanted to see beneath it, and Keys finally stood up.

“I said show me,” he said.

Biting your lip, you reached down with both hands to curl them into the hoodie, lifting it up as Keys approached you, getting close enough to reach out and touch you but decidedly not doing it. You heard the heavy breath he took as he looked down at you—this was the most tension you’d ever had between you, you thought, and god, it was only going to get even better.

The soft fabric of the hoodie tickled you a little as you pulled it up, exposing your bare lower half to Keys, whose eyes settled on the spot between your thighs as he stared. You squirmed a little under his gaze, keeping your face turned up to his as you he finally reached out for you, letting his hands come to rest on your bare hips before he trailed the fingertips of one down over your front, then the back of his hand was brushing the inside of your thigh, and then his fingers were pressing up against you, parting your puffy lips. His breath caught when he felt how wet you were, and even you could tell by how easily his fingers slipped in between your folds. He withdrew his hand and lifted it between you, the grip of his other hand on your hip tighter now than it had been just moments ago. He showed you his glistening fingertips, and then moved his hand to his mouth, stopping just before he reached it.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he said. “Letting this kind of thing get you this wet?” You swallowed, lips parted, because the derision was exactly what you wanted. “What’s wrong with you?”

Even as he asked it, he continued moving his hand toward his mouth, and as soon as you stammered out an “I—I don’t know,” he took his fingers between his lips, sucking your fluids off of them before, humming quietly before taking them back out of his mouth, now shiny with saliva.

“You don’t know?” Keys repeated.

You shook your head. Keys smirked, leaning down closer to your level, and looked straight into your eyes. 

“I don’t know either,” he said. “But I think I’m starting to like it.”

—

There was no reason for Keys to keep you standing in his game room, in front of his desk, his fingers curled into your cunt as you arched yourself up against him to kiss him, and when you pulled away to look at him through half-lidded eyes, breathing out a “Can we—please—?” he just ushered you to his bedroom, laying you down on his bed, pushing your legs apart and nosing in between your thighs, letting his face press into the fold of skin where your leg met your mound, but he didn’t lick you where you wanted him to—no, he sucked a long, wet kiss to one of your lips, then looked up at you, hands fisted in the front of his sweatshirt, the hood up and over your head. It made you look cute.

It made him—this side of him, the one that you liked, the one that you’d given permission for him to try on—want to ruin you.

“Walter,” you whimpered, as he laved his tongue over the side of your cunt, not delving into you, just teasing you, not giving you what you wanted.

He ignored you, even as you curled a hand into his hair, tugging at him, trying to angle his mouth slightly to the side, trying to get him where you needed him.

Before you even realized he’d moved one of his hands from the expanse of your thigh, it was wrapped around your wrist, taking your hand from his hair and moving it to the same spot his hand had just vacated.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, steady. You felt your thighs twitch a little, partly from how open he was holding you, and partly from the commanding tone. “Behave. Ok?”

“Ok,” you mewled in response, and felt cunt squeeze down around nothing when his lips curved upward on one side, a half-smile.

“Thank you,” he said, and you took in a shaky breath. 

Then, he gave in to you.

With just a small tilt of the head, his mouth was exactly where you needed him most. His lips dragged over your clit before moving further down, and his nose pressed against your supple skin as he sucked at your folds, mouthing at your slit before burying his face into you, his chin already wet with you, his hands on your thighs, one still holding your own hand against you too.

This was nice—this was really good, like he always was to you. But it wasn’t what you actually wanted.

“Mmn,” you whined, trying to make it sound as though you weren’t enjoying yourself. Which you absolutely were, so where was your Oscar?

Because the moment the displeased-sounding mewl fell from your lips, Keys pulled away to look up at you.

Concerned. Normal Keys.

You let the barest hint of a smirk touch your lips, and his brow furrowed.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

You squirmed a little beneath him, spread open and willing, yet still wanting. “No…”

“You sure?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” you whispered, nodding.

Keys lowered his face to you again, resuming eating you out, and again, you shifted your hips.

And again, Keys removed his mouth from you. This time, he didn’t speak, just looked at you expectantly.

That was better. That was… closer.

“Problem?” he said, because this time, it wasn’t a question. It was a demand for an explanation. He was figuring, pushing, testing the limits; yours and his. 

Your breath caught, but only for a moment.

“No,” you said again, and this time, he rose to it.

“Try again.”

And it had all the weight you wanted, the rigidity, the glint of harshness that you heard in his tone when he got frustrated with a game, transferred onto you. Because you’d told him you would behave, and you weren’t.

You tucked your head back into the hood more, and when you spoke, it was a soft little murmur. A flash of honesty—because if you didn’t tell him what you wanted, how could he know? This was push and pull, give and take, a tug of war that you’d both win in the end.

“It was too easy,” you said, speaking from the heart. “I want to work for it.”

Keys blinked. The normal version of him shined through, and he gave you a half grin and a nod, and then let the stoic expression reappear.

“Work for it,” he said, and you could tell that he was working through getting used to this but also enjoying it, playing the role you wanted him to fill for you. “You mean you want to earn it.”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Done.”

Your breath caught as he pushed himself away from you, moved to stand up over you with his legs between yours, still slung over the side of the bed. You hesitated, then pushed yourself up onto your elbows, still looking up at him.

“Get up,” Keys said, almost like an invitation rather than a command.

You pushed yourself up to your elbows, unable to press your thighs together since he was still standing between your legs, his knees pressed against the side of his mattress. The sweatshirt fell down over your abdomen, the hem coming to rest atop your thighs with the hood half dropping over your face.

“Turn over, please,” Keys said, and even with the polite phrasing his voice was still exactly where you wanted it to be, the lower register with the detached, aloof tone.

Sliding back over the bedspread, you opted not to try and stand while he was basically on top of you, and instead just rolled onto all fours, the hoodie riding up over your waist again, exposing your ass and your lower back to him. You didn’t hear any movement, didn’t hear him speak, didn’t even hear him breathing, but what you did hear was the sound of his closet door opening behind you.

You chanced a look and saw him kneeling in front of the closet, the same way he had been when he’d given you a pair of sweats to wear to sleep in, but this time, he had moved the drawer on top to the side and was looking through the bottom drawer.

“You know,” Keys said, glancing over at you like he’d known you would look. “I’m usually more of a… mouth guy.” You were very aware—oral was his favorite thing to do, and to ask you to do. “But… a techy guy like me, I’d be kind of remiss if I didn’t at least plan to have some fun with this kind of stuff, right?”

You couldn’t see what he was talking about—it was too dim in the room, plus the drawer was fully in his closet on the floor, and he was blocking it from your view. You had an inkling, though. And as you strained your neck to just try and see him out of the corner of your eye, you were absolutely proven right when he pulled out—

“You have a fucking Hitachi?” you asked, and even Keys broke a little too.

“Well—I bought it because, you know, people on Reddit said—”

“Reddit?” you asked, laughing a little even though moments ago you’d been legitimately quivering in anticipation. “You get sex advice from Reddit?”

“Well, I’m not about to ask Lexy what you like—”

“You bought it for me?”

Keys opened his mouth, then closed it, took a breath—that one you heard—and then was right back to it. “I bought it for you,” he said, but the simple words were colored by the way he said them. He stood up, crossing to the bed; your eyes were unable to leave the vibrator he held in his hands. It had a cable for fuck’s sake. You’d used toys before, but never one that would probably leave you spent before Keys even had a hand on you.

“I figure this might be a way to… prove yourself, hm?” Keys asked, climbing onto the bed behind you. But instead of touching you, he just leaned over to the side, letting his hand slip between the side of his mattress and the wall, and plugged the toy in. Making sure you were looking back at him, he turned it onto the lower setting and it still buzzed, loudly. “Can you do that?” He turned it off again.

“I—can try,” you uttered, and he smirked at you.

“Thank you,” he said, and you felt yourself clench up again. Every time he thanked you it made you want to scream in the best fucking way.

He offered you the toy, his arm moving up around your side, and you reached to take it. Once you had it in hand, he finally touched you again, letting his fingers skim up your back as he eased your chest down to the bed, your ass in the air, hips flexed. His touch beneath the hoodie tickled you—you were surprised you were still wearing it, but, admittedly, you liked having his clothes on while you were doing this. It made it feel all the more intimate somehow, even though your body was hidden; it was still wrapped in something that belonged to him.

“I want you to hold it right here,” Keys said, taking your wrist and guiding your hand up between your legs, letting the bulb of the toy rest against your mound. “However you want. You can take it away if you need to. Ok?”

“Ok,” you breathed. He was in control, but he was still letting you have some agency—you liked that. A lot. “When—” you started to ask, but stopped. “How…”

“Hm?” Keys asked, and you shuddered as you felt his lips move over your lower back.

“How do I earn it?”

You felt more than heard his smirk. “I’ll let you know when you have.”

Flicking the toy on and off a few times, you couldn’t quite help but to talk back just a little. “Or don’t.”

He paused, sighed. “Yeah, I—I’m sorry, I’m still—getting used to this. M…meaner?”

“Kinda,” you said, turning to look back at him, and he nodded.

“I’m tryin’ here,” he said.

“I know,” you said. “Just—don’t overthink it? I’ll stop you if it’s too much. I—” You swallowed. “I want you to be mean to me. So be mean to me.”

“Mean,” Keys echoed. “Mean…” He leaned over you, tucking his face right beside yours, cheek to cheek as he reached below you, taking your wrist in hand again. “If you need me to stop, say…” he trailed off, ostensibly trying to think of a word to use.

“Tilted,” you said, and he laughed.

Then, just as quickly, he stopped. The mood shifted. He pressed his face into yours, and you were suddenly aware of the way his body was on top of yours, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, the weight of his cock pressing against your ass cheek, even though his jeans. His nose at your temple, his lips on your earlobe, closing around it.

“Tilted,” Keys repeated. “That’s perfect.”

He backed away from you, his hands moving to your ass, spreading you apart, and you felt even more exposed than you had minutes ago when he was going down on you. A sharp little clicking noise sounded behind you, and it took you a moment to realize he’d just snapped his fingers at you.

“The toy,” he said, just this side of commanding. “You said you wanted to earn it. So earn it.”

You gasped a little as his fingers dug into your ass cheeks, and then his tongue was moving over your lower back, trailing down, between your cheeks, and you felt him stop just shy of actually licking you anywhere interesting. He waited, so you didn’t. 

The wand started buzzing as you hit the switch, and as you touched it to your mound—not even your clit, the vibrations plenty strong to stimulate yourself—you heard him again, behind you.

“Thank you,” he said, and you turned your face into the mattress as you pushed the toy a little more firmly against yourself, thighs shuddering already even without direct contact to your clit.

And then, he started in again. He licked between your folds, tongue slipping into your slit as he licked at you from the inside, moving against you as you adjusted the toy, still not making direct contact because you could tell it would be too much, especially with him eating you out. 

You could barely hear him over the hum of the toy, the wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy, the moans that emanated from his chest as he sucked at your lips and even tongued at your clit, his chin bumping into the bulb as you moved it back and forth over yourself, giving yourself a little massage with it, and it was working even though the only thing touching your clit was Keys’ tongue.

“Mm,” you intoned, but Keys didn’t react to it, didn’t respond other than to lave his tongue over you, licking a long, thick stripe from your clit to your slit, gathering up your arousal onto his tongue—and then continuing on right up your crack, spreading your fluids and arousal up and over your asshole, his tongue flicking against the puckered rim as you gasped, then whimpered as he focused his attention on it.

“Yeah?” Keys asked, his lips against your ass. “Tilted?”

“No,” you said vehemently, and he felt your body give a kick as you pushed the wand further down between your legs, this time actually touching your clit with it. You jumped again and again at the intense vibration, but it didn’t deter him—on the contrary. He fully intended to give you as many orgasms as you wanted, as you could take, and even though he hadn’t expressed that to you, he was certain you could assess the situation and figure it out all on your own.

“Didn’t think so,” he said. “You really want to show me, huh?” he said. He placed a kiss, a soft, gentle press of his lips, directly on your asshole, and your pussy quivered. You were close—he could tell. It didn’t deter him.

“Walter,” you whined as he opened his mouth, licked at your hole. You could feel how much spit he’d spread over you, the wet feeling of his mouth as he prodded your rim gently with the tip of his tongue, not quite trying to ease it inside just yet, but trying to relax you enough to. You pulled the wand away from your clit, wanting to stave it off, and resumed just rubbing it over your mound, feeling the buzzing but just a pinch more muted.

Keys sucked at your asshole, tongue lapping over you, before he ducked down again, his mouth back on your pussy. You gasped, the sound punched out of your chest as he fucked you with his tongue. His hands were still on you, but as you arched your back, you turned your head as much as you could and saw him behind you, his hips pressed against his bed, still clothed, grinding his front against the mattress, giving himself some friction as he rolled himself down, not quite humping the bed but close. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, angling your wrist again, the Hitachi passing over your clit, and as soon as the vinyl head skimmed over your clit, swollen and ready, smearing across it—your body practically convulsed, your orgasm crashing into you, turning your head to hide your face in the bedspread beneath you, chest kicking as you feel your clit pulse, your pussy spasm, clench down on his tongue that was apparently still inside of you—you hadn’t even realized Keys was still in the damn room, such was the force at which the magic wand (aptly fucking named, holy shit) made you come.

Your wrist dipped, the toy falling away from you, but no it didn’t—because Keys’ hand was there, supporting your wrist, even as he licked at your asshole again.

“Walt…” you moaned, because your brain still felt a little fuzzy but your body was revving up again.

“You did so good. Such good work for me,” Keys said. “I almost believe you’ll earn it.”

“Please,” you said, but he let go of your wrist, let you move the toy off of your clit and down, down further, now letting the bulb press against your slit as he trailed his tongue around your asshole, teasing your rim.

The moan that fell from your lips was muffled by the comforter beneath you as you hid your face again. The head of the toy was nestled between your folds, feeling like it was making your entire lower half shake with the intensity of the vibrations. And maybe you were—you couldn’t be certain. Your thighs were trembling at least, of that you were sure, and as you twisted your wrist, pressing the wand tighter up against your cunt, Keys’ tongue just barely slipped inside of your asshole, and you groaned at the intrusion, the half-sob you loosed making your hand tighten around the vibrator, your other hand curl into a fist around nothing just clenching up.

Until you felt fingers coaxing you to relax yours, and Keys’ hand slid into yours, letting you hold onto him as you felt your pussy tightening up again, squeezing down on nothing but itself, your wetness drooling out of your cunt as Keys fed his tongue into your ass, stretching you around the pliant muscle as it flitted in and out of you, teasing and eager.

“K-Keys,” you said, losing your composure, forgetting his real name just for a moment, forgetting your own goddamn name. Who were you? You didn’t fucking know—all you knew was the singularity between your thighs, your entire being forced down into one tight, explosive mote of being.

“What’s my name?” he asked you, pulling away, spitting on his thumb and letting it rub over your hole. “Try again.”

“Ke—Walter,” you managed, your heart thrumming in your chest. You felt his lips return to your lower back, wet but gentle.

“Very good,” he praised you, and you whined, flexing your hips back against the toy as you held it against yourself, so close now, but needing just a little more. You wanted to wait until his mouth was back on you before giving it to yourself; and like he anticipated what you hoped for, he ducked down to lap at your asshole again, tongue dipping inside you every few passes. Once he was back on you, his mouth servicing you, his hands on your ass, holding you open for him, you slid the wand further forward, focusing on your clit, and just like the first time, your orgasm was there almost instantly, your body kicking forward enough that you detached yourself from Keys’ mouth, hips bucking forward away from him. You half-screamed as your orgasm tore through you, grinding your pussy down against the toy as you came, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as you felt one roll down your face and settle into the hollow beside your nose.

“Fuck, fuck, Walt—Walt, I’m so—”

“You’re so close,” Keys said, reaching down beneath you, taking your wrist again, his arm reaching down and around you. He leaned fully over you, his front against yours, and let you feel his weight atop you, his mouth littering kisses at the back of your ear, the sensitive spot there, before he continued. “Do you know that?” He rolled his hips against you, his erection much more noticeable now, the thick press of his cock commanding all of your attention, if not for the vibrator still down between your legs, numbing your thigh as it buzzed away at the innocuous plane of skin.

“To—what?” you asked, because thinking wasn’t your strong suit at the moment.

“To proving you earned it,” Keys said. “I think… one more oughtta do it.” He tucked his face in between your neck and shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie almost in the way, but not quite. His voice was quiet as he checked in on you, pulling your wrist down so the vibrator kept on working, but touched nothing, letting you almost clear your head. “Tilted?”

“No,” you said, turning to try and look at him. “Please I—want you to—not stop.”

His eyes met yours, icy. “And you think I should listen to you?” he asked. “You like being treated like this. Not sure I should trust your judgement.”

“Please,” you whimpered. “One more and I—I earned it. You said.”

Keys chuckled, and even with the darkness, you heard his real, genuine Keys amusement, the lightness that made you want to fly every time you joked and earned yourself a laugh. “I did, you’re right.” He leaned further into you, his cock against your ass through the denim, and kissed the corner of your mouth, pulling away even as you tried for more. “You’re so close,” he said again. “Let’s fucking go.”

It would have made you laugh in any other circumstances, because god, how often did the two of you say that when you were gaming and something good happened? Well now you were fucking and something good was about to happen, so—warranted.

He didn’t move off of you, letting his body rest on yours as he tightened his grip on your wrist, not just holding it anymore but taking control, guiding the head of the wand against your clit, and even when your hips kicked, flexed, overstimulation driving you into madness, he held it there, feeling your body writhe below his, your legs try to move, flatten, stretch, wanting your body laid out instead of bent at the waist, wanting room to feel as much pleasure as you could rather than confined to a smaller space.

“Almost,” Keys said, his voice low, making you close your eyes to take it in, the deep, richness of it sweet and heavy, covering over you like honey. “Almost, right?”

“Almost,” you echoed him, reveling in his body draped over yours, the way he kissed your jaw and rubbed your wrist with his thumb, soothing you as the vibrator worked at you, your body half-spent but only just getting started.

Keys moved the toy back and forth over you, gently, easily, but even so, after barely another few moments, you broke beneath him, a stuttered groan leaving you as you came, spreading your knees, the two of you sinking low until you were flat on the bed, the Hitachi still rumbling away beneath you, your pussy spasming on top of it as you rode out your orgasm with Keys still on top of you, his breath hot on your neck as he—oh, fuck, fuck—started grinding down against you, humping your ass just the same as he’d been doing to his bed itself earlier.

“Walter—” you whimpered, and he slid an arm beneath you, feeling along the shaft of the toy to turn it off, the two of you feeling the lack of the vibration like it was still there, your cunt tingling, his hips still working into you, but slowing.

“So, so good, you were,” Keys whispered to you, the arm beneath you hugging you from below, squeezing you tight against him even though he was already fully on top of you. “Thank you.”

“Fuck—” you moaned, the gratitude making your pussy clamp up again, and you felt a little rush of your fluids trickle out of your slit.

“You like that, huh?” Keys asked, halfway between normal and derisive. He moved his free hand to stroke back over your hair, feeling the slight beading of sweat at your hairline. “When I thank you for being so good?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, agreeing even though you had no explanation as for why.

“Yeah,” Keys repeated, pushing himself up and off of you, but letting his front linger against your ass as long as he could, before he had to roll back onto his knees and climb off of you. “You want even more? Or would that be too good to you?”

“No, it’s—”

“It’s what?” Keys asked, cutting you off as he moved off of the bed to stand beside it, looking down at your prone form, still in his hoodie, the hem just above your ass, the hood all bunched up at the nape of your neck. “Not too good?” He leaned down, his face right beside yours. “I think maybe it’s about time you start thanking me, don’t you? Show me how grateful you are for how… generous I’m being.”

You stared up at him, fucked out and dumbstruck.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Keys undid his button and fly, pushing down his jeans and boxers, letting his cock spring out once it was clear of his waistband. Even in the dark of the room you could see the flushed head, the way the tip was a little darker than the rest of him, and he wrapped a hand around himself, right at the base. “Well?”

“I earned it?” you asked, and for a moment, affection—nay, adoration—flashed over his face. Then it was gone.

“You did. So what do you say.”

“Thank you,” you said, and before you could even close your lips after speaking, Keys had one knee on the bed, holding his cock down, angled toward your mouth, and you shifted closer as best you could while your limbs still felt like jelly, unable to really support yourself for now.

Smirking down at you, Keys waited for you to part your lips, your cheek still flat on the bedspread, and let the tip of his cock rest shallowly in your open mouth. You loosened your jaw, propping yourself up a little on your elbow, and he slid his knee forward, his cock entering your mouth, stretching your lips around him as you exhaled out your nose and let your eyes slip closed.

He didn’t fuck your face. He didn’t try to spur you to action. He didn’t really even move until you did, trying to keep his cock between your lips as you first balanced on your elbows, and then shifted onto your knees, curled up before him, your head still kind of sideways, the two of you managing to move together and finagle yourselves into a position where you could let his cock rest in your mouth, saliva mixing with the precome he’d been leaking, both dripping down your throat so you barely tasted him, just taste what was already coating him on the underside from where his slit had leaked while pleasuring you.

You tried to keep your eyes on his, still wet and shiny with the unshed tears from the force of your orgasm, and as you started to feel less wobbly, you reached for his hips, coming to hold them as you faced him properly, bobbing your head on his cock a little, his length sliding out from your lips almost the whole way before you moved right back on, burying your nose into the short, curled hair at the base of his cock, your chin nudging his balls as you let the head slip into your throat.

“Shit,” Keys swore, and covered one of your hands with his, the other moving to cup your face. It was a crack in his facade, and as you started to pull off, you saw the mask slip back onto him, the half-scowl on his lips as you let his cock fall, dripping spit, from your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, soft but clear, and it was a reminder to him, what you were doing, what you wanted. His mouth hardened into a thin line again, even as he rubbed his hand over yours on his hip, and lifted his free hand from your cheek to take his cock in hand again. He tapped the tip onto your lower lip, and you opened your mouth, taking him in again, and this time he did fuck into your mouth. Not hard, not harsh, but enough that you gagged a little at the quick motion, how fast he filled you, and you swallowed around the head as he leaned his thigh against the edge of the mattress, his other knee still bent and digging a point into the bedspread. 

One of your hands, the one not covered by Keys’ own, slid down to his thigh, bracing yourself as you sucked him off, your jaw slack and your eyes fluttering, wanting to watch his cock move in and out of your mouth, but the blissed out feeling of him stretching you, brushing the back of your throat, almost choking you had you unable to keep them open. You felt his cock twitch against the back of your mouth, deep in you, and you swallowed around the head, your throat tightening up around him as he sighed above you.

“If this is too much,” Keys said, turning your hand in his so your fingers locked together, “squeeze twice.” He demonstrated on your hand, gripping you tight two times in quick succession. “Ok?”

You squeezed his hand once and hummed to communicate that you understood, and then he was bending over you, climbing onto the bed, both knees on it as he moved his hands to your shoulders and then—no warning other than him holding you still and pulling back—snapped his hips forward into your face, his cock rushing into your mouth, your throat, your gag reflex triggering, your throat spasming around him, but you took him in anyway. Your hand slid upward, palm-flat against him, to disappear beneath his shirt, feeling over his stomach, his chest, and then, barely as soon as you were able to relax around his length, as your throat closed around the head, you felt him really dig into you, his front grinding against you, your nose buried in his happy trail—a groan was punched out of his chest, a small, barely audible whimper following as he came, the first two shots of his come sliding right down your throat. But as he kept going, thick spurts of come shooting from the slit in the head, he pulled out, letting them land instead on your tongue, then against your palate as he left your lips, cock swinging down, ropes of his release landing on the front of his hoodie, his bedspread, his heavy length staining his bedspread with the last few dribbles of spunk as his orgasm receded, a bead of pearly come collecting at the head.

Keys slicked his hand over his cock, still slippery with your spit, smearing it over himself, before he looked into your eyes, breath coming a little harder than he’d anticipated, his orgasm washing over him much sooner than he’d expected.

And before he could say anything—praise you, degrade you, get out literally one goddamn word, you spoke instead.

“Thank you,” you said, voice soft and quiet, and Key’s cock twitched, right in front of you, the dynamic doing wonders for both of you, so unexpected but still welcome.

“Take—this off,” Keys said, tangling a shaky hand into the hoodie, trying to tug it over your head.

“I got it—” you mumbled, and he stumbled backward off the bed, tearing his clothes off, his shirt landing somewhere near the door and his jeans and boxers ending up in a tangled pile as you shrugged off the come-stained hoodie, undoing your bra and dropping them both beside you on the bed. That was really as far as you could get them, because as soon as you were both naked, Keys was on top of you again, this time turning you over so you were facing him, letting his mouth meet yours in a fervid kiss, heated and desperate, both on your part and his.

For the moment, the attitude was forgotten, the desire for him to be mean to you, the praise and the degradation—everything was at the back of your mind besides your boyfriend, kissing you, tasting himself on you—and your hands, touching him everywhere; his hands, on your waist and your back and holding you closer, pulling you to him, until he rolled you onto your back, following, settling atop you and kissing your upper lip, drawing your tongue into his mouth, moving his against yours and then your legs were on either side of him and he was stretching up and to the side, yanking open his nightstand drawer, fumbling for a condom in the box, his cock hard against your stomach, smearing your saliva and his residual come over your front.

Your lips didn’t leave his, even as he just grabbed the stupid box and threw it down onto the bed above your head. A little giggle escaped you against Keys’ mouth, and he finally broke the kiss, looking down at you, a sheepish little smirk on his lips as he finally managed to pull a rubber from the box. He kissed you again before he pushed himself up, his long legs bent on either side of your hips. You let your hands stray to his thighs, rubbing over them as he opened the condom and then rolled it on, shuffling back a little so he could press the head of his cock to your slit, still slick with spit and your own come. He pushed in, your folds parting to take him, your body sucking him in just as much as he was moving into you on his own.

“So—so,” Keys said, gasping just a little as he tried to get the words out, bottoming out inside you as his front came to rest against yours, “do—you think you earned this?”

“I—” you tried, but your body superceded your mouth, your brain. You squeezed down on him, bringing a moan to the surface for both of you, your legs moving to wrap around him, trying to pull him down flush against you, and so he moved with you, lowering his front to yours, your bare skin heated on his, your chest arching up into him as he kissed your neck, finally moving his hips, fucking into you.

“Did you earn it?” Keys asked, and you whined, open-mouthed, needy, his mouth finding yours as he licked into it, tongue licking over yours before he spoke again. “Say it.”

“I—” you tried again, but his hips were slapping into yours, his cock was fucking you open, splitting you apart beneath him and so all you could do was take it, mouth open in a silent moan, back arching, neck craned, and then—he stopped.

“I told you to say it,” Keys said, and before you could do as he asked, before you could get your wits back about you, he kept going. “Beg me to give it to you like this, tell me how much you like it, tell me you want me mean. And I do all of it for you and you can’t even do one thing for me? Brat.”

You stared up at him, because—it seemed he finally found his groove, he found the space you wanted him to occupy, and you were just nodding along, still not speaking.

“Oh, you agree?” he asked. You, still, silently nodded. “Brat.” He fucked into you harshly, one final movement, stilling deep within you. “You better learn to use your words,” Keys said. “Say it.” He kissed you, harsh, just as wanting as you felt—which let you still feel tethered to the real Keys, the one who was soft and sweet and doing all of this for you, because you asked him to. “Say you earned this cock.”

Your moan was wanton, breathy, and he didn’t move, hips stalled on yours, and you swallowed thickly, lips smacking as you opened them. “I earned it.”

“Earned what?”

Another loud breath. “Your cock.”

“How?” Keys asked, one hand slipping down between your bodies, readying itself, but not touching you yet. His lips were against yours now, and when you spoke, you felt him shudder.

“By—being good?” you said, half a question, half a certainty.

“By being good,” he repeated. “Still a brat, though.”

“No,” you whined. 

“No what?” he asked. His eyes scanned your face. “Ti—” he started to ask, but you cut him off, because no—you weren’t tilted.

“‘M not a brat,” you said, trying to entice him to move again by lifting your hips against his. “Just—want you.”

Keys studied you for a moment, taking you in, examining you—making sure you were being truthful, making sure you were still good to continue. You tipped your chin up to his, kissing him, conveying everything unsaid in a different way with your mouth, and then he broke the kiss, just enough to answer you.

“Then what do you say?”

“Walter…” you mewled, because you weren’t about to th—

“Say it,” he said again, and it struck you that maybe you weren’t the only one wrapped up in it now. Maybe you weren’t the only one who wanted it, was affected by it. So you lifted your hips into Keys’, bullied your pussy even further onto his cock, taking him fully to the hilt, pulling him even closer by your thighs, and did as he’d asked.

“Thank you,” you nearly purred up at him, and you felt his front dip down against yours in interest, in desperation, chasing his orgasm the same way he wanted to give you yours—you could tell because his fingers moved down between your folds, slicking over your swollen, sensitive bead, and you bucked your cunt up onto his cock as he found it, because you were so worn out, so overly played with, that you were right there already, just from having him inside you, from a little bit of rubbing at your clit.

“Yeah?” Keys asked, sounding like he was willing to let go of his usual decorum, his usual collectedness, only for you, like this. “Yeah?” he prompted you, again.

“Yes,” you sighed. “Thank you, th-thank you, Walter, I—ahn, please—”

He’d started moving again, his knees buried in the bedspread as he fucked you, hard enough that he nudged you up the bed in increments, chasing you as he did, not wanting to let you away from him, not wanting to slip out of your hot, wet channel.

“So fucking hot,” he mumbled, “so beautiful, so—so good, aren’t—you?” 

His stammering words fluttered over you, and you nodded, your arms moving up to wrap around him as he kissed you again, his fingers rubbing your clit, full of intention, purpose, wanting to feel you finish around him, wet his cock and your thighs with your release, and you could tell he was about to go first because his rhythm stuttered, his hips ground into you a little more intensely, a little harsher.

“Walter,” you sighed against his lips, and he nearly collapsed on top of you, smothering your body with his, needing absolutely no space between you, wanting every inch of you touching every inch of him. You clung to him as he pistoned his hips against yours, his cock seeming to fill you more and more with each thrust, every instroke reaching the most tender places in you, the ridge of his length dragging over every spot you needed it to, and then he was gasping against your tongue and you were sighing on his cheek, his cock rigid and tense inside you, your thighs locked around his back as he filled the condom within you, and your walls rippled on him, milking his dick as you practically gushed around his cock, your whole body so fucking fulfilled you felt that you’d be satisfied for hours to come, if not days.

His bedroom was filled with heavy breathing, the soft smacking of lips as you kissed, and then he rolled onto his side next to you, his hand wandering over your side as he leaned his forehead to yours.

“Was it ok?” he asked. Regular Keys, back to normal.

“More than ok,” you replied, smiling, looking into his eyes, shining even in the darkness of his bedroom.

Then, at the same moment, you both spoke the words “Thank you”—you dissolved into giggles, and he just held you closer.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08 @xoxocelestial @kristywidget97 @calelundaa @mistyblueinks @projections-mortal @cupofdjoplease

comment to be added to the taglist !

[djob00bies]

🪐

— name three good things going on in your life right now

1.) i’ve been at my new job for a month and have been loving it so far :’) !

2.) my summer of love continues with a whopping total of 5 more concerts to look forward to this summer with friends!

3.) i am healthy and happy and full of love 😎☮️🌟💖✌️

[djob00bies]

🍓 for the ask game!!

— how did you get into writing fanfiction?

i read a lot of fic in middle school — which lead me to realizing oh shit…. it’s a whole world out there….. and then i decided to start writing for myself and my friends. in like, 8th grade i wrote and published 10 chapters of a really bad, super self insert-y and self indulgent myself x harry styles fanfic (THAT HAS SINCE BEEN DELETED) and the rest was history!

i took a break during high school and really started back up writing again for other fandoms in my junior year of college. it was a great way to spend free time and it exercised the hell out of my creative brain between classes! (i’m also a screenwriter and when i had ideas that weren’t fleshed out enough for scripts i would just channel them into fics mwahahaha)

[dotcie]

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats  🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?  🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love 🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that? 🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis 🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help? 🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love 💌 ⇢ how many unread emails do you have right now?  🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis 🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?  🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before 🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time?  🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings 🧸 ⇢ what's the fastest way to become your mutual? 🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now 📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app?  🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character 🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project? 🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on ❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best? 🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity 🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh  🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work? 🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate 🥝 ⇢ do you lie a lot? what's the most recent lie you told? 🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately  🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?  🍅 ⇢ give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing 🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises? 🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here ☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username? 🐝 ⇢ tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them 🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them 🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it 🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

[keer-y]

Cherry Red

pairing: gator tillman/f!reader wc: 3400 tags: mild-ish sweat/scent kink, oral sex (f receiving), lowkey pussy worship, [unsafe] vaginal sex, shower sex, nipple play, squirting, gator is thirsty af, gator is also a little bit of a menace (so… your standard gator). also husband!gator a/n: not saying this is the same couple from Free Show but it just might be &&

It’s been a long day—the Fourth, friends, Gator’s family and yours. 

Unbearably hot, despite chasing the twins through the sprinkler. 

Unbearably hot, even while sucking on the ice pop that Karen brought for each of you. 

Unbearably hot, especially after Gator sidled up to you, his hand curving over your exposed shoulder, turning you halfway to face him and asking, “Can I get a lick too, sugar?”

You’d let your tongue swirl around the tip of the pop before pulling it out of your mouth, lips and tongue stained extra-cherry-red, sweet and sticky as you held the popsicle toward him. He smirked, which you caught at the very last moment, and only noticed that he was veering his face toward yours and not the pop, licking into your mouth in full view of your collective group of friends. You kiss him back—it’s Gator, of course you do—but pull away after what you deem is a few seconds too long to still be considered appropriate.

His lips are stained with just a little residual red, and you suck the popsicle back into your mouth, smirking at him.

Since then, he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off you, and you thought it was bad when you’d first stripped off your tank top to reveal the bikini top you were wearing underneath it. You were past the point of worrying about how you looked in a bathing suit in front of your family and extended family—your friends didn’t care, your husband didn’t care, and it was too damn hot for you to care either. You’d worn a pair of jean shorts anyway, which stuck to your legs like glue, so at least they wouldn’t ride up and show everyone that you hadn’t in fact, worn the matching bikini bottom.

You’d spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the twins, the two of them squealing and laughing as Roy found the old water guns from Gator’s youth in the shed, you letting them team up against you to spray you with ice cold water from the hose, ending up soaking wet in the scorching sun, dripping with sweat and water as you urged them to calm down so they could sit quietly and eat, which didn’t help. They had the giggles for the rest of the afternoon, and insisted that you run around with them some more, chasing the bubbles they blew until they were out of reach or popped, following a grasshopper as it fled from your thunderous footsteps, until they lost sight of it and you returned to the family gathering.

“You’re too good with them,” one of your friends said as you slumped down beside her, leaning your sweaty, sunkissed self against Gator’s arm while they ran inside for a bathroom break and you got five minutes of silence amongst adults.

“They’re just kids,” you replied. “They need to have fun. Right, Gates?” You nudged Gator, and immediately regretted it.

“I mean, I ain’t complainin’,” he said, his arm slithering over your skin, a little damp with sweat, to cup one of your tits through the bikini top. “Got these things all wet ‘n slippery, gettin’ me all hot ‘n bothered just thinkin’ about ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you said, elbowing him in the stomach and standing up; even as you did, his hand slid down over your side to your hip, then your thigh as you started to stalk away from him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yer irresistible,” he countered, sipping from his bottle of lukewarm beer, the sweat on the outside of the bottle pruning his fingers.

You flipped him off as you rejoined the girls, who grabbed one hand each and tugged you around behind them, making you try and lift them as they skipped on either side of you.

By the time you pulled yourself up into the cab of Gator’s truck hours later, the sun was starting to think about getting lower in the sky, but was still hanging up there, hazy and hot, the shimmering heat visible all along the road on the drive home.

“Fun day?” Gator asked, and you looked over, your tank top balled up in your hand, the other adjusting the air conditioning vents on your side of the truck.

“I could use about six naps,” you said, laughing. “Looking forward to the fireworks tonight. And a shower.”

Gator hummed, noncommittal. “Gonna be a fun evenin’.”

“I’m just glad to be sitting down,” you moaned, stretching your legs out a little. "I’m going to take a shower when we get home and then lie down until it’s time to go.”

Which is exactly what you did when you got home—though you only got as far as entering the bathroom. You’d untied your bathing suit top and unbuttoned your shorts, pushing them down a little over your hips, grimacing at how the denim stuck to your legs, still sweaty, practically glued to your skin, when the bathroom door opened behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder to see Gator, also shirtless, making his way in; you figured he had to take a piss, so you just continued undressing yourself, the scent of sun and sugar and sweat still clinging to you—to you both. You didn’t think much of it when Gator’s hand found its way to your lower back, until his hand slid to the side, gripping your waist, and he moved himself right up against your ass, still half-trapped in your jeans.

Glancing up to meet his eyes in the mirror, you took in his lascivious expression and immediately shook your head, even as he traced both hands now over your sides and up your warm skin, cupping your tits. You gasped as he pinched at your nipples.

“Gator—! I’m all sweaty.”

“Little sweat never hurt no one, sugar,” he said, licking a stripe up the nape of your neck, his front to your back. He boxed you in, pressing your hips against the vanity sink, and ground his hips against yours. Even through your denim shorts and the khakis he was wearing, you could feel how hard he was already. “Go on, tell me y’ain’t been wantin' this all day.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Yes, he’d been staring at you all day, and yes, you’d loved the feeling of his eyes on you, but you hadn’t really had a chance to consider it since you were basically on babysitting duty for Jessica and Maude. So, now that he was asking, well…

“Yeah,” you said, and he nosed at the wet hair at the back of your head, his tongue flicking out against your nape again, skin salty and hot. “But I’m—”

“Don’t give a fuck if yer sweaty, sugar, what part’a that ain’t ya gettin’?” Gator moved his hands down your chest again, and you could feel the little sheen of sweat collecting under your breasts, his hands sliding through it as he moved his palms flat down your stomach to press to the front of your hips.

“Let me shower first, and then we’ll—”

“We’ll just hafta shower again after,” Gator interrupted you. He took half a step back and spun you around, your eyes half-lidded with desire; he gave you credit for trying to be the voice of reason even when you were jonesing just as bad as he was. “So, whaddaya say? Y’giving me the green light?” His hands pressed against the outside of your hips, his first two fingers on your bare skin, the other two playing with the beltloops of your shorts.

“Yes,” you sighed, and even though the shorts took some finagling to work down your thighs, he pushed them off of you, helped you hoist yourself up half onto the sink, and then dropped to his knees on the tile floor of the bathroom, head perfectly between your legs.

“Holy god,” Gator said, his hands skimming up your thighs to push you as far open as he could, exposing your cunt to him, hair and skin both damp from the heat and arousal. “Don’t think I ever wanted ya this bad.”

“Fuck,” you said, one hand scrabbling against the edge of the sink to brace yourself, the other reaching forward to thread through Gator’s hair, soaked a little with sweat of his own, the strands thick between your fingers. His tongue flitted out against the expanse of your thigh.

“Fuck,” he said, breathing in the heady, musky scent of your pussy after a day of running around, of basking in the sun, of soaking up the heat. “Mm, a’right... got a little extra tang down here f’r me, huh? Like it. Love it,” he said, words muffled as he pressed his face back between your thighs, still slick with sweat, and you shivered half with self-consciousness, half with the thrill, as he inhaled deeply.

“Gator,” you said, coaxing him closer to the seam of your lips by his hair, and once his nose brushed against your mound, he opened his mouth and licked straight up, from your wet little hole to your clit.

He didn’t even pull away to make another smartass comment, didn’t have any words at all as he flicked his eyes up at you, making eye contact before just closing them and continuing what he’d started, just a little to the side.

He licked long, wide stripe up one side of your labia, collecting your arousal and the remnants of sweat that had collected there, tasting you at your most raw, most primal, almost animalistic in how he sucked at you, the obscene sounds of his tongue on you as he changed sides, the wet press of his mouth as he even delved into the fold of skin between your thigh and your mound, tasting you everywhere he possibly could.

Lapping at your entire cunt laid out before him, spread open, wide and all his for the taking, he laved over your whole pussy—lips, clit, your folds, your slit—until you were wet with his saliva and not much else, his tongue practically polishing your snatch until he pulled away and then, finally, pressed his mouth open against you. His hands pushed your thighs to the limit, spreading you open for him as you teetered on the edge of the sink, your folds slick and dripping once he spread you apart for his eager mouth.

Gator shifted his hold on your legs, curling his arms around your thighs to hold you above him as he mouthed at your folds, sucked your clit, licked and lapped and fucked you with his tongue, and the whole time, you heard him moaning too, groaning low in his chest as he ate you out like it was the last thing he’d ever do and he wanted to make sure he’d done it right, leaving behind no regrets.

Gator was so enthralled that his enthusiasm, his vigor, brought you to the edge before you even knew it was upon you, and you came, your legs spasming, pussy clenching up a little, a solid moan punched out of your throat as you lost your balance and slid off the sink right onto Gator’s face. His arms around your thighs held you up until you were able to slap your hands down on the sink again, keeping yourself stable as Gator kept his mouth on you, kept working the tip of his tongue from your clit to your hole, pulling away only once you were able to stand on your own.

“Fuck,” you breathed as he stood up, and the hair sitting hot and thick on his chest, soaked with drips of your arousal and his own sweat, tickled you as he leaned in to lick into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as he fucked you with his tongue. It was so strong, so rich, you tasted yourself, just...turned up a little more, and you groaned at how spending a few hours in the sun made things that much more tantalizing.

“Can’t get enough’a ya,” Gator said, lifting your hand from the sink and kissing each fingertip, your palm, down your forearm to your elbow and further, going so far as to press his mouth to the front of your shoulder, inhaling again.

“I’m sweaty,” you said again, self-consciousness clouding even your lust-hazy mind, and Gator pressed a short kiss to the fold of skin beneath your arm before he leaned up to kiss you—no. He was just speaking with his lips on yours.

“‘Nd I done told ya, I like it,” he said. “But I know yer tired ‘nd you wanna lie down, so. How about a quick shower before we take a nice lil’ nap?”

You lifted your arms, wrapped them around him, and tipped your chin up for a real kiss. “Perfect.” He kissed you one more time for good measure, then stepped away and turned the shower faucets on, letting the water run while he undressed himself fully as well. You could see the tan lines on his skin, the back of his neck a little red where the sun had been beating down on him, the same pink that his cheeks turned from a little exertion and the same pretty, rosy pink of the tip of his cock before he got too close to an orgasm and it flushed an even deeper color, reddening at the tip.

“Madame,” he joked, putting on a shitty French accent, holding out a hand for you to help guide you into the tub.

“Such a gentleman,” you said, but took his hand anyway and stepped into the bath. The water was cool, just enough warmth so it wouldn’t give you the shivers. 

To Gator’s credit, he fully let you bathe, washing your hair and he even helping scrub your back, kissing your shoulders as he did, and once you started to lather up your lower half, he spun you and grabbed your wrists.

“Let me,” he said, and you obeyed because you knew you’d get to clean up for real in just a little while.

He pushed you against the wall, the coolness of the tiles actually feeling wonderful on your heated skin, and as he curled two fingers into your pussy, you circled your arms around his neck and pulled his face to yours for a kiss. He obliged, letting you suck his lower lip and tongue as he circled your clit with his thumb, and just as you felt your cunt clench down in interest on his fingers, you were shaking your head.

“Wait,” you said. “No, I—want your cock.”

“All ya had ta do was ask, sugar,” Gator said, and kissed you again even as he put his hands to work. With one, he reached down to curl around your thigh, propping it up on his hip to give himself room to fuck into you—and with the other, he angled the head of his prick against you, slotting the tip into your pussy but—not moving further.

“Gator,” you whined, trying to sound threatening but probably not managing it.

“What?” he asked, like he didn’t know why you were upset. He jerked himself off against your pussy, the tip just barely breaching you, spreading you open but not actually moving in further than a centimeter or two—barely even enough to be considered inside of you, really. He just… kept his hand moving, jerking his cock off, his fingers nudging your pussy lips on each upstroke, until you were flexing your hips, pushing against him, trying to move onto him yourself.

“Fuck me,” you said, annoyed and desperate.

“What’s that?” Gator asked, like he couldn’t hear you over the rushing shower water despite being inches from your face.

“I said fuck me,” you said, keeping your voice low because he was egging you on on purpose and you refused to rise to it.

“Sorry, sugar, come again?”

“I’m trying to!” you yelled. “Fuck me! Fucking fuck me, Gator, oh my—god—!”

As your voice increased in volume, his impish grin had only grown wider and wider, until he shoved into you with one fluid motion, his cock pushing between your walls, spreading them open, impaling you on him until he was entirely seated in you, full of his heavy, fat, dick.

“That whatcha wanted?” Gator asked.

In lieu of answering, you nodded, whimpering, your forehead against his as you pouted, because now that you’d gotten your demand exactly, you were still at his mercy, even though you were rolling your hips and trying to fuck yourself on his cock. 

“That’s my good girl,” Gator said, and he lifted his chin up to kiss you, soft and sweet, still tasting like beer and cherry popsicles and your own pussy, your own musk; the kiss lasted longer than you could have hoped for, before he was pulling back out and then moving right back in, starting to fuck you at a slow, steady pace, the one you loved, where it felt like he was moving further into you with every single thrust, where it felt like you actually could never pull apart from each other after he drilled his cock into you to stay.

You kissed him languorously, reveling in the feel of it, the feel of him, lips on your lips and hands on your thighs and his cock in your cunt, stretching you out around his thick length.

“Play with them titties,” he muttered to you, because as much as you liked it—he liked watching you do it. "Go on."

You felt your cheeks warm again, like the sun had been beating down on you from in your own bathroom, but you slid your hands down his arms to your own body, fingertips trailing up your sides and front until you reached your breasts, toying with your nipples, rubbing and rolling them, pulling them to peaks as Gator watched, his lips parted a little, until he ducked down to try and take one into his mouth. The angle didn’t quite work, but it didn’t stop him—you just cupped your tit and lifted it to his mouth, and as he sucked you tipped your head back into the corner of the shower, sighing wistfully as Gator canted his hips against yours, sucked at your nipple, and then—oh—started rubbing your clit with his thumb again, too.

You would sleep good as fuck after this, of that you were sure. Fuck the fireworks, you’d be happy to let your husband make you see stars for the Fourth of July instead.

Gator pulled you closer to him, his free hand wrapping around you, palm flat on your lower back as he worked you up higher onto his hips, your shoulders leaning against the wall as he supported your weight otherwise, fucking up into you, the angle affording you the opportunity to have the ridge of his cock grinding against your g-spot now, every single time he moved back into you, and with the pressure inside of you mixed with the pressure on your clit, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over it, with his mouth on your nipple, and with your other hand tugging at the other sensitive nub yourself—it didn’t surprise you at all when you felt yourself tensing up, ready to come, the rush between your legs building and building and then impossible to bear, unknowably strong and then you came—

Your cunt spasmed around Gator’s cock, the release in your lower body making you half-moan, half-scream in relief, and you had no knowledge of it until Gator was licking into your mouth again, mumbling words that you were still too fucked out to comprehend, his hips sliding against yours, his cock buried deep inside you as you felt him twitching uncontrollably as he came, filling you so amply that you could already feel it dripping right back out of you around his cock.

“—kin’ squirted,” he said. “Ya fuckin’ squirted, didja hear me? Fuckin’ Christ in Heaven, sugar, you fuckin’ came all over me.”

“What?” you asked, as Gator bullied you up against the wall of the shower, his arms wrapped around you, tight as anything as his cock started to soften inside you, spent, both of you panting a little.

He lowered one hand down between you again, fingertips rubbing over your clit, making you gush weakly around him again, aftershocks rattling you, legs jerking a little around his hips.

“This perfect lil’ puss squirted fer me,” he said, kissing you again. “Next time ya better not let it go t’waste in the shower again.”

Your brain finally clicked back to its On setting as he pulled out of you. “You’re so gross.”

“How many times I gotta tell ya I like it ‘fore it sinks in, huh?” He said, tapping on your temple with his clean hand, now that your feet were firmly back on the shower floor. “Now, lemme clean ya up f’real, yeah?”

A small smile curved your lips. “Yeah,” you replied, and let your husband help you wash up. You did the same for him, and when you both curled into the sheets for a late afternoon nap, it was accidentally on purpose that neither of you remembered to set an alarm for the fireworks show.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08 @xoxocelestial @kristywidget97 @calelundaa @mistyblueinks @projections-mortal @cupofdjoplease

[djob00bies]

*EAGLE SCREECH* *FIREWORKS POPPING* *DOG BARKING* *LYNYRD SKYNYRD PLAYING LOUDLY IN THE BACKGROUND* USA USA THIS IS WHAT THE FOURTH IS ALL ABOUT PEOPLE!!!!!

[djob00bies]

Through my sleepless delirium i felt a great urge to write you a love letter before tucking in and sleeping. I just read the art of patience, and did not expect.. well, that. I loved the plot, the writing style, the pacing, the smut, the personalities, everything. You really put your whole pussy into those words. I hope you’re blessed eternally for the beautiful meaning every letter was given, and the creativity you specifically put into that smut scene was just wow. It’s 5:56 am and i can proudly say i have zero regrets staying, up bending my limits, for this fic. Worth it. You have great talent and i can’t wait to read more. Much love xoxo goodnight sweet dreams <33

this is one of the sweetest things that has ever been said to me. thank you friend. i definitely needed to hear this and i am so fucking glad you enjoyed my silly story! i’ve actually been thinking about this message all day.

i always joke with @keer-y that i’m a one hit wonder but, i do have some stuff i wanna write and post for you all eventually :)

thanks for the love again, it’s really special to a gal like me ! :’)

[keer-y]

Never Should'a

pairing: gator tillman/f!reader wc: ~4700 tags: yearning/pining, exes to lovers, second chance, public/semi-public sex, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, [unsafe] vaginal sex, confessions a/n: from @ms-mountebank's prompt - here. fill #7 for my 1000 follower special🩵 &&

“Well, well, well,” you hear a voice behind you drawl. “What do we have here?”

You’re not really in the best position to… well, do anything, much less try and explain yourself. But you recognize the voice, which might help just a little.

“Gator?” you ask, trying to glance over your shoulder but not quite managing it. Because currently, you’re hanging half in your window and half out of it, at about 1AM or so, because you were lucky enough to be the designated driver and chauffeur all of your friends home after a night out. Ass to face with the one person from your past who you’d give anything for another shot at.

“That’s Deputy Tillman,” he says, and you could scream. You might still, actually.

“A little help?”

There’s no response other than a snicker. “‘Fraid I’m here on official business. Got a call ‘bout a suspicious figure climbing up on some trash cans to break into this apartment right here.”

“What happened to ‘to protect and serve?’” you ask, your voice pointed, cutting.

“I ain’t in the service industry,” Gator says, and he sounds amused. “Protectin’, uh, whoever lives here from you, see?”

“I live here,” you say, because it’s true, and you know that Gator knows that. You haven’t really fucked with him since high school—it was a four-year long, four-year strong relationship, that only fell apart once he decided to hit the police academy to prepare for a career in his daddy’s sheriff department, and you didn’t want to be the housewife he expected of you.

You’d been talking about making things way more serious after graduation that summer. You’d been talking marriage, kids, a two-car garage and an island in the kitchen. Whose family would get Christmas and whose would get Thanksgiving. And then he dropped the bomb that he was actually going to derail all of those plans because he—his father, more like—expected you not to go to university at all and just bake bread and keep house or whatever. Which was fine, just not what you wanted to do personally.

Roy had always been a point of contention between you and Gator, so much so that when it became clear his side of things was non-negotiable, so became yours. You hadn’t thought that Gator would break up with you after one last romp in your sheets—because of course, that fuckface—but he did. He left you with tears on your face and on your thighs and you hadn’t heard from him directly since.

You’d heard about him, sure. It was hard to come home to Lehigh every winter and summer break and not hear about the Tillmans. It was even harder to stomach it because after everything, you couldn’t shake the thought that he was, unfortunately, the one who got away.

Something you never wanted to admit to anyone, most specifically yourself.

Cut to now. You’d knocked over the trash cans in your attempt to vault yourself up into your first-floor unit, so you were stuck half in the window and half out of it, the flat stucco of the building not really giving you much purchase at all in your platform heels.

“Unfortunately I got no way’a verifyin’ that without seeing some identification,” Gator replied.

“Gator, you know it’s me,” you say. “I know you know I live here.”

“You seem pretty sure’a yerself.”

“Help me get inside and I will show you my ID,” you snip, clearly enunciating each word in your irritation.

“I mean,” he says, clearly ignoring you, “y’can see how this is a little suspect, can’tcha? Yer basically askin’ me, a man of the law, t’help ya break in. If you lived here, you’d have… y’know, keys?”

“You’d think,” you half-shout, because yes, obviously you had keys. You just didn’t have them at the moment. You had misplaced them in either Angela or Julia’s purse, but since they were both knocked out for the evening, slumbering off all the drinking they’d done, neither were answering your texts and so you had no way of getting your apartment keys, even if you went back to their loft.

“Well,” Gator says, and you startle a little when you feel his hand wrap around the back of your knee. “If yer so sure I know ya, I can think of one way t’tell.”

You try to lift yourself up over the windowsill, even just to see him standing behind you, but you’ve been stuck like this for so long, your arms are shaky and exhausted. You can barely move.

“What’s that?” you ask. Part of you honestly suspects that you already know.

His rough palm slides up the back of your thigh, slow enough that you can stop him, kick him off.

You don’t.

He continues moving his hand up your bare leg, right underneath your skirt, pushing it up and out of his way to reveal the poor excuse for panties you have on—flimsy fabric, a thong that covers next to nothing, and even though his next words are the same cocky Gator you remember, you do hear the waver to them. Because after the five years since you graduated high school, you still know him that well.

“Startin’ ta look familiar,” he says. “Yeah… maybe I do know ya.” With both hands on you now, he shoves your skirt up the rest of the way over your hips and hooks a finger beneath the elastic of your underwear, sliding it straight down so the back of his finger brushes over your ass, tugging the satiny cloth away from your core.

“Gator,” you say, half admonishing him, and half definitely wanting it. More than half of the latter, actually, as loath as you are to admit it. This is humiliating—and yet, there’s still a pathetic, buried part of you that will take it, because you’ve been carrying a torch for him for half a decade.

“Still can’t tell,” he mutters. “Hold on, lemme try somethin’.”

Your breath catches as you feel his tongue trace over your folds, delving in between your labia to lick at you, taste you; he sucks one of your lips into his mouth, pulling off with a wet smack. You quiver where you’re nearly folded in half over your windowsill.

“Shit, it is you,” he says, feigning surprise. “Well, fuck, ya shoulda just said so.”

You can’t answer—mostly because you have no words, but also because you know if you tried to speak, he would be able to tell exactly how you feel. About him, about this, about everything that was left unsaid when he left you the summer after high school.

“Well,” Gator says, after you remain silent. “I can help ya out—or in, I guess, if that’s what ya want, but I’m gonna need some repayment.”

“How magnanimous, deputy,” you mutter, and you’re not sure if he even hears you as he smooths both hands over each of your thighs, pushing them a little further apart, opening you up for him.

“How ‘bout it?” he asks, and when you feel his breath warm against your folds, and you absolutely melt for him.

“Fine,” you say, but it’s not an acquiescence, at least not in the way where you don’t want this. Because you do. The singular word is an admission of the way you still feel about him, and even though it’s doubtful that he still feels the same way about you, you’ll take any crumbs you can get. Moving back to Lehigh after you graduated held the risk of seeing your ex—but seemed like maybe it held a reward for you too.

He doesn’t answer you, just leans in, pressing a kiss to your ass cheek—you ignore how that makes you feel—before he turns his head just a little to the side and puts his mouth back on you. A short gasp is punched out of you as you feel his fingers tighten around your legs, his tongue sliding in between your folds up to your slit. You duck your head, tucking your chin against your chest as he pleasures you, lets his tongue move inside you, fucking you with it as you feel his cheeks press tight against you as he tries to move as close into you as he can.

You don’t speak, just focus on your breathing, on keeping your eyes closed, on the way he never used to like to do this but would do it for you. The thought flickers through your mind that that seems to have changed, and you tamp down the idea that someone else got him to reconsider.

“Fuckin’,” Gator says, his lips against your thigh as he replaces his mouth with one of his hands, fingertips slipping through your slick lips, rubbing at your slit before sliding the other way, down, toward your front. “Missed this.”

“Missed—what?” you ask, because you can’t help yourself, even though you didn’t mean to ask it.

“This fuckin’ snatch,” he says, and well—that stayed the same for sure. His fingers circle your clit as he leans back in to trail his tongue over your lips, teasing you. “Never should’a…” he says, but trails off, instead closing his mouth over your folds and sucking at them, the pads of his fingers still working over your clit, sensitive and pulsing beneath his touch. He presses his tongue flat against your slit, feeling it give with just the slightest bit of pressure, but he doesn’t enter you again, not yet.

“Thought you”—you start to say, breathless—“weren’t in the service business, G-Deputy.”

You feel him pull away just enough to laugh. “That what ya think this is?” he asks. “I ain’t servicin’ ya,” he says, and you could swear you hear him mutter your name in weak exasperation as he laughs again, amused by your pluck. “I’m just gettin’ ya ready fer more.” He licks a long, slow stripe from your clit up to your core, tasting you. “Plus. This ain’t exactly work.”

Your thighs shudder a little as he changes up what he’s doing yet again, switching his mouth and his hand so he can tongue at your clit while he rubs your slit with two fingertips. You moan quietly as he curls them inside of you, his thick fingers stretching you so perfectly, exactly the way you remember, but he’s better now, he knows where to press to try and find your g-spot, and he knows to try and find how much pressure you like, rather than just ramming his fingers as deeply into you as he can.

“Gator,” you whimper, and for a moment you feel his mouth leave you, almost like he’s going to say something in reply, but then he’s back on you, your clit in his mouth, sucking gently at it. The softness hits you hard, the easy pull of his tongue and upper lip as he sucks your clit, and the way his fingers are scissoring you open, stretching you just enough to feel it, but still giving you something to grip down on as you squeeze his fingers—it all comes to a head suddenly, your whole world collapsing to a single point until you’re coming, on his fingers and his face, your pussy clenching down while your clit jumps against his tongue, your body tensing up against him and then falling back down limp over the windowsill.

He moves his face from your cunt but not far, letting his forehead rest against your thigh for a moment before you feel his lips brush over your leg again, leaving a wet smear behind—a kiss? No, he wouldn’t, this can’t be anything meaningful to him—and then his hands leave you too and you hear the slight shift of his boots as he steps back from you.

“I can give y’a push,” Gator says. “Promise me ya won’t land on yer head.”

“Promise,” you reply weakly, stretching your arms down toward the carpet of your living room. There’s a pause, and you almost laugh when you feel him straighten your underwear and then tug your skirt down over your ass, and then he’s got his arms around your legs and is lifting you, pushing you, enough that you’re able to work with him and slide yourself forward, tipping fully into the window. You brace your hands on the floor and manage to climb into the window properly with his help. You roll onto your back once you’re fully inside, one hand coming up to tangle in your own hair, the other resting on your stomach as you stare at the ceiling, because now that you have some post-orgasm clarity you wonder just what in the fuck you did and why you let it happen.

You’ve just decided that you will, in fact, shower before bed, when you hear the scrabbling of heavy-soled boots on the facade of your building and glance over; as you watch, you realize Gator’s hands are hooked over your windowsill, and then after a moment, his head appears as he climbs through your window. He lands heavily beside you, on his feet—of course, he makes climbing into a window look easy—and your eyes meet his in the dimness of your living room as he stares down at you on the floor.

“Didja land on yer head?” he asks.

“Did you just climb in through my window?” you counter.

Gator turns around and looks at the window, then back to you and shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Thank you for your help,” you say, not moving from where you’re supine on the ground, still. “Door’s over there.” You lift your arm and point.

“Git up,” Gator says, bending down to grab your elevated wrist. He tugs it and you rise to a sitting position, though you refuse to do more. “Woman, I said git up.” He leans down further, settles his hands beneath your arms, and lifts you to your feet. Once you’re upright again, he doesn’t take his hands away—he slides them down to the curve of your hips and looks straight at you. “Fuck’s yer problem?”

You were never one to mince words, and he was never one to really grasp or understand nuance, so you just tell him straight. 

“I’m honestly a little unsure of how to take the fact that my ex boyfriend is the one who responded to a—actually somewhat necessary—911 call and then before actually helping me, went down on me. Just trying to make some sense out of that. Since you were the one who ended things. Any insight you can provide?”

And Gator looks absolutely gobsmacked before his shocked expression turns into a smirk. “Ass was practically out on a silver platter. ‘Nd you weren’t sayin’ not to.”

You feel your cheeks warm, thankful for the darkness of your living room. Your thighs are still a little shaky, your pussy still feels hot and wet, and having Gator in such close proximity after so long, after what you’d just let him do, it’s bringing you back to five, six, seven years ago, when you were attached at the hip and dreamed about being together forever, even if you didn’t understand what that meant at 18, 17, 16.

“Because I still want you… to,” you admit, shrouded by the darkness and the afterglow of your orgasm and the unfortunate comfort his presence still gives you. Your mind may have been able to suppress how you felt, but your body remembers, like muscle memory that never really fades even after years. 

“What’s that?” he asks, stepping closer, tentative, like he expects you to back away. You don’t.

“I still…” you begin. “I still want… you.”

Gator doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even seem to react. Then his hands tighten on your hips, slide up to your waist, tug you closer. “Never really gave up on ya,” he says, “even though all’a ev’rything was my fault. Thought maybe I’d—we’d meet up again ‘nd… Well, not that”—he jerks his head back toward your window—“but somethin’.”

You’re not thinking when you do it, because one moment you’re just looking up at him, and then the next you’re pressed flush against him, your lips on his, arms around his neck, kissing him like you haven’t missed a day with him. You lick into his mouth, a small, content noise in your throat as you taste yourself on his lips and his tongue. He kisses you back roughly, starved, like he can’t possibly get enough, like neither of you can make up for the lost time but fuck, he wants to try.

He’s never been in your apartment before, but he still steers you toward the short hall that leads to your bedroom, and you break away only to grab his hand and pull him behind you, the two of you fumbling like the teenagers you’d been the last time you saw each other. You sweep your arm to the side, swing him around in front of you, and push him down onto your bed, climbing onto his lap before he can even right himself. 

“I should hate you,” you murmur, lips trailing over his neck as his hands skim over your back, “I should make you regret everything—”

“Should,” Gator agrees, tugging your shirt up over your back, hands sliding underneath it, already trying to unclasp your bra. “Deserve it fer what I did. Ya don’t do that t’someone ya love.”

“Loved,” you say, emphasizing the past tense of it all, spiteful. Even so, you suck at his neck, wanting to mark him.

“Nah,” he retorts, releasing your bra and just letting his hands settle on your skin, sliding down to your lower back, even as you pull away from his neck, lips swollen from where you’d been pressed to him, and look down at him on your bedspread. “I was a fuckin’ stupid kid. Didn’t know what I wanted or thought ‘bout anything, listened ta Roy too much.” You’re the one not to move this time, not to speak, not to react. “Still… love ya,” he says, sheepish, like maybe he’s embarrassed to still feel that way for you after so long. 

“Gator,” you manage, voice thick with emotion, and then your lips are on his and you’re kissing him soft and sweet, the way he’d let you kiss him one last time after he’d dumped you but before you let him walk away.

He remembers too—you feel his chest kick beneath yours.

“Come fuckin’ here,” he says, even though your front is already flush with his, already on top of him, your legs straddling his hips. He holds you tight and rolls you both over, landing on top of you this time, and before you can do anything else, he’s kneeling above you, stripping off his tac vest and his shirt and undoing his belt. He covers your body with his again, lips finding each other’s easily, and you hold him close while his hands slink up your sides, moving your blouse up and over your tits.

You lift your shoulders, your arms, and he slides the garment off of you, lowering his mouth to your chest as you spread your legs, letting him slot right in between them, your thighs hugging his waist as he kisses the expanse of your chest, the swell of your breasts, tongue flitting between them and making you half laugh and arch yourself up against him even more.

He makes quick work of your bra, taking one of your nipples in his mouth with no hesitation, and it’s less that he’s re-learning your body and instead just remembering everything about it as it’s revealed to him; he sucks at the hardened nub while you reach around him, your hands palm-flat on his back as you feel his muscles flexing, tensing and relaxing each time he moves. Your mouths find each other again after a moment, and then you’re pushing down the waistband of his camo pants, and he’s feeling at your waist for the zipper of your skirt.

After a few seconds where neither of you make progress, you just each return your hands to your own bodies, Gator ridding himself of his pants and you unzipping your skirt, shoving it down around your thighs. Before you can sit up to remove it, Gator does it for you, deft hands curling into the fabric to tug it down and away. It joins his jumble of clothes on your bedroom floor.

He crawls back on top of you between your legs, one hand moving to curl half around your throat, half around your chin, as he licks into your mouth, feeling your pulse racing beneath his touch.

“All worked up,” he mutters, and you nod, tipping your chin up, catching his lower lip with your teeth, tugging at it for a moment before he covers your mouth with his again and kisses you, deeply, desperately, your tongues moving together as you roll your hips against his. With only a couple layers of cotton between you now, you feel your pussy aching for the hard line of his cock, definitely visible now, definitely feeling him against your mound.

“You too,” you reply, and he huffs a laugh before he reaches down between you, cupping you through your underwear before he just pushes them to the side and lets his fingers dip into your slit again. “No—just—” you cut yourself off as he pulls his hand away from you, his back bowing up and away as he looks down at your face. “Just fuck me,” you finish.

At first, he looks disbelieving, like he can’t quite imagine it’s this easy. Then you whine out a “Please” and he doesn’t bother with any more meaningful looks or thoughtful questions—he pushes off of you, pulls your underwear down, rubs his hands over the front of your hips appreciatively, his gaze trailing over you, transfixed. You don’t bother squirming under his scrutiny or acting shy—he’d always looked at you like this, and even though he’d changed in other ways, you’re glad this stayed the same.

“Gator,” you say, his name a reminder, and part your legs a little wider so he can see you better. His eyes dip down to your core, and then he’s hooking his thumbs into the elastic of his boxer briefs, pushing them down around his thick thighs, his cock jutting out from his front. You watch him, his dick bobbing a little as he steps back to the bed, kneels on it, then, in true Gator fashion, curls two fingers down beneath his length, holding the top with his thumb, and flexes his hips to get even closer to you. He’s so close you can almost feel the heat radiating off of his flushed, leaking tip, but he doesn’t enter you. No—

Gator taps the head of his cock against your clit, and you whine, low in your throat, tongue flicking out over your lower lip.

“Stop,” you try, but your voice is weak, needy.

He does it again, this time hitting his dick into your clit twice, the second time letting it rest there, and as he pulls his hips back barely an inch, you shudder at the feeling of it sliding over you. He pushes back forward, fucking the underside of his cock against your clit, and smirks as you toss your head back and forth.

“Like that?” he asks, cocky as ever, and you shake your head. “No?”

“No,” you whine. “Baby, fuck me, please.”

The pet name—which you realize you’ve said a beat after you’ve said it—was unexpected for both of you. You look up at him, eyes wide, wondering if it was a misstep. But it doesn’t seem to be, because Gator is looking back at you almost in a frenzy, brow tight and furrowed, his eyes locked on yours, lips just slightly parted. And then he pulls his cock away from you, lowers himself, and presses the tip right into your cunt, fucking into your wet heat easily with no resistance, as your body welcomes him back, takes him in, brings him home, fully fitting inside of you as he moves his body over yours, taking your lips again in a searing kiss that has you arching up into him, wrapping your arms around him, and when he starts to move his hips, starts to actually fuck you, you feel the rumble of his own moan echoing yours in your chest.

He doesn’t fuck you the way he did when you were younger. He’s moving slower, steadier, purposeful, thrusting into you deep and firm, his hips rolling into yours like the tide, waves of pleasure coursing through you and over you as he makes love to you—that’s what it is, what it feels like, the years of time between you meaningless now because you have each other again.

“Fuckin’—Never should’a let you go,” Gator mumbles against your lips, and you realize that that’s what he was going to say earlier, when you were still stuck in the window. Your eyes open to meet his, and they look glassy even in the gloom surrounding your bed, and you suck his lower lip between yours as he kisses your top lip, your bodies working in tandem. When he pushes, you meet his movement against your hips; when he pulls back, you lower them, only to grind back up into him and take him full to the hilt again. No one else—no one else has ever known your body like this, able to just read you with the subtlest of movements or change of angles. No one else ever had the chance to know you for the number of years that Gator did.

“Hold me again,” you tell him, words soft on his cheek. “Take me and don’t—let go.”

“Never,” he says, then lowers one of his hands down between your bodies, because he can tell you’re close, your cunt fluttering around his cock, but he also still knows you need more to finish. “Never.”

His fingers move over your clit, and you’re not sure which way to move, to twist, to stretch as you feel your hips buck upward against his hand, but as your chest moves away from his, you miss the feeling of his solid weight on you.

“Gator,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight against you, his arm trapped between your bodies, but with the way he’s still working his fingertips at your clit, he doesn’t seem to notice or care, his movements not impeded at all. Your breath starts coming thinner, and Gator notices—he rolls his hips against yours a little harder, pounding into you with the absolute perfect rhythem—not too much, but exactly what you need. You feel his hips start to stutter in his rhythm, and you lower one of your hands down from his back to snake it in between your bodies, too. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, holding him, and you feel the pads of his fingers slipping over your wet clit, hard and swollen—until they hit the angle that feels best, and you squeeze his wrist so he keeps doing it, keeps going, keeps—

He buries himself inside you one last time, a guttural groan falling from his lips as he feels you tighten up around him, your walls clamping down on his cock where he sits, fully sheathed inside you. You come so hard on his cock that he looses a broken whimper, high and pitched up, and then as you start to come down you feel his cock twitch in you, the sticky, hot spread of his come. Your eyes hold on his face as his throat tightens up, his jaw tensed, and if your orgasm was intense it appears to be nothing compared to Gator’s. He keeps coming in you, spurt after thick spurt filling your pussy, until finally he very nearly collapses on you, catching himself at the last moment to avoid letting his full weight hit you all at once.

“Lemme stay with ya,” he says, not pulling out but just kissing you again before you can even reply. “Ain’t gonna fuck it up this time,” he says, speaking each word between kisses. “Promise. I promise,” he repeats. It’s only after ten or so times saying it that you’re even allowed a chance to say anything back.

“You’ve always been with me,” you say, because now, you know it’s safe to admit it.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08 @xoxocelestial @kristywidget97 @calelundaa @mistyblueinks @projections-mortal @s3xytosomeone

[keer-y]

gator’s reaction to you sucking on his fingers for the first time during sex send tweet

MDNI//SMUT- spit kink, vaginal sex, finger sucking

i think it’d be fairly normal for you (both) to be pretty handsy in bed, so when gator reaches up to cup your face that’s nothing new, and when he trails his fingers over your lips that’s also pretty standard

this time, though, when you part them and let your tongue just drag over the pads of his fingers he sort of falters a little in his rhythm because that? you’ve never done that before

and you stick your tongue out of your mouth and he lets his fingers press down on it a little, and you moan quietly, making a small eager noise in your throat, wanting more, wanting him to give you more—

so he rests the heel of his hand on your chin and actually stops fucking you—just stills with his hips against yours, your thighs squeezing his waist, as he slowly, easily, fucks his fingers into your mouth, almost like he’s actually afraid to choke you

some spit is rolling down from the corner of your lips buy you don’t care—you just close them around the two fingers in your mouth and suck and gator groans at the sight of it, the feeling

he locks the fuck in immediately, now moving his whole hand, fingering your mouth the way he’d finger your cunt, and you’re moaning and mewling for him because maybe he never thought you’d be this kind of lewd for him, buy you are and he loves it

he starts rolling his hips back into yours as you buck up into him, and then he’s licking up the saliva staining your neck and your chin as he fucks your mouth in time with his cock fucking your pussy

you both finish, sticky, spit-slick messes, and gator pulls his fingers out from your lips, replacing them with his tongue as he kisses you deeply, his cock still in you, still filling you up, your legs still wrapped around him to hold him there

[keer-y]

Don’t rush it

pairing: gator tillman/f!reader wc: 4400 MDNI//SMUT - tags: public sex (they are outside), car sex, vaginal sex, overstimulation, making out, banter, slow burn in the sense they’ve been flirting for a while, friendly strangers to lovers a/n: from @souperbloom's prompt - here. fill #5 for my 1000 follower special🩵 &&

You recognize the purr of the engine the second the car turns into the lot. Even without glancing out the window and seeing that it's one of the sheriff department’s cruisers, you'd have known it was Gator pulling in. Because it's 12:07 on the dot and that's the same time he always pulls in to grab a midnight snack, because (he clocked it) the station is a 6 minute drive from your gas-n-go, give or take the minute to walk to his car and then walk to your door.

“Evenin', miss,” Gator says once he crosses the threshold of the gas station. Above him, one of the fluorescent lights flickers on and off and he glances up at it as you cross to the wall of tobacco products behind you, grabbing a couple tins of his preferred dip and setting them onto the counter already. He doesn't stop to speak to you, instead heading right past you—not without a sidelong look and a wink, tongue flitting over his lips in a way that you know is too suggestive to be coincidental—right to the refrigerators where the different varieties of Mountain Dew are housed.

You watch, amused and leaning one arm on the cash register, as he stands before the cooler, hands on his hips, perusing the differently colored bottles. There's a limited edition flavor out right now, some kinda special summertime bullshit, and you know it's new since the last time he stopped in.

He, of course, either doesn't know or doesn't care that you're watching him, so when he lifts a hand to scratch behind his ear, and then drops his hand to scratch his ass through his camos, you laugh—loudly, so loudly that he turns to look at you, caught.

You don't really mind that he spotted you, but you just bite the inside of your cheek and smirk at him, reaching down to fiddle with the tins of chewing tobacco. By the time you look back up, he's gone from the coolers.

The two of you have been playing this game for months—you, typically alone on the night shift, visited by the deputy at least three times a week, more if you're lucky. He gives you the same spiel every time: “I gotta stop in 'nd make sure yer ok, doesn't do t'have a pretty young thing like yerself here all on her lonesome. Ain't safe, y'know?”

At first, you'd thought he meant it. Then, you realized that he didn't mean it as much as he just liked checking you out in the stupid maroon uniform top your boss made you wear, nametag clipped to the front like you wanted any of the late-night creeps to know your name. In an attempt to save yourself the hassle, you'd scraped off every letter that had been embossed into the plastic except the first one, which Gator had taken to trying to guess one evening. You'd let him get about eight names in before you just caved and told him, and he'd smugly tapped his fingertips against the countertop a couple times, took his soda, beef jerky, and vape pods and left, but not without looking back in at you before he climbed into his cruiser and drove back off down the highway.

Since then, the pair of you would make eyes at each other every time he came in, but never more than that. It's a fun little game you play, but considering you're both on the clock, there's really not much you can do about it.

You know he's still in the store—you'd have heard him leave, since the door has a bell above it that dings every time someone enters or leaves, and also it's about five feet to your right. You glance at your phone—12:11—and then jump, startled, when he slams the bottle of Baja Blast down onto the counter. When you turn to look at him, he's grinning, so you know he only did it to get your goat.

“What the hell, Gator?” you ask, one hand coming up to your chest, feeling your heart slamming against your ribs. “It's too late to scare me like that.”

“'Sall in good fun,” he says, reaching down to examine the tins of tobacco you had ready for him. “How's tonight been? No one givin' ya a hard time?”

“Just this one guy,” you say, reaching for the Mountain Dew bottle and scanning it, then holding out your hand for the tins.

He places them in your hand, and you both ignore the way his fingertips linger against your palm when he does. “'Nd who might that be?”

You smirk. “No one worth mentioning. Just some asshole.”

Gator leans onto the counter, scowling. “Name,” he says, not giving you a choice.

You reach for the bag of barbecue ships he'd grabbed—probably when you lost him by the fridges. “It’s fine. He's harmless. Total pushover.”

“Name,” he repeats, a little sterner this time.

You push his purchases toward him on the counter; he grabs the pop and uncaps it, taking a sip as he raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to speak. The corner of your mouth quirks up.

“Well...” you start, and he lowers the bottle, licking his upper lip after the long sip he'd taken. “Gator Tillman.”

“Ya fuckin' little smartass,” he says, but he's amused, you can tell. He's smiling, and you can count the number of times you've seen Gator smile on two fingers. (The other was the time he won fifty bucks on a scratch off.)

“It’s been pretty quiet,” you say, tapping the top of the card reader as Gator pulls out his wallet. “You’re the first person to come in since like 10.”

He hums quietly and taps his card on the reader, sticking his wallet back into his pants pocket and the chewing tobacco into a pocket of his tac vest. “A’right, well,” he says. “Y’find anyone givin’ ya trouble, you call me, ‘k?”

“I will definitely call the police,” you say, laughing, but Gator doesn’t laugh.

“Nuh uh,” he says, pulling his phone from the opposite pocket where he’d replaced his wallet. “You call me. Direct.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, tongue just barely licking your lips as you make eye contact with him. His eyes are boring into yours; he’s serious and he means business.

“Ok,” you say, and he unlocks his phone, taps the screen a few times, and then hands it to you.

“Getcher number in there ‘nd I’ll text ya so ya got mine.”

You scoff, but just a little. “If you wanted my number you could have just asked for it.”

“Just did,” Gator says, tapping the screen again as it dims to keep it unlocked.

You take his phone and tap your number in, putting only your first initial for your name, then handing it back to him. He looks at the screen and chuckles, typing something else before saving it. He types some more, and you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

“That was me,” Gator says, pointing.

“I figured,” you say, smirking, and when you glance up at him, you see him mirroring your expression, and it’s so playful, so coy, that you almost feel an air of innocence about it, just two people flirting in the cold lighting of a gas station.

The pair of you hold each other’s gaze for another beat, and then he gently slaps his palm on the counter and nods to you.

“Yer shift ends at 3, right?” he asks.

Part of you wants to be surprised that he knew, but you aren’t. “Right.”

“Closin’ up or got someone comin’ in t’relieve ya?”

“Someone’s coming in.”

He nods, slaps the counter again, and then starts for the door.

“Don’t ferget. Call me if ya need anythin’.”

“Thank you, deputy,” you say, and he fixes you with a look before pulling open the door, the bell chiming above him.

“Evenin’, miss,” he says, before disappearing into the night, the rear lights of his cruiser fading as he drives down the highway.

Once he’s out of sight, you pull your phone out of your pocket to save his number in your phone, smirking a little as you read the text he sent you. And he had the nerve to call you a smartass.

i’ll see u at 3

&&

Your coworker, Jimmy, shows up for his shift at 2:57, which means that you have to rush to count out your drawer and get it into the safe before he can even clock in. Fortunately the 3AM rush is, obviously, nonexistent, and so you manage to head out of the staff door at the back of the gas station by 3:15.

Your beat up sedan is exactly where you left it, and you’re halfway to it before you hear a quick, sharp whistle, just one upward note meant to grab your attention.

The back light on the building has been out for months, but when you glance to your left you see him in the moonlight. Gator, leaning against the side of the cruiser’s hood, legs crossed at the ankle, the blue light of his vape blinking on and off as you look over. He’s only in a long-sleeved t-shirt and camos now, no tac vest, no radio, no holsters.

“Waiting long?” you ask, changing course and veering toward him instead, your jacket slung over your arm, adjusting the strap of your bag as your sneakers crunch over the gravel of the glorified parking lot behind the gas station.

“‘Bout fifteen minutes,” he says, waiting for you to reach him, then holding out his vape to you. You pluck it from his outstretched fingers but don’t take a drag off it.

“Patient,” you say, spinning the vape around in your hand.

Gator watches your fingers as they twirl around the lime green device. “Only when I got a reason t’be.” It’s subtle, but you can see him shift a little off of his car, turn a little more toward you. 

You lift the vape to your mouth, take a pull from it. You taste strawberry-kiwi—he bought that two weeks ago, you remember—and before you can even think about exhaling, his hand is curled around yours, not to take the vape from you but just to cover your fingers with his, and he’s pulling you closer by it, your face inches from his.

“So, do I?” he asks, leaning in closer, noting the confusion on your face, his statement forgotten given his close proximity, the closest you’ve ever been to him. “Got a reason?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and as the cloyingly sweet vapor wafts from your mouth, he takes your lips with his, kissing you and licking into your mouth straight away, letting you exhale the smoke into his mouth.

“Goddamn right,” he mutters against your lips, then deepens the kiss, tongue licking against yours as he does take the vape from you then, pocketing it, and then placing his hand on your waist, just at the curve of your hip. It rests there for barely a moment before sliding back, and you lean into him, pushing him back against the hood of the cruiser and letting your bag drop to the ground at your feet, your jacket along with it.

Your hands slide over his chest, the fabric clinging to him and letting you feel every expanse of his skin, the ghost of muscles there without the definition. He gropes your ass with both hands now, as you feel his stomach and chest, up to his shoulders, and then rise to your tiptoes, pushing back and very nearly getting him to lower himself to the hood of the car.

“Jesus Christ,” he utters against your lips, breaking the kiss, only to have you lower your mouth to his jaw, his neck. “Thank fuckin’ god I stuck around.”

You laugh a little, your giggle warm against his throat, as he slides his hands up to your lower back, tugging your uniform shirt up and out of your black slacks. You nip at his neck, your arms sliding around his neck to press yourself against him, your fronts firmly resting together as he fights to stay upright with how you’re leaning against him, and smirk as you kiss him again when his hands slide back down, fingertips disappearing into the waistband of your pants to try and grope your ass.

You only press your hips more firmly against his, tongue licking into his mouth as he squeezes you, hands fully inside your slacks, your panties. His hands are warm but rough, and you pull away from the kiss, maybe a little ahead of yourself, to ask, “Do you have anything?”

He leans back just enough to look at you, take you in before a smirk curves his lips. “Should make ya go back inside ‘nd grab some yerself.” You fix him with a look, and he playfully digs his fingers into the plush flesh of your ass. “‘Course I got somethin’,” he says, leaning down to kiss you again. “Now les’ get back to it.”

There’s no chance for you to reply as he parts your lips with his tongue, and once his mouth is back on yours, there’s nothing you could say that could possibly be more important than making out with him. At this point it’s been weeks, if not months, in the making, and you’re not going to waste time with talking when you could be cutting straight to the chase.

You pull your hips away from his and he takes the initiative: He slides his hands from your ass to your front, untucking your shirt there too and then undoing the button so he can start to actually undress you.

“Wait, here?” you ask, breathless, your lips brushing against his.

“Ain’t no one around,” he says, looking at the back lot of the gas station. It’s dark, and you know Jimmy isn’t going to bother taking out the trash or recycling the cardboard boxes from the restocking you’d done earlier, so you’re definitely going to be safe and unseen out here.

“No one around,” you echo, and reach down to pull off your shirt, tossing it onto the windshield behind Gator. His eyes dip down from your face to your chest, your tits nearly spilling out of your bra, and he lets himself stare for a long moment before you’re tugging at his shirt as well. Together, you pull it off of him, mussing his hair but bringing a smirk to his lips as you press yourself against him, the smooth fabric of your bra glancing over his skin while his shirt lands somewhere on the hood behind him.

While he’s looking—because he is still looking, and you can tell—you bend your arms back behind yourself and unclasp your bra, leaving your chest pressed against him even as you tug the undergarment away, dropping it on top of your shirt to feel the tickle of his chest hair against you, his hands on your lower back, letting you lean onto him.

Gator opens his mouth to speak, but you only push yourself even closer to him, practically climbing him as he nearly falls back onto the car, almost sliding to the side down the slope of the hood.

“You fuckin’ little minx,” he laughs, holding onto you. “Ya want it that bad?”

“Kinda,” you say, hands moving to cup his face as he clings to you, keeping you both from falling off the hood.

“Ditto,” he replies, his voice barely more than a growl, though you feel more than hear him whimper as you pull away for, hopefully, the last time. “Fuck ya goin’?” he asks, even though as he asks it, you’re pushing your slacks down and toeing off your sneakers until you’re standing before him, bare save for your underwear.

“Nowhere,” you reply, then step closer again, but not to press yourself to him—no, it’s to reach for his belt, undo it along with his button and fly, and instead of pushing them down, you tip your chin up to hold his gaze as you slip your hand into his camos, cupping his cock through the cotton of his briefs. He’s thick and half hard already, and just as you open your mouth to say something else, he catches your lips with his and you melt into the kiss, because he’s flexing his hips into your hand and sliding his hands up your sides, moving to cup your tits.

“Fuckin’ been waitin’ fer this,” Gator mumbles against your mouth, and you mewl quietly as his thumbs flick sideways over your nipples, your palm pressing a little tighter against his cock. You feel him twitch against you, your fingertips just nudging the head, and he breaks the kiss, tipping his head back, a heavy sigh leaving him.

“Lay back,” you instruct him, and to his credit: he listens. He settles back down onto the hood of the cruiser, his hands sliding back to your waist to help you climb onto him, and as he keeps your balance for you, you just push his bottoms down, his hips between your legs as you do.

“Wait,” he says, reaching into his pocket before it leaves his reach. He removes his hand with a condom between his first and middle fingers, and it gives the moment a little more gravity, until he kicks his legs so that his camos and underwear fall down to his ankles and you can’t help but laugh.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks.

“Not anymore,” you say, because now you can see him—all of him—and whatever joke you were about to make about him kicking his feet like an excitable kid falls by the wayside. His hands tighten on your waist, his fingertips pressing divots into your sides as your eyes trace over the line of his cock, now angled up and over his hip, and then instead of just your eyes, your hand is moving over it.

Gator makes a small noise in his throat as your fingertips trace the underside of his cock, feeling him from base to tip, before curling your hand around him and stroking him, your knuckles brushing his stomach. You move slowly, feeling him stiffen in your hold, and he squirms a little as you jerk him off languidly.

“Thought ya were in a hurry,” he says, and you don’t stop moving your hand, but you do lean over him a little, your free hand sliding up his front, up to his shoulder and down his arm to pluck the condom from his fingers.

“Yeah, maybe. But you better not make this too quick,” you say, half a warning and half a joke, but he only nods up at you, tongue flitting at the corner of his mouth as you bow your back and kiss him again, sucking his tongue between your lips as your hand presses palm-flat down against his cock, rubbing it into his stomach. It gives a kick against the heel of your hand, particularly as it reaches the head, and then you slide back down, gripping him around the root of his cock, and move your hand over him a few more times as you straighten up.

His hands slide back down to your hips, then your thighs, holding and watching as you tear open the condom and, with your tongue barely peeking out between your lips in concentration, you reach down to roll the rubber onto him. A muscle in his stomach twitches when you do, and then you’re up on your knees, no longer sitting on his thighs but moving yourself forward. You brace yourself on his shoulder with one hand, the other reaching down to tug your panties to the side.

“Fuck,” Gator murmurs above you, and you just slide your hand down a little to his chest, holding yourself steady as he takes hold of his cock for you, angling it straight up.

A little laugh punches out of your chest as you spread your knees further apart, the blunt head of his cock slicking through your folds as you move forward and back over him, easing down onto him a little bit more each time until finally, he notches against your slit. He’s big—and you bite your lip as you sink down onto him, breath stuttering out of your lungs as you hear him do the same.

“Fuck,” he says again. “Tight. Ya fuckin’—squeezin’ down on me?”

“Feels good,” you whimper, because you absolutely are, clenching your cunt down on his length as you take him in, wanting to feel the thick press of him as intensely as you can while you take each and every inch. “Oh, fuck, Gator.”

His hands move over your thighs, down to your knees and then back up as he grips your legs tight, not holding you in place but just feeling as you don’t even give yourself a moment to acclimate to him—you just lift yourself back up and then slide right back down, fucking yourself on his cock as he lets his head drop back against the hood of his cruiser with a hollow thunk.

“Shit,” he mumbles absently, moving his hands from your thighs to your sides again, then up to your chest, cupping your tits as you bounce on it. It’s a little too dark to see, but he’s staring at the crux between your legs anyway, the place where you’re joined with him, and even though your cunt and his cock are in shadow, the feeling of it is still incredible, the wet, slick noises your pussy is making around him are like music to his ears—yours too.

“Gator,” you sigh, moving your hands to his chest, feeling him up just as much as he’s doing to you, fingers carding through the dense patch of hair adorning his front, up to his shoulder with your left, his throat with your right, feeling his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, overwhelmed with how quickly you’re moving on him, how deep you’re taking him, his cock fully sheathed inside of you—and once he’s all the way in, every single time, you grind your hips down into him, like you can’t feel him enough.

“Ya—really wanted it,” he says, voice choked, and you slam your hips down against him, stop moving, and lean over, so much that his cock almost slides out of you, but not fully. Your front is pressed against his and you can feel your walls fluttering around him as you hold your hips still.

Your lips drag over his as you speak. “And you really wanted t’give it to me,” you say. “Didn’t you?”

He nods, desperately, animatedly. “Fuckin’—right, I did,” he groans, as you start moving again, straightening up and lifting your hips and riding him, thighs tensing and toes curling; beneath you, the cruiser is rocking back and forth as you fuck him. “Takin’ it so—fuckin’ good—” he gasps out.

“You sure are,” you say, turning it around on him, because you’re very much the one in control of the situation, and he doesn’t even see fit to argue. “Aren’t you?”

Gator hums quietly. “Mhm,” he intones, and then, surprising you just a little, you feel two fingers on your slippery folds, so wet with your own arousal that they shock you as they move over your swollen, throbbing clit. “Like that,” he says, and you aren’t sure if he means he can tell that you’re enjoying it, or if he’s talking about himself.

“Like it,” you sigh, unable to keep your back straight anymore—you curl over him, hands on his chest, fingernails digging half-moons right near his collarbones, as you let him massage your clit and just roll your hips, circling his cock with your cunt, feeling him from every single angle, and then—

His hips kick beneath yours, buck up into you and he groans your name as he comes, filling the condom inside of you. He already had you teetering, but that pushes you over the edge for good, the feeling of his rigid length inside of you tensing up, moving in you as he finishes—you come too, with a cry, too loud for the still early morning air, the sound of it practically echoing around you as your cunt spasms on his dick, his fingers not stopping on your clit until you grab his wrist. Even still, he doesn’t pull away, rubbing you off again until you feel your body convulse a second time, coming with his spent cock still stuffed inside of your tight slit.

Even after you manage to pull his hand away from you, you don’t—maybe can’t—release his wrist, so you’re still hanging on as he lifts his hand to his mouth. It draws your gaze, and you watch, half-lidded, as he sucks the pads of his fingers, the ones that had just been touching you, licks your fluids from them before he meets your eyes again.

Your breath is still coming thin, shallow, but he pushes himself up and holds you on his lap, not letting you pull off yet, even as the feeling of how wet you are between your legs begins to get to you, your underwear soaked, your thighs starting to feel clammy.

“Think ya want a police escort home?” Gator asks, lifting his clean hand to cup the back of your head, drawing your lips to his.

You kiss him, lazily, squeezing yourself down on his cock just to feel him gasp against your mouth, the sharp intake of air making you smile.

“Depends,” you answer, letting your arms drape over his shoulders. “What happens when you get me there, deputy?”

Gator’s smirk is tangible on your cheek, and you turn your face a little more toward his. “Let’s just say this”—he bounces you a little on his lap, his length rubbing against you from inside, still, and making you moan low in your throat—“was a fuckin’ preview.”

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