you can call me evie or ev !! written by greta gerwig && billie eilish. reality shifter. empath. ravenclaw. lover of movies, shows, and books. variants: sophie thatcher, jackie burkhart, natalie portman, spencer hastings, camilla morrone, cailee spaeny, mary stuart, emma waston, maren yearly. if you can’t guess, i have brown hair && bambi eyes. gator tillman’s gf.
Using this photo from Pinterest as my inspo for single dad!Steve (in a crop top)
(Added the lore that he doesn’t have time to coach a traditional school baseball season now that he has a daughter and is a full time teacher but he volunteers at a local youth center as a mentor for at risk youth. The shirt is one that he got made for the center’s baseball team his first year there because he wanted them to have something to unify them. It’s cropped as a result of his daughter playing around and years of wear during the P.E. classes he teaches and volunteering with the team.)
with mother’s day around the corner? how would gator celebrate mama?
if maggie’s a summer baby, there’s a chance mama was also heavily pregnant around mother’s day, did gator do anything then?
maggie mae tillman - the full collection
i made this a little more emo(tional) than asked because i know how hard mother’s day is for me so i know exactly how hard it would likely be for gator.
if you don’t think you can read this for any personal reasons, please don’t push yourself! <3
mother’s day has always brought gator complicated feelings. he doesn’t forget it, nor does he avoid it, but there’s still always this lingering ache under everything that he’s built up over time. no matter how happy the rest of his life is now, the day will always carry some extra weight to it.
so naturally, he requires a bit of assistance during mother’s day.
and naturally, he recruits maggie mae.
“mother’s day is important” “why?” “because your mama takes care of everybody else all year”
when maggie is still little, he helps her make a handprint card. somehow maggie manages to smear paint everywhere except the paper (“don’t put paint in your mouth- maggie mae what did i just say”) but finally, it comes together.
inside is the very messy handprint, along with a sentence that gator clearly helped her write.
“MY MAMA IS PRETTY AND NICE AND MAKES MAC N CHEESE”
but underneath is gator’s proper (still slightly messy) handwriting.
“thank you for loving our girl. she’s lucky to have you. so am i”
gator has to look away while you read it, pretending to fix maggie’s pajamas otherwise he genuinely might cry.
now, since maggie mae was in fact a summer baby, you were extremely pregnant for your first technical mother’s day.
like, extremely pregnant. like “get this baby OUT of me” pregnant.
but when you walked waddled out into the kitchen on mother’s day morning, you were surprised to find gator already cooking an entire full breakfast spread. with a few bonus non traditional items you’d been craving lately. the second he saw you, his face almost lit up.
“there she is!” “what are you doing?” “it’s mother’s day”
you promptly laughed, giving him the “i’m not technically a mother yet” spiel. but he wouldn’t hear it.
“you got my kid kickin’ your bladder around like a bouncy ball right now”
he had a point.
at that time, you guys were still running on essentials only when it came to finances. so gator knew he couldn’t go all out with gifts. however, that didn’t mean he couldn’t pull a few strings and IOU’s with his buddy at the station who had a hobby for woodworking.
when he handed you a framed recent ultrasound photo with “happy first mother’s day, mama” engraved in the bottom…
you burst into tears. literally.
“oh no” gator mumbled.
“are those happy pregnant tears or do you hate it?” “you’re so stupid” “okay good you love it”
he doesn’t always talk about his mom directly. but one year you find him sitting outside on the porch after maggie has already been tucked into bed. you sit beside him, and he doesn’t say anything for a bit.
“she would’ve loved you”
he just stares out at the yard while speaking, his voice much softer than usual.
“would’ve been crazy about her too”
mother’s day for gator is about making sure you know just how grateful him and maggie are for you. because watching you be her mother heals just a tiny bit of him. pack her preschool lunches, comfort her after nightmares, brush her hair in the mornings, read her bedtime stories.
from the moment evie moved into the small town of fargo, gator and her clashed. not even a quarter on the way to her new home, the deputy had stopped her. it was at the moment that gator knew who this woman was. even after his clear intentions to get her in the back of his cruiser, it was clear she was not afraid of him.
that was until evie even knew who the tillman’s were. part of her wished she didn’t know anything about them because then she wouldn’t have even gator such a hard time, but he was a dick. she tried not to be afraid of the tillman’s but roy tillman made it impossible when he sees how his son and this random new girl in town were close.
They don't know how you've haunted me
So stunningly
I choose you and me
Religiously
After your boyfriend dumps you—you should be sad. You’re not. You’re still thinking about fucking Steve Harrington.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 11.6k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a plot, best friend/roommate!steve, female and male masturbation, mild nipple play, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p in v, non protected penetrative sex, so so much dirty talk, horse cock harrington, even more fantasying about steve harrington, pet names (pretty girl, baby), use of y/n, female reader, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: part two!! i’m really sorry about the wait but i was smacked in the face with writers block for this and it took a while to get over it. but we’re here now and man, i’m so excited! the love i received one part one was insane, i’ve never had a reaction before like that to a fic so i wanna say a MASSIVE thank you for all the comments, likes, reblog, tags, even those who just read it!! it means a lot. i doubted myself with this fic and almost didn’t post the first part and so the support really does mean a lot! anyway—enough of my rambling!! please enjoy part two ❤️🔥
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The days following your breakup with James had been—strange.
Strange because James had been your constant for almost two years of your life. Strange because you found yourself missing the walk to his apartment. Missing the brownies that he would pick up from a bakery on the way home from work for you. Missing the expensive coffee machine James had in his apartment.
But as for missing James? If you were honest with yourself you didn’t miss him—not at all.
You knew you should be more upset about the end of your relationship. Knew you should feel as if your heart had shattered into a million pieces. But the truth was that you felt okay. If anything, it felt as though a great weight had been lifted from your shoulders.
You weren’t heartbroken like you allowed the people around you to believe. But you felt guilty—immensely so. Guilt that was lodged so deep in your chest that it was almost suffocating. Guilt for not missing James, guilt for only missing the quiet security that your relationship had given you for the past two years.
At work, Robin could tell that something was wrong. You were a little subdued, not your usual self. You didn’t have the heart to tell her. Not yet anyway.
Steve knew, of course. He had been there for you moments after James had left. Had pulled you into his arms and refused to let you go until you ran out of tears. Selfishly, you hadn’t wanted to leave his arms either but you eventually did and he had made you some macaroni and cheese. It was lumpy and not at all like the one you had made him the day he had returned from his parent’s house empty handed but you had appreciated the effort all the same. Appreciated every cup of coffee he left for you on the kitchen countertop. Appreciated the fact he had even stopped stealing your expensive shampoo.
When you did eventually tell your friends about you and James, it was at the bar a week after the breakup.
“Wait—You and James broke up?” Robin gasps—you had a feeling that she was trying her best to look surprised instead of relieved. “Like—for good?”
“Yeah,” you say with a small nod. “We broke up.”
“Holy shit,” Jonathan says, leaning back and looking at you carefully.
“Who broke up with who?” Eddie asks quickly.
“Munson,” Steve mutters, taking a quick, careful glance at you. “You can’t ask her that. She doesn’t want to talk about—”
“Did you break up with him?” Eddie presses you, flat out ignoring Steve in his eagerness to unearth the latest gossip. “Did you finally realise how much of a tool he is?”
“Eddie,” Nancy snaps, pressing a sharp elbow to his ribs in warning.
“No,” you say quietly. “He broke up with me.”
That silenced Eddie. Silenced the entirety of the table, in fact. Robin no longer looked relieved, but deeply confused. Jonathan was still watching you, Nancy was glaring at Eddie and Steve was watching the way your hands were fiddling with the sleeve of your cardigan.
“But why—” Eddie begins, but this time you’re the one to interrupt him.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say in a clipped voice, grabbing your drink and taking a generous sip, determinedly not looking at your friends.
The group nodded, even Eddie understood, that now wasn’t the time. That it was too painful for you, too fresh for you to talk about. The irony was—it wasn’t painful at all. But the embarrassment over the reason for the breakup? Yeah, that was pretty real. And you needed to be sure that your friends—especially Steve—never found out the truth. That you took the secret to the grave.
And so, you played the part of the girl who had gotten her heart broken.
You cried at sad movies, devoured a ridiculous amount of takeouts and ice cream, you let your friends and family surround you like a comforting blanket. You even debated a radical haircut before Nancy had vetoed that idea.
Your parents came to visit two weeks after the breakup. They arrived shortly after you had broken the news to them over the phone when they had called initially to invite you and James over for Sunday lunch. You then had to tell them that he had broken up with you and they had dropped everything and rushed over. Steve had been there, hovering as your mom gave you the biggest hug imaginable while your dad grumbled something about James not being right for you. He didn’t mean it, you knew he didn’t. Your dad had loved James, your mom had too and you felt as though they would perhaps miss James more than you would.
“At least you’re in good hands,” your mom says, smiling serenely as Steve sets down four steaming hot mugs of coffee onto the coffee table. “Thank you Stevie.”
You smile a little when you notice how Steve’s ears turn red at the nickname, how there’s now a dusting of pink on his cheeks. You knew that he had hated anyone calling him Stevie but you also knew that he wasn’t going to tell your mom to stop calling him that. He catches your eye and bites back a smile before he turns to your mom.
“Anytime,” he says simply.
Your parents had loved James but they loved Steve. You’re sure it has something to do with the fact that Steve was now almost entirely estranged from his parents and your parents seemed to want to shower him in all the parental love he was missing. Your dad invited him to football games, asked him about his job as an assistant baseball coach and your mom told him that he wasn’t eating enough vegetables and asked questions about his plans for the future. Seeing Steve with your parents made you feel a lot of things at once, complicated things that you decided to ignore for the time being.
When your parents finally left, you overheard your mom say to Steve: “You’ll take good care of her, right Steve?”
“Of course. I always take care of her.”
The words go straight to your core and you begin to wonder what was wrong with you.
You hadn’t gotten off to thoughts about Steve since the night with James. You had felt too ashamed to do so. Too full of guilt. But it didn’t mean you didn’t think about Steve. About him taking care of you. About how good it might feel if he took care in other ways. But instead of using those thoughts to get off—you just lay there, a hot pool of want between your legs and an ache that you kept trying to ease by squeezing your legs together. It never worked. You just went to sleep frustrated and feeling like an awful person.
And besides, Steve had seemed to have stopped having sex in the apartment and so, you hadn’t been able to listen to those delicious moans, groans and dirty words that got you off all those weeks ago. At first, you thought that he was just being quiet. That he was trying to be respectful of the fact you were going through a breakup. But when you noticed the lack of random women’s shoes at the front door—you realised he wasn’t having sex at all—in your apartment, at least.
“You don’t have to like, be celibate just because I’m no longer getting any,” you tell him one night on the couch, a month after the breakup. A bowl of popcorn was perched between the two of you, your eyes on the film but your mind elsewhere. “You can still—you know.”
You see Steve’s ears turn red—a tell-tale sign that he was a little flustered by your words but he seems to decide it was best to pretend not to hear you. And you decide not to press him further about it.
You also decide not to dwell on the part of you that was relieved Steve wasn’t having sex with other women. Sometimes late at night, you wondered if the fantasies you had been having about him meant something more than just you needing to get off. If the reason you weren’t heartbroken in the way you knew you should be was because you felt something more for Steve. But then you remembered that you were going through a breakup and definitely not in the right headspace for such thoughts.
James eventually reached out. It had been while Steve was at his Saturday morning baseball practice and you knew James had planned his call purposefully. He said he just “happened to be in the area”, that he had a few of your things to drop off. You had said yes because the guilt was eating you alive—it had been five weeks and James sounded miserable. Meanwhile you had spent last night at Robin and Nancy’s with a bottle of wine and a seemingly endless game of Monopoly.
James’ knock was so distinctly him that it made something in your chest tighten.
You find yourself checking your appearance in the mirror before you answer the door and you aren’t sure why.
You open the door and are greeted with the sight of your ex-boyfriend, a box of your belongings in his hands and a sad look on his face that you wish you could ignore.
”Hi,” you say by way of a greeting because what else was there to say?
”Hey,” James says, his blue-green eyes sadder than you had ever seen them. The guilt in your gut churns because—you were the reason for that, for his sadness. You were the reason for any nights he had been unable to sleep without you by his side. He may not have fucked your brains out the way you needed but he had still loved you.
You have to look away then and so, you glance down at the box of your stuff he had bought over. Inside, you see a box of tampons, a small toiletry bag of makeup and some spare clothes you had kept at his apartment for when you stayed overnight. “You look well.”
”So do you,” you say, though you don’t really mean it. James looked like he hadn’t had a good night's sleep in weeks. His hair unkept in a way he would never allow, his face unshaven and even his outfit was a little less put together without your input on his wardrobe. It made you feel awful, even more awful than you already do and you wanted him to leave so the guilt would follow him out the door. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. “I have um, some of your stuff too if you want—if you want to come in and have a coffee or…something.”
You were sure he was going to say no. You had moaned out your roommate’s name while he had been inside you and broken his heart as a result—of course he didn’t want a cup of coffee.
”I’d love a coffee,” James says with a small smile.
”Great,” you reply with a bright smile that seemed to mask the fact you were cursing yourself inwardly for extending the offer of a hot drink in the first place.
The next five minutes were excruciatingly awkward. James seemed unable to bring himself to sit down on your pink couch and you couldn’t exactly blame him since it was there you had moaned out Steve’s name while bouncing on James’ dick. The memory of it makes you feel hot with embarrassment and so you’re quick to busy yourself with making both you and James coffee as he takes a seat in the small armchair that sat beside the TV instead.
You handed James his steaming, hot mug of coffee and he gave a nod in thanks. You sat down on the couch with your own cup and the silence that followed was deafening. You didn’t know what to say and James looked as though he was beginning to regret accepting your offer of coffee.
The small talk is painful—about how your parents were, about his job. You find yourself thinking of excuses to get him to leave as he stares down at the mug of coffee in his hands.
“I’m um—I’m heading out soon,” you tell him after a painfully boring conversation about what he made for dinner last night. “I need to go food shopping so um, let me grab your stuff.”
“Oh,” James says, his expression faltering slightly as you set your mug down on the coffee table and get to your feet. “Yeah. Of course. Thank you.”
You take a few steps—towards your room when James suddenly calls your name.
“Could I—could I just ask you something?”
You hesitate but you turn around anyway because you couldn’t say no. Not to the man you had once loved.
“Did you—were you thinking about him?” James asks quietly. “Is that why you said his name?”
The look of shame on your face alone is enough of an answer. You watch as James clenches his jaw before looking away from you.
You take it as your cue to leave and you couldn’t have left the room any quicker. You manage to locate an empty box in the back of your closet and you begin to stuff various items of James’ that you could spot around your room—a few old hoodies of his, a Duran Duran cassette tape and some of his boxers that you found in the back of your underwear drawer.
It’s as you head into the bathroom to grab the toothbrush that he had kept in your apartment that you hear the familiar sound of Steve coming home.
Your heart plummets, landing somewhere deep in your gut. Because the last thing—the very last thing—you wanted was for James and Steve to interact.
You quickly shove James’ toothbrush, an almost empty bottle of his cologne and his moisturiser into the box of his stuff that you had collected as your heart pounds in your chest. You could practically hear it thumping, hear the blood rushing through your body as murmurs from both Steve and James reach your ears.
You nearly bolt out of the bathroom in your haste to stop their conversation.
“—I just think it’s a pretty shitty thing to show up here after blindsiding her—”
“—blindsiding? Is that what you think I did—”
You clear your throat and both men turn to look at you. You see James had got to his feet, that Steve was stood a short distance away from him wearing that jacket and those damn jeans that stretched deliciously over his thighs—
You curse yourself from thinking about Steve and his thighs, especially in this situation, with James barely two feet away from you.
You wordlessly hold out the box for James to take. He’s looking at you with an expression you don’t quite recognise and it makes the sense of dread living in your gut intensify to such a level that you have to look away from your ex-boyfriend.
“Thanks for um, bringing my stuff and stopping by,” you say as you chance a glance at Steve who seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the side of James’ head. The protectiveness of it made you want to press your thighs together as an ache built itself between your legs. You curse yourself again for thinking such depraved thoughts. Steve was just being a good friend. A really, really good friend.
James grunts in acknowledgement, looking at you for a few more moments before he takes the box of his things from you.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he says. “And my stuff. I really appreciate it.”
But he doesn’t move and the fact he isn’t leaving terrifies you. Because now he knows you had been thinking about Steve. And if he decided to tell Steve the real reason for your break up—well, you really didn’t want to think about the repercussions. The embarrassment of it happening was enough of a punishment, the thought of Steve finding out made you feel physically ill.
Steve—seeming to misinterpret the fear in your eyes as something else entirely—steps between you and James.
“You gonna get out of here?” Steve asks James bluntly. “I think you’ve broken her heart enough.”
James’ head snaps towards Steve and you can see the anger that had been hidden there.
“Broken her heart?” James retorts, his fingers gripping the box in his hands tightly. “Is that—I didn’t break shit. This was her doing, she was the one who—”
“James,” you cut across him in a small voice. “Please, don’t.”
James stops at the sound of your voice and as he looks at you, you can see the man who once loved you. The man that still probably loved you despite the fact you had broken his heart by crying out a name at the height of your pleasure that wasn’t his own.
“Sure,” James says finally, jaw set. “I’ll go.”
Your shoulders sag in relief as James finally moves, stepping towards the door to your apartment. He makes sure to shoulder barge Steve as he moves past him. Steve looks as though he wanted nothing more than to call James out for it but one look at your face and he knows to shut his mouth for your sake.
The moment the door closes behind James, you let out a breath that you hadn’t realised you had been holding. You take a few shuddering breaths before you turn to look at Steve and see his arms are already open for you.
You don’t hesitate.
Just like that night that you and James had broken up, Steve’s arms surround you. Strong, sturdy, everything that you needed to keep you afloat. Your nerves were shot, your breathing heavy and Steve was there to hold you through it all. You try not to think about his large hands that were rubbing your back gently, about how you wanted those hands all over your body. How you wanted them to slip between your legs, his thick fingers gliding over your wet, glistening lips before slipping inside—
Steve says your name and it pulls you from your thoughts. You pull away enough to look at him and your breath catches when you find your face inches away from your own. It takes everything in you to not look down at those perfect, pillowly lips of his.
“Yeah?” You murmur quietly, looking instead at those big pools of brown you wanted to drown in.
Steve looks as though he was steeling himself, thinking carefully about his next words as he looks back at you. And you know just by the look on his face what he wanted to ask. You knew, of course you knew, that he wanted to know about the reason for your breakup. For weeks, you had been avoiding the subject because the truth of it was so mortifying and you would rather die than admit it to Steve. You couldn’t exactly blame him for being curious and after what James had said—that breakup was your doing—you wouldn’t blame him if he asked.
But you watch as Steve seems to decide against asking you the question. You see how he swallows before looking away from you, eyes on the box of your things that James had returned. “You um, you good?” He asks instead.
The honest answer was no—you weren’t okay. Not in the slightest. The guilt had returned to a dull ache after seeing James. You also felt confused, incredibly so. About what your fantasies about Steve meant. The fact you also seemed to be stupidly horny wasn’t helping your mess of emotions either.
“I’ll be okay,” you tell him simply, making the choice to step away from him before you tell him everything. “M’gonna start dinner, is stir fry okay?”
Steve seems to accept the line in the sand you had drawn and smiles. “Yeah. Sounds great. I’ll cut the peppers.”
A week after you had seen James, you had left work early. You had been nursing a headache ever since you woke up. A dull ache pressing itself against your skull that had been steadily building ever since you headed to work earlier in the morning before finally reaching a peak around lunchtime when Robin finally told you to head home. Eddie happened to be hanging around the station at the time, trying to convince Robin to play his band’s song (which had been turned down by your manager since it wasn’t “radio friendly”) and so, he took you back to the apartment instead of having to call Steve to pick you up.
You don’t mean to be quiet as you enter the apartment but your head was still pounding and so you were avoiding loud noises. You choose to softly close the door behind you instead of slamming it shut like you usually would. You didn’t even call out to Steve to announce that you were home. You just head straight to your room to crawl beneath your covers.
It’s after a minute of laying there, hoping you’ll fall asleep and wake up with a head that wasn’t pounding that you hear it. A low groaning coming from Steve’s room.
Your stomach sinks.
“Ahhhh—fucccking hell,” you hear him moan and that sound—that fucking sound—went straight to your core.
You squeeze your eyes shut. You told yourself to ignore it, you had a headache and needed to sleep it off. Needed to not listen to Steve and whoever he was fucking in his bedroom. But still, you don’t reach for the headphones that live in your bedside drawer.
“Fucccck yeah—just like that.”
You found that your thighs were beginning to squeeze themselves together. You hadn’t gotten off in weeks and Steve’s voice—his delicious groans—were making you slick between your legs without much effort. Even if the thought of Steve with someone else made you feel sick. Even if it made your heart feel as though someone was squeezing it and—
Your thoughts were cut off by a moan coming from Steve that was so obscene that your eyes couldn’t help but open. Your headache was almost entirely forgotten as you zeroed in on those unabashed noises that were falling from Steve’s lips.
It was then you noticed the absence of another voice. It was only Steve’s groans filling his room, only him making noises of shameless pleasure. It was then that you realised—with a surge of something hot that made your body feel as though it was burning with pleasure—that Steve was in fact, alone. That it was just Steve in his room, unaware you were home, getting off. And it was the hottest thing you had ever heard.
You could hear it now—the sound of Steve fucking his fist. Wet squelching that made you painfully aware of the heat pooling between your legs. You found yourself wondering if he had used a lotion or perhaps lube or even his own spit. The thought alone made you so stupidly wet that the slightest twitch of your legs had your pussy aching.
You shouldn’t—you know you shouldn’t. You know you should just grab your walkman and headphones and give Steve his privacy. You know you shouldn’t fall back into this old habit. But then you hear Steve let out a particularly loud grunt and you can’t stop yourself.
You start by slipping your hand beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the skin of your stomach as you listen to Steve and his moans that had you clenching around nothing. Your pussy was practically drooling with want. You weren’t sure how long you had—how long it would take for Steve to come—and so, you didn’t waste any time.
Your fingers shake a little as you unbutton your trousers before slipping your hand beneath the fabric. You have to suppress a gasp as your finger makes contact with the dampness that your slick has caused through your panties. It felt so, so good. Your fingers began circling your swollen and neglected clit through your panties. You had to fight back the moan that was bubbling up your throat, you hadn’t touched yourself in so long that even a gentle brush of your fingers over your sensitive flesh felt electric. And Steve’s moans weren’t helping.
“Ahhh, fuck me—” Steve moans out and you hear the lewd sounds of him fucking his fist faster. “Fuck me, fuccck me—”
Oh, how you wanted to do just that. You wanted him to be inside of you, wanted his thick cock to split you open and put you back together again. You wanted him buried so deep inside of you that you would feel him for days. You wanted him so bad that your thighs were trembling.
Your fingers hastily found their way into your underwear and the moment you made contact with your wetness, you let out a small whimper—
But Steve was too busy chasing his high to notice. You could hear it in how much he was moaning. How he was groaning out nonsense.
You zeroed in on his voice and how fucking desperate he sounded as your fingers collected your slick and smeared it over your folds. It felt incredible. Now you weren’t with James, you didn’t have that sense of shame in your gut as your fingers slid through your wetness. All your focus was on Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve.
You plunge two fingers inside of yourself at the thought of Steve. You imagine his pretty brown eyes glassy, lips parted and wet, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink colour, his chestnut hair mused, messy but still somehow perfect. You imagined his hand pumping his cock which even in his large hands would look stupidly big. You imagine the tip of his cock leaking precum, imagine his hand squeezing his twitching length and throwing his head back to expose that pretty neck of his that was dotted with moles.
You had to bite back a moan as you began pumping your fingers in and out, your hips bucking upwards. You were so fucking wet from listening to your roommate and you couldn’t help but imagine Steve slurping up your slick like it was something sacred.
You add another finger as Steve’s groans pick up. Your eyes close, your head tilts back and you’re in bliss. Your fingers curl inside yourself and it takes everything not to moan out, not to join Steve in those unabashed noises he was making in his room. Your other hand—the other that had been fisting the sheets beneath you—joins the fray, fingers circling your clit as you finger yourself faster. You begin to imagine it was Steve’s thick fingers inside of you as you feel your stomach tighten, the coil in your lower belly close to snapping.
And then—Steve lets out a strangled moan and you know then that he had tipped over the edge. And that sound—perhaps one of the greatest sounds you had ever heard—along with the image in your head of Steve Harrington filling you up to the brim with thick ropes of his cum, is what makes you tip right over the edge with him.
The warmth spreads quickly. It spreads from your dripping cunt right down to your toes. You feel as though your whole body is humming beneath your skin. All the tension in your body vanishes, even the damn headache you had been nursing had lessened considerably. Your eyes flutter close, your head tilts back as you feel your release dripping down your fingers.
You blink—still floating, still basking in the aftermath of your orgasm. You can hear Steve quietly moving around his bedroom but you don’t want to move yet. Because now reality was settling in and you can’t help but think about that feeling you had in your chest when you had thought Steve wasn’t alone. How now that you thought about it, with a clear mind, how that feeling had felt an awful lot like jealousy. The sort of jealousy you remember feeling at the beginning of your relationship with James, when women would look at him for a little too long.
And it’s then that you realise why your breakup hadn’t devastated you. You realise why you found yourself looking at Steve so much, why you felt warm and safe when he was near. Why the day felt brighter when you realised he had made you coffee, why you barely thought about James since your breakup. You realise why you thought so much about Steve—not just because you were clearly very sexually attracted to him—but because your heart beat a little faster when he was near. You still wanted to jump his bones, wanted him to fuck you until there was nothing left but you also wanted to kiss him slowly, to trace your fingers over the moles over his back and arms that were scattered like constellations over his skin. You wanted to wake up beside him, wanted to be more than roommates, more than just friends.And that realisation? That devastating realisation that you had genuine feelings for Steve, for your roommate and good friend—that it wasn’t just lust or you being horny, single and confused—well, it made everything so much more confusing.
After that, you were kind of ruined.
On a near nightly basis, you were back to getting off while thinking about Steve. And after, you would let yourself indulge in a different kind of fantasy—the one that saw you and Steve living a life that wasn’t just roommates. You found yourself wanting to ask Nancy what Steve had been like as a boyfriend and in fact, you had to stop yourself from asking her on multiple occasions.
You had even tried to put some distance between yourself and Steve but it had been difficult—near enough impossible—due to the fact that you lived together but you had tried anyway.
It lasted perhaps two days before Steve had pouted at you for turning down a movie night.
You had folded pretty damn quickly after that.
And so, despite your best efforts, you really started to fall for Steve.
But you also knew how complicated admitting your feelings would be. First of all, you lived together. If Steve didn’t feel the same way and turned you down, you would be in a pretty sticky situation. He may even move out if you were honest with him. Secondly, he was one of your best friends. The kind of friend you wanted to remain in your life for as long as humanely possible.
But it was hard because Steve was Steve and you found yourself wanting him so badly that you couldn’t help but think about him being about yours. About what it would be like to have his arm thrown over your shoulder in a way that wasn’t just a friendly embrace. What it would be like to kiss him whenever you wanted to. You couldn’t help but think about his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his hair, his arms, his hands, his thighs, his—
The sound of jeering rips you from your thoughts about Steve and his damn thighs.
It was a Friday night and once again, you and your friends found yourselves at the bar near yours and Steve’s apartment. It very rarely was busy at the bar, people tended to give the establishment a wide berth but game nights seemed to be the one exception.
“Don’t you just love sports?” Eddie asks the group with a roll of his eyes as he takes a swig of beer.
You weren’t sitting in your usual booth because a group of Colts fans had taken the spot. Instead, you were seated in a much smaller booth which you weren’t complaining about since Steve was pressed against your right side. His thigh pushed against yours. It felt so strong, thick and sturdy and you tried desperately not to think about riding it. How about it would feel to hike your skirt up, straddle that luscious thigh of his and drag your needy cunt over his jeans. How it would feel to watch Steve watching you as you used his thigh to get off, your slick dripping through your panties and onto his jeans. Your swollen, aching clit begging for attention that Steve would happily—
“(y/n)?”
“Huh?”
You had been so deep in your fantasy of riding Steve’s thigh that you hadn’t even registered Nancy saying your name.
Your face felt warm and you blinked several times, looking over at Nancy as though you hadn’t been imagining yourself getting off on her ex-boyfriend’s thigh.
“Yeah, Nance?” You ask, shifting in your seat to try and put a bit of distance between yourself and Steve but all you did was register just how wet you now were.
“Um, James is over there.”
If there was anything—anything—that would have put your horny thoughts about Steve to bed, it was that.
You feel cold all of a sudden, your eyes flickering over to where Nancy was looking and sure enough—there he was. He was standing at the bar with a few friends that you vaguely recognised. He looked a lot better now. He didn’t look like the guy who had been at your apartment a few weeks ago. No longer looked like the guy who had been weighed down by heartache. He was clean shaven, his hair freshly cut and even you couldn’t deny, he looked good. Even if he still seemed to be struggling with putting together a fashionable outfit without your input.
But the fact he was here made you immediately anxious. James knew that you and Steve only lived down the road. He also knew this was where you spent Friday nights with your friends. It was anything but a coincidence.
You feel Steve sit up a little straighter beside you. You try not to think about it.
“Should we get him to leave?” Eddie asks, glancing at you and looking as though he wanted nothing more than to pick a fight with your ex-boyfriend.
You shake your head quickly, swallowing as you look away from James and his friends. “No—Jesus, no. It—it’s fine, Eddie. He isn’t bothering anyone—”
“—he’s bothering me,” Steve mutters, his arm seeming to subconsciously press against yours. The touch sets a fire deep in your gut that you find near impossible to ignore.
“It’s fine,” you insist, picking up your drink and taking a long sip, just to distract yourself from the conflicting mess of emotions you were feeling.
Eddie looks as though he doesn’t buy it and neither does Jonathan.
“You sure?” Jonathan asks you gently, his eyes flickering over your face as though searching for any hint of uncomfortableness.
“It’s fine,” you repeat with another shake of your head and a slightly forced smile. “I’m fine.”
Jonathan doesn’t buy it. You can tell by the look on his face. You couldn’t exactly blame him because you were practically radiating nervousness. But the very last thing you wanted was to cause a scene.
“Let’s just pretend he’s not here,” Robin says and you’re grateful for the suggestion, your shoulders sagging slightly in relief. “Who wants some shots? Something to drown out the sound of sport fans—”
“—Oh shit,” Nancy interrupts her girlfriend, her eyes wide as she looks back in the direction of the bar.
You all turn at the exact same time to see a woman walk right over to your ex-boyfriend and press a not so friendly kiss to his lips.
And suddenly—the reason for James being at your local bar made perfect sense. He wanted to show off that he was moving on. Perhaps even wanted you to be jealous. But truthfully, you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your friends however—
“Really?” Robin scoffs as she scowls over at James. “In our bar? Really?”
“What a fucking dick,” Eddie seethes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to knock his lights out? Please? Just one punch—”
“Absolutely not,” you say with a shake of your head. “He’s allowed to move on, it’s fine—”
“—fine?” Nancy repeats. “How is that fine? He broke up with you and less than two months later he’s at your local bar showing off his rebound.”
Your face warms—you know how it looks from the outside. How it looks to your friends. It looks like James was being purposefully cruel. That he had dumped you, left you heartbroken and was now rubbing the fact he had moved on in your face. And sure, perhaps the last part of it was true and James had been the one to dump you but you weren’t heartbroken. In fact, you were relieved and James had been well within his rights to break up with you. But you couldn’t tell your friends that.
“I just—I’m not really bothered,” you say with a quick glance at Steve because you couldn’t help yourself and you found him already looking at you. “I mean—I’ve had time and I’m okay. Really, he can do what he wants.”
Both Eddie and Nancy look as though they wanted to argue. You couldn’t read Steve’s expression and Jonathan seemed deep in thought. Robin was the only one who was happy to take your word for it.
“So, back to shots—”
Despite James’ presence at the bar, you still had a good evening. A great evening in fact, even with the bar full of sports fans. You found yourself not thinking about James or the nameless woman he was with. You were too focused on your friends, on laughing with Robin about work and debating a newspaper article with Nancy and with Steve sat beside you—James was the very last thought on your mind.
You had all decided to leave together, since the Colts winning the game had meant the bar was turning a little too rowdy for your liking and Steve had suggested heading back to your apartment for a few more drinks.
You thought you were in the clear, had thought you had gotten away from an incredibly awkward situation. You headed for the exit to the bar, Robin’s arm thrown around your shoulders—
But the sound of your name pulls you harshly back into reality.
You turn and see that you had just walked right past James and his friends and that nameless woman who, judging by the look on her face, seemed to clock who you were right away.
You feel a hand on your lower back and you know instantly it was Steve’s. Anchoring you. Making sure you were okay. Unknowingly making your stomach turn to goo, your insides dance.
“C’mon,” Steve murmurs, voice low as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Let’s—”
“Oh, that’s (y/n)?” The nameless woman says loudly enough for you to hear. You stop, feeling a horrible sense of dread that makes bile rise to your mouth. You should continue walking, perhaps even run. Panic was beginning to rise gut to your chest, squeezing your lungs and making it difficult to breathe. But before you could put one foot in front of the other, the nameless woman continued—“The one you broke up with because she said her roommate’s name during sex? Is that her?”
It feels as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice over your head. The embarrassment felt cold at first, then it began to burn. It burned so hot that you couldn’t really think straight. But you felt Steve’s hand pull away from your lower back. Your body seemed to shut down entirely as shame took over. Your eyes flicker down to the sticky floor of the bar as you think of something—anything—to say.
But nothing comes to mind.
And in your silence and the sheer panic in James’ expression before telling the woman to “stop talking”, everyone within ear shot seemed to understand that she knew something they didn’t.
And god, the silence from your friends—from Steve—is deafening. You couldn’t stand it. You couldn't stand to bear witness to the look on any of your friend’s faces. How—for once in his life—Eddie was silent. How Steve was looking at you—
You don’t look at Steve—or any of your friends for that matter—as you push past Robin. You could feel your hands shaking, your eyes burning as you willed yourself not to cry before you could escape. Your body felt hot with a dangerous concoction of shame and embarrassment. You barely even register anything around you as you head straight for the exit. You hear your name being called, hear James apologising profusely but you don’t stop. You didn’t even grab your jacket from Jonathan and the cold bites at your exposed skin as you walk down the street.
‘That’s (y/n)?’
‘The one you broke up with because she said her roommate’s name during sex? Is that her?’
The words replay over and over again in your head like a song on repeat. How James had looked equally mortified as you. You suppose you couldn’t blame for telling someone—he was hurt and perhaps even embarrassed himself by the reason for your breakup, it wasn’t his fault for trusting the wrong person.
Tears of embarrassment and shame fell down your cheeks that you couldn’t be bothered to wipe away. Your heart hammered in your chest as you passed by groups of jeering and drunken Colts fans. You wondered what your friends thought of you, if they were laughing behind your back. You thought that maybe if you hadn’t panicked, that maybe if you had played it off as a joke, you wouldn’t be walking down the street in tears right now.
But you knew you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t play it off as a joke now, not when you had left and James’ apologises had followed you out the door.
You make it back to the apartment within three minutes. The obnoxious pink couch is taunting you—the memory of having sex with James on that couch while thinking about Steve, moaning out his name instead.
You retreated to your room, though you knew it would be the first place your friends would look for you.
And sure enough, barely two minutes later—the door to the apartment opens and then slams shut.
And Steve calls your name.
You know instantly he was alone. There was just one set of footsteps heading to your bedroom door.
And you wait.
He says your name again, right outside your door.
You want to crawl under the covers and hide, perhaps remain there for all entirety. Haunt the room maybe by refusing to leave. But the small sob you let out is enough to give you away.
Your bedroom door opens and you look up to see Steve standing in your doorway.
You felt as though you couldn't move, your body frozen in some sort of state of humiliation as you looked at Steve’s face.
“Is it true?” He asks and for the first time since you had known him, you’re unable to read his expression. You can’t tell if he’s mad, amused or confused. “Did you—did you really say my name when you and James were—” Steve cuts himself off, his face turning a little red.
You can’t look at him as you nod, tears were still falling down your face and you felt so humiliated that you were sure that would spontaneously combust from the shame.
Steve doesn’t say anything and it only makes you feel more upset. Because Steve was surely to hate you or be repulsed by you or—
“Why?” Steve asks and you make the mistake of looking at him, at his pretty face and the words slip from your lips before you could stop yourself.
“Because I was thinking about you so I could get off with him,” you admit.
Silence. Absolute deafening silence.
If you couldn’t read Steve’s expression before, you definitely couldn’t read it now and the panic you felt in your gut meant words were falling from your lips before you could even think.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, your voice shaky from tears as you sit up in your bed. “I know it was wrong and weird and I shouldn’t have done it but I—he never made me come, Steve. I mean—he did once but it was sort of a fluke and it never happened again—but I just—I always felt so awful after sex because James was good and kind and it still didn’t feel like enough—”
“—wait, he never made you come?” Steve asks, his expression still undecipherable.
You shake your head and sniffle. “No, not really. Not until I—”
You cut yourself off and look at him and you know you should stop talking but you can’t.
“—Not until I thought about you.”
“But I don’t—I mean—how did that work for you?”
“Because I—I heard you having sex with other women and you seemed like you could always make them come and it—”
“You listened to me having sex?” Steve asks you and the way he said it made you burn with shame.
You wanted to lie, wanted to tell him no, you hadn't but it was too late. And so, you simply nod.
Steve doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you for a long, long moment before shaking his head.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, looking away from you and your heart sinks, you hastily try and wipe away the tears, makeup smearing across your cheek as you try (and fail) to compose yourself.
“I’m so sorry,” you sniffle as you get to your feet, standing in front of Steve and hoping he saw how ashamed you felt. “I’m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have and it was a gross invasion of your privacy but—”
“—did you touch yourself?”
You blink. You weren’t quite sure you had heard him correctly but as you meet his gaze you realise that you hadn’t misheard him. You could see the slight flush in his cheeks.
Your breath hitches and you nod. “Yeah,” you tell him because there was no point in lying to Steve now. “I did.”
Steve looks at you for another long moment before looking away. His jaw is clenched, body tense and you notice how his hands twitch at his sides. You imagine he’s trying to stop himself from walking out the door.
“That—shit—(y/n), what am I supposed to say to that?”
“I don’t—”
“—what am I supposed to do with that information when I—when I’ve been in love with you since the week I moved in.”
Everything stops. Or, it seems to. There’s the sound of sirens somewhere down the street, you hear your elderly neighbours yelling at each other but it felt for you as though the world had stopped spinning.
You try and process what Steve had just said but for the life of you, you can’t do it. Because there was no way—there was absolutely no way—that Steve, your friend, your roommate, had just admitted to being in love with you for the better part of two years.
“You—what?”
Steve laughs, exasperated as he looks at you and you can see it in his face, the desperation in his eyes, the longing.
“I said, I’ve been in love with you since the week I moved in. It was since that—since you made me mac and cheese that night after I came back from my parents house. I never told you this but they actually threw out all the shit I had left there. My dad said some shitty things to me and I came back to the apartment and—you just took care of me in a way no one has before. I didn’t even have to ask, it's like you just knew. Like you got me when we hadn’t even known each other for that long.”
“Plus, the mac and cheese was fucking incredible,” Steve says with a soft smile and you can’t help but smile too, wiping a tear that had fallen down your cheek.
“It wasn’t my best,” you murmur back.
“It was perfect,” Steve tells you. “It was the first time I had ever felt a place was really home.”
Your expression softens, something inside of you wants to reach out and pull him in.
“And then I found out you had a boyfriend and—well, that sucked. But I respected it because you seemed so happy and in love and I didn’t want to make things awkward between us,” Steve continues. “So, I went on dates. An embarrassing amount of dates. Trying to find someone who made me feel the way you did. Someone who saw me—the real me—and still liked me. Someone who got me. But no one gets me the way you do. No one. And I tried—believe me, I tried but fuck—I haven’t been able to shake it for over two years.”
“Then when you and James broke up I was relieved. I felt fucking awful about it but I was. I was so relieved. It’s why I stopped going out on dates, why I stopped sleeping with other women. It wasn’t some sympathetic act on celibacy or whatever you thought it was but because—because I figured I might—maybe I finally had a chance.”
“Steve—”
“—but I gotta be honest with you if it’s just—it’s just lust you’re feeling then I—I need you to know that I can’t. I can’t. I want to fuck you—god, (y/n) you have no idea how much I want to fuck you. You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about you.”
Something hot pools in your lower stomach and starts to burn. You become aware of the distance between you and you find yourself desperately wanting to close it.
“R—really?” You ask him, wanting to hear every dirty detail. You wanted him to tell you every explicit thought he had ever had about you. You wanted to hear exactly how he wanted to fuck you.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes, taking a tentative step closer to you. “Really.”
His eyes flicker down—sweeping over your body and leaving you breathless without even touching you. He was holding back. You could see it in the way his fists were clenched at his sides, how he wets his lips as he looked at yours before looking away.
“But I’m in love with you and though I really fucking want to—I don’t want to fuck you if that’s all you want. I can’t do that with you.”
He was giving you an out, you knew it was the safe option. To pretend that your feelings were strictly platonic with an unhealthy amount of sexual tension. But as you looked at his face, you found yourself being unable to lie to him.
“You know what I felt when James dumped me?” You say finally and Steve looks back at you, shaking his head. “Relieved. I was relieved. And I felt—I felt free, almost. Thinking about it now I think I fell out of love with him a long time ago but just couldn’t admit it to myself because so many people told me how lucky I was to be with a guy like him. That he was the kind of guy I should marry. And for a long time, I believed that. Even though deep down, I knew he wasn’t right for me. He loved me, he really did, I know that but he didn’t care about my pleasure. Not at all. I tried to tell him what I liked and it was just in one ear and out the other and little by little, I stopped loving him. And I feel awful about it because he’s nice and he just—”
“—if all you can say about him is ‘he’s nice’ then I don’t think you should feel bad,” Steve tells you gently, his hands finding yours and squeezing. “You weren’t meant to be. That’s okay. You’re not a horrible person.”
“You sure?” You ask Steve in a barely there whisper.
Steve smiles a little and nods gently. “You’re the best person I know. Of course, I’m sure.”
You bite back a smile as you tilt your head to look at him.
“I think I’m in love with you too Steve,” you admit, in a voice so quiet Steve has to lean in to be sure he heard you.
Steve doesn’t say anything, he simply stares at you with a mix of disbelief, affection and an undeniable hunger in his eyes.
And then—he smiles at you and it was like seeing sunshine on a rainy day.
His hands leave yours and for a moment, you feel empty but then he gently cups your face between his large hands, so he could wipe away all the tears that had previously fallen.
“So, we’re just a couple of horny freaks in love,” he murmurs and you let out a soft laugh, leaning into his touch as you feel his thumb gently swipe over your cheek.
“The horniest,” you say with a soft smile.
You were sure that there was more to say. There was so much more to talk about but right now? Talking was the last thing on your mind.
Your hands find their way to the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you look at Steve. He knows without words what you wanted. He could probably feel it in the air, smell the want on your skin.
“You sure?” Steve whispers, brown eyes flickering between yours
“Please just kiss me, Harrington,” you tell him breathlessly.
Steve did not need to be told twice.
His lips met yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft. You felt Steve almost instantly melt into the kiss and you couldn’t help but do the same. His hands—those large hands that you had spent so long fantasising about—had found home on your waist while yours rested on his chest, fingers curling further into the fabric of his shirt.
His lips slid wetly against yours and you felt something hot rush through you and soon, what had begun as something innocent and soft turned into hot and heavy.
You felt one of his hands move to your jaw where he titled your head back and so he could kiss you deeper, his tongue gently coaxing your mouth open. You parted your lips eagerly and the wet heat of his tongue had you whimpering against him.
You feel Steve smile against your lips, probably feeling smug, before he pulls away enough to murmur, “You getting all worked up already, pretty girl?”
You almost wanted to slap that smug look from his face but the moment he calls you pretty girl, you falter.
“Shut up,” you tell him and the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth has you reeling.
“Gladly.”
And then he’s kissing you all over again. Your lips crash together with over a year of built-up tension finally giving over. Steve’s lips are warm and inviting, his tongue sliding against yours in a kiss that had you moaning into his mouth and had Steve tugging you closer until your body was flush against his. And fuck—he was already hard.
The kiss became almost frantic. Steve groans against your lips as his hands begin to roam your body. They return to your waist briefly before sliding down to your hips and squeezing.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Steve murmurs against your lips as he hands slide from your hips to your ass, which he shamelessly grabs with both his hands over your skirt. “So fucking gorgeous.”
You make a noise against his lips as his tongue sweeps back into your mouth. You can’t stop touching him, your hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him ever closer. It was the kind of kiss that went straight to your cunt—that left your pussy aching and your lips tingling.
You barely register Steve guiding you both backwards. All you know is you feel the backs of your knees hit your bed and you fall down willingly. Steve takes a moment to just look at you—to marvel at you, at the tops of your thighs that peaked out beneath your skirt, at your flushed face, at your lips that were wet and swollen from his kisses and Steve can’t resist.
He’s back on you and truthfully, you could have made out with him for hours. He was stupidly good at kissing. He knew how to apply the right kind of pressure, knew how to kiss you in a way that left you aching for more. Knew how to have you whimpering beneath him with just his lips.
His shirt was the first item of clothing to come off and you were practically drooling at the smattering of dark hair that covered his chest.
“You think I need a wax?” He asks you with a wry smile.
Your eyes flicker up to meet his. “You dare—”
Steve grins, leaning over you to silence you with a kiss. “I’m kidding, baby.”
He made quick work of your top next, one of his large hands cupping your breast over the cup and squeezing.
“Can I—”
“Yes,” you gasp out, back arching and practically pressing your breasts into his face. “Please.”
You try not to think about how quick he is at unclipping your bra. But honestly—you’re not thinking about much as his lips wrap around your nipple. The sound you let out is one you couldn’t control, it was loud and you were sure to get noise complaints. But as Steve began to suck the pebbled peak, tongue swirling, you found you didn’t really care about noise complaints.
“Ah—fuck, Steve—”
Steve hums against your skin and the slight vibration has you writhing beneath him.
“What is it, baby?” He asks you, pulling away from your skin before blowing cool air over your sensitive peak. “What do you want? Tell me?”
Your body felt as though it was on fire. No guy had ever asked what you wanted before and it must have shown on your face because Steve slowly moves back up your body so he could look down at you.
“Tell me,” he whispers, lips ghosting over your cheek. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl. You want the world? I’ll give it to you.”
You let out a breathless sort of laugh but it ceased the moment you felt his lips against your neck, tongue laving over the skin.
You were sure you were going to die. You had never—in all your life—been so turned on. Your body felt so hot that you were surprised that you hadn’t burst into flames. There was an ache between your legs that was so intense that even the slightest movement had you whimpering.
“You—your mouth,” you manage to gasp. “I—I want your mouth, Steve.”
“My mouth,” Steve murmurs, smiling when you jolt as his hand grips your thigh in order to hike it over his hip. “My mouth—where, baby? Where do you want my mouth? Use your words.”
Your face burned and you wanted nothing more than for Steve to just read your mind. For him to get the hint as you tried to move your hips. But Steve wasn’t going to give in that easy, he wanted to hear exactly what you wanted.
“Be—between my legs,” you say breathlessly. “Please, Steve.”
Steve didn’t hesitate. He began to kiss his way down your body, his tongue briefly teasing over the nipple that he had previously neglected and smiling when you whimpered.
“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he murmurs against the skin of your navel as his fingers tug at the waistband of your skirt. You lift your hips in a silent invitation and Steve’s quick to slip both your skirt and panties down your legs.
The moment you were laid bare for him, Steve’s expression changes. There was still hunger of course but Steve? He was in complete and utter awe of your body.
“You’re fucking beautiful baby,” he tells you reverently, hands shaking slightly on your hips as though he didn’t quite know where to start. “Fucking perfect.”
He leans down, his lips on your inner thigh, causing you to moan out in anticipation. You were so wet—so fucking wet it was embarrasing—but Steve seemed to marvel in it. He breathed you in as his lips moved higher.
“God, look at you,” he murmurs as his eyes feast on your glistening folds.
You want to tell him to stop teasing you, to stop making you wait. But before the words could come out—Steve dove in.
The first swipe of his tongue against you has your fingers curling into your bedsheets beneath you and your back arching off the bed. You don’t bother holding back on your moan—you let it out and it was all the encouragement he needed.
And Steve? This man was made to eat pussy.
Steve was relentless. His tongue was hot, eager, swiping a broad stroke from your entrance right up to your swollen, needy clit. You cry out, unable to stop yourself. Your hands find his hair, already messy from your fingers and you grip the strands tightly as Steve’s tongue circles with your clit with delicate precision.
“You taste like fucking heaven, baby,” Steve murmurs, pulling away from you for a few seconds. You make the mistake of looking down at him and seeing his chin glistening with your sweet juices. “My girl tastes so good.”
You barely have time to process him calling you my girl before you feel his fingers sliding between your folds.
“Oh—fuck!”
You cry out as two of his thick fingers dip inside of you as his mouth continues its gentle but tortuous assault on your clit. Your body felt on fire and you were so fucking wet you could hear the squelching of your slick, mixed with his spit as Steve began pumping his fingers in and out of you. You were so close already and the fact that Steve himself was starting to moan, grinding against your thigh so you could feel his thick and heavy cock through his jeans—well, you knew you weren’t going to last very long.
“Gonna come already, baby?” Steve asks you as he curls his fingers, tongue peeking out to play with your clit as he finds that spongey spot inside of you that had your back bowing off the bed. “C’mon, you’re doing so fucking good. Look at you. So fucking good f’me.”
Your moans were wanton, your neighbours would definitely complain. But that didn’t matter as Steve’s fingers moved in and out of your dripping pussy, as his mouth sucked at your sensitive bud. You wanted to hold out for a little longer, wanted to remain in your bed with Steve’s head between your legs for the rest of time but you made the mistake of looking down and seeing Steve looking at you—it was the thing that tipped you over the edge.
Your entire body shakes. Your orgasm hit you so hard that for a few moments, your vision whites out. Steve Harrington had sent you to another planet, perhaps another universe with his mouth and the only thing keeping you tethered to the bed was him. His hands gripping your thighs, wet lips lapping up every last drop of your sweet release.
He only pulls away when you tug at his hair. He looked wrecked. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and wet from your slick and you can’t help yourself. You were still trembling from your orgasm but you didn’t care. You tug him up roughly before kissing him. You taste yourself on his tongue and it was the hottest fucking thing you had ever experienced.
“Take your fucking jeans off,” you breathlessly tell him.
Steve’s eyes widen a little at your tone but he doesn’t need telling twice.
He stands, eyes on you as unbuckles his belt. You sit up because fuck—you had thought about his cock a lot. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he tugged his jeans down his legs. The first sight of the bulge in his boxers had your eyes widening.
“Is that a weapon of mass destruction I see or are you happy to see me?” You ask, lips twitching into a teasing smile.
Steve looks a little bashful, eyes soft as he looks down at you. “A bit of both.”
You almost laugh—about to tease him further—but then Steve pulls his boxers down and every smart quip you had lined up vanishes.
“Holy—fucking hell, Harrington.”
“What?” Steve is trying his best to seem coy as his cock hangs heavy over his soft tummy. Your eyes are shamelessly taking in every inch—and god, was there a lot of inches—of his beautiful cock. Your lips part, mouth feeling awfully dry as you gaze at the sheer size of him, at the slight curve of it, at the tip that was flushed a needy pink, already dribbling precum.
“It’s just—you’re really big,” you tell him bluntly, unable to stop yourself from reaching out to wrap your hand around him.
“Fuck,” Steve hisses at the touch and you look up at him, seeing the way he was clenching his jaw. You decide to put him out of his misery.
You let go of his cock, taking his hand and pulling him back down onto the bed. Steve lets you pull him down willingly and your lips find each other in a kiss that was somehow sweet despite the situation.
“You know I’m ruined for anyone else, right?” Steve murmurs as you gently push him back onto your mattress.
“I figured,” you say as you straddle his lap. Your wet heat pressing right against his achingly hard cock. “But the feeling’s pretty mutual."
Steve wanted to say more, wanted to tell you everything that he had never told you. But there’d be time for that.
“You um—you wanna grab a—”
“No,” you shake your head as you reach down to wrap a hand around the base of his heavy cock to guide him to your entrance. “I’m on the pill.”
“Fuck,” Steve mutters, his hands back on your waist and gripping tightly. “Does that mean I can—”
You don’t let him finish the sentence, too busy sinking yourself down onto his cock to let him. The stretch was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Nancy hadn’t been lying about worrying about being split in two because Steve’s cock was allconsuming. You felt your head fall back and eyes roll as you lowered yourself down onto him completely.
“Fuck—baby—shit—you’re fucking squeezing me like—fuuuuuck—”
The moment he bottomed out, his cock kissing your cervix, you let out a noise that was so obscene that Steve twitched inside of you.
“If you keep making noises like that—”
You shut him up with a kiss. It was messy and yet, it was everything.
You pulled away from him so you could start to move. You watch as Steve’s eyes drop down to where you were joined, to watch how his cock disappeared inside of you—seeing the way your pussy was stretched obscenely around him.
“Fuck—you’re so fucking perfect, y’know that, baby? Look at you. Made for me.”
You whimper because his words were having such an effect on you and you were trying to maintain some semblance of control. You lifted your hips up before slamming back down onto him in a rhythm that had the both of you moaning out. Steve’s hands move to grab your ass, helping to guide your movement as he thrusts upwards. The bed frame begins smacking against the wall but the both of you are too far gone to care.
You were riding Steve like it was the last time, not the first. Your hips rolling frantically, Steve meeting your movements with upwards thrusts that had your eyes rolling back. The sounds coming from you were obscene. Between your moans, Steve’s groans and the wet sounds that filled the room, you were sure to wake up to the whole apartment building complaining.
“That’s it, baby. Ride me,” Steve encourages, eyes on your breasts that were bouncing in his face. He was close, you knew it from the way he was starting to babble nonsense. How his moans had turned into whimpers when your fingers dug into his back. You slam yourself down harder onto his cock and there’s a slapping of skin as your ass hits his thighs. The slight curve of his cock meant he was hitting that spot inside of you perfectly. You held onto him as you chased your orgasm, wet sounds growing louder as high pitched moans left your lips that you couldn’t control.
“Fuuuck! Steve—I’m going to—”
You don’t get to finish your sentence because your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs shook, back arched and you fell forward, collapsing against his chest.
Steve came right after you. His hips stuttered once, twice and then he came with a noise that you never wanted to forget. You felt thick ropes of his cum deep inside of you, flooding your pussy with his release.
You were both spent, sweaty and panting but Steve’s arms remained around you and you hoped he would never let go. He didn’t move and neither did you, his thick cock buried deep inside you, a mix of your releases dripping on your bedsheets.
Steve is the first to pull away, just to look at you.
“What?” You ask him, breathless and still, wanting him several more times before you even consider going to bed.
“Nothing,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your jaw, then to your cheek, another to your nose, then a final one to your lips before he pulls away again. “Just—really glad to be your roommate.”
You snort with laughter and shove him playfully. He doesn’t budge. He just laughs along with you.“I think we’re way past roommates, Steve.”
Travis would consider himself a pretty observant guy. He knew a ridiculous amount about his neighbours, co-workers and even knew the name of his parole officer's dog (it was Pete and Travis thought it was hilarious).
The one thing that Travis was completely unaware of? Well, it was the fact you—the pretty barista from his favourite coffee shop—was absolutely smitten with him.
You had tried to drop hints—the quickly drawn heart next to his name on his coffee cup, the fact you gave him your employee discount and the one time you had scribbled your number onto a napkin you gave him. The same one you saw him sneezing into and throwing away thirty seconds later.
You just thought he was stupidly attractive. You thought the fact he talked so much endearing. You loved the way his brain worked. You loved the way he treated others. You wanted to get to know him more. But the hints you were throwing his way? Well, they didn't seem to be working.
You were starting to lose hope.
It was busy for a Thursday. You felt rushed off your feet—you were short staffed since Matt had called in sick (even though you had a sneaking suspicion he was actually heading for Coachella this weekend) and you and the other barista Marie were struggling to keep on top of orders, cleaning and manning the till.
And it was inevitable that a customer would make things worse by snapping at you.
"Fucking hell," the middle aged man whose drinks order you had just messed up grumbles loud enough for you—and every other customer nearby—to hear. "Could the staff here be anymore fucking useless?"
The embarrassment feels hot in your stomach. It spreads, moving up to your chest and making your heart beat a little quicker before it reaches your face and burns your cheeks. You don't respond—you can't respond. But you feel the eyes of the other customers all staring at you and it makes you feel exposed in a way that makes your stomach churn.
"Hey man, don't talk to her like that. She's just doing her job."
You had been so frazzled that you didn't even know Travis had walked in. Didn't even know that he was the next customer in the line.
You look up just in time to see the rude customer glance at Travis—at his large frame, at the snake tattoo on his forearm—and seems quick to decide to not retaliate. Not when you had a guy like Travis on your side.
You look over at Travis to see him already looking at you. His hazel eyes were soft and full of concern. You feel hot again, but not from embarrassment.
You manage to fix the guy's order and though he doesn't leave a tip—he does mutter a small 'thank you' before rushing towards the exit.
"Sorry you have to deal with pricks like that," Travis says when he stands in front of the till, eyes soft and looking at you like he wanted to be sure you were okay. "You don't deserve that."
You shrug like it was nothing. People like that were part of the job, you learned not to take it to heart.
"It's nothing," you say, forcing a smile and looking at guy who had your attention for months without him even knowing. "Part of the job. You want your usual?"
You can tell Travis wants to say more—he always does—about the guy who had been rude to you but he also knew you were busy. There was a long line of people behind him and he didn't want to make you anymore stressed than you already were.
"Yeah, the usual," Travis says with a smile.
You make his coffee, wishing it wasn't so busy so you could talk to him the way you always did. You loved hearing about his job. About the strange people he had met that week. About the bad movies he had watched recently. But you knew you had to keep the line moving. And so when you hand him his cup and your fingers brush for the briefest of moments, you can't help but feel a little sad to see him go.
"Thank you," he says with that easy smile that makes you feel a little giddy. You try not to smile even more when you see him slip ten bucks into the tip jar before walking away.
You expect to hear the bell chime above the door. But you don't. You move onto the next customer, not really thinking too much about it. Until you go to grab some soy milk from the fridge and notice that Travis had sat down on a nearby empty table. The sight made you freeze for a few moments.
Because Travis had never sat down in the coffee shop. He always grabbed his coffee and left.
You quickly return to doing your job, but your mind wonders. You wondered if he was here to meet someone, a friend maybe. Your stomach dropped when wondered if he was here to meet a date. Just the thought alone was awful enough.
But as the lunchtime rush settled and that long line of customers died down, nobody sat down on the empty chair opposite Travis. He was just sat there, sipping his coffee, wired headphones in and listening intently to what you presumed was that audiobook he had told you about a few days ago.
With the shop in a much more manageable condition, you told Marie that you were going for your break. You slipped off your apron before heading for the staff room to grab a jacket and your bag.
When you return, you find Travis still sitting at that table. Your hands twitch as you fight the urge to go over. He still had his headphones in and you were pretty sure he wasn’t interested in you—his lack of reaction to your various hints over the past month had told you that much. And so, you shove down the ache building in your gut and make your way towards the exit, thinking you’ll grab a sandwich from the place down the street again—
But the sound of Travis calling your name stops you dead in your tracks.
You turn and, sure enough, Travis was scrambling out of his chair—tugging his headphones out of his ears and shoving his empty coffee cup into the nearby bin before making his way over to you.
“Hey,” he says with a smile as he stands in front of you. “I um, was waiting for you to finish. Not in a weird way—but thinking about it now it is kind of weird. Oh god, I hope you don’t think I’m weird—”
He had been waiting for you.
That’s all you could focus on.
You’re not even listening to his rambling, which had somehow transpired to something about restraining orders and you’re just looking at him with wide eyes and a barely there smile.
“—I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After that guy earlier. If you weren’t, I was going to suggest we get something to eat to cheer you up but if you are okay then um, forget I said anything—”
“Yes,” you cut in before Travis could say anymore.
“Yes?” Travis repeats, brows furrowed in an expression you find stupidly endearing. “Yes as in you’re okay or—”
“Yes as in to lunch. I’m okay about the guy. Really. But lunch sounds nice if that’s…still on the table.”
Travis looks at you for a long moment before he smiles, reaching out to open the door for you.
You try not to be too pleased about it. Try not to think about the way he’s walking beside you down the street. Try not to think about how his arm keeps brushing against yours, about whether or not the contact was purposeful or not.
“You know, I’ve been wanting to ask you out for lunch for a stupidly long time,” Travis tells you as you’re waiting to cross the street. You feel your insides turn, feel them move about in a rush of giddiness that had everything to do with the man stood beside you.
You’re so shocked by his admission that you forget to respond and of course, Travis continues talking. “I just—you’re like really pretty. Not that that’s the only reason I wanted to take you out for um, lunch. But you also make a really nice coffee. Not that um that means anything either because you’re more than your job, you know? You’re kind, funny. Did I mention pretty too?”
You have the biggest smile on your face now and when Travis finally notices, he smiles.
“You mentioned it a few times, yeah.”
“Well, it’s true. You’re really pretty.”
Warmth floods your cheeks, you look away.
“You know—you could have asked me ages ago. I’ve been dropping hints for months,” you tell him.
Travis goes back to looking like a confused puppy for a few seconds before his eyes widen comically. “Oh—shit. You—ah, fuck.”
“Yeah. Fuck.”
“Well, better late than never,” Travis says with a shrug before he reaches down to take your hand. Your heart does things in your chest that defies science. He’s doing it under the guise of tugging you safely over the road but you hope that he doesn’t let go.
He doesn’t.
He holds your hand the entire time you’re in the queue for sandwiches. He insists on paying for you. Even jokingly offers to feed you your damn sandwich (that you had been a little tempted by). And then he walks you back to work—his hand still in yours. A stupid smile on his face.
“What time do you finish?” He asks once you arrive outside the coffee shop.
“Four,” you tell him.
“Four,” Travis repeats with a small nod. “I’ll pick you up. Take you out somewhere nicer than Earl’s sandwich shop.”
You wanted to play it cool, perhaps make it seem like you were busy before inevitably agreeing. But the confidence in which he told you that he’d pick you up without really asking was incredibly hot. It made you feel as though your insides were made of goo. Any thoughts you had about playing hard to get vanished as quickly as they appeared.
“Sounds like a plan Travis,” you say with a smile.
“Call me Teacake.”
You blink. “Teacake?” You repeat with a raised brow—not judgemental, just curious.
“Long story,” Travis says by way of explanation.
“How about Tea?” You suggest, head titled to the side.
Travis does something then you didn’t expect—he flushes. A generous dusting of pink on his cheeks that doesn’t help the whole stomach feeling like goo situation.
“Tea—yeah, Tea’s um, it’s cool.”
The fact he was flustered over a damn nickname made you want to know him. Know all of him. Learn what else made him flustered.
“Okay, Tea,” you say as you step closer to the coffee shop entrance. “I’ll see you at four.”
“On the dot,” Travis calls out to you. “See you later, Gorgeous.”
dividers by @cursed-carmine
🧡 oh teacake, you will always be famous in this house
It’s finally here guys! This is the end of the road!! Didn’t end up as long as I was originally expecting, but I tied it up the way I wanted to and am happy with it. Didnt want to drag it out too long and it get boring. Make sure to read the other parts here to get caught up!!! I also wanted to share the reason I named the series what I named it because wasn’t sure you guys knew or not! I named it after the lyrics in Egg by Djo!! “But it’s all an act. I’m cold ‘cause I’m weak. And deep down inside there’s nothing unique” hehe felt like it fit Gator really well. Thank you so much for all the love on my first ever series, it’s so bittersweet to see it go. Let me know what you thought of the ending 😉 sorry for any tears I cause. Also sorry for skipping around so much, I tried to write it in a way where the flashbacks weren’t confusing but I might have failed.
Warnings: extreme angst, mentions of violence, death, lots of mentions and descriptions of blood, probably bad medical terminology (I tried) smut, shower sex, fingering, oral fem!receiving, sexual degrading kinda (to Gator) handjobs, p in v sex, unprotected sex.
Word count: 11.5k (I’m proud to say the series as a whole is a total of 51,900 words. I’m so proud of myself!!)
You truly wished that the things that happened in that barn that night had never gone down. It was supposed to be you, not Gator. Why had he done that, why had he saved you? How were you supposed to live without him when –after these past few months–he’d been all you had?
Sometimes you wondered what it would have been like to have slowly fallen in love with Gator on your own terms. You knew it probably would have never happened, but it didn’t stop your curiosity. You also wondered just how different he might be had he not been raised by his father. It would have saved a lot of pain for the both of you.
Still, there was no use in dwelling on the past, because you couldn’t change it. You tried to look back on the best moments you’d shared with Gator. How the two of you had awkwardly learned to live with each other, and to fall in love, something you swore was just never going to happen. He was a dick, and he was so beyond selfish. Cocky, arrogant, all the things you hated in a partner. But somehow, you got past it. Somehow, you fell in love with the man you were forced to marry. You weren’t sure who had fallen first. Gator was always a little bit closed off, not letting you into that mind of his that you longed to dive into, get to really understand him, the man he truly was under all the trauma.
You got to know a bit. He was soft, kind, even thoughtful. He loved a good home cooked meal, one of his favorites being spaghetti, or a good roast. You learned his favorite color, little facts about him that made him more human than monster.
One of your favorite things to do with him? Bake cookies.
—
Back then-
You’d decided it would be fun to bake cookies with Gator, even though he was more of a road block in the kitchen, standing in your way every time you needed to grab something. You tried not to let it annoy you, this was your shared house afterall.
Gator grabbed a chocolate chip from the bag on the counter, popping it into his mouth. He’d been doing that the last few minutes, assuming you wouldn’t catch him doing it. Truth be told, you noticed the very first time he had done it, but you’d just stayed silent, hiding your grin behind the notecard that had your mother’s handwriting on it. She’d always made the best chocolate chip cookies, a core memory from your childhood, and you wanted to share it with Gator.
He leaned over your shoulder, staring at the notecard as you mixed the melted butter into the dry ingredients already in a large mixing bowl.
“Can I mix it?” He asked almost innocently, and it was times like this that you realized he had truly been robbed of a normal, loving childhood. He’d had to grow up too fast, didn’t have time to make cookies with his mother.
“Sure-” You’re handing over the spatula. The directions scribbled in your mothers handwriting said to lightly mix the ingredients, gently incorporating them together, but when Gator takes the spatula from you, he’s instantly mixing the ingredients hard, making a mess of melted butter, sugar and flour.
“Gator! Gently incorporate!” You scold, shaking your head. Gator stands over the counter, front now covered in flour and butter. He furrows his brows, still mixing it too hard. He was horrible at taking directions.
You just sigh, grabbing his hand that’s holding the spatula, slowing down his mixing to an acceptable pace, letting your hand rest over his. He just nods, making a small noise of acknowledgement. You huddle into his space, leaning against his warm, solid frame as the two of you mix it until it’s formed a dough.
“We add the chocolate chips now?” He asks, tone surprisingly gentle as he looks over at you, letting go of the spatula.
Nodding, you reach for the bag. You dump most of the chocolate chips into the mixing bowl, leaving some at the bottom of the bag. Gator watches you intently, eyes shifting between you and the bag between your fingers. You know what he wants before he even asks, so you hand the almost empty bag to him, the go ahead that he can finish off the chocolate chips.
He tries and fails to hide his grin as he takes the bag, hand digging into it to grab at the chocolate chips. You turn back to the dough, gently beginning to mix the chocolate chips in.
Gator’s nearly finished off the remnants of the bag before he dumps the rest into his palm, offering it out to you. For him, it’s really the sweetest thing he could have done. A soft, innocent gesture, letting you have the last of the chocolate chips he seems to love so much. Like a kid offering the last bite of their favorite food.
You hold out your palm and he dumps the chocolate chips into your hand, watching as you bring them to your lips, getting all but one successfully in your mouth. The last one rests in your palm and you stare at it for a moment before you pick it up between two fingers, bringing it to Gator’s lips. He grants you access, letting you place the chocolate chip on his tongue, humming low in his throat. He doesn’t chew it, just lets it melt on his tongue, making very intense eye contact with you. Before you know it your cheeks are heating up and you turn away from him, putting you focus back on the cookie dough. Your mom always said to let it rest in the fridge for at least half an hour but you don’t have that kind of patience right now, you need them in the oven.
“You preheated the oven like I told you, right?” You ask over your shoulder, to Gator who’s still swallowing the melted chocolate.
“What?” He replies, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You shouldn’t have trusted him with something as important as preheating the oven. Instead of getting mad you just preheat it yourself, turning the temperature up to what it needs to be before you grab a cookie sheet. You had to buy a lot of the stuff you needed to cook and bake with because apparently Gator didn’t when he moved into the house. You’d found out that he moved in two months before he was married to you, right after they finished the house. At that time, Gator didn’t even know he would be sharing it with anyone, let alone a woman who he was forced to marry, to settle down with.
He loved being alone so of course in the beginning, just like you, he had a hard time adjusting. But looking at the two of you now? You were good at living together. Sometimes things changed without you even realizing it, and sometimes it meant changing for the better.
He helped you roll the dough into balls, his a bit misshapen, more like lumps compared to your near perfect balls of dough.
The two of you sit in a peaceful silence while the cookies bake, once the oven was finally preheated, no thanks to Gator. Times like these let you get a good look at him, able to stare without being too embarrassed. He’s got his head turned at an angle, his jaw sharp, nose sharp too, a perfect slope. His pretty pink lips that you know by experience are soft, his dark hair that’s currently not slicked back, a suggestion from you that he’s actually started listening to. His eyes are soft too, not holding any of the anger they used to when he focused them on you. All of that is replaced by softness. Gator Tillman is soft for you. His wife.
You’ll probably never get used to the title, just because you never expected it. Being Mrs. Tillman means you carry that family name now, sharing it with the same man who you’d find out killed your father. And the one who shot your husband. Your husband who at this moment, blissfully unaware of what’s to come, helps you take the cookies out of the oven, the two of you laughing at the way his baked together because he placed them too close to each other on the cookie sheet. Glasses of milk are poured and cookies are dipped.
If only you could have paused the moment and lived in it forever, before things fell apart.
—
About a million thoughts run through your mind as the ambulance arrives on that terrible night, Gator’s dark blood covering your palms, the metallic scent thick in the night. The crickets have long since stopped their chirping, the Tillman ranch silent minus the sobs tearing from your throat and the labored breaths from Gator, who’s obviously having a hard time getting enough oxygen.
You try to hold onto him as the two men hop out of the ambulance, accessing the damage. They need to stop the blood and they need to get him transported to the hospital as soon as possible. It only took them a few minutes to get there, but maybe those few minutes were just a few too many. Gator makes this awful sound in the back of his throat, like he’s choking on something, and suddenly his chest isn’t rising and falling the way it was mere moments ago. It’s not moving at all.
“Ma’am, we have to get your husband to the hospital now, we have to get him stable.” You aren’t sure why they’re explaining it to you instead of just doing it, but then you realize the death grip you have on your husband’s limp body. They wouldn’t be able to tear him from you if they tried. You let go and the second you do they’re checking for a pulse, exchanging what look like anxious glances.
“He’s in shock.” One says.
“We need to start him on oxygen once we get him in the ambulance.”
They wrestle to get him into the ambulance, resting him on the stretcher. You’re following without thinking, because you’re going with him, they will not separate you from your husband. They don’t fight you as you climb into the back, one of them going around to the driver’s side door, the other staying in the back, grabbing an oxygen mask to place over Gator’s mouth. There’s still blood everywhere, the medic trying to put pressure on the wound after closing the doors.
Your phone is left on the floor of the barn, in a sick mixture of blood and hay, still on from when you’d had to call 911. Your lockscreen is the only light in the darkness, a selfie of you and Gator, smiling at the camera. You’d taken it when he took you out on your first official date a little while back, two days after you’d had dinner at your mother’s. Two days after Gator had found the evidence of his father’s crimes. Evidence he hadn’t yet told you about.
You wanted to go back. God, why couldn’t you just go back?
—
Back then-
Said date had been perfect. Gator had taken you out to a small diner at the edge of town because he claimed they had the best pancakes, and the crispiest bacon.
The only time the two of you really went out anywhere was to go to Sunday church service or to the grocery store. You’d never actually been on a date. This whole marriage was all backwards, but you were making it work, learning each other little by little.
So when Gator told you he wanted to properly take you out, you were a bit shocked. You put on the dress he gave you, the first dress he gave you, the one with blue florals, the one you always wore to church, your favorite piece of clothing.
The waitress sat you guys in a booth, asking what you wanted for drinks before disappearing to prepare them and serve the other tables in her section.
She was very pretty and a while ago, you would have expected or thought that Gator might ogle her a bit too much for a married man, but his eyes didn’t linger on her at all, they were set on you as you sat in front of him.
“We should visit yer mom again soon.” He says softly, in that almost awkward way he does, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to speak so softly, be so tender.
“Why, so she can make you more pot roast? My dinner’s not good enough for you, deputy?” You tease.
Gator always has a hard time picking up on your sarcasm but somehow, this time he gets it, grinning now that he’s finally in on the joke.
“Yeah that’s exactly why, doll.”
The nickname makes your heart flutter. He used to say your name with this constant mild irritation, but now he’s calling you pet names with all the affection in the world.
You’re torn out of your thoughts when the waitress comes back with your drinks and asks if the two of you are ready to order.
Once she’s sending the ticket back to the kitchen for them to make your food, and you and
Gator are alone again, you smile, glancing down at the ring on your ring finger.
“Do ya like it? I got ta pick it out. Roy said it was the least I could do before I got married. I tried to pick something pretty, but I’m not good with all a’ that stuff.”
“I love it Gator, it’s perfect.” It’s not too flashy, not too much, but it’s also not super small by any means. You imagined Gator, months ago, picking out a ring, irritated that his father was forcing him to settle down when he was so used to jumping from woman to woman every other week. That Gator was entirely different from the one sitting in front of you. Maybe Roy had been right about one thing. You’d made Gator soft. He thought it was a bad thing. You disagreed. Gator wasn’t a weapon for his father to use, he was a human being with his own thoughts, emotions and goals for his life. You just wished he’d stop trying to please his father so much.
The food came out sooner than expected, hot and fresh, steam rising from the plates as the waitress set them in front of you guys before making her way over to another table to refill their coffee.
“Do ya think we should maybe start… Decoratin’ the house a bit? Make it feel a little more homey?” Gator nearly cringed at his words, taking a bite of his food so he didn’t have to add anything onto his previous sentence.
“Decorating how?” You asked curiously as he chewed and swallowed, giving you time to take a bite of your own food.
“Like how yer mama has all those pictures of ya hangin’ up. Should we do somethin’ like that?”
“You want to hang up pictures of me in the house?” You ask.
“Like pictures of… Us?” He says softly.
“Let me get this straight, you want to frame photos of us and hang them on our walls? That’s very domestic of you, Gator.”
He rolls his eyes and for a moment you get a glimpse of the constantly annoyed Gator who used to come home every day after work, in the beginning of your marriage, the first few weeks.
“Shut up.” He huffs, shaking his head. “Forget I even asked ya.”
“Don’t get like that with me.” You raise a brow at him. “We can decorate if you want to, but first we actually have to get some photos of us together.” It’s not like the two of you had a real wedding, you didn’t walk down the aisle, didn’t have vows. The two of you had just signed a piece of paper, you had signed your life away to be his wife because you weren’t given the choice.
The two of you finished your food and you made Gator tip at least 25% even though he grumbled about it the whole time.
Right as he was about to slide out of the booth you stopped him, an idea popping into your head. You pulled out your phone, opening the camera app, holding it up a bit, trying to get a good angle. Gator watched you curiously.
“Lean in closer! You’re not in frame!” You’re hissing at him and he leans forward, over the table a bit until he’s in the frame. The two of you give a quick smile and you snap the photo before shoving your phone back into your pocket, grabbing your jacket as the two of you make your way back to Gator’s truck.
Later that evening you went into your settings and changed your lockscreen to the photo you’d taken in the diner. It was all about babysteps. Sure, the two of you didn’t have dozens of photos lining the walls of your home, but now at least a photo of the two of you existed. You had all the time in the world to take more, to eventually get photos framed and on your walls.
Well, you would have if it hadn’t been for Roy Tillman.
—
The ride to the hospital is fast, your mind a blur. The EMT is working to stop any more blood loss, trying to keep an eye on Gator’s pulse.
“Is- Is he breathing?” You ask, tears clouding your vision as you rapidly try to wipe them away so you can see Gator clearly.
“He’s got a pulse but it’s weak. He lost a lot of blood. He’ll probably need a transfusion, possibly emergency surgery.” The man says calmly even though just like you, he’s covered in Gator’s blood. It drips down his arms and over the front of his uniform as he uses more gauze, pushing it into the wound once he’s got his shirt lifted up.
They pull up to the doors of the ER and within seconds they have him out of the back of the ambulance, wheeling him into the hospital on the stretcher. You try to follow them but a nurse stops you once they get far enough down the hallway, yelling orders, yelling for help to stop the blood.
You thrash around in the nurse’s grip but she’s stronger, holding you back as another comes to help her.
“He’s my husband! Let me go! Let me go with him!” You’re screaming, kicking, shouting as you watch him disappear down the hall. Was that the last time you’d ever see him alive?
“They need space to work on him, you can’t be in the room, I’m sorry ma’am.” One nurse says. You think it’s bullshit. That’s your husband- He’s your- You suck in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You’re still covered in blood, still shaking.
“Can you give us some information? Something to help us? What happened?” The nurses know who Gator is, almost everyone in the county knows about the cocky, young deputy and his father. But they don’t know him like you do.
Maybe they never would.
You give his name even if they already know it, his age, any sort of information you can think of to tell them. When they ask what happened you freeze, all of it flashing behind your eyelids again, something sick, evil engrained into your memory.
“His dad- Roy! Roy Tillman tried to shoot me! Gator got in the way- He killed my father! And Gator’s mom- Linda- Linda Tillman- He killed them.” You looked insane, covered in blood, yelling that Roy Tillman was a killer in the middle of the waiting room, shoes smudging blood on the linoleum floor.
“Ma’am, you have to calm down. If you don’t calm down we’ll have to sedate you.”
Of course they didn’t believe you. Why would they? They thought you were just an insane person who was in shock after witnessing her husband get shot.
“Please- let me see him!”
“We can’t. You need to take a seat, ma’am. We will give you an update on his condition as soon as we can. I promise they’re doing everything they can to save him right now.
So you sit in the waiting room, covered in blood, holding a cup of water and a tissue that they gave you to try and calm you down. You sit there for what feels like hours, not knowing if your husband was alive or dead, not knowing if you lost yet another person you… You love.
You loved him, it was the scariest thing to admit, but you truly loved him.
—
Back then-
Learning to live with Gator had been difficult at first. You weren’t even sure when it started to feel normal. You shared lots of dinners together, slept in the same bed, had sex, but there was a certain kind of disconnect that you both felt, it weighed heavy in the air every time the two of you were around each other. It was a bit awkward at times, but sometimes it was sweet, especially when the two of you made an attempt at trying to get to know each other a little better.
Gator probably tried more than you. If he was forced to marry you, he at least wanted you to like him a little bit, and you definitely hated him in the beginning. The feeling was most likely mutual.
The arguments could get intense, but he never laid a hand on you, refused to be like his father in that way which was saying a lot considering he looked up to the man as if he was some sort of God amongst men. He idolized him because really he was all that Gator had, the only present thing he’d ever had in his life was his father.
He’d try and defend the man to the ends of the earth, but you could see under it. He didn’t trust him, he was suspicious of him in some aspect.
“Your daddy’s got you wrapped around his finger.” You mumbled one night, irritated, looking for a fight. You were both guilty of it. Emotions were always high and you took it out on each other.
“‘Scuse me?” He’s asking, eyes flicking over to you where you stand in the kitchen, finishing up dinner. Sometimes you wished you could just poison his food and be done with it, but you weren’t a killer. And even if you hated his guts, you didn’t want him dead. You just wanted him away from you.
“You talk so highly of him, but I see the way he treats you. He walks all over you, treats you like dog shit. Why are you so loyal to him?” You place a hand on your hips as you talk, the other stirring the food in the saucepan in front of you.
Gator glares at you and you can feel all the anger behind it, it almost feels like a physical blow.
“He’s my father, ‘course I’m loyal to him, what else am I supposed ta do?”
“Just because he’s your father doesn’t mean he deserves your respect or loyalty. Especially when he treats you the way he does. Like a dog who keeps bothering him for something.”
“You don’t know him like I do.” He’s huffing, shaking his head as he takes a hit from his vape. You hate the damn thing but he’s always got it in his hand or his pocket.
“Pretty sure Roy Tillman is a pretty one dimensional human being, Gator. Not much to see, not much he could say or do that would get me to see him any different.”
He grits his teeth and you can hear how hard he’s clenching his jaw. You hit a sore spot. You were always good at poking things that irritated him the most. His father was always a subject that would piss him off the instant you brought it up.
At this point you’re still getting used to the metal on your ring finger, the ring you now wear. It feels like chains, like you’re tied to Gator now and you hate it.
“Just shut up and finish the fuckin’ food.” He curses, waving his hand to get his point across farther.
“Don’t talk to me like that or I might just poison your dinner.” You scoff, not even bothering to turn and look at him as you speak, keeping your eyes on the dinner so you don’t burn it.
“Wish ya would, doll. Then I wouldn’t have ta suffer and put up with your bitchin’ every damn day.”
“What have I said about calling me a bitch?”
“I didn’t call ya a bitch, just said ya were bitchin’. There’s a difference, doll.”
“Stop calling me that.”
He laughs as if your frustration entertains him. Knowing him it probably does.
“What? Bitch? Or doll?”
“Both.” You finally shoot him a glare and he’s just grinning at you. He knows what he’s doing and it irritates you all the more. He’s ridiculous.
“Well then what do ya want me to call you?” He asks, but not with anything genuine in his voice.
“My name. Or nothing at all. I don’t want to talk to you.” You clear your throat, turning off the burning and lifting the pan off of the heat.
You eat dinner in the familiar, awkward silence you’re starting to grow used to. There’s a routine between the two of you at this point and you both follow it pretty well. You still know nothing about each other.
And you especially have no idea what’s to come. If only you could have gone back in time and warned yourself before it all went down. If only you’d taken Gator up on his offer for you two to go on a real honeymoon, get away from Roy.
Now it was too late
–
Back then-
You and Gator have an entirely different taste in movies than each other. Gator likes violence and the movies obviously targeted towards men, the kind that get popular but really shouldn’t be, the concepts behind them something a twelve year old could easily come up with.
You like something a little more thoughtful, something that leaves you thinking about it for a few days after you watch it, something with meaning.
You guys settle on a horror movie. It’s cheesy, dumb and the gore isn’t even that good. You’re both sitting on the small couch in the living room, on opposite sides, using your own blankets. It’s late at night, the volume of the tv is pretty quiet. A half empty bowl of popcorn rests in the space between your bodies. Gator ate most of it, you had a couple of bites.
You nearly roll your eyes at another stupid on screen death, the fake blood they use is bright red, almost pink and not realistic at all. You just can’t get into it, but Gator seems very focused on it. He’d been the one to pick it after all.
“Is this almost over?” You ask, glancing over at him as he shovels more popcorn into his mouth. Gross.
What's even more gross is when he speaks with his mouth full. “Over half an hour left.” He mumbles, cheeks stuffed with popcorn.
You sigh heavily, the obnoxious sound of his chewing filling the room, seemingly louder than the tv. Every little thing he does annoys you more than if an average person was doing it. It just sets you off every time.
“Can you chew with your mouth closed like a normal human being?” You ask, grabbing the bowl of popcorn from him before he has the chance to take another big bite.
He swallows the last of what’s in his mouth before he replies.
“My mouth was closed.”
“No it was not.”
You really don’t want to argue with an overgrown toddler about if he was chewing with his mouth open or not, especially when you literally watched him with his mouth open, chewing his popcorn two seconds ago.
“I’m going to bed.” You say with a shake of your head, moving to get up.
“Well wait a second now- Ya don’t wanna finish the movie? The endin’ is the best part.” He tries to convince you to stay. It’s a bit softer than he usually is and it has you curious. He wants to spend time with you. It’s weird.
You decide to sit there and finish the movie. The ending was not the best part it turns out, it was really just an awful start to finish but Gator seemed to enjoy it. He goes off to his office and you get ready for bed, washing your face and brushing your teeth. You glance over to your shampoo and see that it looks more empty than usual.
Was he using your shampoo? Why would he want to do that?
To smell like you perhaps? But then again, why would he want to smell like you? He seemed to be taking this all a little more serious than you were, putting in more of an effort and for a moment you felt bad before you remembered the fact that you were supposed to hate him, and did hate him.
You were asleep by the time he came to bed that night, or at least had your eyes closed, not wanting to talk to him, not interested in making anymore conversation, a bit afraid of letting him in more. Every day the two of you got a little closer and it scared the hell out of you.
—
A man in a white coat came out to talk to you. It felt like the scenes you’d seen in movies and shows, where the person in the lab coat came to deliver some bad news. You were glad you were sitting, otherwise your knees would have buckled underneath the weight of what he told you.
“Your husband is in very critical condition. The gunshot wound itself seemed to miss any of his major organs or his spine, which is good, but it’s the blood loss we’re worried about. He lost a lot on the way here, his body is in shock. You can only lose so much blood before you go into what we call hypovolemic shock. His heart can’t pump enough blood to keep up with all that he lost. The loss of blood means he doesn’t have enough oxygen circulating in his body. He could go into organ failure at any moment. They’re working on removing the bullet right now. He’s getting a blood transfusion. He’s very lucky that you called as fast as you did. I’m not sure if he’d still be here right now if it had been a moment later.”
His words do nothing to comfort you. Gator’s alive, but barely?
“What are.. What are the chances he’ll recover?” You don’t even want to ask, you don’t want to hear it.
“It’s hard to say. I’m sorry to be giving you such bad news, but there is quite a large possibility we might lose him.”
We might lose him. You might lose him.
“I know this is extremely difficult for you and I know you don’t want to think of this outcome, but do you know if your husband has a will? It’s something you might have to think about.”
You can tell the doctor feels bad, but it all seems so professional, so inhuman. You wonder how many people he’s had to deliver bad news to over the years.
“I don’t- I don’t know.” You say carefully, shaking your head. You don’t know, you really don’t know much about him, never thought you’d get this close.
The man pats your shoulder gently, giving you a sympathetic look. “I’ve got an amazing team working on him right now, some of my best surgeons and doctors, okay? I promise they’re doing everything they can to get your husband stable.”
Then he’s leaving, off behind the doors and down the hallway you’re not allowed to go down.
—
Back then-
Gator likes showering with you. He never asks, but after the first time, the first time you washed his hair, got all the gel out and scrubbed at his scalp, it’s safe to say he dreams of it often.
He’s not embarrassed about being naked in front of you, he really doesn’t have much shame at all. You wished you could say the same, but being nude in front of him is still a bit scary.
Still, you’re slowly undressing, the bathroom already beginning to steam up from the water temperature, fogging over the mirror. Gator’s already underneath the stream of water, watching you curiously from the corner of his eye, trying not to make it too obvious that he’s staring. You still catch him though, very observant whenever he’s around, still cautious of his presence.
You pull down your underwear and step out of it before you’re getting in the shower beside him. It’s a bit cramped and your hip nudges his a little. He hasn’t started washing himself yet and you assume it’s because he would rather you do it. As much as you might hate him, you sure can admire his body. He’s got muscles but not an over abundance, just enough to show that he works out. He’s got a thick patch of hair laid out across his chest, connecting to his happy trail that leads down his tummy, his belly button, down to the pubic hair above the base of his cock. It looks like he keeps it slightly trimmed and it’s about as dark as the hair on his head. He’s got large, strong hands, a nice nose, dark brown eyes and hair you’re obsessed with when he doesn’t slick it back.
You help adjust him under the stream, maybe a bit awkwardly, helping him tilt his head back till he’s under the water. You begin your slow work of getting the gel out of his hair. The warm water helps unstick it from being slicked back on his head and your fingers brush through it, getting out the particularly stuck together pieces. Once most of it melted away you then grab the shampoo, getting a generous enough amount in your hand before you bring it to his hair. He seems to melt a bit, letting out a deep sigh, muscles relaxing as you work, nails gently massaging his scalp.
It’s so intimate, almost a bit too much for your liking. You can feel him hardening against your thigh and you try to ignore it, but that’s easier said than done when he’s slowly grinding against you, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to or not, like he’s waiting for you to stop him.
“I’m just washing your hair.” You say.
“Alright.” He nods, swallowing hard.
You let him rinse out his hair. He doesn’t offer to wash yours in return but that’s okay, you aren’t sure if you’d want him to anyways. It’s one thing if you touch him, it’s another if he touches you.
As you reach for your loofah you feel his cock nudge you again. It’s not like he can really help it and you know that. It’s really a compliment, that he think you’re hot enough to get hard over.
He seems a bit embarrassed about it at least, cheeks a bit flushed. Maybe it’s just from the hot water, or maybe he really is a bit shy about his erection.
“Gator.”
“Yeah?”
“You having trouble there?”
You hear him take a deep breath. “Doll…”
He’s not asking, he’s not demanding, but you know what he wants. He’s a simple guy, it’s not hard to tell.
You set your loofah down in favor of looking up at him. He’s got his bottom lip bitten between his teeth as he stares at you, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides like he needs to grab something but is too scared to grab you.
You maintain eye contact with him as you wrap your hand around his length that just seems to be begging for attention. He swallows hard, hips giving a little kick at your touch, the way your thumb rubs across the swollen tip, getting coated in his glossy pre-cum.
“This what you needed?” You’re asking with all the confidence in the world, surprised you have this sort of effect on him. He nods, sucking in breath through his teeth as you stroke him slowly from base to tip, thumb rubbing along the underside of the head.
“Feels good.” He manages to get out. He’s holding back a bit, you can tell by the way he holds himself, how tense he is that has everything and nothing to do with needing release. He doesn’t want to be like this, doesn’t want to need you. But he does. And you like it.
He tries his best to stay still as you stroke him, leaning himself more into your touch, crowding you in the already crowded shower. He takes up most of the water so you shiver a bit, body still soaking wet. You let go of him for just a moment to spit in your hand before you bring it back down to his cock. The mixture of water and your saliva helps you glide along his skin almost effortlessly. He’s got a perfect cock, a perfect body really and it infuriates you a little. Why does an asshole like him get to look this perfect?
Before you know it he starts rocking his hips into your fist, fucking your hand a bit, groaning softly. He’s not very loud, but you want him to be, you want more of those pretty noises to spill from his parted lips.
“I think I like you better like this. Quiet, not as cocky. Just fucking yourself in my fist like some sort of desperate whore.” The word brings a moan from Gator’s lips so you assume he likes being degraded a bit. It made sense for him, really.
“Oh yeah? Is that it, you’re just a whore?” You hum and he nods, inhaling sharply.
“Kind of pathetic, really. Look at you, the big strong deputy just fucking my fist like some sort of virgin. You getting off on this?” You scoff, but really it’s turning you on, seeing him like this, having this sort of control over him.
“Fuck, mama.” He hisses, throbbing in your grip. Before you have time to pull away or really understand what’s happening, his lips are on yours. He pins you against the wall of the shower, your back hitting it with a wet thud, gasping at how cold it is before it’s warmed up by your body heat. You kiss back, your hand falling away from his cock in favor of resting on his shoulders, just so that you don’t slip and fall, just so you have something to grab onto.
He’s so desperate with his kissing. Maybe a little messy, he’s not the most coordinated, but it’s sort of hot that way. He’s so eager to kiss you that he can’t even really do it right. His tongue slips into your mouth and you let out a surprised moan, which only allows him to get deeper. You don’t bother fighting him with your own tongue for dominance, you know he’ll win anyways. He tastes faintly of tobacco, and his stupid vape, always that lingering artificial fruit taste. Underneath it all he just tastes like him, it’s something you can’t really describe but you enjoy it.
He’s nudging himself between your thighs, panting against your lips.
“Gonna let me in? Gonna open up fer me?” He’s asking, his cock brushing over your folds, nudging your clit. You could probably take him without much prep, but you want to tease him first, work him up to it.
You part your thighs a bit and he seems to take that as an invitation for him to fuck you, but you shove at his chest a bit and he takes a step back, brows furrowed in confusion and want, a heavy mixture that’s got his head spinning.
“You don’t want it?” He’s asking, confused. You seemed so into it and he needs it so bad-
“How about you get me ready for you, yeah?” You guide his hand to your mound, expecting him to just finger you open, but he’s dropping to his knees, nudging himself between your thighs as his nose brushes over your clit. He parts your folds with two long fingers, staring at your glistening cunt, his eyes blown wide with lust.
He gives one experimental lick before he’s burying his face against your pussy, moaning at the taste of you. He stays like that for only a moment. The angle isn’t satisfying enough for him, he needs to get himself deeper. He grabs at one of your legs, propping it up on his shoulder as he backs you up further against the wall of the shower. You’re worried about slipping but he’s using his tongue so well that it eases from your mind almost instantly.
He presses one finger into you, curling it upwards at the perfect angle, his tongue licking over your clit with just the right amount of pressure. He’s too good at this for only having done it a couple of times. He hadn’t been good the first time, but this time he was doubling down, working to make you feel good, to get you ready for him.
A second finger quickly joins the first one inside of you, sliding right alongside it as he begins to fuck you open on his fingers, his tongue continuing to work it’s magic on your throbbing core. He’s got his eyes closed, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration as he laps at you, wrapping his lips around your clit.
He feels the way you begin to clench around his fingers and soon he’s pulling away from you, not wanting you to come until he’s got his cock nestled inside of you.
He sets your leg back on the ground, rising to his feet as he crowds his body against yours even more so than earlier.
“Here- Gonna just-” He curses as he tries to position the two of you in a way that you won’t slip, but he’ll still be able to fuck you. You think about turning off the shower, drying off and taking this back to the bedroom, but he needs you right now, in his mind there’s no time for anything extra like that.
He helps you rest your leg over his hip, leg curled against him as he nudges his tip at your entrance, parting your folds slightly before he’s looking up at you. You pull him into another kiss as he slides inside. It’s a stretch, like it is every time you’ve fucked him before this. The burn quickly fades and you just feel overwhelmingly full, full of him. It’s a nice feeling.
You can only imagine how Gator feels with the way he’s reacting. His breath catches in his throat as he sinks in as much as he can, given the angle. He rests himself there for a moment, hiking your leg higher up, holding you tight.
“Won’t- Won’t drop ya, I promise.” Not all of your weight is on him, but he’s supporting a good amount of it. It would be awful if the two of you slipped in the position you’re in right now.
“Just like that, oh yeah… Shit.” He curses, giving a small thrust of his hips, feeling the way you stretch and adjust around him, slotted inside of you like you were made to take him.
“Always take me so good, so pretty.” The water splashes over your bodies, beginning to grow a bit cold and you know the both of you don’t have long until you’re fucking under the freezing water. Gator will make it quick, he already looks close as is, and you’re pretty on edge too from how he ate you out.
“Gator-” You gasp, holding onto his shoulders as he really starts moving, the wet slap of skin on skin audible even over the stream of water.
Even more audible, his moans and groans. He’s never been this loud before, maybe showering with him just does that, gets him all desperate.
“I got ya, promise I got ya.” He’s assuring, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, sucking in a breath. “I’m gonna fill ya up, you want that?” He’s asking, losing what little rhythm he had before.
You nod, one hand coming to tangle in his hair as he kisses at your neck, sucking a mark into your skin, a deep red that will fade into a purple and brown bruise a few days from now,
“You’re clenchin’ ‘round me, think that means yer close.” He comments with a grin, eager for you to fall apart for him. He’s more so grinding into you rather than full on thrusting now, finding it a bit easier with the angle, with what you’re working with.
“The water’s getting cold-” You squeak out as he bucks his hips rather forcefully, bumping you against the wall of the shower. Your leg is still locked around it and you feel it cramping up a bit, but it’s well worth it for the pleasure you’re receiving.
“Better come them, shouldn’t ya?” He reaches down with one hand, fingers bumping clumsily over your clit as he tries to get you over the edge so he can follow after you.
“Gator-” You cry out, not even sure what you want, what you’re asking for.
“I know.” He assures, even though he’s not exactly sure what you need either. He understands in a way, because he’s pretty sure he needs the exact same thing.
“F-fuck, yeah yer squeezin’ so tight, just let go, let go for me doll, come on mama.” He’s just saying whatever now, too lost in pleasure to keep ahold of his tongue.
You come around him moments later, a fractured gasp leaving your lips as your head thunks back against the wall with a thud.
Gator grins where he’s pressing feverish kisses to your wet skin, giving a few more thrusts before he’s filling you up, shuddering as his release washes over him.
He holds you against his body for a moment, letting it all wash over the two of you before he’s stepping back, letting your leg fall from where it was just wrapped around his waist. You lean forward, resting your head on his chest as you pant, legs wobbling. Gator supports you with one arm, making sure you don’t collapse on him.
“Stay with me.” He chuckles, reaching behind him with his free hand to turn off the water. You’re exhausted, need a nap after that. Your legs ache, your core aches from how he fucked you, and the pleasure is slowly starting to ebb, even though you wished you could feel like this forever, bask in it.
Gator goes back to his normal self after that. Once he’s sure you can stand on your own, he’s stepping out of the shower and toweling himself off before he’s leaving the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
It’s not like you really want him to open up to you or get closer to you, but you always feel a bit tender, emotionally after sex. It would be nice for him to hold you, to maybe tell you how good it was, maybe even tell you how pretty you were…
You’re sure he’d never be capable of something like that though… If only you knew then how he’d open up, just how soft he could be, especially after sex.
—
Back then-
“Gator if you don’t start putting the toilet seat down I’m going to kill you!” Another petty argument, you getting mad at him over something you’d told him to stop doing a million times. It was like your words went in one ear and out the other.
He’s so chill about it too, that’s what pisses you off. The way he acts like it’s not a big deal, like it doesn’t matter even though it matters to you.
“Is it yer time a’ the month ‘er somethin’? Why’re you gettin’ yer panties in a twist over it?” He asks, rifling through the cabinets in the kitchen to find something to eat.
You stand in front of him, hands on your hips.
“No I’m not on my fucking period, Gator. Put the damn seat down after you pee! It’s so fucking simple!”
“I’ll try an’ remember next time.”
“No, you will do it. Or I swear to god-”
“What? Gonna threaten me, princess?” He’s asking, finally finding a bag of pretzels that seems suitable for a snack. He opens the bag, shoving a few in his mouth as he watches you.
“Maybe.”
“I’d love to see you try. I could take you down easily, I’m so much stronger than you.”
When you really thought about it, you knew he was and it sort of scared you a little, just how easily he could overpower you.
You go quiet after that. Maybe it’s just better to be quiet, it’s not like you have anything exactly nice to say anyways, just complaining about how messy he is, how you’re constantly having to clean up after him.
—
The doctor comes back after almost another hour, presumably to give you another update. He looks solemn and you’re scared to hear anything he has to say. He wrings his hands in front of himself, sighing.
“Is there anyone we can call for you? Some sort of support system? Someone who can bring a change of clothes for you?” He’s asking.
When he doesn’t instantly update you on Gator you feel that lump in your throat. It hurts. You know what he’s going to say before he even says it.
Gator is dead. You just know it.
—
6 years later…
-
It’s always a graveyard, where your mind drifts to. A neat, marble headstone, your husband's name engraved into the marble. Not many attend the funeral, you can’t bring yourself to speak. The memory of that night in the barn never seems to leave your mind.
The way Gator laid limp in your arms, the way he made that awful gasping sound, trying to get air in.
The blood.
You’re sitting by his grave, crying, glancing at the ring on your finger, the only thing you have left of him. Roy is never caught and you never really get to express to Gator how much you truly love him.
——
Luckily, you bolt upright in bed, blinking away the nightmare from your eyes, sweat beading over your forehead. Gator sleeps beside you, blissfully unaware of the nightmares that still haunt you even now, six years later. He’s tossed the blanket off of his body, he always gets too hot when he sleeps, like a human furnace. You can see the scar on his side from where he’d been shot. The doctors had done a good job stitching him up. The wound itself wasn’t that large, so it was a wonder how he’d lost so much blood in such a short amount of time. Over twenty percent, the doctors had told you.
They’d stabilized him and he’d been in rough shape for a few days, but he pulled through. Of course he pulled through.
Six years ago Roy shot your husband, his son, nearly killed him. The bullet had been meant for you.
Five years ago you stood on the stand and spoke against Roy Tillman. He was later convicted of the murders of Linda Tillman and your father, and the attempted murder of Gator. He was sentenced to life in prison.
You and Gator moved away from the ranch. You moved a few states over, leaving your old life behind. Just like Gator had promised, your mother came along with you guys. With Roy out of the picture, Gator had control of the Tillman property. Selling it gave you enough money to afford another ranch, smaller than the Tillman’s, but big enough for you guys to live comfortably. Gator transferred to another police department in the new state you called home. Your mother lived in a small house a few yards away from the main house on the ranch.
Gator bought you a horse, you named her Gretchen, the name Gator had teased about naming a future child. Of course you never would have named a child that, but he laughed when you told him what you’d decided to name the horse. You also called the horse Lucky, something generic, but better than constantly calling her Gretchen. She was beautiful and you’d spend hours with her, walking alongside her, riding her around the property, braiding her hair. She was perfect. Gator swore you loved her more than you loved him. It might be true, but you’d never say that to him.
You and Gator got to go on your honeymoon finally, taking a weeklong vacation, roadtripping as far as your car would take you, finding a nice hotel with a pool, and staying there for a couple of days before driving back home. The sex was amazing, but the quality time was even better. It was rare for the two of you to leave the hotel room, you mostly stayed cuddled up against each other, soaking in the moment, the fact that you were allowed to have this, allowed to have each other.
It was magical.
—
Gator finally began to stir beside you in the bed, groaning as the light hit his eyes, burying his face in the pillow. You just smiled at your husband, giving his shoulder a gentle shove. He’d taken a day off just to enjoy your company, to help out around the house. He’d been doing that more often, always putting you first.
“Mornin’” He grumbles, rubbing at his eyes as he blindly pulls you closer, trying to kiss you.
“Gator! Morning breath!” You try to wriggle out of his grip.
“Oh come on now, you’ve been married to me for almost seven years now, don’t be like that.”
You pouted your bottom lip dramatically and he grinned, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear before he was brushing his thumb across your cheek.
He’s much softer than he used to be,a feat you’re proud of pulling off. You did this, you made him soft. Just by loving him, that was all he needed all along.
Your hand slips down to rest over the scar on his stomach, rubbing over the slightly raised skin.
“You have another nightmare?” He asks, brows furrowing. The nightmares have long since stopped for him, but you’re not sure if they’ll ever leave you. It had all just been so much, sometimes you swear Gator’s blood is still on your hands. You’ll never be able to forget the smell, the stickiness, the sight of it. Gator would never understand what it had been like for you in that situation
—
6 years ago…
When the doctors finally allowed you to see Gator the next morning after surgery, you were terrified of the man you’d find laying in that bed. What if it had messed him up? Mentally more than physically…
When you entered the room he blinked up at you. The doctor explained that he was still coming out of surgery, that he was on some pretty heavy pain meds and he might be confused for a while, the brain's way of protecting him from the traumatic event. You’d managed to change out of your clothes, your mother bringing a new change for you, staying with you. You cried into her shoulder as she held you, rubbing your back gently as you let it all out.
You’d sent her home at this point, because she needed to rest, but you refused to leave the hospital.
Gator perked up a bit when you got closer and he weakly tried to reach his hand out to you, an IV connected to his arm, keeping him hydrated and pain free for the most part.
You could only imagine what he was feeling in that very moment, after everything that had happened. You just wanted to crawl into the hospital bed with him and make everything else go away for a little bit. You could only focus on him.
He stayed in the hospital for a week so they could observe him and make sure he was alright after the blood loss. They gave you directions on how to care for his wound when they discharged him.
Roy was arrested after your report and his bail was set at a price much too high for anyone to pay. Karen took the twins and left immediately after that, as if she’d been waiting for something like this to happen to give her a chance to run. You two never saw her or the twins again but you rested easy knowing Roy was behind bars and couldn’t hurt them, couldn’t hurt anyone else.
—
The healing process was slow and Gator was in a lot of pain. He was grumpy and sometimes he lashed out but you were by his side for the whole time. Sometimes he’d just need you to hold him while he cried. He didn’t just cry from the physical pain, but from the emotional pain as well, the weight of what his father had done. You always held him through it.
Sometimes he’d almost set back his healing journey, especially because he was still as horny as ever but you’d gotten strict doctor’s orders to not have sexual activity until the wound was all but healed. It was the worst torture Gator had ever endured.
—
“Please, mama just touch me, just your hand, come on I’m dying.” Gator pouted.
“That’s so not funny, don’t joke like that.” You scoff.
“Baby please- I’m so hard, I’m not askin’ fer much.” He’s groaning, palming himself through his grey sweats. You have a hard time resisting him when he’s like this.
You manage to get his pants and boxers pulled down enough to free his cock, careful of the gauze bandages wrapped around his waist, covering the wound that’s slowly healing a little day by day.
You lean down and spit over his tip that's an angry red, grinning as he twitches, watching your saliva slide down the side of his length.
When you wrap your hand around him he tries to buck his hips up but you give him a firm look. You don’t even need to use words, he knows that if he moves more, you’ll stop. It’s a fight for him to stay still, whining low in his throat as you stroke his aching flesh.
When you lean down and take the tip in his mouth, his head falls back against the bed. He bucks his hips up against and you pause.
“Gator.”
“I’m tryin!” He huffs, pouting a bit.
You continue, rolling your tongue over the head, licking it like it's a lollipop as Gator loses his mind under you.
“Such a fuckin’ tease.” He curses, one hand gently gripping your hair so he has some sort of outlet, something to hold onto.
You suck just the tip for a while, resting your head on his thigh as you hum around him. Gator is a bit impatient like always, so you take him deeper, flicking your tongue over one of the veins on his length, stroking what you can’t comfortably fit in your mouth.
“Mama- mama-” He all but babbles, so lost in his pleasure that he’s not thinking straight anymore. All he can think about is you, his pretty wife.
“You’re okay.” You coo, petting his thigh with your free hand as you pull your mouth off of him, a string of spit connecting your lips to his tip.
“I’m so fuckin’ close, oh fuck…” He’s writhing around on the bed and you would scold him for it but he’s too gone to listen.
“Let go for me Gator, come on, give it to me.” You encourage, stroking him a bit faster.
When he comes he’s so loud that you almost have to cover his mouth with your hand, even though the two of you are alone in the house.
He comes so much, all over your hand, his tummy and unfortunately the bandage that you had just changed
“Gator! The bandage!” You sigh, giving him a few more strokes before you’re letting go of his dick, watching it twitch against his thigh.
“Fuck… Worth it?” He grins.
“Now I’ve gotta change it again.”
He sits very still and is very well behaved while you change him into fresh bandages and a fresh pair of pants while you’re at it.
—
Now, in the present, Gator is still waking up, voice still deep from sleep, still groggy. You love him like this, still tired. You can tell he’s worried about you by the way he starts to blink himself into a more awake state. You never really talk much about your nightmares but he understands what they’re usually based around, the same things he used to lose sleep over.
“Yeah, just another nightmare. Same as usual.”
He pulls you a little closer, sighing as he presses a kiss to your forehead, morning breath be damned.
“Well I’m right here and nothin-”
“Mommy!! Daddy!!!” The little voice interrupts you from your thoughts as your daughter toddles into the room. She’s three years old, feisty as ever, and a spitting image of her father. It’s like your genes didn’t even try. She’s got his brown hair, his deep brown eyes, and my lord she’s got his attitude for sure.
—
You got pregnant three years after that evening at the ranch. You were both terrified, not sure if you’d be good parents at all, but promised to try your best together.
You remembered the way Gator had cried when he held her for the first time, terrified that he was going to break her. She was a tiny bundle in his arms and when he tore his eyes away from her to look at you, you saw the tears forming in his eyes.
“She’s so…”
“Perfect?” You grin, resting in the hospital bed. The birth had gone as well as it could have. It had been a lot on your body, but the second you saw your daughter and heard her cry, you forgot about all of that.
“I think she’s got my nose.” He whispered in awe as he stared down at her. He’s so terrified at first, of everything. If she so much as starts breathing a little differently he’s looking up what it means. Determined to be the best father he can be.
And he truly is.
—
Little three year old Maeve manages to wrestle herself up onto the bed with you and Gator, crawling right in between the two of you, focusing her attention on Gator, because she knows he’s easier to convince than you are. Only three years old and already has her dad wrapped around her little finger.
“My tummy is hungry for breakfast.” She rubs her tummy in emphasis, pouting her bottom lip as she looks up at Gator.
Your husband grins, beginning to tickle her sides lightly, delighting in the way she squirms and giggles, trying to get out of his grip.
“Oh is that so now? What should we make ya for breakfast then, princess?”
“Da-dada!” She’s squealing out laughter as he tickles her. “Pancakes!” She shouts and he stops tickling her for a moment, pulling her into his lap as he sits up.
“Pancakes, huh?”
She nods, eyes big and wide and excited, her little hands on his chest.
Warmth fills your chest. You never knew life could be like this, so soft. After everything you and Gator went through to get here? You deserved it.
Of course, because Gator can never say no, pancakes are made. Several of the first few are burnt until you take over because Gator just seems to get worse at cooking every day.
He sits with Maeve at the table as she shares her dreams from the night before. About simple things, playing with her friends from daycare, going and getting ice cream, spending time with the two of you. It’s so simple compared to the nightmare you had. You can only pray she never has to go through anything that hard as long as she lives.
You and Gator exchange glances over breakfast as you watch Maeve scarf down the pancakes like she’s worried someone will take them from her, just like how Gator used to eat the dinners you made for him when you first got together.
By the end of it her little face and hands are covered in syrup and there’s only a few bites left on her plate.
“All done!!” She says cheerfully, grinning up at the two of you.
“Good job! Go wash your hands and get changed out of your pajamas, okay?” She nods along to your words, getting down from her chair to run off to the bathroom, her little feet carrying her fast down the hall.
“She’s going to be trouble when she’s a teenager.” Gator says as you begin to clean up the table, bringing the dishes to the sink.
“And whose fault is that?” You ask through a hum. Gator comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he presses his front against your ass.
“Don’t get any wise ideas.” You roll your eyes, hands covered in soap.
“Why not? I think I wanna try for baby number two.”
His words have your stomach doing backflips.
“I don’t think I can handle another one of you, I’d feel outnumbered.” You joke, but the idea of another child isn’t something you’re against.
“I think I should get to name this one this time.” He hums, pressing kisses to your neck as you tilt it to the side to give him more access.
“No way in hell.”
“Why not?”
“Need I remind you the name of our horse?” You grin as he grabs a handful of your ass.
“All done washing my hands!” Maeve comes running back to the kitchen as Gator takes a step back from you, not wanting to traumatize your young daughter by being all over her mother.
She dressed herself in a red shirt and green leggings. It doesn’t match at all but it’s not like you guys are planning on leaving the house today so it’s really not a big deal. She’s only three and just learning to be independent.
Gator bends down to pick her up before he’s lifting her up in the air, spinning her around. The way your daughter giggles is like music to your ears.
He continues to spin her around before he accidentally bumps his shoulder into the wall, almost knocking off one of the framed photos. Many line the walls of your new house. Photos of you and Gator on your honeymoon, photos of Maeve as a newborn, on her first birthday, second and third, family pictures of all three of you… It feels like home. It’s everything Gator had ever wanted. This little family of his own that he’s built with you.
—
After the two of you tuck her into bed that evening and Gator reads her three bedtime stories, she falls asleep and the two of you go back to your room.
You change into your sleeping clothes, leaving on the small lamp by the bed, not ready for full darkness just yet. You lay on Gator’s chest, his arms wrapped around you as you listen to his heart beating, another reassurance that he’s still here with you, still very much alive and well.
“Remember the first time we met?” Gator asks, drawing idle patterns into your back with one finger.
You scrunch up your face and Gator can feel the way your expression changes against his chest, causing him to chuckle deeply.
“That day in your dads office?” You ask.
You feel the way he shakes his head.
“No, when I came home that first night when ya first moved into the house. I remember I asked ya why you weren’t wearin’ yer ring.”
“You were a real asshole.” You sighed softly.
“I know.” Gator still sounded guilty, even nearly seven years later.
“But so was I. We both were. But look at us now.” You smiled and pressed your lips to his chest.
“One of the reasons I was such an asshole was ‘cuz ya made me feel soft… I guess I just wanted to be cold towards ya because I’m wonderin’ how ya manage to make me me feel all… Weak.” He sighed.
“Oh yeah?” You hum.
“Didn’t know I was allowed ta feel that way till I met you.” He nuzzled his face into your hair.
“I love you, Gator Tillman.” You whispered. “And I love our child. She’s the biggest blessing I’ve ever had.”
“Does that mean you wanna try for another one?” He asked hopefully.
“Maybe.. Maybe.”
“Well we should get started right away then.” He’s flipping the two of you till you’re pinned against the mattress.
“Gator!” You gasp as he attacks your face with kisses, grinding his hips against yours in deep rolls.
“Shush, let me have my fun.”
What might have started out as a loveless, arranged marriage had at some point taken a turn for something real. The old Gator faded into a new, beautiful version of himself. Kind, caring. A great husband and an even better father.
You both still had your demons and your scars, things you’d carry with you for the rest of your life, but you were moving forward together. You’d never forget about that night in the barn, no matter how much you tried. Sometimes Gator still had a hard time opening up, especially when he finally started to openly grieve the death of his mother. You were there for him every time, no matter what he needed.
Turns out he wasn’t a monster after all, just a scared man who’d been taught all the wrong things in life.
It took him a long time, but Gator Tillman was finally free.
The end.
—————
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