Sweetest Girl In Town

9TEEN | COWGIRL | NOW PLAYING DELTA DAWN ۶ৎ

[ilovecowboysyouknowthat]

Master list 𐚁⊹₊ ⋆

And remember save a horse, ride a cowboy…

TARAH ⁀➴ 19, she/her ᣟ𐚁˳ Joe keery & Jack O’Connell enthusiast

Aboriginal Australian 𓆈 | plus size | this is a safe space ᝰ.ᐟ

𓆝 requests are open ˳ taglist is open ⁀➴ I will not tolerate bigots

-`gator Tillman | more coming very soon…

fwb

figure skater!gf

old dog and new tricks

-` James cook

freds sister

cooks first real gf

tongue piercing

-` Steve Harrington

king Steve!fwb

[kaptainkassa]

𝐿𝑜𝓋𝒾𝓃' 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝐼𝓈 𝒜 𝐹𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝓎 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ .ᐟ

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ : ꜱᴏᴜᴋ ᴇʏᴇ - ɢᴏʀɪʟʟᴀᴢ ♥

warnings: skins rise!cook, adult!cook, inmate!cook, fem!reader, established relationship, couples argument, crying during argument, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, reunion sex, rough sex, nipple play, breast play, fingering, clitoral stimulation, dirty talk, squirting, crying during sex (on cook's part), p in v sex, apologies, emotional sex, talk of therapy, i know nothing of the uk prison system!! credit: thank you @pixopix for making amazing dividers! a/n: this took me SO LONG to finish and it's finally here! i hope you all enjoy, this was a labor of love to write 🧡🧡🧡 i was about to put missing you - blink 182 buuuuut souk eye - gorillaz had the perfect moodiness for this fic haha you can also read this fic on ao3 here!

The tv blasted at full volume. Its contents going on and on about archaeologists who discovered a "vampire" graveyard somewhere in Poland; that they were trying to reconstruct a skeleton's face using skull fragments they had found. It was a forty minute documentary that usually you would've found incredibly interesting, however, you didn't find much enjoyment in documentaries these days. The blaring bass music from your older brother's bedroom above kept vibrating the ceiling. A ritual he always did when he had his girlfriend stay over. On any normal night you would've stormed upstairs and slammed your tight fist against his wooden door in anger, yelling to turn the goddamn noise down but you couldn't find it within yourself to do so. Ever since your boyfriend had been arrested months ago, there were many things that you couldn't be bothered with anymore. Your eyes rolled in annoyance, reaching for the remote to raise the volume even though it was already on the highest setting. Shifting restlessly on your bed, you pulled your shirt collar to your nose and breathed in. It was actually your boyfriend's old t-shirt. You had taken the liberty of wearing it to bed every night since the first day he called from jail. The scent of cigarettes and cheap cologne forever imbedded into the fabric filled your nostrils, the ache of his absence following not far behind. A deep sigh left your frowning lips, letting the discordant noise of the tv clash with the bass bumping music above. Perhaps this was better than sitting in silence. Silence felt louder than all the tvs of the world lately.

Suddenly, there was a strange knocking at your window. Not strange as in unusual, strange as in you recognized the pattern almost immediately. A sound you had known since you were sixteen years old and had first moved to Bristol. Three simple taps, a short pause, then two more. But, that had to be from the tv right? You cautiously turned the sound off from your remote, the clangorous music above becoming the only sound in the room. You craned your ears for anything odd, anything out of place, but there was nothing. Thinking your ears were just playing tricks, you turned the tv back on. Tap tap tap… tap tap. You jumped, frightened, the knocking came back instantly.

Your eyes fixated on your bedroom window, the closed blinds shielding the identity of the noise. There was only one other person who knew that knocking pattern, anything else was false. Quickly grabbing the box cutter you kept on your night stand for safety, you stalked slowly towards the noise. The knocking was persistent this time, impatient. As if it was telling you to hurry the hell up and open the damn window already. The hair at the back of your neck stood on end as the noise showed no signs of stopping. As you raised the box cutter in the air with one hand, you tentatively stretched your other arm towards the pull cord, grabbing the thin lanky string. With a deep breath, you yanked the pull cord down. The blinds flew up, a noise that was caught somewhere between a scream and a gasp leapt from your throat.

"Are you seriously having a party without me? I've been knocking on this bloody window for five whole minutes!"

"James! "

It was your boyfriend of three years, James Cook. The James Cook that was supposed to be sitting in a cramped prison cell for drug possession right now. Instead, he was unsuccessfully hiding among the small rose bushes outside your bedroom window.

"Still got that box cutter? Smart girl," He grinned proudly at your weapon of choice.

"Of course I kept my knife, you could've been a killer!" The thin glass was the only barrier that separated Cook's amused smile from your exasperated waving of the sharp tool.

"Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart. Now, are you going to let me in?"

He pulled that look. That sad kicked puppy look that never failed to pull at your heart strings. You opened the window for him without a second thought. He crawled through the same way he did since you were teenagers, with a practiced ease. As he got up and dusted himself off, you notice his change of appearance compared to the last time you saw him. Stubble where he usually shaved clean, darkened circles around the eyes indicating not having a full night's sleep in months, faded purple-ish bruises tainting his knuckles, then there were his clothes. They were not his usual style at all. The flashy patterned t-shirt and ripped jeans obviously something he grabbed from someone else.

Catching your raised brow, Cook made his voice heard over the loud tv, "Headed to me mate's flat for a change of clothes 'fore I got here."

You lowered the tv volume, setting your box cutter away, "You mean Jason?"

It was more a statement than a question. You knew the type of crowd Cook was involved with and knew full well who Jason was. It had been a re-occurring point of contention in your relationship. You never approved of Jason or anyone in Louie's gang but Cook kept brushing it off. Saying what they did wasn't all that serious and that he never dealt 'the hard stuff'. Your disapproving expression wasn't even surprising to him. Cook shifted awkwardly on his feet, not wanting to touch the sore subject. Not now, not here. Not after being gone for months.

His eyes opted to look around the room, a wistful glint to those blue irises. Everything was the same, your funny knick knacks on the shelves, your band posters on the walls. His eyes lingered on your photo collage wall. Crowded polaroids of your friends posing stupidly in a park, family summer vacations, and countless photos of just the two of you. Before his heart could twist into a knot at a specific one of you kissing in a ferris wheel cart, his attention turned to the loud bass music playing upstairs.

"Diego and Yasmin at it again, eh?" His smile crooked, amused.

"Unfortunately," You muttered.

"Think they can hear us?" He asked.

You scoffed, "He can't hear anything when she's here."

"Good," Cook turned to you fully, his arms open, "C'mere already."

The unbearable anxiety, the days that felt sluggish with grief, the sleepless nights lost to worry, the weight of it all lifted from your shoulders as you melted into his embrace. For so long you hadn't felt the warmth of his body, the feel of his messy brown hair, his smile against your own. Now here he was, enveloping you in his arms in your small bedroom. Your hands gripped his t-shirt tightly, face burying into his chest. Cook pressed a long kiss into your hair, breathing you in.

"I've missed you so much," He whispered tenderly, "Think about you every day…"

Your voice trembled, trying hard not to shed tears yet the sniffles gave it all away, "I've missed you too. It's - shit… It's been so hard."

This reunion was not the kind that you had been imagining but that's how life is with James Cook. His love was spontaneous, passionate but always true. The pair of you hugged tighter, savoring this special moment. As if one shift could make it all vanish like eyes waking from a dream. You eventually lifted your chin, watery eyes finding his own softened gaze. The worn texture of his thumb gently brushed the tears away before his lips finally met yours. All the fears of the unknown future, the longing for the other's touch, the chronic ache of separation that made its home into your hearts dissipated as your lips melded together. Foreheads touching, Cook took notice of the fact that you were wearing one of his old t-shirts. A wry smile curving the corners of his mouth.

"Nice shirt, where'd you get it?" Cook joked.

You chuckled, light and airy; the sweet sound causing his smile to widen instantly. Though you were happy to see him - more than happy in fact - it didn't stop the numerous questions that filled your head. How did he escape? Did you even want to know? Was he going to run from the police like back at Roundview? How long was he staying here? The logistics of hiding him in the house you and your siblings rented racing already.

You landed on asking the most obvious question, "James, why are you here?"

A beat, short enough for him to believe it was unnoticeable yet long enough for you to take note of it anyway.

Cook shook his head, "Couldn't stand it in that place, couldn't stand not seeing you everyday. Not hearing your laugh or feeling your hair," his square finger tucked a fallen strand behind your ear thoughtfully, "Just had to see you, just had to…"

You didn't not believe him. Cook would never lie to you but he had a terrible habit of hiding his inner thoughts. Your gut instinct informing you that that was what he was doing now. There was something he was not revealing, something you couldn't ascertain off the bat. Though, those concerns were violently pushed to the side as frustration rose within you.

"But - you won't let me see you," You contended, angered confusion fueling your words.

He called your name warningly, "We've been over this - "

"No! " You quickly cut him off, "You wont do a contact visit. You won't take my calls. You only write letters!"

You pulled away from him abruptly, an action that stung you both. Arms crossing tensely as you tried to blink the returning tears away. Indeed the first time Cook called you from prison was the last time. The conversation not very long itself; a short explanation of where he was and why he was arrested. That visitation would be dangerous as Louie had many enemies inside and who knows what their associates would do to you to get to Cook. He did promise to write every day and he kept that promise faithfully. Although you cherished all his letters in their near hieroglyphic handwritten glory, you felt you had no say in the situation at all. He unilaterally decided that any and all visitation was off the table. Cook's unfair decisions upset you far beyond words. The excuses didn't help either.

"I've told you before, it's not safe," His jaw tightened, voice a level of seriousness that you could count on one hand the amount of times it was directed at you. It was like adding gasoline to an already growing bonfire.

"It's fuckin' bullshit is what it is!" You wiped a fallen tear from your cheek, voice cracking in anger, "You just - you just… one day you were just gone and I didn't know what happened until you called. And then - and then you pop up out of no where like 'oh I just had to see you' when you won't let me see you!"

His hands immediately reached out to your shoulders, rubbing them in an effort to console you, "Listen, I know how you feel about it, I do. But Louie has enemies inside - "

You tsked loudly at the mention of Louie, disdain clear as you brushed his hands off. You started to turn away before he gripped your shoulder; not tight - never that - but firm enough.

"I'm serious! " Cook's tone was sharp enough to make him check that he didn't accidentally alert your brother of his presence before continuing, "They could hurt you to get to me, to get to Louie."

"So it's more about protecting Louie than it is about protecting me, huh?" You angrily jerked your shoulder from him.

"No it's not! It's not like that!"

"Then what's it like, James? What is it then?"

Cook's expression was stern, staidness darkening eyes as his voice lowered, "If anything were to happen to you, I'll fuckin' kill them."

But your sarcasm was too quick, "So you'd kill for me but you won't go to therapy?"

He groaned exasperatedly as he turned to walk towards your bed, agitated hands threading through his permanently mussed brown hair.

That was the other sore topic in your relationship: therapy. You had started going yourself. It was something you hadn't initially thought you'd ever do but after Cook got arrested and you found most of your days were spent curled up in a ball in bed, one of your closest friends suggested attending a therapy group for people who had loved ones in prison. You were skeptical about it at first, nervous too. Afraid of how you would be perceived as being the girlfriend of a drug dealer. But after some time of hearing the stories of the other attendants, you began to open up more and more about what you were going through. The relief you felt as you finally vented about all the emotional gunk you had been holding in was comforting. Though you still had your bad days, you were grateful to have found such an understanding community. You had relayed all this to Cook through your letters. Knowing the abuse of his childhood, the unhealthy habits he still carried, you urged him to look into the group therapy sessions they held for his cell block. Unfortunately, he had brushed it off the same as he did about Louie.

"You know you need it, James!" Your yelling lowered quickly as you also looked to the ceiling, making sure your brother was still unawares, "It will do you good… "

"You sound like Ian, you know that?" He waved a finger before sitting down on your fluffy comforter. Hands rubbing his face in an attempt to calm down.

Ian was Cook's cell mate. An old timer that had spent the majority of his life in and out of prison for various criminal acts and gang activity. While serving a life sentence, Ian had turned his life around and became more involved in the prison's inmate reform programs. As luck would have it, his life experience in gangs combined with his natural compassion made him the perfect fit to be group counselor of the therapy program. You knew he had offered for Cook to come to a session multiple times, as he complained about it more than once in his letters. You figured the old man had seen some of his younger self in your troublemaker boyfriend. Unfortunately, Cook was stubborn. It would take more than Ian's suggestion to change his mind.

Silence hung heavily in your room. Instead of feeling relieved that you expressed your anger like you would in therapy, now was the opposite. This felt horrible. Like a dull knife twisting into your throat where the hurtful words lie. You didn't want to fight. You didn't want to argue. You wished you could take it all back but you knew deep down all the pent up hurt and frustration had no where else to go except to be vomited out into the open. Your hands anxiously wiped your cheeks. There were no tears there but they felt like they had to do something - anything - to distract from the pressing weight of the moment. Cook sighed deeply, defeated. His hands twisting and rubbing at the bruised knuckles.

"I… remember Roundview a lot. I remember when they kicked me out the building… when they sprayed me eyes," His quiet, measured volume was louder than any bass music your brother could play.

"And I remember when you came runnin' out in your baby blue trainers and mix matched socks with your water bottle… And - and how you poured the water in me eyes to stop the burnin'."

His frown flickered. Melancholic eyes fixated onto your fuzzy bright colored rug though he wasn't really looking at it. More so looking beyond it and into the memory itself.

"I remember your face that day. You looked… disappointed… I just - I don't… " Cook sniffed, wiping his nose with his wrist, "I don't think I could see that face again… sitting across from me at visitation."

The next words tore your heart in two.

"… Are you disappointed in me?"

That knife that was twisting into your throat pulled itself out; leaking sanguine red along with your anger, across your bedroom floor. Leaving nothing but the piercing pang of sympathy. Cook did many things. He made less than rational choices. He hid his inner world under drug use and explosive rage. He protected you. He took care of you. He never stopped loving you since the day his un-tameable eyes met yours. Disappointed in the man whom you truly believed was your other half, you could never be.

You quietly stepped over to his place on your bed, standing before him. His head continued to stare down at your feet, afraid of what he would find if he lifted his gaze up. Then, Cook felt your hands softly weave through his hair, the small action causing him to instantly melt into your touch. His forehead pressed into your lower stomach.

"I was never disappointed in you. Not then, not now."

Even among the noisy background of the tv and the music, he could hear the hushed, intimate tones of your voice. A sound that was reserved only for him. His own hands slowly smoothed over your bare thighs, up to your hips. The caresses themselves reverent. His face burying itself into your form as he held you close.

"I just want the best for you, baby…"

Cook exhaled a shaky breath, a giant burst of air he had been holding in ever since he climbed the prison's fence earlier that night. The warmth of his whisper seeped through the cotton of your shirt as he replied.

"I know…"

His arms held you closer, your hands gently cradled his head; neither daring to pull away this time. The shelter of your shared embrace becoming its own little world made just for the two of you. Then, you felt the shape of his nose, the plush of his lips, nuzzle his face deeper into your stomach. Breathing your essence in, pressing muffled apologetic kisses into the fabric. The tingling sensations sparking something down below. Feeling the need to be even closer, you slowly lowered yourself onto his lap, straddling. As your foreheads touched once more, you held his gaze. Really looking this time. Here, you could see everything. His exhaustion from restless nights, his remorse for your depression, his fear of losing you, his devotion to only you. Your hand cupped his cheek, thumb softly feeling the stubble.

"You can't stay, can you?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

Cook regretfully shook his head, "No, not this time."

"Then… let's make the most of it?"

You didn't wait for an answer, you didn't need to. His lips were already there waiting, tender as they met yours. Slowly moving together, each kiss as passionate as the last. Hands that had settled at your waist moved to cradle your back, pulling you firmer against his lean chest. Your arms draped around his neck as you angled your face for better access; a soft sigh emitting from his throat at the small action. The last time you shared intimacy was so far back it was irrelevant. If tonight was to be the last time you two are together until god knows when, then there was nothing left to do.

The two of you eventually parted, heavy breaths intermingling in the barely there space in between until your lips met again. Their instantaneous connection hungrier, desperate. You nipped his lower lip, demanding him to open up. He did of course, his tongue welcoming yours like weary soldier coming back to their lover from the war. Cook's touch was everywhere; his square hands grabbing fistfuls of the back of your shirt. Running wantonly over the curves of your hips and thighs. Rolling down to the thickness of your ass cheek to give a nice squeeze. His teeth teasingly bit your bottom lip, pulling a little as he departed. You felt his right hand trail up to your neck, the pads of his fingers pressing into the delicate skin there; causing a familiar wetness below. His hand moved further into your hair, tugging roughly at the base of your scalp to give him complete access to your neck. Stubble tickling you as wet kisses traveled languidly to your heated cheek, across your jawline, down to the beating pulse in your neck. Your own palms stroking his clothed chest. Feeling his heartbeat hammering against its cage. The whimper of an 'oh..!' escaping your throat as you felt the bulge in his pants grow. Cook's lips were still peppering your skin as he maneuvered you down to the comfort of your bed.

"Bite me - please - I need it," You begged, your hands desperately clutching the thin fabric at his shoulders.

There was no cocky grin. No snarky remark. His feverish kisses immediately sucked the delicate flesh into his mouth. The signature curve of his teeth biting, creating discolored flowers that would bloom for the world to see. Because that's what you wanted. You wanted everyone to see what James Cook does to you. You wanted him to claim you. You needed him to.

Decisively, his hands traveled underneath your - his - t shirt. Electric static could spark from the friction of your heated skin against the calluses of his palms. Over each individual rib, feeling your abdomen expand and contract with every breath that escaped your red-bitten lips. Reaching the unmistakable curve of your breasts, the vibration of Cook's gravelly rumble against the front of your throat tingled. You weren't wearing a bra. His prickling bites continued to mark the other side. Hands massaging the soft tissue, his right index and thumb rolling a perked nipple. You bucked involuntarily, feeling the hard line of him straining against his pants. Cook started to lift your shirt up.

"Let me see them, yeah? Let me see my girls," His desperation peaking through the crevices of his voice.

A breathy ohhh ghosted over your skin as you were finally freed from your threaded confines. He had seen your bare chest a million times by now and yet every time he gazed at you like it was the first.

"Fuck… I missed these tits," Was all Cook said before latching onto one.

The wetness of his mouth soaked the skin, his dexterous tongue flicking against the sensitive bud. Your hands immediately tangled into his short locks, gripping at the scalp as the sharpness of his teeth rolled the sensitive circle around and around. Cook sloppily sucked and sucked until he released with a wet pop, nipping his way to the other nipple. He kept repeating himself: licking, biting, sucking and then a pop until that was all he was doing as his hands expertly kneaded your breasts. Suck, pop. Suck, pop. Suck, pop. Suck, pop. No amount of biting your lower lip could stop your soft mewls of pleasure. And all the while Cook's eyes lay closed in content, as if sucking your tits was heaven to him. It probably was.

Cook's familiar weight kept weighing down onto your half bare body. His bulge, heated and impossibly hard, pressed deeper into your inner thigh. It had been so long since you felt him. Too long since you had him inside you. Even as you arched your back from the stimulating licks of his tongue, the brushes against his hefty bulge weren't nearly enough. Pure frustration kept kindling, growing, burning. You needed more, so much more. The filthy sound of his lips attaching and releasing continued to resound through the smallness of your bedroom; your brother's deafening bass be damned. Your hand fumbled as it tried to pull your cotton shorts down; his body preventing you.

Your whimper was distressed, "James! "

Cook snapped out of his tit sucking daze with a muffled 'mmh?'. Upon realizing what you were trying to do, a roguish smile appeared.

"Oh, you miss me too?" His chuckle was devilish, square fingers dragging the pitiful fabric down and away. Normally you'd roll your eyes when he talked directly to your cunt but patience was not at the fore front of your mind tonight.

Cook continued, tone as dangerously low as the bass bumping up above, "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. All of you…"

He brought two of his fingers to your mouth, "Open up, princess."

You obeyed immediately. Anything to get him inside you even if it was just his fingers. The velvet sensation of your lips wrapped around the digits. Cook's mesmerizing eyes, dark like the thunderous beginnings of an intense storm, held your sultry gaze as you properly drenched him with your skillful tongue. Swirling against the distinctive pads, licking up and down and in between the shafts, coaxing his fingers further into the wet cavern of your mouth until he slowly pulled them out. Dragging your plump bottom lip down, a thick string of saliva connecting to his index finger. The bob of Cook's Adam's apple was blatantly obvious; mouthing 'shit ' before quickly regaining his coolness.

You felt them against your lips first. Fingers slowly soothing your outer walls up and down, up and down, up and down. Gliding upwards, threateningly close to your clit before moving back down as if he had changed his mind each time. As he cupped your sex, not even the meaty base giving your erogenous bud the tiniest bit of attention, he gathered your leaking juices into his palm. Cook began to properly massage you. His adequately soaked hand pressing and maneuvering its way in slow, purposeful motions. Every so often letting the tip of a finger get caught in between your wet lips before cheekily removing them again. Taunting, tormenting. It seemed the time a part made you forget how much of an ass your boyfriend was when it came to teasing. Your impatience building as you yearned to be touched in the place you needed most. He wasn't even touching your clit yet but huffs and small whimpers continued to escape from you.

"You touch yourself while I'm gone?" His question held some level of rhetorical-ness.

"Y-yeah but it's not the same baby - aah! " His saturated fingers finally made contact with your clit. You gripped into the lean muscle of his biceps, an embarrassing moan lolling out of your mouth.

"Yeah, bet not..."

Cook rubbed in firm, deliberate circles. Sensually stroking your clit, flicking, before rubbing that delicious spot that made your legs jerk. It was pathetic how your head slammed back into the softness of your patterned pillow, a broken cry of your dear boyfriend's name on your lips. If he could just plunge his stupid fingers in. If he could stop being a little shit and fuck you into the mattress. If you could just have your release… You swore you drew blood as he crooked two digits inside.

"God, you're drowning me sweetheart," A low coo, his lips barely pressed against your ear.

You didn't have it in you to reply back, only euphoric moans strumming your vocal cords. Cook kept a relentless pace as he pistoned his fingers inside your sopping cunt. His two whirlpool-like orbs watching intently as your juices splashed against your inner thighs, coating his experienced hand. The squelching plap plap plap rivaling the raging volume of the tv and music combined.

"You hear that? Bet it doesn't get that loud when it's just you."

Cook's index and middle curled, repeating a 'come hither' motion he knew drove you absolutely wild. He knew exactly where to touch, what to whisper, how to bring you to the brink of exhilarating ecstasy because time didn't erase his memory of your body. The intricately layered map of you was forever etched into his recollection in a way no prison sentence could erase.

"'Cause only I can do this to you. Only my fingers can fuck you this good."

You nodded dumbly in agreement. Your mind was spinning, floating. Steaming pleasure clawing its sharp nails all the way from your heated core to the tips of your fingers, the tops of your burning cheeks.

"Fuck - you know how many times I've thought about this? How many times I woke up hard as fuck in that cell… only to turn over and you're not there?"

Hands desperately clinging onto him like he was the only life line in this world, the digging of your fingernails a fiery sting. Face contorting in pure arousal, hair sticking to your perspiring skin. A growing pool of liquid staining the cotton sheets below. Cook groaned deeply at the beautifully devastated sight of you. His pants, stupidly still on his body, the tightest he's ever felt.

"The amount of times I've dreamt of this pussy soaking my fucking fingers. Of only having this fuckin' hand to jerk into," He emphasized by curling right into your g-spot, holding his place as tears began to fall from the corners of your eyes.

Your hips involuntarily squirmed, twisted. As if your own body couldn't decide if it wanted to back away from Cook's overwhelmingly libidinous touch or to curve into him. You didn't have time to think about it as your hips began to unconsciously buck back onto his fingers. Frustrated moans of pleasure tumbling out of your lungs as your g-spot swiped back and forth against his index finger.

"Ohhh shit… Yes - that's it. That's it, love… keeping fucking onto my fuckin' fingers babe," Cook gently kissed your tears away, a small act of kindness during such a dirty act. His whispered ramblings of 'oh shit' and 'that's right, keep fucking my fucking hand' pressing into the softness of your wet cheek.

You could feel it. That tight knot that was about to rip a part any moment now. You just needed to keep Cook here. Keep him right where you want him, keep bucking onto his slick coated hand, keep the fill of his fingers stretching you. Just don't stop, don't stop, don't stop… The exasperated cry you emitted was whiney - irritated - as Cook slyly removed his fingers. You could punch the cheeky smirk right off his face if you didn't love him so much.

"Don't worry princess, I'm right here," He chuckled at the sight of your glare: pissed off yet horny as all hell, "Like I said, I'm gonna take good care of ya."

He swiftly pulled his shirt off over his head. Once he kicked his pants and briefs away, his hardened cock bobbed proudly against his lower stomach. A rosy red coloring the tip, pre-cum unsurprisingly beading. Despite your annoyance, you felt compelled to stop and admire the man whom had been stripped away from you. You had always found Cook attractive. Even in your shared youth, he had his boyish cuteness but when adulthood came around, he had grown to be quite the handsome young man. The lean muscles of his physique, the squareness of his jaw yet the liveliness of his eyes was all the same.

"Like what you see?" Cook teased.

Your eyes rolled playfully, never staying mad at him for long. You leaned up - albeit a bit wobbly - towards him. Hand gently caressing his jawline, "C'mere already…"

Cook shamelessly followed you back down to the comforting nest of warm blankets and fluffy pillows that is your bed. Breathless whispers of 'I'm here… I'm here… I'm here…' as he devoted soft kisses upon your lips. The rough texture of his hands cradling the silkiness of your bare back plush against his frame. His touch from your hips to the meat of your thighs was languid and intentional yet boiling deprivation threatened to burst just barely above the surface. Self control - what little Cook had to begin with - becoming harder and harder to uphold as your arms wrapped tightly around his body, your pink tongue meeting his own. He hoped that every kiss pressed against your stained neck, every loving squeeze to your curves, was physical proof of his aching need for you. Proof of how much Cook thought of you every single day. Your bright smile the first thing on his mind the moment his eyes opened. Your infectious laugh every time he ate shitty scraps that barely passed as a meal. Your comforting words when the other inmates decided they didn't like his face that day. The phantom of your tight hugs as he lay alone in his cramped bed, knuckles burning with split cuts as the lights turned off for the night.

Cook barely held it together as he finally sunk to the hilt. Jaw tightened, shoulders stiff. His deep rumble of a groan reverberating against the crook of your neck, the blissful agony of your squeezing cunt making him damn near lose his mind. Eager for him to rut against you, your hips shifted ever so slightly before his hands suddenly gripped them down. You were puzzled, a small confused hum as you tried but failed to thrust up. You didn't understand what was going on. Your small squirms signaling how bad you needed him. Was he having second thoughts? Didn't he want this?

"I'll fuckin' bust if you keep doing that," Cook's laugh was light, eyes squeezing shut as if in excruciating pain, "Just… give me a moment?"

His sweaty forehead pressed against yours, your shared deep breaths entangling themselves together. Connected at last, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. Two bodies stuck in this bubble of time-space standstill on your bed. Maybe you wanted him to cum early, to be filled by the one you love after all this time. Though, as Cook's eyes opened, those selfish thoughts disappeared. His eyes, those same eyes that were akin to thunderous clouds mere moments earlier, now reminded you of soft raindrops right before an incoming storm. The mindless noise of the music and tv faded into nothing as a still silence filled the space between. A beat that stretched into eons and at the same time lasted only in seconds. Your name was a small, quiet question on his lips.

"… I shouldn't have been there," His eyes raked over your face. Taking in every eyelash, every wrinkle, every fine detail and searing it into his memory.

"That night. I should've been more careful… I - I - " Words escaped him. Tongue twisting and tying itself into knots. Throat burning as if a hot metal rod coiled around it, choking him.

Because what was Cook trying to say? What could he say? That he shouldn't have been selling? That the pills shouldn't have been in his pocket? It was all bullshit and he knew it. You had told him a thousand times that he didn't need to deal. That the crowd he was hanging out with being bad for him was an understatement. That the two of you weren't kids anymore and the real world had real consequences. That his actions would catch up to him someday. He knew, he always knew. There were no excuses this time. The heavy storm clouds shrouding his eyes threatened to pour.

"It was all my fault… I … I'm…"

You let him take his time, comforting hands soothing down his mess of brown hair. He took a steadying breath.

" I'm... I'm so sorry…"

Cook's tone was heavy, sorrowful. As if the depth of his remorse was weighing him down like a wrecked ship sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Cook knew there was no amount of apologies that could make up for him being arrested. No amount of 'I'm sorry' could fully repair the mistakes he's done. Slowly, you placed a kiss upon his plaintive lips. Offering as much love as you could muster in a single action.

"You're a good man, James," Your thumbs tenderly brushed his cheeks, "I've always believed that."

Feeling overwhelmed, Cook's eyes futilely blinked the tears away - a terrible habit from his troubled adolescence. They dolefully gazed into your own, shame and self loathing present within those beautiful blues. His intrusive thoughts creeping in at your consolations. That he was still a stupid kid, a nobody, not worthy of anything remarkable, not worthy of you. Yet, your whispers of gentle support silenced them into nothingness.

"No matter what, I'm here for you."

Cook tenderly nuzzled his face against yours. Your comforting words sinking into the layers of his bruised skin, the soreness of his muscles, the depths of his bones. The cloak of your reassuring words weighing over his nude body like a teddy patterned fleece blanket, like the one you had on your bed every winter, the one he had bought just for you. Quietly, Cook took a moment to collect himself; inhaling another deep breath in before kissing you deeply.

"I love you."

His words breathed into your own; making their way past your teeth, down your throat, an apparition offering its hand to your beating heart. And who were you to deny his hand?

"I love you too, James."

After sharing several more impassioned kisses, Cook seemed back to his regular self. His cocksure smile returning as he winked, "Right, now hold on to my back. We're gonna give the lads back in the nick somethin' to talk about, yeah?"

You giggled, immediately latching onto his bare back. After a couple of slow thrusts, Cook couldn't hold back anymore and started moving in earnest. His pace steady yet hard. Finally, finally he was inside you. After so many long lonely months, nights where not even your own hand could satisfy your needs, your beloved was deliciously stretching your tight cunt with the thickness of his hardened cock. The familiar shape of him rubbing back and forth against your slick walls. And did you really forget how easy your boyfriend got you soaking? Your wetness coated his piercing cock. Leaking fluids forcing the delicate skin of your inner thighs to stick against his hips, only to burn as the stickiness unstuck once Cook pulled out. The two of you were a ball of jumbled limbs, difficult to tell where Cook began and you ended. His lean arms vitally wrapping around your waist, your locked ankles securing him in place, somewhere your teeth were making purple marks against his skin, in another his fingers rolled your perked tit. Two conjoined bodies that spoke praises and loving moans to each other. You groaned at a particularly deep move. Your desperate plea for Cook to go harder, faster, sent shivers up his spine.

"Want me to fuck you harder? You want it that bad?" Cook's tone was hungry against your ear. He wasted no time in picking up his rhythm, pumping his aching cock deeper. Your whimpered 'yes yes yes!' stoking the flames of his desire even further.

"Yeah? You like that? Of course you do. You love it don't you, my cock splitting you open like this."

Cook continued to ramble on about how good you felt, though he believed he never could properly express how it felt to be inside you. How your cunt squeezed him just right. How it soaked him perfectly every time you were together. Like your body was made to be complementary to his own. Cook had many past partners but none of them felt this damn close to divinity as you did. Once again quickening his speed at your begging; the squelching slap slap slap of his hips against yours ringing in his ears. Your nails pierced down his back, creating stream-like red markings against the pale skin. Forcing Cook to throw his head back with a grunt at the satisfyingly painful sensation.

"Fuuuuck - you're taking me so well…"

He moved your legs wider, angling you in such a way that made your eyes roll back in tantalizing pleasure. His cock, drenched by your sweet juices, pulled out to just the swollen tip only to slam back in. Faultlessly bullying that certain spot inside of you that made your head spin. You couldn't tell where you where anymore. Up, down, sideways, it didn't matter so long as Cook kept pumping into you. So long as his balls kept slapping against you with every shift of his hips.

"Keep taking it. Keep taking my fucking cock," His voice, husky with want, your only anchor to reality.

Your lewd groans failed to be concealed as your teeth sunk into the flesh of his shoulder. The action spurring your lovesick jailbird on even more. The obscene smack of his hips pushing you deeper into your cushioned mattress. How the hell your bed hadn't broken from the sheer force of his thrusts alone, you didn't know. During your years at college, you had heard all the girls gossip about Cook. What he was like in bed, that it was like being in the middle of a wild storm. But he was never that way with you. No, being with Cook was akin to being inside a cozy home with a warm hearth while a wild storm raged outside. Safe and protected. Even when you were having a rough session, you never doubted his consideration for you.

"Fuck me - I'm never leaving this pussy again… Never leaving you again…"

His kisses couldn't decide where they wanted to be and yet they were everywhere; your discolored neck, your tear stained cheeks, your open lips, your sweaty forehead. As if each kiss against your skin was a promise that he'll stay inside you for eternity. Your nails clutched harder into the muscles of his back.

"Mmh - I'm staying right here - right the fuck here," Cook's gravelly tone soldered into your soul, "Where I can fill'er up night after night. Again and aga - Oh fuck! … That what you want? Want me to fill you every night? So much that you'll be absolutely leakin' the next morning?"

You could feel it, that familiar knot from earlier returning. Tightening, strengthening as your release was getting ready to rear its euphoric head. And yet, another entirely new sensation was coming along with it. Especially when Cook swirled his thumb just right against your clit.

"Shitshitshitshitshit!" Your legs started to shake uncontrollably against his form.

"C'mon, just say the words and I'll give it to you. I'll give ya everything," His thumb kept moving in perfect circles.

Raindrops pummeled against the rooftop and walls of that little home inside you. The wild storm rampaging as it never had before. Pouring, pouring, pouring. Its thunderous clouds crackling with electricity as your release grew nearer and nearer. You didn't know what this new sensation was, but with your orgasm running into you head on, you knew you were going to burst.

"Fuuuck! James I'm gonna - I'm gonna - I think I'm gonna pee!" You cried.

"Wha-?"

You wailed, a strong vocal shout of ecstasy leaping from the depths of your lungs. An electric thunder bolt striking your spinal column from the top of your head down to your gushing core. The very foundations of the warm home that is your body, reverberating with powerful force. Cook didn't have time to question what you meant as you squirted all over him. His stiff cock, his aching balls, his hips that were still stuck to you, even his goddamn hand were soaked to the bone in your sweet juices. The second Cook realized what just happened, he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Did you just- Oh shiiit!"

His head immediately fell into the crook of your neck and shoulder, sloppily fucking his release into your still spurting cunt. Rapturous dopamine flooding every inch of his veins as his body gave itself over to your shared bliss. Despite its huskiness, Cook's tone was as honeyed as a woodbine as he deeply groaned only one word: your name.

───⋅•♡•⋅───

"It's too bad you don't smoke because what we just did? Fuckin' cigarette-after-sex worthy, babes," said Cook.

You chuckled, cuddling closer to his side, "Trying to give me your bad habits?"

"Me? Never."

His arm was wrapped around your back, fingertips soothingly trailing up and down your bare spine. Your bodies lay intertwined like a pretzel in your cozy bed. Tired from the rough session and the obligatory second round in the shower where Cook helped clean you off with his tongue and your shower head. With your head tucked under his chin, you breathed him in. The heavy scent of your strawberries and cream hair conditioner overpowered the faint smoke of the cigarettes he traded with the other inmates. Deeper was his natural scent, wonderfully distinctive to him; a scent you would know while blindfolded. Despite soaking in each other's presence - as much as you could with the amount of time you had left together - you still had one question at the forefront of your mind.

"James, why are you here?"

Cook closed his eyes, resigned. The question was going to come back up eventually, he knew that. There was no point in avoiding it, but the reason had been weighing heavily on his heart for a long time. Vulnerability was never his strong suit. While it was easier with you, someone who had seen and accepted all sides of him, Cook's throat still felt full of knives as he tried to find the right words. You let him take his time, focusing on the even rise and fall of his chest. Patiently waiting for his mind to gather its scattered thoughts. He opened his eyes eventually, a soft kiss pressed into your hair.

"I've been thinkin' a lot about what you said… about therapy?" The smallness of his voice made you lift your head up.

Cook continued slowly, every word an Olympic sized hurdle to jump over, "And - erm - I've also been thinking about what Ian said… Look, I know I have…. issues."

The explosive anger, the use of drugs and partying as a distraction from reality, the abandonment of his deadbeat father, the abuse from his alcoholic mother. The excessive thoughts of self loathing and depression swirling into a downward spiral. He had been battling these demons since he was too young to do so.

"I think about it when I'm in that cell. The things I've said, the things I've done. These past couple of years, I've… I've just been feelin' like a ghost. Been feelin' it for so long, don't know what else to feel…"

Cracks splintered in opposing directions across your heart. Each word like a stack of bricks weighing down your chest. You wished you could alleviate his inner turmoil somehow, if only for a few minutes. You quietly rubbed his chest, hoping the small act would comfort him even a little bit. Cook's hand came to hold yours, his thumb gently rubbing your skin.

"I don't know anything about therapy… What it is or what it does. M'not sure I can ever be… fixed like that, you know? But I want to know," Cook softly called your name, his glassy eyes fixated on yours, "If I went… would it make you happy?"

Cook wasn't sure if he could find it within himself to get better, to do better. However, if starting therapy would make you happy, if it meant you staying in his life… You nodded your head immediately, a definite yes on your lips that were so close to his. He breathed in, a look of quiet resolve in his eyes as he nodded.

"Then I'll do it… for you," He stated, sealing his promise with a loving kiss, "Love you."

"Love you too," You replied. A short beat of tender silence until your eyebrows furrowed, "Did you break out of prison just to ask me that?"

The unmistakable shape of Cook's teeth shone as he barked a laugh, as if it just occurred to him that he did in fact break out of prison just to ask you something that could've been a phone call, "Yeah, guess I did."

"You're so dramatic!"

"Oi, you love my dramatics!"

"You're so stupid!"

His contagious laughter and your giggles entangled themselves together just as your bare bodies did. As time passed, you filled Cook in about what had been going on in your life lately. How your friend finally broke up with her loser girlfriend, the upcoming networking event at your job, about your hypochondriac aunt's frivolous antics that you were so over. All the things that you routinely wrote in your letters to keep him entertained and updated. Things that Cook loved reading about, though in his opinion, it could never beat listening in person. The excitement in your voice, the hilarious facial expressions you couldn't hide, how you whispered your opinion like a spy giving top secret information. Cook loved all of it. He missed all of it.

You laid in each other's arms until it was time for him to leave. The two of you very clearly taking your time getting re-dressed in the process. Cook's lips pressed soft kisses against the skin of your hips as you pulled your cotton shorts back on. Your arms wrapped around his stomach as he slowly tied his shoelaces. The two of you never parting even a hair's breath from each other.

Every step felt heavy, like traversing through wet concrete on a newly poured sidewalk. Each breath shaky as salty tears beaded in your tear ducts. You knew he had to leave. You knew he would only be in your bedroom for a short time. You kept telling yourself that it was better this way. Better for him to face the consequences of his actions instead of running away from them like he did when he was eighteen years old. And yet, you would rather go blind than to see him leave through that bedroom window.

"No, no. None of that now," Cook gently hushed as he held your face in his hands, wiping a tear away with his thumb, "No more tears, princess…"

You nodded glumly. Hugging him closer, wordlessly burying your sniffles against his collarbone. Cook embraced you tightly, afraid of letting you go.

"Won't be long. I'll be back soon enough, swear it."

"Promise to keep writing?"

"Promise."

The two of you stayed in the shelter of your warm embrace, futilely stalling the inevitable. Sharing a tender kiss between each other, then another, another, another.

"Okay, okay," Your smile against his made him flutter.

"Just one more," Cook pleaded before you gave him one last kiss, "Love you."

"Love you too."

With that, he crawled out your window, letting the darkness of the night envelope him.

───⋅•♡•⋅───

The bunk bed was as ancient as Cook's grandparents despite having never met them. The mattress thin enough to feel the metal bars underneath, the entire bed portion cramped like a wooden vegetable crate. A loud metallic screech grated his ears with every minuscule shift of his weight. Cook laid uncomfortably in his top bunk, staring at the dusty ceiling. Then, he shifted to lean on his elbow, reaching underneath his threadbare pillow. Your letters, a thick stack of white notebook paper handwritten with every color gel pen of the rainbow, lay in his hand.

Once again the bed frame screeched as he adjusted to lay back down. He thumbed through the colorful pages with an affectionate care. His heartsick gaze tracing thoughtfully over every curve of your a's and b's, looping around the l's and o's. He could hear your bright laughter in the written 'ha ha's, taste the saltiness when an inked letter was smeared by your tears. While flipping a page to the back, a photo booth strip fell onto his chest. Cook picked it up, eyes fixating on the black and white inks of the polaroid. It was from one of your dates. You loved taking silly photos with your best friends and wanted to do the same with him. He was unsure of it at first but it was hard to say no to you, especially when you put on your cute little pout. They instantly became his favorite photos ever. Memories of him not being able to keep a straight face as you stuck your middle finger up your nose while cross eyed, your wheezing as he tried to stick his butt in the camera, caused his heart to ache more than it already did. The strip was one you had sent to him in the mail, two pictures in total. The first one was of you both sticking your fingers in your mouths and waving your tongues wildly at the camera. The second one Cook lingered on the most. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you would have given him a kiss on the cheek if your laughter hadn't interrupted you. Instead, your wide smile pressed into his skin. Joyful crinkles at the corner of your eyes matching his perfectly.

A high pitched shrill from the lower bunk shifting below dragged Cook back to reality. It was his cell mate, Ian. Settling in his bed to read a book whose thin pages had been read a thousand times already. Cook took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Ian?"

"Yeah, lad?" Ian answered.

"…. Tell me about the group therapy program?"

[socratesgirl]

watching any scene with cook is equivalent to getting one's heart torn out i feel so maternal towards him

[circois]

COWBOYS AND ANGELS

meeting

general warnings 4 this series: reader is described using feminine clothing and pronouns, dearest writer has very little knowledge of bristol or the uk, lowercase intended, smut, piv, afab!reader, james can be a lil' ooc! mentions of parties, alcohol, drugs, usual skins stuff. will try to keep it at a minimum.

pairing: shy!lovergirl reader x james cook

tags: @meatplush @ilovecowboysyouknowthat

living in bristol wasn't your favorite thing, it was so lame — until you stumbled upon james cook.

you wouldn't say it was a romantic introduction, it was so far from that.

it was around 12 am, you had been walking back home from the fitch household after a hangout with emily and katie — who you had met a shop, before your first day of school.

you had been attending private school for a while before they 'nicely' kicked you out after your mom could no longer afford paying the raising fees.

anyway, walking through bristol wasnt as fun as it sounded, especially considering where your new home was located – which wasn't such a great part. but it was your new home.

"oi," you turn around, startled at the voice of a man — who appeared to be around your age actually. "got a light?" he asks as he walks up to you, checking you out.

you furrow your brows and shake your head, "no.. no i dont sorry." he nods and puts the cigarette back in his jacket pocket, standing beside you now, "where ya' going?" he raises his brow and smiles softly. "its not safe for ya'."

you shrug and feel your checks flush – you weren't one to make conversation with anyone just out and about. especially not guys, everyone makes you quite nervous and you get all awkward.

"cook's the name. i go to roundview college, casually." he holds out his hand for you to shake, which you do, telling him your name and his introduction kind of warmed you up. "say, i'll walk you?" you nod and begin walking.

"you go to roundview?" he asks as he kicks a rock. "i start tomorrow." he hums and smirks, "guess you've got a familiar face to look for." you chuckle, "i've got friends."

he nods, "'s that where you've come from? friends house? or a party?" you side eye him and scoff, "im not dressed for a party." he glances your way one more time before keeping his eyes forward. "i think you're lying."

you gasp and stop in your steps causing him to stop and turn, "you dont even know me! you're trying to get me into some emotional distress or something." he shakes his head, "why would i bother you with such difficulties?" you narrow your eyes at him, a scoff slipping past your lips.

you begin walking again, cook following in your steps. "have you got a boyfriend?" you let out a giggle at the question, you knew he would ask it eventually – he seems like the guy who would. "no. you? a girlfriend i mean. unless you're not..?" you bite your lip at the words that you just put together for him.

he laughs at you, head thrown back and all. "i fancy women, thank you."

you push his shoulder lightly, your cheeks flushed from embarrassment. "no girl ever loves the cookie monster." you stop walking and turn to face him. "oi, if you're gonna keep stopping let me know."

"take it back." you mumble, "what?" "take the nickname back." you say rubbing your eyes. "the cookie monster?" "yeah." he does a little turn before fixing his hair, "you dont like it? 's what my girls call me. cookie."

you exhale and shake your head, "its foul. i loathe it." you lift your hands up in dramatization. "and girls? you get around, dont you?" he chuckles and smirks, "everyone likes a cookie."

you scrunch your nose in annoyance of the repeating nickname, half of it is disgust.

"oh, come on. smile, love." he says as he lifts your chin with his finger— you stop, he stops. "pretty." he whispers. "my house is there" you whisper back, pointing towards the house behind him.

he turns, his finger slipping from the warmth of your chin. "nice." he says as he sighs, "well, you're home safe. and i've gotta find a light and head back to mine." you nod and smile, walking up to your front steps. "see you again?" you ask as you turn to face him, his back briefly facing you before he turns.

"can't get enough of the cookie?" you groan in annoyance. "way to ruin the moment, cook!"

circois

(divider by saradika-graphics)

[ilovecowboysyouknowthat]

Petition for people to start writing Tommy hangan x reader fics I swear I would eat that shit up so bad 😝😩 #underratedfineshit #wouldtopsohard

[yeah-iveheardofbears]

I’m the number 1 Gator Tillman is a huge sub truther so I simply must request a Gator made with straight whiskey - on the rocks - with a salty rim and a spicy rim, and added chili flakes 👀

This drink would be so nasty if I actually had to drink it lol

ruin you softly

pairing: gator tillman x reader

summary: he’s crude, cocky, and never shuts up. he's a badge-wearing headache with a vape addiction and a chip on his shoulder the size of Stark County. you don’t give him the time of day beyond a few fleeting moments of playing with him. until he shows up at your door in the middle of the night, frustrated, drunk, and hard… asking why he can’t get off to anyone but you.

you didn’t mean to break him, but now you’re the only one who knows how to put him back together.

wc: 17,602 (HEHE OOPS)

order up: an enemies-to-lovers Gator fic where the reader holds the upper hand and a submissive Gator is unraveling under it. He’s possessive but vulnerable, torn between pride and need, and the tension burns through every touch.

tw: smut (explicit), mild dubcon implications (power imbalance, alcohol), emotionally repressed, praise kink, unprotected sex, dry humping, power exchange, oral (m&f receiving), sub drop themes, dirty talk, jealousy, mild obsession, internalized misogyny, soft domination, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, body worship, power reversal

masterlist oh anon, i had fun with this one.

The library smells like glue sticks and hand sanitizer. Gator’s been here five minutes and already wants to smoke about three cigarettes in a row.

He’s leaning against a shelf in the back corner of the kids’ section, arms crossed, badge catching the light. Roy’s campaign flyers are still stuffed in his jacket pocket, but the sheriff himself is off shaking hands at some VFW luncheon with Karen. So Gator gets the twins.

Jessica and Maude are crisscrossed on the carpet in front of the story circle, practically vibrating with excitement, and Gator’s trying not to look like a complete piece of shit while he waits. Failing, no doubt.

Then he sees you.

You’re sitting on one of those tiny upholstered cubes, one leg tucked under you, reading The Poky Little Puppy like it’s Shakespeare. Your voice is soft, steady, singsong in a way that makes half the kids go glassy-eyed. You wear a cardigan with little sunflowers on the buttons. There’s a pin shaped like a bat on your collar. You smile when you say ‘good morning’ to the group and it punches him square in the dick.

Jesus.

Your lips move like they’ve been rehearsed. You gesture gently, like every kid in front of you is made of glass. Your skirt hits just above the knee and your legs are crossed and it’s not even sexual, not really, but his brain is already off somewhere it shouldn’t be.

He shifts his stance. Regrets it immediately.

You probably live in some little pastel-colored house with a welcome mat that says wipe your paws and a bookshelf full of weird novels with fairies on the cover. Probably bake muffins on Sundays and drink tea with actual fucking honey. You probably think he’s a dirtbag just for existing in your vicinity.

He’s not offended.

You’re right.

But still. It’s the voice.

The book ends and the twins go running to pick out stickers from the treasure box, but Gator doesn’t move. You stand and straighten your skirt, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and then your eyes catch his.

He grins.

You don’t.

He saunters over anyway.

“Hell of a story,” he says. “That dog ever find the damn dessert?”

You glance at him sideways. “It’s a classic.”

“Sure. Just think he should’ve mauled one of the other puppies, maybe. Add some stakes.”

Your expression is polite. Dismissive. You reach for the stack of books beside your chair.

“You workin’ the front desk too? Or you just hang out back here with the rugrats?”

“I’m on shift until two. Deputy Tillman, right?”

He tips his Stark County Sheriff cap, probably thinking it's funny.

You don’t smile. You barely acknowledge him. Just start shelving books without giving him the time of day.

But he watches the way your fingers move over the spines.

“Y’know,” he starts, leaning a little too close to the cart you’re pushing, “my dad and Karen- well, a couple folks downtown too- they been sayin’ you’re sneakin’ in some woke shit during storytime.”

You don’t look up.

“Stuff about identity and… communism. Sharing and shit.” He makes a face like those are dirty words. “Guess that’s got 'em real nervous.”

Your hand freezes halfway through shelving a board book. You glance over your shoulder at him.

“So… empathy?”

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can even try.

“Inclusive language isn’t a threat, Deputy. Telling a group of five-year-olds that it’s okay to be different doesn’t mean I’m handing out Molotov cocktails with the alphabet blocks.”

He blinks.

You turn back to your cart. “But if you’d like to take it up with the Board of Trustees, I’m sure they’d love to hear your thoughts on basic human decency.”

Gator frowns. Rubs the back of his neck. His mouth works like he wants to fire back but knows he shouldn’t.

Truth is, he probably doesn’t even believe half the shit Roy spouts in closed-door meetings. He just grew up marinating in it. And lately it’s started to feel like wearing a uniform that doesn’t quite fit.

Still, he’s got a job to do. And, in this case, the job is making a fool of himself in front of a hot librarian.

“I like the bat pin,” he tries. “Very seasonal. You into all that spooky shit?”

“Kids like Halloween.”

“You ever do costumes?” he asks, casual as hell, leaning one arm on the book cart like he owns the place.

You don’t answer, too busy shelving a stack of paperback Berenstain Bears. He keeps going.

“Bet you’d make a real cute witch,” he says, smirking. “All black and mysterious. Pointy hat. Stockins’, if you’re into that.”

You pause.

He grins wider. “Or like… a sexy librarian. That one’s kinda on the nose, though.”

Still no reaction.

“Or a cat. With the tail. Tight little bodysuit, ears up here—” He gestures vaguely near his head, eyes sliding down your figure. “You know, slutty Halloween classic. Me-ow and all that.”

Now you straighten. Slowly. Turn to face him with the full force of your unimpressed stare. Your voice doesn’t raise, doesn’t change tone. Just slices clean.

“Deputy Tillman, I’m working.”

It goes straight down his goddamn spine.

He blinks. Smiles, wide and wolfish.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “Loud and clear.”

You go back to shelving. He makes himself walk away.

He’s still grinning when Jessica runs up to grab his hand, still grinning when Maude tries to show him the glitter sticker she picked out, still grinning when the door shuts behind you and he thinks about your mouth forming his name.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Like, legally, he really shouldn’t be doing this.

But that doesn’t stop him. Never has.

Gator’s halfway down Maple Street in the cruiser, windows cracked, radio turned low, trying to come up with some halfway believable excuse for what he’s about to pull. Something about a neighbor complaint. Suspicious music. Kids tagging garages again. He’ll come up with the details on the porch.

Truth is, he’s been thinking about you all goddamn week.

Your mouth. That little sunflower cardigan. The way your voice went all quiet and scolding when you told him you were working. Like he was some idiot teen chewing gum too loud.

He’s jerked off three times since picking up the girls on Tuesday. Not that he’s counting. Once in the shower. Once in the car on lunch break, parked behind the old grain mill. Once in his room with the lights off and your voice playing on a loop in his head saying Deputy Tillman, I’m working.

He slows when he sees the pastel yellow bungalow with the porch swing. There’s a metal watering can on the steps. A string of paper leaves taped up in the window. He checks the address like he hasn’t already done that three times today.

Heart beating like a fucking idiot, he gets out and walks up to the door.

You open it after two knocks.

You look different in jeans and a sweatshirt. Still soft. Still pretty. Hair pulled back in a way that shows your neck. He tries not to look too long.

“Deputy Tillman,” you say, eyebrows raising slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“Got a call about a noise complaint,” he lies, hands resting easy on his belt like this is official business. “Figured I’d check it out.”

Your expression doesn’t change. You tilt your head. “I was listening to a podcast. About frogs.”

“Yeah? Must’ve been real rowdy frogs.”

Silence.

Then, impossibly, you smile. Just barely.

“Well, come on in then,” you say, stepping aside.

He swallows.

Inside, it smells like cinnamon and apples. There’s a bookshelf lined with worn paperbacks. A little crocheted blanket over the back of the couch. You don’t have the heat blasting, but it’s warm anyway. Cozy in a way that makes his chest feel weird, a way his home never felt.

He follows you toward the kitchen.

“So,” you say, casual, opening a cabinet. “Who made the complaint?”

“Uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Anonymous. Neighbor didn’t leave a name.”

You hum like you don’t believe him, but you’re still pulling down a mug. He watches as you open a tin of looseleaf tea.

“You want honey or lemon?”

He blinks. “What?”

You glance over your shoulder.

“For your tea.”

“You’re—” He clears his throat. “You’re makin’ me tea?”

“Well, you came all the way out here for a noise complaint,” you say lightly, spooning out fragrant leaves like this is the most normal thing in the world. “It’s the least I can do.”

He leans against the counter and tries to play it cool, but something about the way you move is killing him. You’re not even trying. That’s the thing. You’re not trying, and it’s working.

He watches your hands again. The way your fingers cradle the handle of the kettle. The curve of your waist when you reach for the lemon. The pink of your lip when you bite it, just briefly, focused on the steam rising from the mug.

Christ.

You got mugs that match.

You got tea that doesn’t come in a bag.

You smell like books and soap and I’m gonna blow a fuse right here in your kitchen.

You set the mug down in front of him and he doesn’t even know what to say. Just stares at the little swirl of steam and wonders what the hell he thought was gonna happen here.

You sit down across from him at the little kitchen table, resting your chin in your hand.

“So, Deputy,” you say, soft voice like honey dripping off a spoon, “are you gonna need to investigate the rest of the house?”

He looks up.

You blink at him. Sweet. Innocent. Like it’s a real question.

He swallows hard. Tries not to smile like a goddamn cartoon wolf.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back. “Might be protocol.”

You nod. Push your chair back and stand.

“Well,” you say, voice light as air, “the bedroom’s this way.”

And then you walk down the hall.

And he follows, thinking he’s finally about to be in charge of something.

You lead him down the hall like it’s no big deal, like you’re not already two steps ahead of whatever clumsy plan he’s cooked up in that badge-polished brain of his. His boots thud behind you like he’s chasing something he thinks he’s already caught.

You step inside and he follows, dumb and hopeful, eyes skating over the room like he’s casing it for more than just fantasy. He’s already got his hands halfway into his vest when the door clicks shut behind him.

He turns.

You’re standing right in front of it, arms relaxed, head tilted. Watching him.

He opens his mouth. Probably to say something cocky, something crude and stupid like he always does. But before he can get it out, you’re already moving toward him and backing him up until his spine hits the wood of the door.

It’s not even hard, just firm. Unavoidable.

Your hands skim his vest like you’re checking the fit. His breath catches.

He reaches for your waist, lips curving in that smug little grin of his, already talking.

“Yeah,” he mutters against your cheek, voice low and rough. “Knew you’d feel good. Knew you’d come around eventually. Can’t fake it forever.”

His mouth is at your jaw now, sloppy and too eager. His hands go to the hem of your sweater, like he thinks he’s already got you spread across the bed in his head. He noses at your neck like it’s something to claim, muttering half-sentences against your skin.

Then your hand slides down.

You palm him over the front of his camo cargos, slow and certain.

He stutters out a breath like it surprises him, like he wasn’t expecting you to touch him with that kind of control. His hips stutter, trying to chase your grip, but you stay exactly where you are.

You lean in close. So close your lips almost brush the shell of his ear.

And then you speak in a tone that’s like you’re reading him a bedtime story.

“Take off your vest and go lie down for me.”

He doesn’t move at first. Just blinks.

Then his mouth parts a little, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out except a breathy, choked little “yeah.”

You smile. Not cruel. Not mocking.

Just patient.

Like you already knew this was how it was gonna go.

Gator swallows, but his eyes are already a little wide, his pupils already blown.

He doesn't take his vest off yet, but his hands find the hem of your sweater and push up under it. You stop him immediately.

"That wasn't what I asked. Do you need help?"

You sound so calm.

He's looking at you like he wants to eat you, like he's thinking about tearing through all the layers between you. Like he doesn't understand why he's not.

So you guide him by his hand to the bed, undoing his vest as you stand in front of him. It slides off his shoulders and onto the comforter and he looks down at you like he wants to say something. 

"Now, will you sit for me?"

You ask it like a question, but it isn't. He knows it. You know it.

So he sits and looks up at you expectantly.

You smile. Gently, you run your hand along his face.

"There we go," you murmur, thumb rubbing along his stubbled cheek.

He makes a little noise, not quite a whimper. Not quite. He clears his throat immediately, like he was covering up what just escaped him.

"You're awfully quiet, Deputy." You say, the same hand trailing down his chest over his black t-shirt. "Cat got your tongue?"

You can see the way he fights himself not to lean into the touch, and the fact that he doesn't is endearing.

When he speaks, it's clear he's trying to take control again.

"Just thinkin' about what's gonna happen when I get my hands on you," he says, leaning back, arms braced against the mattress.

You smile, and your fingers trace over his chest more. "But you're still following directions, aren't you, Deputy Tillman? That's very good."

The words make him swallow hard, and you can see him tense, unsure of what to say or do, clearly thrown by your response.

"I don't know what you think you're doing but-"

"You don't need to talk, Deputy. Unless you need help. Do you need help?"

He's quiet again, watching you, and it's clear he doesn't know how to respond.

"Answer me. Or I'll stop." You say it firmly, and it makes his mouth open and close like he's trying to think of a snarky response.

Your hand trails down lower to his belt, just sort of tracing the shape but not doing anything more.

"Fuck, okay, I don't, I don't need help," he grumbles, and you can feel the way he's trying not to press against your touch.

"Good boy. Thank you."

It's clear that the phrase startles him, and the way his mouth opens just slightly, eyes going a little wider, makes the whole thing even better. You start to undo his belt, and his mouth opens like he's about to say something, but then he snaps it shut again.

"Now, let's see what you've been hiding," you murmur, lowering to your knees in front of him and you move to unzip his cargos next.

"Uh, what?"

"This is what you wanted, right?" You look up at him, after you unzipped his pants, your hands on his thighs.

God he could finish just from that, just from the sight of you between his legs, just from the fact that it's actually happening, after a week of jerking off to the sound of your voice in his head.

"Use your words."

His breath catches. "Yeah. Yeah, it's what I want."

"I know."

His cheeks flush, and he has the urge to hide his face like a fucking idiot, but also, the sight of you there is almost too much to take.

"Do you want me to use my mouth on you, Deputy?"

"Fuck, yeah, yeah, I want you to, I want- "

You smile up at him.

"Then ask for it."

He's looking at you like a deer in the headlights, like his brain can't even compute what's happening. You wait patiently, not breaking eye contact.

"I don't beg," he finally blurts out, desperate, and it sounds almost painful, but his eyes are on your mouth, on the way you're just sort of waiting for him to comply. He's not sure why but the fact that he's sitting there, his dick twitching under the weight of your gaze, is making him even more turned on.

"Well, then I guess you're not getting it, Deputy."

You move to stand, and the panic sets in almost immediately.

"Wait, fuck, please. I- I'll beg, please," he says quickly, his voice strained, and god it shouldn't be hot, shouldn't be, but he's not really thinking about it.

"Oh?"

"Please, please I want- I want your mouth on me," he mumbles, eyes downcast, and there's something in his voice, something soft and desperate that wasn't there before.

"That's a start," you say softly, and now you're looking at him with a fondness, and your hands are working his cargos off. "Lift your hips for me."

"Yes, ma'am."

It's automatic, the words and the action, and it's clear that he wasn't planning on saying that, based on the way his eyes flick away from you. But he complies anyway, lifting his hips off the bed.

His cargos are down, and his black boxer briefs are tight, and his erection is clear and straining against the fabric. You move to palm him through the briefs, and his breath catches.

"Fuck, please," he whimpers.

"What do you want?" You look up at him.

"Please, can you- fuck, I'm so fucking hard."

You smile. "You'll have to be more specific, Deputy."

"Can you- fuck, just suck me off already," he blurts, and he's flushed, the color rising in his cheeks and ears.

"That sounds an awful lot like a command, Deputy."

He groans. "No, fuck, it wasn't, please. Please suck me off. Please."

"I think I like the sound of you begging. Maybe you should keep going."

He huffs. "I want- I want your mouth," his voice is strained, and his cock is twitching, and his breathing is a little more labored. "Please, please can you- can you just put me in your mouth? I've been thinkin' about your lips all goddamn week. Please, please just do somethin' already."

His words are rushed, and the fact that he's actually begging makes heat rush straight between your legs.

"Well, color me surprised, I didn't think you'd actually fold that easily." You say it lightly, like his pleading isn't having any effect on you, and when you speak, his eyes meet yours, and there's a vulnerability there that wasn't there before.

You palm him gently again, and the way he groans makes you bite your lip.

"Please." His voice is soft.

"Look at you," you say, and there's something in your tone, something warm and approving, and you can see the way it hits him.

"Please."

You lean forward, and your nose grazes the outline of his cock. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

He lets out a breath through his nose and you smile, mouthing along his length through his briefs, and the way his hips jump is almost enough to make you laugh.

"Fuck," he mutters, and the word comes out choked.

You hum, and the vibration makes him let out a small moan, one that he immediately covers up.

"What was that, Deputy?"

"Nothin', nothing, I'm-"

You lick along the outline of his cock, and his breath catches, a soft, choked sound escaping him.

"Fuck, oh my god," he murmurs.

You smile, and it's a little wicked, and it's enough to make his cock twitch again.

"Do you like that, Deputy?" You're teasing him, and it's clear, and he can't help but groan, his face flushed and eyes downcast.

"Yeah, I do, fuck, please don't stop," and he's practically rambling, like his mind can't process the fact that his cock is leaking and you haven't even taken his briefs off yet.

"Hmm," you say, and then you pull his briefs down, and his erection bobs out, flushed and red and dripping precum. He's so hard and he's so desperate. God, if anyone could see him like this, he's not sure he'd survive.

"Oh, wow," you breathe, and the way you're looking at him is almost too much, and he swallows hard.

"Please," he croaks, and the desperation in his voice is obvious.

"You're so pretty, Deputy," you murmur, and then your lips are ghosting the tip, and his hips buck, and the sound he makes is high and strangled.

"Men...  men aren't supposed to be pretty," he manages, and his voice is unsteady, like he's repeating something he's only heard and doesn't actually believe.

"But you are. Look at you."

You're just mouthing little kisses along his length now, and it's making him crazy.

"M'not pretty," he manages.

You hum against his shaft and it makes him jerk.

"S'true, I'm not. Men aren't, fuck, they aren't-"

"Shh, Deputy, you're okay," and your voice is soothing and gentle.

"I'm okay," he echoes.

"Mm-hm."

You take his tip in your mouth, just sucking softly, and the groan he lets out is long and needy.

"Please," he chokes, his voice cracking.

"Shh," you say, and then the hand not resting on his thigh comes up to stroke the base of his cock, and the noise he makes is desperate.

"Holy fuck, oh my god, please," his words are tumbling out, like his brain has completely shut off.

Your lips slide down lower, and your tongue moves along the underside of his shaft, and the choked moan he lets out is obscene.

He's trembling a little, and the hand not in his hair is clenching the comforter, and the sight is beautiful.

"Shh," you say, pulling away with a pop. The sound he makes is involuntary.

"Please, please, oh my god, oh my fucking god," his eyes are closed, and his brow is furrowed, and his breath is coming in shallow little pants.

"Gator."

The word comes out softly, gently, but his eyes snap open. There's a vulnerability there, something a little wide and shocked.

"I'm gonna go nice and slow, and I want you to count. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," and his voice is low and breathy.

You lean in again, taking him slowly, his breath catching.

"One," he manages, and his hips are trembling.

"Good boy," you murmur, pulling off, and the praise makes his breath catch.

"Two."

You move back in, sucking along his shaft, the noise he lets out is long and low.

"Thr-three."

You work him deeper, a desperate, needy groan escapes him.

"Four."

His voice is soft, like the numbers are something to hold on to.

"Five," he gasps.

Your hand reaches up to rest on his chest and the contact makes him groan again. The way his hips jerk makes you smile.

"Six."

His breaths are ragged and labored, the sight is a beautiful thing as you look up at him, your mouth full of his cock. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is open, just slightly, like his mind can't even process what's happening. His usually slicked back hair is slightly messy from him running his hands over it.

"Please, please, oh my god, fuck, seven, fuck," voice is a little higher, a little more unsteady, and the fact that his control is slipping is delicious.

You start to work his cock faster, and the choked moan he lets out is loud.

"Fuck, please, please, please. Eight. Nine, oh my god, nine." 

He's stuttering, his eyes closing.

Your mouth is moving, and the sounds are lewd, and the fact that you're doing this to him, the fact that you're the one who is in charge, the fact that you're the one bringing him apart is making him crazy.

You're bobbing, the hand that was stroking his base is moving lower to massage his balls, eliciting a strangled and desperate noise.

"Fuck, ten, oh my god, eleven, fuck, twelve, oh my fucking god, thirteen, fourteen," his brain is melting, and it's the prettiest thing.

Your other hand reaches up to gently run down his torso, underneath his shirt, and the contact makes his body shiver.

"Fuck, oh my god, fifteen. God, god, sixteen, seventeen, fuck, eighteen, nineteen..."

His cock twitches in your mouth and you moan a little around him. The sound is enough to make his eyes snap open, the noise that escapes his throat a strangled, choking sort of sob.

"Shit, fuck, fuck, oh my god, I'm, shit, twenty, oh my fucking god," and the words are a jumble, and his hips are jerking, and his thighs are trembling, and it's obvious how close he is.

When your nails scratch down his torso just a little, his back arches.

"Oh, god, oh god, oh god, oh my fucking god, please…"

It's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, fuck, oh my god, please." His words are rushing out as his hands clench.

You're moving faster and the wet sounds are filthy, the way his breath is catching is perfect. You look up and catch his eyes with your own, making him spill a litany of curses and prayers, his voice breaking deliciously.

You can tell he's close. You pull off just enough to say "ask me nicely," and the whine he lets out is pathetic, like the act of speaking is impossible.

His voice is broken, like he's never asked for anything before. “Please.”

"Please what, Deputy?" Your words are a purr.

"Can I- fuck, can I cum? Wanna cum so bad, wanna cum for you…”

"Eyes on me." You say softly, before sticking your tongue out and stroking him slowly.

"Yes, fuck, please, thank you, yes.” The gratitude is a little surprising, a little sweet.

He cums in hot spurts, his eyes a little wet. You have a hard time catching all of it in your mouth, so some leaks out.

"Thank you, thank you, holy shit." He looks completely wrecked.

You swallow and the way his cock twitches makes him let out a desperate whine.

"That was so good, Deputy," you murmur, wiping the corner of your mouth. "You did such a good job."

The phrase is enough to make his eyes widen a little, his chest heaving, and it's clear to you then that praise is a shock for him.

"Did a good job," he echoes, and the words are soft, like he's testing the sound of them.

"You did. You did a great job." You place a soft kiss to his now limp cock. "So good for me."

"Yeah," he manages, and it's obvious he's trying to process what's happened.

You start to get up, watching him as you do. His gaze is on you, and it's clear that the fact that you're still clothed, while he's half bare and panting, is starting to sink in.

"I think I might take a shower," you say casually, walking towards the bathroom.

"Wait, wait, are you—you're leaving?"

The way he says it is vulnerable, a little uncertain. 

You turn around then.

"I think the only noise complaint was coming from your mouth, Deputy."

His eyes widen a little.

"Get yourself cleaned up. You know the way out."

"But-"

You're already stepping into the bathroom, closing the door.

There's a pause, and the silence feels heavy.

He swallows, clears his throat, runs a hand down his face. Sits there, half-naked and dumb, his mouth hanging open, his brain still fuzzy.

He doesn’t have to be here.

In fact, there’s probably some minor infraction happening across town. Like someone jaywalking, or the high school kids smoking behind the Taco Bell again. And yet, Gator’s cruiser is parked right outside the public library like he’s got a goddamn overdue research paper.

He told Roy he was “checking on a community concern.” Left it vague on purpose. It’s not even a lie, technically. The concern is that his brain hasn’t stopped replaying the sound of your voice saying “good boy” on a loop for seventy-two hours, and if he doesn’t see you again soon he might actually melt into the vinyl seat of his patrol car.

When he walks in, you're behind the main desk typing something into the computer. Sweater again, this one pale blue with little cloud buttons. Your hair’s pulled back. Glasses on.

You don’t look up when the door chimes.

You don’t flinch when he walks past the kid’s section.

You don’t even blink when he leans one elbow on the counter and says, “Afternoon.”

You glance up, totally placid. “Deputy Tillman. Everything alright?”

He swallows. Your voice is light. Polite. Absolutely fucking criminal.

“Uh, yeah. Just followin’ up on that… noise complaint.”

You blink. Tilt your head a little, a quirk he won’t admit he finds cute. “The frogs?”

“Right. Rowdy bunch.”

You nod once, like this is a perfectly normal conversation. “Well, I haven’t played any amphibian-themed podcasts at top volume lately, if that’s what you’re here about.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Community check-in, then. Public safety and such.”

“Mmm. Of course.”

You go back to typing.

He stands there like a dumbass, just watching your fingers move across the keyboard like they didn’t make him beg a few nights ago. Like you didn’t lick the tip of his cock and praise him like he was something worth praising.

The contrast is making him crazy.

You glance up again. “Did you need help with something?”

He clears his throat. “Thought maybe I’d, uh, do a walkthrough. Safety inspection.”

“Of the library?”

He nods, almost too fast. “Uh-huh. Could be… fire hazard, exposed wiring, structural…” His eyes flick to a clearly labeled “EMPLOYEES ONLY” door behind the desk. “Mold.”

You blink once, slow. “Right. The hidden black mold epidemic in rural North Dakota.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

A beat. Then you close the lid of your laptop and gesture toward the hallway behind you.

“Well, you’re welcome to take a look around, Deputy. Just don’t get lost in the archives.”

He nods, stepping around the desk like he belongs there, like he’s not just following the smell of your perfume and the ghost of your mouth on his cock. The hall is narrow, lined with staff posters and a flickering light overhead. You’re already walking ahead of him, casual as anything, hands in the pockets of your skirt.

And then you stop in front of a half-closed door marked “STAFF WORKROOM.”

You glance over your shoulder. “This one’s usually the messiest. Just FYI.”

He swallows, heart knocking around in his chest like it wants out.

“Appreciate the warning,” he mutters, trying to sound casual, but his voice is already lower, rougher. Hungry.

You open the door.

You step inside.

He follows.

And just like that, you’re alone again.

Same silence. Same still air.

Only now there’s a copy machine humming in the corner and the scent of dust and paper and whatever lotion you’re wearing.

He turns toward you. You’re already shutting the door behind you.

The door clicks shut and the lock slides into place like a punctuation mark. Gator stands there, hands on his hips, trying not to stare but already failing. He doesn’t know what he expected. A dusty filing cabinet. Maybe an unplugged laminator.

You don’t say anything at first. Just turn around slow, eyes dragging over him like you’re measuring something. He feels like a piece of furniture.

A big, twitchy, half-hard piece of furniture. 

“Deputy,” you say, voice syrupy sweet. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

 He licks his lips. “Think so.”

You move slowly across the room, like you’ve got all the time in the world. Pale blue sweater, neat little collar poking out, sleeves pushed to the crook of your elbows. You’re not even trying to be sexy. Which makes it worse.

Gator’s eyes drag down you. The way your skirt shifts when you move. The soft curve beneath the waistband. He swallows, shifts his stance. Tries not to imagine what your tits look like without the sweater in the way. Fails immediately.

Bet they’re soft. Bet they’d fill both hands just right. Jesus. Stop. Focus.

But he doesn’t look away.

You pause, fingers absently straightening a stack of construction paper. Not a single glance in his direction. You’re letting the quiet stretch, just to see what he does with it.

And Gator? Gator’s dumb enough to fill the silence.

“You always keep the door locked on inspection tours?” he asks, voice a little rough.

You hum like you’re thinking about it. Still not looking at him. “Only when I know you’re gonna stare at my tits again.”

Gator chokes.

You finally turn.

Eyes calm. Voice sweet.

“Been catching you,” you continue, stepping toward him, “Every time you think I’m not looking.”

He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

You stop in front of him, just a little too close. Close enough he can smell whatever lotion you’re wearing. Close enough he can see the edge of lace peeking from under your sweater collar. His brain drops the rest of its vocabulary.

“I don’t mind,” you say. “Just figured you should know I notice.”

Your hand lifts—gentle, light—and smooths the edge of his collar. He’s standing still now, statue-stiff, cock already heavy in his pants. It's fucking humiliating.

“But if you’re gonna gawk,” you murmur, “you might as well be useful about it.”

You’re already backing him toward the chair.

He doesn't resist, just lets himself be guided. Just like in your bedroom.

You nudge him into the seat and lean over his shoulder, voice soft against his ear.

"Don't move, Deputy."

Then you straighten, step back, and slowly unbutton your sweater, placing it neatly on a stack of books like you have all the time in the world.

The white camisole underneath is thin and sleeveless, and the fabric clings to the shape of your body, tracing the line of your bra and the dip of your waist. Gator can see the curve of your breasts and the outline of your nipples through the thin cotton.

He doesn't move, just watches, transfixed.

You step forward, one hand on the back of the chair and the other sliding across his chest, up his shoulder. You lean down, the soft fabric brushing his cheek.

"Doing okay, deputy?"

He's not.

He can't remember what words mean, or how his hands are supposed to work.

"Uh-huh," he mutters.

"You want to touch? Just a little?"

He nods, dumb as a stump, eyes locked on the way the fabric clings to your curves. You reach for the hemp of your camisole, lifting it up slowly, inch by inch. Your navel, the line of your waist, the bottom swell of your breast, the underside of your collarbone. All the way to the neckline, pulling it over your head.

You go to take your glasses off next but he touches your free hand. "No..."

"No?"

He licks his lips. "Please... leave them."

You pause. "Alright."

Gator swallows, hands hovering uselessly, palms sweaty. You lean forward and his breath catches, eyes roaming over the soft lace of your bra that barely contains the curves of your tits.

You set the camisole with your sweater, careful and precise. You straighten. Turn.

"Hands."

He obeys, setting his big palms on your waist, callused thumbs brushing the soft skin just above the skirt band.

"Good boy."

He shivers, cock jerking against his zipper.

Your fingers are gentle on his, guiding them to your breasts, pressing his hands over the lace.

His breath catches, eyes wide and mouth open, thumbs already tracing the edge of the fabric. You hum, low, approving.

"That's it," you murmur, letting him squeeze, feeling the warmth of your skin.

Your hands move, guiding his upward, slipping the straps off your shoulders, sliding the cups down until his palms brush bare skin.

Your eyes lock on his face, watch him react.

It's everything he wanted and nothing like he expected.

The weight of your tits in his hands, the way they fill his palms, the softness, the heat. He strokes the pads of his thumbs across your nipples, watching them pebble beneath his touch. You inhale, slow and deliberate, moving to straddle him in the chair. Your skirt bunches up at your hips as you hover there, not fully letting your weight settle against him yet.

His hips buck up almost involuntarily, like he's chasing the feel of you. You tut, soft and gentle. "Keep your hands here."

He nods, and you reward him by grinding down just enough for him to feel the heat of your pussy.

"That's it," you whisper, rolling against him again, slow and steady. "You're doing so well."

His fingers tighten, and he has to bite back a groan. You lean forward and press a gentle kiss against the side of his neck. "Want more? Ask nicely."

"P... please."

Your nails rake up his arms, just hard enough to leave marks. "Please what? Be specific. You can do that, can't you?"

"Let me..." he mutters, breathless, voice trailing off.

"Let you what?"

"Please... I wanna... want your nipples."

"To do what, exactly?"

"Suck 'em."

"Mmmm, good boy."

His hands shake as you guide them behind your back. He fumbles with the clasp, and when he finally manages it, his breath catches in his throat as you slip your bra off your arms.

He leans forward and his mouth is on your nipple, tongue tracing the sensitive skin, his breath hot and fast. You sigh, fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently.

"Just like that."

His teeth graze your skin and you arch against him, grinding down as he sucks, hands tight on your waist. He groans around your tit, muffled and hungry.

Your breath catches as his grip tightens.

"Fuck..." He releases your nipple with a pop, breathing hard, mouth open. "I... fuck, sorry, I-"

"You really like those, don't you?"

His face is red. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes.

"Yeah."

"Good. They're nice, aren't they? Soft and warm."

"Mhm."

"Why don't you kiss the other one and show me how much you like it?"

He licks his lips, glances up, and then leans forward again.

You can feel him trembling, breath ragged and desperate. His lips are soft, almost hesitant, but when he wraps his mouth around your nipple, you can't help but gasp, arching into him.

He moans, the sound muffled around the flesh in his mouth, and sucks. Hard.

One of his hands is on your waist and the other is kneading your opposite breast, pinching and rolling.

You start to grind on him again, and this time he arches up, meeting the movement. You can feel his cock through his pants, hard and hot, rubbing against panties.

He releases your nipple, and you shiver when he exhales.

"F... fuck..."

You smile, tugging his hair and guiding his head back to your breast. "Good boy. You're being so good. But I didn't say you could stop."

He doesn't, immediately returning to sucking and nipping at the flesh, making you gasp and writhe against him. He groans around you, and his hips buck up again.

The chair squeaks, and his hands are on your hips now, gripping so hard you can feel his fingers twitch and you wonder if he'd be holding onto you the same way if his belt was undone.

He's still thrusting against you, the rhythm growing unsteady, and you stroke your hand through his hair while you praise him. "Such a good boy for me, aren't you? Getting so excited you can't sit still."

He makes a desperate noise and tries to grind against you harder. You tug his hair, just enough to get his attention. "Eyes on me, Gator."

He looks up, switching to the other nipple and licking eagerly, his gaze focused on yours, the picture of obedience.

"There you go," you breathe, your own hips moving faster, seeking more friction. "So eager, so good."

He knows he's going to cum in his pants and he can't find it in him to care.

Your fingers dig into his scalp and the muscles of your legs are starting to shake, but Gator's still latched onto your tit, sucking and nipping, lost in the feel of you.

You grind down harder and he arches up, meeting the rhythm. His breath hitches, and his whole body is trembling.

"You can cum," you murmur. "It's okay. I know you want to. Cum for me, baby. Cum in your pants. I know you'll be a good boy and clean up afterward. You want to, don't you?"

His moan is muffled by your tit, but the vibration makes your pussy clench.

"That's it," you encourage, voice breathy and shaking. "That's a good boy. Let go. Cum for me. Cum all over yourself."

You can feel him shaking, feel his hips jerk and his grip tighten.

He lets go, cums so hard he can't see straight, whines like a dog when his hips stop moving.

"There you go," you whisper, still rolling against him, chasing your own orgasm. "You're so good, Gator. So good."

He moans, face buried in your tits, still shaking. Your voice is shaky, but he can tell you're trying to stay calm, stay in control. It only makes him hotter.

He's dizzy. Breathless. He feels like he's been wrung out and tossed in a heap.

You kiss his forehead before you untangle yourself from him, and the gentleness of the gesture makes his chest hurt.

You pull your bra up, putting your cami and sweater on with the same care you took taking them off. You don't speak until you're fully dressed, hair neat, and glasses straight.

"Well," you say, voice light, casual. "I'd say that was a successful inspection. Thank you, Deputy. I'll leave you to clean up after yourself. Don't forget to lock the door on the way out."

Then you walk out.

And just like that, Gator's alone in a library staff room, sticky and spent and trying to catch his breath.

His first thought is, holy shit, that just happened.

His second thought is, what the fuck does he do next?

He shifts, hissing a little at the mess in his boxers, and takes a moment to just breathe, replaying the last few minutes. Your hands, guiding his across your tits, your hips rolling against his cock, the feeling of your hands in his hair.

Fuck.

He needs to move.

Now.

He pushes himself up and grimaces at the state of his pants, sticky and uncomfortable, and he's suddenly struck with the urge to laugh. Here he is, a grown man, getting off in his work pants because some girl told him to.

The girl who is currently out there, behind the main desk, probably acting like nothing happened.

Gator shakes his head, straightens his shirt, and tugs the hem of his jacket down, trying to disguise the wet spot.

It's a lost cause, but maybe no one will notice. He's just gonna have to hope for the best. And also, probably, that none of the town gossips are lurking near the reference section today.

Because if he gets seen like this?

The rumor mill will grind him into paste.

He can hear them now, all of the old biddies at the coffee shop, sitting around the tables and sipping decaf with extra foam, talking about the state of his fly and the state of his dignity.

All he can smell is spilled vodka and cucumber melon body spray.

It assaults his nose as one of the girls is on his lap, straddling him like it’s a job (which, to be fair, it is) but she’s doing that fake moan thing in his ear like she actually gives a shit. Gator exhales through his nose, eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder, past the glitter and the strobe lights. His buddies are hooting and hollering in the next booth over, trying to shove bills between a brunette’s ass cheeks. Sheriff’s department morale night.

Fuckin’ great.

She’s pretty, he guesses. Long lashes. Little shorts. Tits pressed up under his chin like a goddamn buffet. She keeps asking what he wants her to do and it’s supposed to be hot, supposed to make him feel powerful, wanted.

She’s pliant. Willing. Waiting for direction.

And he’s bored out of his goddamn mind.

His cock hasn’t moved an inch. Hasn’t even twitched. It’s like his whole body knows something his brain doesn’t want to admit.

He shifts under her, lets her grind against him a little more. Tries to focus. Tries to pretend it’s working. She leans in and whispers something about the champagne room and he almost laughs.

He could fuck her. Right now. Right outside in his truck if he wanted.

Bet she’d let him pull her panties to the side and bend her over the hood. Probably wouldn’t even blink. Would make some fake little gasping sounds and call him daddy and let him talk dirty right into her throat.

He should want that.

Jesus, he used to want that.

He pulls on his vape instead, a bitter strawberry cloud filling his throat. She’s still moving on him and he just stares past her at the neon Bud Light sign behind the bar, wondering why the hell his skin feels too tight.

You flash through his head before he can stop it.

Your voice. Your hands. That soft cardigan with the sunflowers. The way you looked at him like you were peeling him apart one piece at a time. The way you told him to lie down like he wasn’t even in the goddamn room unless you said so.

He exhales slow, lets the vape hang between his fingers.

"You're not hard," she pouts, tilting her head like maybe that’ll change something.

"No shit," he mutters.

She blinks. Smiles again. Still trying. “We could—”

He doesn’t let her finish.

Gator plants both hands on her hips and lifts her off like she weighs nothing, setting her to the side like she’s a gym bag. Her eyebrows shoot up but he doesn’t even look at her. Just stands, adjusts his belt, and heads for the door.

One of the guys yells his name, but he waves them off. Another hits the table, laughs loud. “Tillman’s too fucked up to function!”

He doesn’t correct them.

Out in the parking lot, the wind hits him like a bucket of water. Cold. Sober-ish.

He lights a cigarette, something he hasn’t done in a while since he got this stupid strawberry thing, and smokes it down like it was nothing. Then climbs into his truck with a slam of the door. The upholstery still smells like grease and fast food. He doesn’t even turn the heat on.

His leg’s bouncing before he’s halfway out of the lot.

God, what the fuck is wrong with him?

You. That’s what.

You, standing in your kitchen acting like tea is some kind of sex drug. You, pulling your glasses down just a little to look at him. You, locking that goddamn workroom door like it was nothing.

He’s gripping the steering wheel tighter than he needs to and now he’s hard. Not when some perfect piece of ass was grinding all over him, but when he thinks about some fucking sunflower buttons on a sweater.

Maybe it’s the booze. Maybe it’s the strip club. Maybe it’s the fact that the last time he came from a woman was with your voice in his ear and his pants still on.

He sucks on the vape again. Harder.

You’re in his head like a fucking landmine.

By the time he pulls up outside your house, his palms are sweating. Lights are off except for the warm little glow from the porch. Same paper leaf garland. Same ceramic pumpkins from Target or wherever the hell people like you shop. You’re probably asleep. Probably curled up under a quilt with some weird fantasy book and a mug of herbal shit that smells like orange peel.

Gator kills the engine. Sits in the dark. Lets the silence press in tight.

His dick’s still hard and aching just from thinking about you in pajamas.

He hits the vape again.

Then again.

Then, finally, he gets out of the truck.

You can’t sleep.

It’s almost one in the morning and the chamomile isn’t doing shit, but you make the tea anyway.

Old habits.

The house is still except for the kettle and the wind tapping against the windows. You’re in an oversized t-shirt and socks, hair tied up and glasses slipping down your nose. You figure maybe a book will help, or a walk around the living room. Maybe if you just sit with it, your mind will settle.

Then comes the knock.

Three sharp raps, straight to the center of the door. Not loud. Just confident.

You don’t jump. You just sigh.

You already know who it is.

You open the door with the mug still in your hand, steam curling into the night air.

And there he is.

Not in uniform. Not in anything even close to it.

Same camo cargos he probably rarely washes, black leather jacket, and a backwards mesh hat that makes him look about five years younger and ten times more pathetic. The porch light casts a yellow haze over his face. His eyes are bloodshot. His cheeks pink from the cold. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets like he’s trying not to fidget, like if he shifts too much you’ll see the hard-on pressing against his fly.

You raise an eyebrow. Keep your voice even.

“Deputy Tillman. What brings you by at this hour?”

He exhales hard through his nose, jaw clenched tight. Doesn’t meet your eyes. Doesn’t even try to be smooth or come up with an excuse

“I’m pissed,” he blurts.

You blink. “Okay…”

“I’m fuckin’ pissed at you,” he repeats, louder now, shifting from one foot to the other like he’s trying to work something out of his system. “Can’t even jerk off without thinkin’ about your voice. Got this chick grindin’ on me for half an hour at the strip club and nothin’. Not even a twitch. She’s hot, too. Like, normal hot. Tits out, moaning in my fuckin’ ear, beggin’ me to take her in the private rooms or whatever. And I got nothin’. Zilch. Fuckin’ dead inside my own pants.”

You stare at him over the rim of your mug.

He keeps going.

“You wanna know the worst part? You didn’t even do anything last time. Just told me what to do. Like I was one of those little kids in your storytime circle. And I came so hard in my pants I thought I was gonna pass out.”

He’s breathing harder now, shoulders rising with every word. You don’t say anything. You just wait.

“And now I’m fucked,” he says. “Now I’m hard all the time. Or not hard at all. I don’t even know anymore. I just know you ruined it. You got in my head with your little teacher voice and your fuckin’ soft hands and now I can’t think straight.”

You tilt your head slightly. “I think you might be having a crisis.”

He looks miserable. And furious. And still hard.

“I am havin’ a crisis,” he snaps. “And I need you to do somethin’ about it.”

You sip your tea. Hold his gaze.

Then, without a word, you open the door a little wider.

He doesn’t ask questions. Just steps past you like he belongs here, like this is where he was always meant to end up.

You shut the door behind him and start walking toward the hall. He follows without hesitation, boots heavy on the hardwood.

No words. No teasing.

You don’t need to say anything.

You just lead him to the bedroom.

Inside your bedroom, you set your mug down on the nightstand like this isn’t the end of the fucking world. Like you’re not about to peel him apart in the dark with a whisper and a fingertip.

The room smells like you- a hint of whatever perfume clings to your sweaters.

You don’t say anything at first. Just look at him like you’re trying to figure something out.

He’s standing there like a goddamn idiot. Hands shoved in his pockets. Shoulders squared too tight. Whole body is twitchy like he’s waiting for a command, like he doesn’t know what to do unless someone tells him. His dick is still hard and his throat is dry and there’s something itchy trying to crawl out of his chest.

You come to him slow.

Touch his face like he’s made of glass.

And ask, real soft, real serious, “Why do you hate this so much?”

He swallows. Tries to laugh. It doesn’t land.

“I don’t hate it,” he says, eyes flicking away from you. “That’s the problem.”

You keep looking at him.

He shifts.

“It’s just—” he starts, then stops. Runs a hand over his mouth. “Men are supposed to be strong. That’s what my dad always said. Like, if you give someone the reins, you’re fucked. That’s weakness. That’s—”

He doesn’t finish.

Because your mouth is at his jaw.

Just a ghost of a kiss. Barely there.

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. He should stop this. He should say something mean or horny or stupid just to make the feeling go away, but all he can do is stand there while you unzip his jacket. Carefully. Like it’s not even a piece of clothing, just another layer to peel back.

You drape it over the chair. Take his dumb hat off next and toss it somewhere out of sight. Your fingers graze his scalp.

He wants to say something but his voice won’t work right. There’s a burn building behind his eyes and he swallows it down like hot bile.

“Take your boots off,” you murmur.

So he does. Awkwardly. One at a time. Leaves them by the bed like a kid coming in from the cold.

You don’t ask him to sit. He just does it. Drops onto the edge of the mattress like his knees gave out.

And then you climb into his lap.

It’s slow. Sure. Like it’s just a thing you were always gonna do.

You kiss him again, this time at the curve of his neck. Up along his jaw. His hands hover at your thighs but he doesn’t grab, doesn’t grope, just holds still like he’s afraid he’ll mess it up.

And then he notices.

You haven’t kissed him.

Not on the mouth.

Not once.

And he’s not even the kind of guy who gives a shit about kissing. That’s for girls in rom-coms and teenagers with prom corsages and people who read those shitty sex advice columns in Cosmo. He’s not that guy.

But suddenly he wants it.

God, he wants it.

He shifts up toward you, just a little, like maybe you’ll meet him halfway.

You don’t.

You pull back, just enough to keep the distance.

“Kissing’s too intimate for what this is,” you say, matter-of-fact.

It hits him like a brick.

His mouth opens, shuts. He lets out a noise, part groan, part whine, something that feels embarrassing the second it leaves his chest.

“I don’t care,” he mutters.

You blink, caught off guard because he means it.

He doesn’t care if it’s too intimate or too soft or too fucking vulnerable. He wants to kiss you. He wants to be kissed. He wants to come home to you and have you make him tea and rub the knots out of his shoulders and tell him he’s good. He wants to sit on this stupid bed and let you undo him like a fucking bedtime routine.

You study him for a long moment, and something in your face makes him start talking again. Words tumble out, low and rough, like he’s afraid they’ll rot if he keeps them inside.

“I don’t wanna be like him,” he says. “My old man. With the young wives and the bruises nobody talked about. He calls it love, but it’s just noise. I can’t—” He stops, jaw tight, searching for the right piece of language that never seems to fit. “I don’t wanna grab at people just ‘cause I can.”

Your hand is still at his cheek, thumb just below his eye. He looks younger than you’ve ever seen him. Almost fragile. The words keep coming, halting but honest.

“I’m not good at this shit. I don’t know how to do the… gentle part. I don’t even know what I’m asking for, I just—” He laughs once, humorless. “I just need to feel like I ain’t wreckin’ everything I touch.”

The air in the room feels different now, quieter. He’s still talking, softer.

“I could try,” he murmurs. “If you’d let me. I could learn. I swear I could.”

He looks up at you then, eyes glassy, mouth parted like he’s still trying to apologize for existing. It isn’t lust anymore. It’s just raw need to be seen as something more than the badge he didn’t earn, more than his last name. More than a fuck up or a loser.

You hesitate. Long enough for his breathing to start to shake. Then you lean forward, so close that your forehead touches his. He stops talking. The silence stretches until it almost breaks.

And then, finally, you kiss him.

It's soft, and his lips are so eager for it that you want to laugh. He doesn't try to take over, he just melts under the weight of it, like he's been waiting for permission. You let your hands cup his face, and you can feel him shaking, almost imperceptibly.

"Good boy," you whisper. "You're being such a good boy for me. You're so good."

He's so responsive to praise, it makes your head swim.

You can feel his breath catch, his lips part. You keep kissing him, deep and slow.

His arms wrap around your waist, but he's not trying to move you, not trying to take. Just holding, like he's trying to convince himself he's allowed.

It's intoxicating.

The way he just leans into it, letting you lead, the way his chest rises and falls with his ragged breathing. You speak to him in between kisses.

"You just want to be good don't you? That's all you want. To please me, make me happy, make me proud. Don't you?"

His hands grip you tighter, a little desperate. He's nodding before you even finish, breath catching as you kiss the corner of his mouth. "Please."

It's barely audible.

"Please, yes, I wanna..."

"Shhh."

Your hands slip from his face, moving down his shoulders, tracing the planes of his chest, your fingers splayed. You press closer, feeling his erection through his pants.

He whimpers, and it's still the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. You palm him through the fabric, as his eyes flutter shut. You don't know how long he's been hard for, but you know he's sensitive.

"You know..." You start, truths spilling out of you. "I'm very aware of your reputation."

He chokes out a breath, but doesn't respond, and you continue.

"Everyone in this town knows how you are. But none of them matter." You move your hand lower, tracing the outline of his cock. "I don't care how many people you've fucked or how hard you've fucked them."

You press the heel of your palm against him and he groans.

"I bet it feels so empty..." You continue. "Doesn't it? Those girls don't matter. They're nothing but a body and a warm hole to fill. They'll spread their legs for anyone with a badge and a nice truck. That's not what you want. That's not what you need."

He moans, grinding into your hand, trying to seek out friction.

"I... please... I need-"

You lean forward, pressing another kiss to his lips, and when you pull back, your eyes are locked on his.

"It's okay to want to be taken care of, Gator. Let me take care of you."

He nods, breathing harder, and you pull back, moving to unbuckle his belt.

He watches, eyes wide, as you unzip his fly, and tug his pants down. He lifts his hips, eager to comply, and the fabric slips over his ass, his thighs. You slide his boxers off next, and his cock springs free.

"Such a pretty cock. So hard for me." You wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly, watching his face. He moans, low, hips arching toward your hand. "Take your shirt off."

He doesn't hesitate. The tee joins the pile on the floor. His arms are toned, corded with muscle, and you take a moment to run your fingers over his chest, the dark dusting of hair, the freckles on his shoulders.

He's beautiful.

You stroke him a little faster, and he lets out a noise that's half moan, half whimper. He's fully naked under you and you haven't even taken off a piece of clothing.

You move up his body, straddling him, and grind against his bare cock. You're wearing cotton panties, the soft fabric rubbing against him.

"Look at me."

His eyes lock on yours.

"Are you gonna cum? From a little friction? A few strokes?"

He swallows hard. "Yes."

"Well...we can't have that." You say, easing off of him, standing in front of him as he sits there, naked and pathetic in the most gorgeous way. His big eyes stare up at you, full of need. "You showed up really late, Gator. And I can tell you've had a few drinks. And your breath tastes like cigarettes..."

He winces a little.

"So, you're gonna have to make it up to me."

You lift off your large shirt and drop it on the floor, standing there in your panties and nothing else, before letting you hair down and setting your glasses on the nightstand. You take his hand and gently pull him to stand up, putting his calloused hands on your breasts as you speak.

"Everyone knows Gator Tillman fucks fast and hard," you begin. "But they also know he isn't a giver."

You reach down and cup his cock, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"You're going to learn how to fuck someone properly. And you're not gonna cum until I tell you."

He nods as you turn the both of you around, taking a seat on the bed, legs spread.

"On your knees."

He wants to protest, wants to say he's not gonna lick you out like some dog or something equally as crude, but the words die before they leave his tongue. It was true, he never even thought to do it, he was too busy thinking about how to get his cock wet. 

You sit, legs spread, the fabric of your panties damp. He licks his lips, looking at the wet patch, and then up at you. You smile.

"Knees."

His throat goes dry, and his body moves without his mind telling it to, sinking onto the hardwood. You guide him between your legs, his hands on your thighs.

"Take my panties off."

He doesn't speak as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband and tugs them down, slow, like he's unwrapping a gift. You raise your hips, helping him slide them off. Then you lean back on your elbows, hair falling around your shoulders.

"Gonna be bad at this," he mutters, staring at your bare pussy.

"It's okay. You'll figure it out."

He takes a breath and moves forward, his hands sliding up your thighs. His thumb finds the apex of your folds and he swipes up, slow. His voice is rough when he speaks. "You're already wet."

"Mhm. How does that make you feel?" God, your voice is so gentle, that slight condescending tone.

"I... I dunno." He lies.

"Yes you do. Tell me."

"Like you want me," he mutters. "Want me bad."

"Do I?"

"Mhm. Can't wait for me to eat your pussy."

"You sound pretty sure about that. Have you ever eaten a girl out, deputy?"

His mouth opens, but he can't think of an answer. Not a truthful one, anyway.

"That's what I thought."

Your hand is gentle on the back of his head, and you guide him forward, toward your pussy. He can feel you, wet and hot and waiting. His pulse is pounding in his ears.

He's never done this. Not really. Not even with his high school girlfriend who liked to boss him around. She didn't want his mouth anywhere near her pussy. He remembers that much.

You're not asking.

Your thighs are warm beneath his hands. He can smell the soft lotion you wear. Your fingers tighten in his hair.

"Prove that pretty mouth can do so much more than talk shit."

And his mouth is on you.

It's warm and wet and his nose is pressed against your skin, and it's not what he expected, not at all.

You're guiding his head, just a little, just enough that his stubble is scratching the inside of your thighs and the tip of his nose brushes your clit and his mouth is making these soft little noises like he's drinking straight from the tap.

He's never felt a pussy this close before. It's different. Slicker. Hotter. You're already wet, and the smell is intoxicating, sweet and musky and raw. He tries to keep his eyes open, tries to look at you while his tongue darts out, but he can't keep it up for more than a few seconds before he has to close his eyes and inhale the scent of you.

"There you go," you breathe, the pressure at the back of his head relaxing, letting him explore. "Such a good boy. Don't overthink it. Just use that smart mouth."

He moans, and his cock twitches, heavy and aching between his legs.

He keeps licking, his tongue flat against the apex of your folds, the taste coating his tongue and filling his head. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, doesn't know if he should try to spread you or grip your thighs, doesn't even know if he should be looking up or focusing on what he's doing, but you haven't told him to stop yet.

"You're holding back." You groan. "Don't think that's fair to me, after how good I've treated you. Don't be shy, Gator. Put your whole mouth on me. Suck and lick. I know you've wanted to taste me."

He doesn't respond. He just follows the direction, his lips wrapped around your clit. He sucks, and your breath hitches, the first sign of anything other than control. It's intoxicating, and his own dick is painfully hard, bobbing in the air, neglected.

He pulls off your clit and drags his tongue lower, feeling the wetness coat his chin. He dips his tongue into your entrance, and you moan.

"That's it," you whisper. "Just like that. So good, Gator. You're being so good for me."

Your hands are gentle, guiding his head back up to your clit, and he groans as you roll your hips, grinding against his mouth.

His hands move, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, and he can feel your body start to shake.

He sucks, hard, and his own cock aches at the way you whine. Your thighs squeeze around his head and he keeps licking, the slick wet heat making him dizzy.

You're close, he can tell. You're trembling, rolling against his mouth, and the soft noises coming from you are the hottest fucking thing he's ever heard.

He closes his eyes and sucks, trying to keep his rhythm, and then you're there.

You're gasping, body going tight, and your hand is pulling his hair so hard it hurts. But he doesn't care, he keeps sucking, licking, groaning against you, because you're grinding on his mouth and your cunt is wet and hot and perfect and you taste so fucking good he could do this forever.

You ride his face, and he's lost in the sound of you.

Your nails rake across his scalp and it makes him moan again, the sound muffled, but it's the only noise in the room, aside from the slick sounds of him eating you out.

When you're spent, you relax, legs slipping down onto the bed, and Gator pulls back, breathing hard, eyes dark, chin glistening. Once your breathing steadies, you brace yourself on your elbows, looking down at the man between your legs.

He looks a mess, panting and hard and desperate. His hair is disheveled and his cheeks are flushed and his cock is leaking.

"Look at you," you coo, reaching down to run a finger along his bottom lip, collecting some of your wetness.

He shudders, eyes falling shut, and he leans in toward the touch.

"You're so pretty on your knees," you say. "I think you might be prettiest this way."

He groans, his own cock twitching between his legs, and you let your eyes trace down the lines of his chest, down to the swollen red tip, shining with pre-cum.

"You want to cum don't you? I bet you've been hard since before I took your pants off."

He doesn't answer, just nods, and you tilt his head back, forcing his eyes to meet yours. "Get on the bed baby. Lay down."

His hands grip your hips as he rises to his feet, and you can see his muscles working under his skin. He's a beautiful man, all lean muscle and strength. He's bigger than you, taller, but you don't feel intimidated. He could pick you up and toss you around, but you know he won't.

Not unless you asked.

He turns and sits, and then lays on his back. He looks so big on the mattress, all those broad shoulders and corded muscle, the sharp cut of his hip bones, the thick length of his cock jutting up, curved slightly. You can't help but admire the view.

"I could cum just from lookin' at you," he mutters.

You don't respond. Instead, you climb onto the bed and straddle his hips. You can feel him, hot and hard, and his hips buck, just a little.

"Please." He says, the word barely audible.

"Patience."

You grind against him, his cock slick from his own precum, and his jaw clenches.

"You want me to ride you?"

"Fuck."

You raise an eyebrow. "That's not an answer."

"Yes. God, yes."

You rise up, just a little, and then sink down on him. The slide is slow. You're still wet from his mouth, and your breath catches when his cock pushes into you.

He groans, and his hands clench the sheets before you move them to your hips.

You take him slowly, sinking down until your ass is pressed against his thighs. You can feel him twitching inside of you, his whole body shaking.

"Look at me." You command.

His eyes lock on yours.

"I can't-"

"You're not allowed to cum. Do you understand?"

He nods, his grip on your hips tightening. You start to move, rising up and sliding back down, and his jaw is clenched.

"You look so good beneath me," you murmur.

His throat works as he swallows, and his eyes are fixed on yours.

You reach out, running a finger along his lip. He sucks in a breath and opens his mouth, letting you slip two fingers inside.

He doesn't hesitate, taking the digits in, closing his lips around the intrusion.

"I'm on the pill." You say softly, working your fingers in and out, watching his lips. "But you should ask before you cum inside me. Is that clear?"

He can't answer, not with your fingers in his mouth, and his hips buck involuntarily, making him groan.

"Is that clear?"

He nods, eyes wide, and you pull your fingers from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva.

"Good boy."

You keep moving, rolling your hips, the slide easy, the stretch delicious. You work him harder, riding his cock, and the sounds are obscene, wet and sloppy.

He's shaking, gripping your hips, eyes still locked on yours. He's not moving, not thrusting, just following your lead. His lips part and his chest is rising and falling rapidly, his cock throbbing inside of you.

You're so wet, the slide so smooth, the angle hitting your clit just right. You're already close, and the way he's watching you, like he's trying not to get burned, makes the pressure build.

You keep working yourself, rolling and rising and falling, and his whole body is tense, muscles straining, the tendons in his neck standing out. You're so close and you want him to cum with you, to fill you up.

"Cum," you murmur. "Cum now. Right now. Don't think about it. Just cum."

His eyes flutter closed, his hips arch up, and then he's spilling into you, his hands gripping you so tight it almost hurts.

"Yes," you breathe through your own release. "Just like that. That's it. So good."

He moans, low, his whole body shaking. He doesn't even have to think about it. Your voice is a command.

And his body responds deliciously.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, as the last of his release leaves him. "Jesus. Jesus."

You ease off him slowly, the mess of his cum spilling down your thigh. You lay on your side, placing gentle kisses down the column of this throat as his head is still thrown back, panting, his eyes squeezed shut.

"I..."

"Shhhh. Relax. Take a deep breath."

"Fuck."

"Shhhh."

He lets out a low groan and takes a deep breath, chest rising, then falling, then rising again, until his pulse steadies and his body relaxes, sinking into the bed. You lean on your elbow and run a finger across his jaw, the slight stubble scraping at your skin. His eyes open, half lidded, and his gaze fixes on yours.

"Fuck," he mutters again.

"Did you enjoy that?"

He huffs, almost a laugh, and the corner of his mouth curls up. "Mhm."

"How much?"

His eyebrows lift, but his gaze stays on the ceiling. "More than I thought possible."

"You can look at me, you know."

"Don't know if I can. Kinda afraid I'm dreamin'."

"Well, if you are, then you might as well enjoy it."

He sighs, and turns his head toward you, meeting your eyes. He doesn't speak, and neither do you, just studying his face.

His expression is almost blank, eyes dark, mouth still parted, cheeks still flushed.

"What happens now?"

The words come out quieter than he means them to, and you blink.

"That's up to you."

His face shifts, brows pulling together, lips twisting in something close to a pout. It's almost comical, given who he is.

"Don't play dumb," he says. "You know what I mean."

Your hand traces up the curve of his bicep, across his collarbone, then along his cheek, fingers grazing his stubble. He sighs, and looks up at the ceiling. You study his profile, the line of his nose, the shape of his jaw, the soft, dark hair falling loose around his ears.

"Look, I'm not askin' to date you," he mutters, like that makes it less serious. "I just—"

"You need someone," you murmur.

His throat tightens, his cheeks warm. He's not used to feeling this raw. This open. It's terrifying.

"Yeah," he admits, and the word cracks a little. "I need someone."

Your hand is soft on his chest, right above his heart.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the ceiling. The sheets are tangled, the air thick, and you’re right there, breathing slowly beside him. Your hand found his chest like you were checking to see if his heart still worked.

It does. Too much, maybe.

He turns his head a little, just enough to look at you. You’re watching him like you’re waiting to see if he’ll bolt or break.

He feels like doing both.

He wants to say something, but the words line up wrong in his throat. He thinks about what he said earlier, about not wanting to be like his dad. About needing someone. It sounds stupid now. Childish. Like something you’d hear on a late‑night call‑in radio show between country songs.

You just keep your hand where it is, fingers resting right above the spot where his pulse won’t settle.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’,” he says quietly. “But when I’m with you, it feels like maybe I could get it right. For once.”

Your thumb brushes his skin, barely there. He exhales, slow and shaky, like the air’s been trapped in him for years.

He thinks about the noise of the strip club, the lights, the girl with too much perfume, the emptiness that followed. Then he looks at you, in this soft, dark room, and something inside him goes still.

Maybe it’s not about being in charge. Maybe it never was.

He shifts closer. Not for sex. Not for anything he can name. Just to feel the warmth of your body and the weight of his own breath starting to even out.

“Don’t know what happens now,” he murmurs, voice thick.

“Then don’t think about it,” you answer. “Just rest.”

He wants to say thank you. He wants to say don’t stop touching him. He wants to ask if this counts as love, if it could be, if maybe he didn’t fuck it all up already just by showing up at your door like some broken animal in heat.

Instead, he says the only thing he can get out.

“I don’t wanna go back to bein’ the guy I was before this.”

Your hand stills against his chest. The silence stretches before you whisper, steady as ever, “Then don’t.”

[tellatoast]

Absolutely obsessed. Thank you for the meal🥺

[yeah-iveheardofbears]

don't sweat it

pairing: steve harrington x curvy!reader

summary: you 'help' as steve opens his pool for the summer, but it leads to something much more than swimming

wc: 5.4k

cw: friends to lovers, no upside down au, p in v unprotected, oral (f recieving), fingering, breast and nipple play, curvy reader, some body insecurity, big dick steve, fluff ending, pining, public play if you squint real hard, pool making out with steve harrington because i need him

love notes: I MISSED YOU GUYS!!! i hope this makes up for my absence the last few weeks, i have my spark back and i'm so excited to share my new stuff.

masterlist | consider buying me ko-fi | join my taglists

It was unusually hot for May and Steve's skin glistened in the sun, t-shirt stuck to his chest after all the work he had put in. He let out a breath and wiped off his brow before turning to you, hands on his hips. 

"You know, when I asked you to come over to help open the pool, I assumed you'd, ya know... help." 

You looked up at him over your sunglasses from the pool lounger. Putting your book down you giggled a little at his expectant, panting expression. All brown hair, flushed cheeks, and a light smattering of sweat across his brow. Honestly you thought he'd worked himself into a little tizzy on purpose to get back at you for lounging.

"I AM helping! I am supervising. This is a very delicate job, opening pools, lots of room for error. I'm making sure you do it right. Just a few more minutes... this book is getting really good." You pick your book back up, but he strides over in two quick steps and plucks it from your hands.

"Hey!" You pout up at him as he holds it teasingly just above your head.

"No way," he says with a grin. "I've been fighting off spiders with a skimmer while you bake over here. Your help is officially required."

"You know I don't do spiders." You whine while making grabby hands towards your book.

"I know. Which is why I fought them valiantly on your behalf." He squats down to get on your level. A stray damp curl falling over his forehead, you have a sudden overwhelming urge to push it back. "But your payment is... you're gonna get in here with me now."

"Is it all done?" You peer over his shoulder at the pool, which is now officially uncovered and clean.

"It sure is, your Highness." With a smirk, Steve chucks your novel safely onto the grass. "And you, miss 'supervisor,' are the first one in."

That is the only warning you get before a strong arm snakes around your waist, and another behind your knees.

You fight at him, wailing but laughing, your legs kicking uselessly in the air as he hauls you up, making you feel entirely unceremonious.

"Steve Harrington, you wouldn't dare!" You yell as he gets to the edge, grinning like an idiot at your fake protests.

"Oh honey," he says, adjusting his grip. "It's my duty."

With that he tosses you in, your scream cut short by the cool water hitting your skin and making your entire body seize for a moment. It's only a few seconds before you break the surface, sputtering with laughter while shaking water out of your eyes.

Steve stands there, laughing with his arms folded.

"This is why you don't have a girlfriend." You say, spitting out a mouthful of chlorinated water.

He just raises a brow, taking a step forward as he pulls off his t-shirt, before making one huge leap to land in the water right beside you, soaking you again.

"Oh my god—" you gasp as he resurfaces, hair slicked back and streaming water.

He'd always been beautiful. Even when you were kids, you can't remember him ever going through an awkward phase. Even when he was a straight up dickhead for a few years, you couldn't deny he was good looking. 

Your friendship developed after high school, despite being in the same class since elementary school. Hawkins was small, sure, but it didn't mean there weren't social divisions. 

Your job at Scoops Ahoy last summer broke those. You, Robin, and Steve. The most unlikely trio in this backwater town.

Now you worked together at Family Video. The nights are long, sometimes boring. You'd taken to having dinner at each other's houses. Some nights it's a home-cooked meal with your mom. Sometimes it's pizza at his, while the only sound to be heard was his father clicking through paperwork, two rooms away.

It has inevitably led to a comfortable intimacy. A strange closeness you hadn't expected. One that was starting to become more than just friendship, for you at least. More than once you've found yourself thinking about what might happen if you leaned over the counter and—

A sudden splash of water in your face shakes you out of your reminiscing. 

"Hey, I know I'm not your ideal company for pool time, but you don't have to go daydreaming about someone else," he says, a teasing smile on his lips. You notice the moles that dot his face, a detail you find yourself focusing on more and more these days, the urge to kiss each one so softly. 

You swipe a wave of water towards him, which he expertly dodges. "Yeah, maybe a guy who doesn't throw me in the pool with my clothes on."

"You're welcome to take them off."

His words hang in the air for a moment, heavy with unsaid meaning. The playfulness in his tone has been replaced by something deeper, more serious. Your breath catches as you notice the way his eyes have darkened, the way he's looking at you now- not as a friend teasing a friend, but as a man who wants...

"Because your bathing suit is underneath." He corrects himself quickly, that look vanishing as if it never existed, replaced with a normal grin.

Disappointment flares in your chest. Of course that's what he meant. Just a silly joke, nothing more.

You force a laugh that sounds hollow even to you. "Yeah, right. Maybe if this wasn't an old ratty bikini from three summers ago."

"It's just me. Who cares?"

And that, right there. Steve Harrington in a nutshell. He has no idea the effect he has on people. He thinks you're immune because you're friends.

It wasn't a lie, your suit wasn't the most flattering. You'd gained a little weight since graduating, working in an ice cream shop and then a video store had both its pros and cons.

Pros: unlimited access to sweets. 

Cons: You were a nervous snacker and Steve made you nervous.

You'd never been thin, and it usually didn't bother you. But here, in the sunshine, your wet clothes sticking to you, your bikini showing places that weren't a flat stomach, it made you feel more than a little insecure.

"I care..." you mutter, your arms folding over your stomach without even thinking about it.

His teasing smile softened, something flashing in his eyes you couldn't quite identify.

"Hey..." He swims closer until there's barely any space between you. The water swirls around your bodies at the sudden movement. "Don't. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That." He reaches out, gently taking your wrists and pulling your arms away from your body. "Hide."

Steve's thumbs brush over your pulse points, sending shivers down your spine despite the warmth of the sun overhead.

"It's summer, it's hot as balls, and we worked hard to get this stupid pool clean. Can we just... enjoy it? Without you worrying?"

The genuine care in his expression melts your defenses a little. He's looking at you with that earnest face that makes your heart do stupid little flip-flops, those puppy dog eyes that once charmed all of Hawkins High and are now focused solely on you.

"Fine. But don't laugh."

You swim over to the edge and hop out back toward the lounger. You shimmy out of your denim shorts with your back turned to him, feeling suddenly exposed despite the privacy of his backyard. Then you slip off your tank top, leaving only your bikini.

Taking a deep breath, you turn back toward where he's floating on his back peacefully, trying to give you space. 

As revenge for earlier, you cannonball into the deep end, a huge splash soaking the surrounding area and, more importantly, Steve.

He comes up sputtering indignantly, pushing wet hair from his eyes. "Oh, that's it. You're going down!"

And just like that, the vulnerability dissolves into water fights and laughter. He chases you around the pool, your playful shrieks echoing through the backyard. His fingers graze your sides as he tries to catch you, sending electric jolts through your skin that have nothing to do with the chlorine.

Eventually he corners you, trapping you against the pool wall, bodies pressing together as the water churns between you.

You're catching your breath after laughing and yelling so much that you don't register the change until his fingers graze your shoulder. 

You turn to look as he fixes the string of your bikini top, brushing against your skin.

"Strap was coming undone," he says quietly, face suddenly serious again. His gaze lingers on your shoulder, trailing slowly up to meet your eyes. The playful energy has vanished, replaced by something heavier.

"I..." you swallow, suddenly very aware of how close you are, how the water makes your skin glide against his, the thin fabric separating you practically nonexistent.

"Turn around, I'll tie it better for you." His voice is low, sending vibrations straight through you.

You oblige, presenting your back to him. His fingers work deliberately, taking far longer than necessary to secure the tie. His touch is feather-light against your skin, tracing the line of your shoulder blade, causing goosebumps to rise despite the summer heat.

"Thanks... don't want a wardrobe malfunction," you manage to say, turning back to face him.

His hands trail gently through the water to your waist, not letting you move away. "Wouldn't want that."

You're close enough to count every one of those damn moles, notice the flecks of brown and gold in his hazel eyes, see how his pupils have dilated just slightly.

"Would be... really awkward," you breathe out, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Super awkward," he agrees, but makes no move to create distance.

Then he leans in. Your eyes flutter closed as his lips meet yours. The kiss is a question tasting of chlorine and the popsicles you each had earlier. It's nothing like the cocky, assured guy you knew in high school.

Your entire world narrows to this: the sun on your water-logged skin, Steve's hands firm on your waist, and the way your mouths move together, tentative at first, then with growing confidence. Your fingers find their way into the damp curls at the nape of his neck, earning a soft sound from him that vibrates through your entire being.

He pulls away ever so slightly, lips just hovering over your and his eyes heavy lidded. He runs a thumb over the string on your hip, the touch sending a deep want straight to your core.

"Wh-what was that for?" your whisper breaks the silence.

His response is a small, confused smile as he finally moves his head away slightly to get a better look at your face. "Well, last time I checked, it's what two people do when they... like each other. I thought that's what we were doing here."

Your pulse thrums in your throat. "We were doing that?"

"Yeah..." he says with a sudden flicker of insecurity in his own eyes. "Weren't we?"

Your eyes flutter closed, taking a shaky breath. "I've been wanting you to do that since last summer. At Scoops"

"The sailor outfit? Really?"

"It wasn't the uniform," you laugh quietly, opening your eyes and looking directly into his. "It was the way you hummed to the radio. The way your hands moved when you were scooping. How frustrated you'd get when your stupid hat wouldn't stay on. The way you—"

Your words are cut off by his mouth on yours again, harder this time. He's pressing you back against the smooth tile of the pool's wall, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat building between you. His tongue parts your lips, exploring, and you meet him eagerly, your hands roaming across the broad expanse of his shoulders, down his chest.

The fabric of your bikini feels impossibly thin as his hands slide from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him.

"This swim suit is really indecent. You shouldn't be wearing this," he mutters against your neck before leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline.

You pull back and shake him off just a little, the comment hitting somewhere deeper than it probably should. "What?"

He stops, sensing the shift in your mood. The passion in his eyes immediately replaced by concern. "No, I didn't... I meant... you look..." he seems to be struggling, running a wet hand through his even wetter hair. "That came out wrong. I meant it in a flirting way. Like a 'lead up to me asking you to take it off' way."

You furrow your brow a little, trying to determine if that's the truth.

"I'm sorry," he says, his sincerity obvious. "That was stupid. Can I try again?"

You nod slowly.

"I meant that it's... indecent... because it makes me want to do a whole lot of inappropriate things to you. Right here. Right now."

A shiver runs through you despite the warm sun. The way he's looking at you, with open, wanton desire, is something you've only ever dreamed of.

"I'm really self conscious lately." You admit fully, a weight being lifted off your shoulders. 

"Well don't be," he says, and you can't tell if he's being genuine or if that's charm leaking through. He must have seen your doubt because he continues, "I mean it. You're so..." He searches for the right word, and you can tell it's not flattery for flattery's sake.

"What?" you urge. "So... what?"

"So beautiful."

Your breath catches. Steve Harrington, dream guy of any girl with half a brain, called you beautiful. And he meant it.

"Did I just ruin the moment by being honest? Because I can go back to being a jerk if it helps." That signature smirk is back, though it's a little gentler than usual.

You laugh, and the tension breaks. "No, god, please don't."

"Then come here."

His lips find yours again, softer this time, sweeter. But the intensity builds quickly as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a growing urgency. His hands roam your body, learning every curve, every dip, mapping you like it's the most important expedition of his life.

His fingers play with the strings of your bikini, tugging gently but not untying—just teasing. Making you ache for more.

"Steve," you gasp between kisses. "Someone could see."

"My parents aren't home," he murmurs against your skin. "The house is empty."

Your mind races at the implication.

"We're surrounded by trees," he continues, sensing your hesitation. "No one can see into the backyard."

His lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "I've been thinking about this all day."

"All day?" you ask, your voice breathy as he palms your breast through the thin fabric.

"All week. All month. All year." He corrects, before pulling the wet fabric aside and capturing a nipple in his warm, wet mouth. Your back arches against the pool wall, a soft moan escaping your lips.

He lifts his head after a moment, that boyish grin in place. "We might need to get out of the pool though. The chemicals probably aren't great for... well."

He glances down, the implication clear.

"Smartass," you mutter, but you're already laughing as he hauls you toward the pool steps.

You watch him climb out before you, water cascading down the lines of his back, muscles shifting beneath his skin. His swim trunks hang low on his hips, and the sight sends another wave of desire through you.

He turns to reach out a hand for you, helping you from the pool, your fingers tingling where they touch his.

Steve grabs both of your towels from the lounger, wrapping one around your shoulders and the other around his waist before leading you toward the sliding glass door that opens into the house.

As soon as you enter the mud room, he shuts the sliding glass door and is back on you, guiding you toward the couch. All the windows are open and the faint sound of the sprinklers filter in.

On the couch with your towel under you and his discarded, his hands slide over your damp skin as he tugs at your suit top. "Are you okay with this?" he asks, voice thick with desire but laced with tenderness.

You respond by bracing yourself on your elbows, making it easier for him to access the strings on your neck and back. He makes short work of the knots, tossing the wet fabric aside.

His gaze sweeps over your exposed upper body with open admiration before leaning down to continue where he left off, worshiping your breasts with attention. His soft kisses, gentle nips, swirling tongue all combine for the best sensation. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you, soft encouragement falling from your lips.

He looks up at you before finally taking your nipple back in his warm mouth, suckling gently.

"God, Steve," you gasp, arching into him.

You're vaguely aware of the sunbeams cutting across the living room, dust particles dancing in the light, the smell of chlorine mixed with the freshly cut grass outside. It all feels dream-like, unreal.

His hands are working what his mouth can't, like he wants to make sure you're getting all the attention in the world, all over, simultaneously.

"You always this responsive?" He laughs quietly against your breast before sitting up to look down at you. His hair is drying in fluffy tufts and his pretty eyes are half-lidded but focused.

"Only for you," you manage, feeling your cheeks flush at the admission.

"God, I hope so." He's on you again, moving down your stomach with open-mouthed kisses that make you twitch and giggle. His hands follow, tracing patterns on your skin that make you shiver.

When he reaches the bottom ties of your bikini, he pauses, looking up at you.

"Gonna need these off," he says, fingers toying with the strings on your hips. "If that's okay."

You nod, lifting your hips slightly to help him as he unties and slides the last piece of wet fabric down your legs, leaving you completely exposed on the mud room couch. The thought sends a thrill through you.

"Look at you," he breathes, just looking at you. "Just... look at you."

Your body hums with anticipation as he positions himself between your thighs, pushing your legs further apart with his hands on your knees. The vulnerability of the position sends another jolt of awareness through you, but with Steve, it feels safe, exciting.

"Steve..."

He doesn't respond with words, but with action, lowering his head until you can feel his warm breath against your most sensitive skin. He waits for a second, giving you a chance to protest if you wanted.

You don't.

His tongue traces your folds slowly, deliberately, tasting you. A strangled sound escapes your throat as your hand grips the back of the couch. 

He caresses your thigh, as the other hand holds you open so he has better access. His tongue starts exploring, gentle at first, getting a lay of the land before finding your clit and circling it slowly. Your hips buck, seeking more pressure.

"I've got you," he whispers against your wetness.

He's determined in his approach, learning what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you arch your back.

Your toes curl as the pressure builds, his tongue working magic, alternating between gentle laps and firm strokes that have you spiraling.

Your hands card through his hair and he looks up at you, tongue still working diligently, your arousal glistening on his chin and cheeks. He smiles a little at seeing your face then doubles his efforts, slipping a finger into your tight heat.

Your breath hitches at the intrusion, a gasp tearing free as he adds another finger, curling them just right against your inner walls.

"Don't stop," you pant, "Please, don't stop."

"Never." His voice is muffled by your flesh.

He goes back to your clit, sucking softly, then firmer, his fingers finding that perfect rhythm.

"Could stay down here all day, you know that?" he says as he breaks away, a wide smile on his face. "You taste so good."

He licks a fat stripe up your center, before putting all his attention back into that little bundle of nerves that's still begging for him. Your breath catches in your throat, hips rising to meet him, a low groan passing your lips.

"Steve," you whine out.

"I'm here," he says. "Come on, beautiful. I've got you." He pumps his fingers into you as your body starts to tremble.

It crashes over you without warning, your back arching, a cry tearing from your throat as waves of pleasure course through your body.

Steve redoubles his efforts, taking you closer to the edge with each movement, each sensation building on the last until your entire body tenses, releasing in a wave that leaves you gasping and breathless on the couch.

"And you said I couldn't get a girlfriend," he jokes softly as he makes his way back up your body, pressing kisses against your stomach, your chest, your collarbones.

"That's because you got me soaked throwing me in the pool." You breathe out. 

"I got you soaked a second way, too, so..."

Before you can even roll your eyes, you feel the hard press of him against your thigh through the swim trunks. That realization brings you back to life, reaching between your bodies to palm him through the wet fabric.

His breath hitches. "Wait, wait, wait..."

You pull back, slightly concerned.

He looks a little pained. "Not like that. I just need to get a condom."

Your cheeks heat up. Of course. You were so wrapped up in it all, you didn't even think of that. And yet still...

"You don't have to..." you say softly, not wanting to seem too forward but needing to say it anyway.

"As much as I like you, I don't think either of us are ready for that kind of surprise."

"No, I mean..." your cheeks are on fire now. "I'm on the pill. For cramps. Not that you'd have to believe me, but-"

"Are you serious?" He lifts himself onto an elbow, looking genuinely surprised and then a lot turned on.

You shake your head a little, embarrassed that you'd suggested something so intimate already. "Sorry, that was--"

"No! God, no. Don't apologize." He leans down, pressing a hot kiss to your lips. "Are you sure? Because if you're sure..." His hips roll against yours and you both gasp at the friction.

"Positive."

He sits up then, shedding those trunks quickly, and kicking off the offending clothing in one swift motion.

As he stands up, you finally see all of him- the toned planes of his chest, the soft give of his tummy, the trail of hair leading down to where he stands hard and thick against his stomach.

"Oh," you breathe, unable to help yourself. You had an idea about how well endowed he was, but seeing it in person was a whole other story. A mix of excitement and a little bit of apprehension swirls within you.

The grin he shoots you is undeniable male pride, softening immediately when he sees the slight worry in your eyes.

"Hey," he says softly, lowering himself over you again. "We can take it slow. We can stop if it's too much."

His hands are on either side of your head as he positions himself, aligning with your entrance but not quite pushing in. He looks down at you, a genuine question in his eyes that makes your heart ache with tenderness.

"I, uh, I'd lose my mind if I hurt you."

"Only if it hurts bad," you joke weakly, wanting to ease that furrow in his brow.

His expression softens as he lowers himself, propping up on one arm, the other hand gently stroking your hair away from your face.

"I'm serious. I'm not one to brag to everyone, but I know I'm... yeah."

He's trying so hard to make this about more than just the physical, to separate himself from his reputation, to show you this is different. Your Steve. Not King Steve, not the boy you watched use girls and discard them.

This sun-kissed, glistening, genuine Steve is something else entirely. You look at him with such affection. 

"I'm not exactly surprised, it's not like you wear baggy jeans..."

He laughs a little and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. Then another to your nose.

"You were checking me out? My, uh..." He gestures vaguely between his legs, "... jeans?"

"I have a pulse, yeah. Every girl in Hawkins has checked out your 'jeans' at least once, Harrington."

"Jesus, okay. Enough." He's smiling though.

You run your hands up and down his back, feeling the strength of him, the warmth of his skin still carrying the heat from the sun outside.

"Hey," you say softly. "I trust you."

Something shifts in his expression, that playful, slightly arrogant smirk dissolving as his hips push forward slightly. The thick head of him pressing against you, seeking entrance. Your breath catches at the sheer promise of it. 

"What else were you checking out?" he asks, teasing, but you can hear the underlying sincerity, the need for reassurance that this hasn't all been in his head.

"Suddenly, I have no thoughts." you breathe out as his hips gently rock into you, easing your aching pussy to take him.

"That good, huh?"

A whimper escapes your lips as he pushes a little deeper. The stretch borders on too much, but in that perfect, overwhelming way that makes you want to simultaneously push him away and pull him closer.

"Yeah, seems like it's that good..." he's kissing your neck and whispering into your ear.

His large hands grab at the plush flesh of your thighs, opening you wider. With each slow, deliberate push of his hips, he seats himself further inside you, making you whimper with need.

"That's it... doing so good f'me, baby..." he whispers as he watches your reaction through lidded eyes.

The full feeling is almost too much.

You can't help but watch as your breasts bounce with every roll of his hips, watching as the flush on your own skin continues to creep lower.

His thumb finds its way between your bodies, and you look down as he's pressing insistently against your clit in tight circles, making you clench around him. You're so wet and he still hasn't even bottomed out.

"You like watching?" he whispers against your ear. "I like watching you."

You meet his eyes and you swear you see them roll back as you squeeze around him as a response to his words, unintentionally. He loses himself a little, pushing in with a sharp thrust that steals the air from your lungs.

Finally, he's fully inside you, buried to the hilt. You can feel him throbbing, every part of him pulsing in anticipation.

"You okay?" he asks, voice strained.

You nod, unable to form words as he starts to move.

His pace is initially gentle, cautious, giving you time to adjust before he finds a rhythm that makes your toes curl again, your head thrashing back against the arm of the couch. Immediately one hand cradles your head as the other grips your hip. 

"That's what I thought..." he's grinning as you whine for him.

Steve picks up the pace with your encouragement, pistoning into you, harder and faster. The sound of skin on skin mixes with your breathless gasps and his guttural groans, creating sounds more erotic than anything you've ever heard before.

"That's it, sweet girl," he pants, his hips beginning to stutter. "Take it... take all of me."

His words ignite something within you, and you arch your back to meet each thrust, your legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper. The coil of pleasure tightens in your stomach, your muscles trembling with the buildup of your impending orgasm.

You whine his name in tiny bursts, hands looking for purchase wherever they can reach on his body.

"It's okay, let go," he urges, his movements becoming more erratic.

His angle shifts, hitting a spot inside you that sends stars flying behind your eyes. Your cries become wanton, uninhibited.

"Right there, don't stop," you gasp.

"I won't... not until you're soaking me..." he grits out before your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure. Your walls clench around him, pulling him along with you as he finds his own release.

His entire body goes taut as he groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He's spilling so deep you feel him leak out and it makes you shudder again at the feeling.

For a long while, there's nothing but your ragged breaths cooling each other's heated skin. Steve keeps murmuring soft praises as he kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your temple.

"That was..." he starts, then pauses like he's searching for the word.

"Yeah," you agree, even though you're not sure what you're agreeing with.

You laugh a little at your own response, and soon he's laughing with you. It feels better than you could have ever imagined. You're slick with sweat and other fluids. There's nothing romantic about the scene beyond the two of you.

He braces his hands above you, pushing himself up to look down at the mess. His hair is stuck to his forehead and his face is so beautifully flushed. A goofy, content grin on his lips.

"Look what we did," you whisper as you reach out to brush back his hair, glancing at the mess leaking out between your thighs.

Steve leans into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Don't talk dirty or I'm going to get hard again."

"I didn't know that was off limits," you tease, your hands slowly running down his chest.

His chest puffs out under your touch, like he's preening. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't love that you had this effect.

"I mean, feel free to. But you owe me some popcorn and a movie. And that won't happen if you're making me go again."

"Oh, do I 'owe' you now?"

"No, no," Steve pulls out of you, leaving you feeling suddenly very empty in the sticky wake of him. You wince a little from the size of him and he notices. "Sorry, sorry."

He grabs your discarded towel and gently cleans the mess from between your thighs before cleaning himself off and tugging on his swim trunks. Your eyes fix on how he pulls them onto his hips, the fabric still wet and clinging.

"Hey, eyes up here," he winks, then holds out a clean t-shirt from the mudroom laundry basket.

You sit up and pull it over, the shirt a little tight on your curves. Especially across the chest, but soft from many washes and smelling like him. You wrap the clean towel he hands you back around your waist.

He watches you for a minute before grabbing your hands and pulling you up to stand.

"So..." you hesitantly start the inevitable conversation. "Where do we go from here?"

Steve frowns a little. "To the kitchen for popcorn, like I said."

"No, I mean... us."

"Well," he says seriously, taking one of your hands in both of his. "I'd like to take you on a date. And then another one. And then maybe another one after that until you finally get sick of me."

You search his face, trying to read past the casual bravado. He's trying to play it cool, but there's genuine hope in his eyes that makes your chest ache.

"I don't think that's going to happen," you say softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

"The dates? Or getting sick of me? Because I've really committed to this plan and would hate to renegotiate terms." A slow grin spreads across his face.

"You're an idiot."

His smile is soft, like he's remembering something fond before he speaks. "Yeah, well, in my experience that's what a girl says when she actually likes me. So, I'll take it." His thumbs rub gentle circles on the back of your hands.

"So we're..." you trail off, suddenly unable to form the words.

"Dating? Exclusively? Going steady?" He supplies them for you, the phrase sounding somehow much less cheesy when he says it. "If you want."

"I want."

The relief that washes over his face is obvious. "Good. Great. Then my plan is still on track. Popcorn, movie. And maybe round two later." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, making you giggle.

"Only if the movie sucks."

"Ah, I'll put on a real stinker then."

'ahoy, ladies!' [steve taglist]

@keer-y @aecd27 @snoopyharrington @mutual-future-repeat @djosfools @subtlesposts @cpnsteverogers @britt-mf @alimoiii @remorsefuul @bing72 thehairharringtonsideblog @powerpuffedbjtch @ali-r3n @enchantedsharddetective @moonstoneandmoonlight @windowsshifts @bunnybunnns @cosmicjamieee @nowandajenn @cciessuzi @dreamerjj @calelundaa @nicherthanu @djobug @purplequeen64-stuff @starrlovee @ghostlyriddles @oohgeminii @ross-bunnybrew @micheledawn1975 @flashmountaindjo @buckyandlokirunmylife @argentinemango @mmmunson @winterwheeler @whatdjomeann @gutsnhugs @aecd27

[keeryspullman]

Absolutely feral for gator with a fat gf, he obviously has misogynistic ideologies, and has thought fat chicks were ugly and disgusting. But when he meets reader his mindset had been flipped…

i just kinda wanna see how you would see him in that situation because. I know you’d deliver just like all ur writing queen.

-🤠

A/N: So so so sorry that this took so long! I just wanted to write it well. I always take more time with specific reader types because I want people to feel represented and satisfied.

Warnings: Smut, Gator being a perv, mentions of body shaming and body image

Inbox

★ When Gator sees you standing at the bar, he stares. His eyes roam over your body and hone in on the small glimpses he gets of your face. He's never seen anyone like you, but he knows he isn't supposed to be so drawn to you.

★ Gator doesn't approach you until you leave the bar. He stops you where no one can see and uses his classic 'haven't seen you 'round here'. You laugh in his face, which just makes his cock stir. Jesus Christ. Gator should be annoyed with you, he should shame you for disrespecting him. He's shamed all the bigger girls he's encountered before, why should you be any different?

★ He tries to insult you, but nothing lands. Gator's frustration builds as you continue to laugh at him. Eventually, he storms off like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Once his truck is a safe distance from the bar, from you, he pulls out his throbbing cock. Just having a conversation with you was enough to get him hard. How pathetic. He focuses on every inch of your body. The feeling of your thighs, your hips, your stomach gripped under his fingers as he fucks you. The way your tits would move as you would throw your head back in pleasure. How tight you'd be as he'd pound into you. It all feels so wrong, but Gator can't hold back the grunts that escape as he pumps his cock harder and faster. All he can think about at the end of it is how much better it would've been if your hand had been around his cock. Or better... your mouth.

★ The next day, Gator and his partner drive past you in their patrol car. You flip the car off when you realize that he's the one behind the wheel. Gator listens to his partner make comments about your body for the rest of the ride. He laughs along because that's what he's supposed to do. You're supposed to be ugly because of your body, he should joke about it instead of fantasizing. Afterward, he takes a bathroom break at the station and jerks off again while thinking of you.

★ Gator sees you again that night. You're at the bar with friends, the few locals who left for college and came back for special occasions. The ones who 'got woke' after leaving Stark County, people who shouldn't be having more fun than Gator is. Instead of cornering you, Gator finds a thin brunette and fucks her in the dingy bar bathroom. At some point, he starts imagining her as you, but it isn't quite right. Gator needs the real thing.

★ Before he leaves the bar, Gator gets your name from one of the locals you were hanging out with. He spends the rest of the night tracking down everything available online about you. The jackpot is your Instagram account, filled to the brim with photos of you. He doesn't understand how you're so free with your body, why you aren't trying to lose weight. Gator's getting himself off to one of your summer photo dumps when he accidentally likes the post.

★ A notification pings a few minutes later. "Like what you see, Deputy?" The message makes Gator's face burn. He doesn't respond, and you don't message him again, leaving him to replay the message in your voice. The thought makes him hard again, but he doesn't allow himself to get off.

★ When Gator runs into you after handling a call the next day, he thinks the universe is playing a sick joke on him. You have this satisfied smirk on your face that Gator wants to fuck out of you.

★ "Are you stalking me, Deputy?" Gator tries to ignore you. He really does. But the second he hears you say, "Do you want to fuck me?" he spins on his heel and pulls you back into an alleyway.

★ You feel so fucking good under his fingers as you make out. He lets them roam all over your body. The soft moan you let out makes everything better. Gator wants to hear every sound you have to offer.

★ He moves you to his car after you complain about the state of the alley. Gator doesn't care where he fucks you as long as it happens soon. His cock seems to have a mind of its own when it comes to you, overwhelming his body with desire.

★ Sex with you feels better than Gator imagined. He thrusts into you forcefully during the first round, just trying to get whatever he's feeling out of his system. But you take control for a second round. Drawing the pleasure out for both of you in a way that makes Gator's brain short-circuit.

★ When it's over, Gator grunts, "You're pretty hot for a fat bitch."

A/N: This is also my first anon emoji! If you want to claim one when you send in an ask, do it!

[ilovecowboysyouknowthat]

Hi yall!

Votes are in for gator Tillman!!

Now it’s time for the troupe ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

Gator Tillman fwb

Gator x sunshine reader

Mean!gator x sunshine reader

Gator x plus size reader

Roommates

Touch starved reader

Clingy gator

Jealous gator

Sweet!Bakery owner x gator

Voting ended onMay 14

[ilovecowboysyouknowthat]

Gator Tillman alphabet ᣟ𐚁˳

Established relationship gator x fem! reader

(18+) ᣟ𐚁˳

A- Affection

Gator is incredibly dotting and affectionate towards you, he will act more put together around Roy and your family and friends but alone he is all over you, he cannot pretend to be okay without you touching him, he’s so cuddly and hella embarrassed to admit that.

B- body parts

His: your, well boobs and eyes. He’s got a real bad obsession with your tits, he’s a simple man and knows a good rack when he sees one, (even if it’s small sis) he is constantly putting a hand up your shirt and will beg you to wear not top at home for “easy access”. You can also make him basically physically do anything with a couple flutters of your eyelashes, gator is so incredibly easy that your eyes turn him on bad.

You: definitely his biceps, I would lick on them shits daily bro.

C- cum

Gators big on coming on your chest and even bigger on coming inside you, because he’s able to satisfy that primal urge for you that he has and there’s no deeper validation that you’re his any better way than having his spend inside of you. He love when you eat his cum as-well, nothing gets him going quicker than you sucking him dry and not letting a drop go to waste, knowing a part of him is physically inside you. 😵‍💫

D- domestic

Gator craves a domestic life. He’s never had a non forced relationship, whether that be his ultra controlling father or his various step-“moms” he’s never had a natural bond with someone that hasn’t been moulded by Roy. So when he finds you and everything goes well for him for the first time in his life he craves the domestic love, having a happy wife to come home to, no abuse in the place he calls home and an equal he can be loved and dotted on by, and not being seen as a sexual object but as as partner. (even tho he loves to be yours and is a slut)

E- experience

He has extensive experience, but will argue it went to zero because nobody else matters but you.

F- fantasy

Cop fantasy!! Wants you to role play arresting a sweet thing that doesn’t realise she was speeding and offers to suck him off if she can get away without a ticket. And maybe housewife? He obviously respects you more than anyone ever but gets so turned on at the thought of you in the kitchen, naked serving up his dinner and sitting on his lap while he eats, giving him totally access to your body the whole night.

G- goofy

I think gator gets really giggly seeing as he so insanely comfortable with you he really lets himself go around you, so having sex it’s carefree and is about equal pleasure and casualness, if he made a really high pitched moan he giggles instead of shrinking into himself, utterly content.

H- hair

Likes to keep himself trim and put together so that translates to down stairs to. I definitely think he likes clean shaven, he gets a bit bitchy if you haven’t shaved but if you really aren’t keen on it he drops it after a few times. (Ultimately he doesn’t care)

I- intimacy

I think gator loves skin to skin contact, He craves your body in a non sexual way constantly. Gators ideal morning is waking up next to you naked, it raining outside and yall tangled together, his face in between the valley of your boobs. He will often ask you to wear as minimal clothing to bed so he can feel closer.

J- jacking off

CONSTANTLY, he is rubbing one out when you’re not there all the time, (idk what his problem is bro) when he’s at work he can’t help himself but getting so worked up when you’re not with him, he’s spamming your phone for pics all day until you finally send him what he wants and can relieve himself.

K- kink

Corruption kink, overstimulation, heavy praising, definite good boy kink, hair pulling. Not on the insane spectrum of these either.

L- Location

Anywhere. at home, in the cruiser, in his Ute, in the pub bathroom, the ranch, your backyard… it does not matter, but he is so incredibly careful nobody hears you for the sake of your dignity but gator could care less if people hear him (except Roy).

M- motivation

It could be because you’ve done your hair different today, you painted your toes a different Color, used a new moisturiser, hugged him to tight, your showing a little bit of cleavage or even just because you woke up before him and haven’t left the bed yet, he is so down bad on you it’s insane how little effort it takes to get him going.

N- NO

Anything that hurts you or heavy degradation, he cares about you way to much, also no “ass stuff with him”.

O- oral

It definitely takes him a while to pick it up, honestly quite apprehensive at the start of your relationship. But once you give him a few lessons and he makes you cum for the first time he’s alllll fucking in, wants to eat you out everywhere, he sees oral as foreplay and will NEVER skip foreplay. He’s genuinely eating that pussy daily my girl.

P- position

Definitely missionary and a mating press, it makes him feel so close and connected to you in ways that terrify him, he needs to see your face and be so physically close to hear every sound you try and keep in your throat to fully satisfy himself. Cowgirl is a close second, he’s got tits in his face, he doesn’t have to do as much work and he can see your face.

Q- quickie

Gator loves a nice long fuck but come on he needs his fill constantlyyyy especially if it’s in a public space like the pub bathroom and you let him cum inside, now you have to walk around with him all up in you and it’s the most amazing ego boost ever.

R- risk

He’s terrified of Roy, he will not risk anywhere around him or fucking in anyplace that’s connected with Roy, but after that he’s pretty content doing it anywhere.

S- stamina

I think I could go multiple rounds if he’s on top and only needs small breaks in between but if he’s on the bottom it’s like 1-2 then he TAPED idk it just tires him out so bad.

T- top or bottom

Switch? Don’t get me wrong he loves to dom but seeing as you’re so comfortable with each other that he almost prefers to be on the bottom, his brain goes all fuzzy and cloudy, and he likes that you’re the only person on the planet to make him feel that way.

U- unfairness

Doesn’t like being teased in the slightest but isn’t above teasing you, tbh it’s over quick because he’s so desperate.

V- volume

In the beginning he definitely try’s to conceal his moan as to not be unmanly but when you tell him just his much you love and need to hear him out loud is when he lets loose, he will also throw a fit if you try and hide your moans, nothing is more encouraging than you being loud.

W- wildcard

Wants you to handcuff him and fuck him silly, he also likes a free use situation(not in a weird way) where you’re bare and ready for him anytime at home. I think he cries a lot.

X- xray

A nice 5.5 inches soft and about 7 when he’s hard, also more girth than length but is still a lot to work with.

Y- yearning

The yearner of the century, he’ll take it far enough that when he’s begging you for something (sexual or not) he’ll get on his knees to really empathise how much he needs it, but really just likes being on his knees for you and you have the power over him. Make brain go burrr.

Z- Zzz

Makes sure your taken care of, warm towel to wipe between your legs, panodol and a glass of water if he can and will make sure you pee (you’ve had aftercare lessons) then he’s content to lay you on his chest or snuggle into your boobs, whatever the vibe is. He falls asleep the second he can because it spends him so bad.

Divider: @strangergraphics

[ilovecowboysyouknowthat]

Gator Tillman alphabet ᣟ𐚁˳

Established relationship gator x fem! reader

(18+) ᣟ𐚁˳

A- Affection

Gator is incredibly dotting and affectionate towards you, he will act more put together around Roy and your family and friends but alone he is all over you, he cannot pretend to be okay without you touching him, he’s so cuddly and hella embarrassed to admit that.

B- body parts

His: your, well boobs and eyes. He’s got a real bad obsession with your tits, he’s a simple man and knows a good rack when he sees one, (even if it’s small sis) he is constantly putting a hand up your shirt and will beg you to wear not top at home for “easy access”. You can also make him basically physically do anything with a couple flutters of your eyelashes, gator is so incredibly easy that your eyes turn him on bad.

You: definitely his biceps, I would lick on them shits daily bro.

C- cum

Gators big on coming on your chest and even bigger on coming inside you, because he’s able to satisfy that primal urge for you that he has and there’s no deeper validation that you’re his any better way than having his spend inside of you. He love when you eat his cum as-well, nothing gets him going quicker than you sucking him dry and not letting a drop go to waste, knowing a part of him is physically inside you. 😵‍💫

D- domestic

Gator craves a domestic life. He’s never had a non forced relationship, whether that be his ultra controlling father or his various step-“moms” he’s never had a natural bond with someone that hasn’t been moulded by Roy. So when he finds you and everything goes well for him for the first time in his life he craves the domestic love, having a happy wife to come home to, no abuse in the place he calls home and an equal he can be loved and dotted on by, and not being seen as a sexual object but as as partner. (even tho he loves to be yours and is a slut)

E- experience

He has extensive experience, but will argue it went to zero because nobody else matters but you.

F- fantasy

Cop fantasy!! Wants you to role play arresting a sweet thing that doesn’t realise she was speeding and offers to suck him off if she can get away without a ticket. And maybe housewife? He obviously respects you more than anyone ever but gets so turned on at the thought of you in the kitchen, naked serving up his dinner and sitting on his lap while he eats, giving him totally access to your body the whole night.

G- goofy

I think gator gets really giggly seeing as he so insanely comfortable with you he really lets himself go around you, so having sex it’s carefree and is about equal pleasure and casualness, if he made a really high pitched moan he giggles instead of shrinking into himself, utterly content.

H- hair

Likes to keep himself trim and put together so that translates to down stairs to. I definitely think he likes clean shaven, he gets a bit bitchy if you haven’t shaved but if you really aren’t keen on it he drops it after a few times. (Ultimately he doesn’t care)

I- intimacy

I think gator loves skin to skin contact, He craves your body in a non sexual way constantly. Gators ideal morning is waking up next to you naked, it raining outside and yall tangled together, his face in between the valley of your boobs. He will often ask you to wear as minimal clothing to bed so he can feel closer.

J- jacking off

CONSTANTLY, he is rubbing one out when you’re not there all the time, (idk what his problem is bro) when he’s at work he can’t help himself but getting so worked up when you’re not with him, he’s spamming your phone for pics all day until you finally send him what he wants and can relieve himself.

K- kink

Corruption kink, overstimulation, heavy praising, definite good boy kink, hair pulling. Not on the insane spectrum of these either.

L- Location

Anywhere. at home, in the cruiser, in his Ute, in the pub bathroom, the ranch, your backyard… it does not matter, but he is so incredibly careful nobody hears you for the sake of your dignity but gator could care less if people hear him (except Roy).

M- motivation

It could be because you’ve done your hair different today, you painted your toes a different Color, used a new moisturiser, hugged him to tight, your showing a little bit of cleavage or even just because you woke up before him and haven’t left the bed yet, he is so down bad on you it’s insane how little effort it takes to get him going.

N- NO

Anything that hurts you or heavy degradation, he cares about you way to much, also no “ass stuff with him”.

O- oral

It definitely takes him a while to pick it up, honestly quite apprehensive at the start of your relationship. But once you give him a few lessons and he makes you cum for the first time he’s alllll fucking in, wants to eat you out everywhere, he sees oral as foreplay and will NEVER skip foreplay. He’s genuinely eating that pussy daily my girl.

P- position

Definitely missionary and a mating press, it makes him feel so close and connected to you in ways that terrify him, he needs to see your face and be so physically close to hear every sound you try and keep in your throat to fully satisfy himself. Cowgirl is a close second, he’s got tits in his face, he doesn’t have to do as much work and he can see your face.

Q- quickie

Gator loves a nice long fuck but come on he needs his fill constantlyyyy especially if it’s in a public space like the pub bathroom and you let him cum inside, now you have to walk around with him all up in you and it’s the most amazing ego boost ever.

R- risk

He’s terrified of Roy, he will not risk anywhere around him or fucking in anyplace that’s connected with Roy, but after that he’s pretty content doing it anywhere.

S- stamina

I think I could go multiple rounds if he’s on top and only needs small breaks in between but if he’s on the bottom it’s like 1-2 then he TAPED idk it just tires him out so bad.

T- top or bottom

Switch? Don’t get me wrong he loves to dom but seeing as you’re so comfortable with each other that he almost prefers to be on the bottom, his brain goes all fuzzy and cloudy, and he likes that you’re the only person on the planet to make him feel that way.

U- unfairness

Doesn’t like being teased in the slightest but isn’t above teasing you, tbh it’s over quick because he’s so desperate.

V- volume

In the beginning he definitely try’s to conceal his moan as to not be unmanly but when you tell him just his much you love and need to hear him out loud is when he lets loose, he will also throw a fit if you try and hide your moans, nothing is more encouraging than you being loud.

W- wildcard

Wants you to handcuff him and fuck him silly, he also likes a free use situation(not in a weird way) where you’re bare and ready for him anytime at home. I think he cries a lot.

X- xray

A nice 5.5 inches soft and about 7 when he’s hard, also more girth than length but is still a lot to work with.

Y- yearning

The yearner of the century, he’ll take it far enough that when he’s begging you for something (sexual or not) he’ll get on his knees to really empathise how much he needs it, but really just likes being on his knees for you and you have the power over him. Make brain go burrr.

Z- Zzz

Makes sure your taken care of, warm towel to wipe between your legs, panodol and a glass of water if he can and will make sure you pee (you’ve had aftercare lessons) then he’s content to lay you on his chest or snuggle into your boobs, whatever the vibe is. He falls asleep the second he can because it spends him so bad.

Divider: @strangergraphics

[gatorgirlie]

Leather & Lace: Chapter twenty

Poppin’ Cherries

wc: 6.4k

warnings: LOL THIS IS SMUT losing virginity, unprotected sex (OOP WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT ESPECIALLY IN 2026), idk if i need to say specifics lol it’s sex - sex stuff is in here

“I told you we should’ve stopped at the grocery store before heading home…”, You yell through the kitchen breezeway to the man sprawled out on the checkered couch.

“Babygirl, we literally went to the store three days ago - how are we already out of food?!” His eyes never leaving the TV - he was glued to it. Gilmore Girls had been on for hours at this point, and he was ready to smash the screen if Luke and Lorelei didn’t figure their shit out this episode.

You thought for a second, time to get moving on your plan. The first thing you needed to do was to get him away from that damn television.

“Go into the bathroom real quick for me, baby. I need you to look at something for me.”

Finally prying his eyes away, he shot you a weird glance but obeyed like the good dog he is.

“Thats a bit off topic, but… okay”, he mumbled, heading towards the downstairs powder room. His entire body was slump, result of a hard working man finally relaxing - they relax a bit too hard and become indistinguishable to a couch cushion. 

He lazily made his way in, and flipped on the switch.

“Alright. What am I supposed to be looking at.” Voice flat, he wanted to get back to the show - though he’d never admit it. He thought that your dynamic with one another reflected the dynamic with Lorelei and Luke - and he just wanted to see the fucking happy ending like you guys found. But he knew he never could if he didn’t oblige your request.

“Look in that damn mirror…”

He looked up, squinting ever so slightly at his own reflection - he didn’t look too much at himself these days. The man noticed a couple things:

There wasn’t a damn mark on the mirror, you always kept everything so clean.

His eyes looked greener in this light.

He was wearing his shirt inside out.

“Okay, what-”

“That is how were already out of food.”, you bit back your laugher. You needed him to get his ass out of the house as part two of your plan.

Realizing your joke after a couple ditzy seconds, his lips curl into a grin. You were right - he is absolutely the reason. It was the reason he had to work out diligently. If he didn’t, there is no way he’d be in shape enough to be a Deputy. Thats for damn sure.

“HA HA- you’re so fuckin funny!”, he walks out, rolling his pretty hazel eyes your way. His socks sliding on the wood - a trait he picked up from you, it was more fun to pretend you were ice skating than walking. He could roll his damn eyes all he wanted, but that smile showed his truth. The truth is, you could slap him in the face and he’d thank you for touching him with your pretty little hand.

But you fibbed.

A little white lie, if you will.

Nothing major, nothing worth feeling guilty for -

But ever a lie.

There was food, you knew that. You were looking at it. There on the white wire racks sat a package of chicken wrapped in saran wrap - waiting to be grilled up with the small red potatoes and asparagus you bought to pair it with. You knew he wouldn’t notice. He only noticed the food ready to eat like leftovers or snacks, that or the cold beer. Both of which he ran you out of very quickly.

“So what do you want? I can go get something from the store and we can cook, or I could just swing by the diner - grab us some burgers and fries, call it a day? No cooking?” He offers, seeing that you’re very unlikely to change out of his big ass t-shirt and the pair of tiny pajama shorts. 

Oh, but little did he know.

The sunset danced in circles around the living room, illuminating the side of his face - hazel blazing to your own eyes. He looked majestic, he looked holy.

There was no doubt in your mind.

It was him.

It was always meant to be him.

He was meant to find you that day. He was meant to interrupt your night, all of your nights after that.

He wasn’t what you wanted, it isn’t why you came here - but he has lingered in your vision, mind, and the air in your home every since that night. 

You lose sleep with the realization, there really is no one else you want. The beat in your chest slowed in tandem to the rhythm of his wild smart ass mouth - leaning into every word he said. This was what you had feared for so long. The soft wanting of another soul. After the destruction of your parents marriage before your daddy passed, it proved to you right there that promises were always going to be broken in time and to never trust.

But with him? It felt good. It felt like worth your breath. It felt worth falling in love. 

It felt like maybe, all those runaway trains and ghosted messages brought you right to his calloused hands. Hard, but only soft for you.

“Baby… ya listening t’me?”

You blinked, bringing yourself back to earth from the Heavens he crafted with his smile.

“Yeah- uh yes, sorry, Gator bug. Diner. Burgers.” You cross the room and wrap your arms around him, letting your forehead rest against the front of his sternum. Instinctively, he dips his chin and kisses the top of your hair. He took a deep breath, breathing in the whiffs of vanilla from your shampoo and linen from the laundry you did throughout the day.

His fingers trace circles down your back, dipping underneath the hem. Phantom touches left you breathless, needing, aching for more. Before you can think, your lips kiss the fabric of his shirt - soft, loving, totally wrapped up in the intimacy of his every move.

“Sweetheart-”

“Mhm?” You nose against his chest up and down, needing the touch.

The grin undeniable forms along his face, clueless to what he could’ve done to deserve you - in all his failures, in his self written downfalls, the crushing weight that lay on his shoulders… what possessed you to choose him of all people? The man afraid of his own shadow? The man desperate to be worthy enough for someone - anyone. And you? Oh, he was not worth you. 

Soft, and trusting his hard demeanor to care for you.

Kind when you needed to be.

Generous, always. Always.

Funny… even if he was the punchline. Sometimes, especially if he was.

Bossy. God, he loved it.

And fuck… you were sexy as hell.

He knew it was like a poorly written joke, and he laughed at the self deprecation because who in the world could make sense of the way your eyes looked at him like he was the man your father prayed for when dreaming of the life his daughter would have, that he knew his eyes would never see? 

“The diner closes at 9”, he twisted his wrist from the base of your back, “Its ten past 8.”

“Then you better get a move on. Use the sirens”, your hands run the length of his torso, “I will have dessert ready when you get home.”

“Dessert? You don’t want your strawberry shake?”

Slowly, desperately trying to keep the surprise inside, you shook your head.

His eyebrows creased, and he tightened his grip on you before dipping you back - the last shine of the sun lingered on the natural gold highlights peaking in your hair.  His mouth inches from yours, eyes locked with intensity - not lessening his grip.

“Who are you and what have you done with my girl?!”

“Trust me… I have something better that I'm gonna throw together for you”, you whisper against his lips before leaning forward, taking his bottom lip in between your teeth. He understood perfectly then.

You were dessert.

But he didn’t know that tonight was the night.

“Mmmm, I like the sound of that baby - but I'm still getting you that shake. I know your fuckin ass. You’ll be moanin about wanting it after.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that.

But you had a feeling he would be moaning a bit more than you tonight.

In the span of a minute, he had twirled you back up, yanked off his shirt and put it on correctly, gotten in his cruiser and jokingly threw on the sirens and lights as he flew out of your driveway - just because he knew it would make you laugh.

It did. But you also were already sprinting upstairs by the time he made it to the end of the driveway, tossing gravel out on the dark country road. The sun had dipped below the skyline, but sending the moon a greeting as it made its way to fill the night sky. The two dynamic forces shining onto one another, a love letter in space.

The sound of your quickened steps made the house squeal - your excitement could only mean one thing. 

The house would finally creak for Gator Tillman.

A marathon took place in your ensuite bathroom. Body shower, hair tucked in a shower cap - lukewarm water so your head wouldn’t sweat underneath. Armpits shaved, legs shaved, and her? You are thanking… well probably not the Lord, you were gonna inevitably cry for forgiveness later for what you were about to very willingly do - so maybe, thanking the universe that you got waxed a few days ago. Fresh. Clean. Ready.

You step out of the shower, and immediately apply your lotion. This was a new scent he had surprised you with - cinnamon and vanilla… this man wanted you to smell like a damn cinnamon roll. Teeth brushed, hair fluffed, rare beauty lip stain applied.

Now… all that was left was gift wrap.

Your fingers gloss over the satins, lace, silks - the goosebumps rush to your ribs. He would say you look breathtaking in anything, he always does. But what would he he adore on you just as much as he’d love taking off of you? What would look the best in his fists, dried blood stitching the skin on his knuckles? 

Red - always red. 

Blood red. 

Lace.

The soft lace fabric slides over your legs, your thighs promise your already dripping heat that the panties wont be on for too long. You adjust the cheeky back perfectly in place, creating a divine sight of the artwork trimming your skin. Slipping the see though lace bra on, your turn to see yourself in the mirror and you take your own breath away. You cup your tits, pushing them in place to avoid active spillage but to look their best. 

You cant help but flip your hair, giving it one last volume boost. Quick tip toes across the wooden floors to reach the shelf where your nicer perfumes are, this was worthy of the occasion. Another gift from Gator, you spray Baccarat Rouge 540 into the electrified air before you step forward in a shimmy allowing it to dust onto your skin.

A deep breath fills your lungs as you look around the room. It will soon be memorialized with the intimacy of giving yourself over to Gator. His. Yours.

Split second decision, you swipe off the stuffed animals - banishing them to the woven basket in the corner.

You make your way down the stairs, silent for once. It was if the house was congratulating you, or maybe it was preparing for the moment it was about to witness. Quickly prancing into the kitchen, you pour two glasses of your favorite sparkling white wine. Realistically, Gator is about to walk in with greasy diner food - he is going to be caught so off guard and you were nervous as hell. So, you made the split second decision to down both of your glasses.

Headlights swipe over the front yard and shine through the lace curtains, casting delicate shadows over the walls. Over you.

The soft ambient lighting glows across your little home, candles flickering and making the house smell like velvet and vanilla. You quickly throw on your favorite Daniel Caesar vinyl - a mood setter worthy of this moment. It spills through your speaker system that Gator set up for you, echoing through the whole house.

You make your way to the edge of the kitchen, standing under the exposed wooden beam that trails into the living room. The sound of his cruiser door shutting excites your body, enough where you shiver.

This is what you’ve been waiting for - who you’ve been waiting for.

His heavy boots make his way up the steps to the front porch and you can hear the squeak of the screen door being pulled opened. Keys turn the knob, allowing the man inside. You see him carefully looking down at the door, not willing to drop anything - his hands are filled to the brim.

“When I told Bev that I was bringing home food for ya, she threw like three extra cherries into your shake. I told her she’s spoiling y-”, his eyes finally lift to you.

It was like all of the air in the room had been sucked out.

Heat spread from your thighs all the way up to your neck - exposed, vulnerable, needy, all for him. Only ever for him.

“Holy shit.”

You could see him swallow all the way across the room. His eyes blinked twice, before they just stood open in awe. Gator prayed you couldn’t see the instant problem you created for him below his waistband.

“Hi”

He exhales, unable to comprehend you.

Hi?

The simplicity… the softness - he never could understand that about you. 

You had always been a tease, especially when you were just friends. You were the girl who would go braless in a little white tank top and climb onto his lap just to talk to him. You were the girl who would leave the bathroom door cracked while you were showering, just to see if he would be bad enough to try. You were the girl who was too drunk one night and demanded that he come over to make sure you were safe while you slept, and so he did… he stood guard at the end of your bed while you wore close to nothing - he almost lost it when you began playing with the hem on your dress in front of him. He didn’t touch you, but he watched you - needed you.  Then there was last night. Riding that mechanical bull, grinding your body up against it. Rolling your hips in front of everyone.

And now? You’re finally his and he has seen all of you… yet, you are shy in front of him now. 

How could you be shy? You’ve been a fucking tease for three years straight and yet you’re still shy.

“The fuck are ya tryna do to me?” He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. Disbelief that he has the privilege of seeing you like this. “Ya want me to drop all this damn food?” His eyes haven’t left you, but he takes a step - almost slipping on his drool.

“Surprise?”, you show off a shy smile. Lingerie wasn’t really your thing. Slip dresses? Dainty silk with bows and lace? Yes. Being this bare, this exposed… it was a good kind of new. 

“I ain't seen this little outfit before…” He moved closer to you, stretching his arms out to the counter to leave the food there. He knew damn well that his appetite has now changed.

You twist ever so slightly, leaning your hip out causing him to eye your curves. With a delicate touch, you run your fingertips down his arm. The touch causes his eyes to shoot up to your own.

No longer did you see your best friend, your boyfriend - you swear something flickered in his eyes. Dark. Needy. 

It was like you came face to face with a hungry wolf.

And yet, you weren’t scared.

“You wanted me out of the house so you could throw on that little thing, huh?”, he took a step forward. Eyes stuck on you, his voice slow and deep. “Playing with fire, pretty girl…”

“Gator baby…”

“Hmm”, he hummed as his hands found your waist and it didn’t take long until they began traveling. His bottom lip gathered in his teeth, eyes half lidded, dick fully hard.

You slowly grabbed your phone off the counter, displaying the exam results that weren’t supposed to arrive until Monday morning.

Letting you hold the phone so his hands can continue roaming, his eyes reluctantly left you and made its way over to the screen.

Stark Medical: Exam Results

Patient cleared for all physical activities 

His body stilled, his hands that gripped your ass flexed briefly - twitching from the realization.

This was it.

You watched as his face put two and two together. His chest rose heavy and his eyes slid back over to yours.

His eyebrows scrunched together, trying to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, “You don’t mean-”.

“That’s a thumbs up, baby.”

Something shifted, the freedom lingered. There was no more questioning, there was only movement.

His rough hands slid under your ass and pick you up, holding you up against him. The two of you shared a breath before smashing into one another in a heated kiss - one that has been building for a long long time. 

Gator’s heartbeat loud enough that you swore you could hear it in the break between songs, racing for you - always always always for you. He could feel his muscles tighten in attempts to slow down, but fuck it… he’s been slow, patient, for so long. He crossed the wooden floors, holding you with ease as he walks up the stairs. Calculated and steady - like he was trained for this moment.

His hands knew what they held. He knew what this meant to you, to him. 

Trust. Devotion. Love. He knew it.

He knew it.

Plush lips meeting over and over, promises unspoken.

Gator had a million thoughts, a million things on the tip of his tongue - drowned out by your own tongue working him.

I won't hurt you.

I won’t leave.

Thank you for trusting me.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

“Baby…”, he whispered against your lips. Pulling back slightly to look into your eyes.

“You tell me if you need anything. Y’say the word and I swear I’ll stop.”

Your response to him was fingers intertwining into his hair, and pulling his lips back to your own. His foot shoved the door fully opened, walking you into the bedroom. He placed his knee down on the edge of the bed, arms delicately laying you back onto the mattress - lips never parting.

When he pulls back, you can see the shimmer in his eyes - like he had to blink back his tears. He was so good. So deeply good. No one knew how good the big scary Tillman could be - how good he was for you. How much he… how patient he was with you, careful, soft.

Just for you.

Always and forever, if you had it your way.

“Let me take care of you, baby, let me show you exactly what I feel for you”, he whispers against your jaw - you can see it, no smirk, no grinnin, just a smile. True and bright. Unashamed of the joy in his bones.

His lips attach to the hollow under your ear, breath exhaling hot out of his nose against the sensitivity of your neck. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are?”, he breathed out. One hand held him up, but the other gripped your hip for dear life. He was being good, slow. For you. And it was taking everything in him to restrain himself.

“These damn curls - like a motherfucking goddess, baby”, his voice deepening, “I swear to God, I ain't ever seen anyone more heavenly…”

He mumbled in between the kisses he trailed down your neck. Your name slipping off his tongue like a swear, a promise, a declaration.

“Oh fuck. Hold on.”

He lifted himself off of you completely, bringing in a whipping freeze to your body. He smiled, giving you a look. You’ve seen it before, more than not lately - but you didn’t have a name for it yet. Love, it was love.

“I need to go put the milkshake in the freezer!” His face was lit up like a Christmas tree, glow so strong it made everything around it shine in return.

You belt out a laugh, absolutely shocked at the fact that you told him you were going to have sex with him and yet he is thinking about that damn milkshake. Only Gator.

No, he was already thinking about how well he was going to take care of you afterwards. The soft ways his hands would touch you. How he would wipe you clean. How he’d massage your thighs and belly after because he knew you’d be sore after your first time. And he was definitely thinking about how much you’d want that strawberry milkshake with four cherries afterwards. There was no way in hell that he would let it melt on his watch. 

Within seconds, he flew down the stairs and placed the milkshake in the freezer - making a mental note to take it out right after so that it would have time to soften for you. He was back on you before you could even consider moving on the bed. His grin was stretched wide, biting his lip to hold his laughter. 

“Sorry baby, I had to take care of future you - hope present you isn’t too mad?”

“Not at all… but if you leave again I will be”, you grin at him, pulling him into you by his shirt smashing his lips onto your own. The contact making him groan, hands finding your sides immediately - his grip tighter than before. His resolve was cracking.

Before you can blink, he rips off his shirt - tossing it with precision into the laundry basket, without a single glance.

His hand slides off of your waist and travels in between your thighs, causing you to inhale sharply. Your eyes snapped open at the contact. Fingertips running over the deep red lace, your wetness soaking through. When his thumb began to run circles over your clit, your head tipped back with a low moan of your own ringing through spilling his name out of your lips. His name mixed with the piano sounds from the speakers - a completed soundtrack to the moment, resonating off of the walls and skimming over the sheets and back up the the tops of your thighs where his length brushed against you. 

“I will never leave you. Ya hear me, baby? Never.”, his thumb quickened as he smiled down to you, “As long as my heart is beating, its yours - but you already knew that didn’t cha?”

“Gator-”, his touch, his voice - a love letter that you needed to feel inside you.

“Tell me what you need, princess. Its yours. Anything and everything”, he mumbled against your cheek, sneaking in kisses as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. His thumb was already working you so well, and then you feel them. 

His fingers slip into your panties, immediately slipping the long thick middle finger inside of you. Buried deep into your pussy, you were already clenching around him. His breath thickened, hot on your neck - your breath? It nearly stopped as he pumped it in and out of you, bringing you closer and closer to your climax.

“B-baby.. I’m so fuckin close oh my god” 

His body shifted, sliding down to his knees onto the rug and buried his face into your heat. Your panties slid to the slide as he ran his tongue back and forth over your folds. Finger still deep inside of you, thumb circling with intensity. 

You could feel the pressure building, burning. The only thing you could even manage to get out was his name. Over and over, you moaned it out to him. This only made him more in tune to your body, dying to make it run over the edges because of him. 

“Gatorgatorgator oh my god oh my-”, your voice cracks as the white wave flushes over your body, heat moving everywhere. All you feel is him.

As you come down from the high, he pulls his fingers and face from your heat. He lays the slide of his head onto your thigh and brings his hand to his mouth, laying his fingers onto his tongue. Moans leave his mouth as he swallows the spend on his fingers, dripping down to his wrist. He trails his tongue up and down as you watch. Gator wasn’t wasting any of you, all for him, his girl.

You could’ve died happy right there, just watching him lap up your juices from his own hand. It was then that you noticed where his other hand was. He was palming himself through his painfully strained sweatpants, a different piece of him begging for action. His eyes were squeezed shut, memorizing the taste of you. In between licks at his hand, he would turn in to give your thighs sloppy kisses. 

His hand continued to work the tip of his cock through his sweats, causing his precum to show through. After your orgasm, you felt like velvet and you didn’t want to think through things. You wanted action. You wanted him.

You lift your foot, toes slipping underneath his palm to lay in-between his hand and the sweatpants holding him in. 

“Fuck”, he hissed at the action, eyes wide as you slowly rocked you toes back and forth overtop of his bulge. The hand he had been licked now trailed up and down the back of your calf, the other ghosting over your moving foot.

“Gator. Take them off.” You nod down to his sweats.

He winces because he knows he will obey, but it will cost him the friction of your perfect toes. Pulling back, his eyes meet yours. His hands tug down the waistband, revealing his hard throbbing cock. The disbelief washes over him again, causing him to shake his head and huff out a laugh.

“You sure about th-”

“Shut the fuck up, Gator baby.”

His crooked grin finally making an appearance as he is aroused by your demand, this was his favorite side of you.

“Yes, ma’am.”, he nods once to you. 

He begins to crawl up to the bed, causing you to scoot back - his body chasing your own. Your back arched up against him, his hand flat on your back. His fingers graze your spine before finding the clasps of your bra.

“I fucking love this but if it doesn’t come off right now, I may literally die. I don’t know, but I ain't willing to risk it-”

“Oh yeah, we wouldn’t want that… you better get it off for precaution. And fast too.”

“This little outfit of yours is the only thing I will be getting of fast for the rest of the night baby, I fucking promise you.”

You arched against him even more in the arousal, giving him the perfect time to unclasp the metal. Your joined chests being the only reason the fabric is still stuck on. His hand slides up the rest of your back and glides into the base of your curls, giving them a slight tug. 

A sharp moan left your lips from the action, making his eyes darken in desire of making you squeal like that again. He tugged the bra from your body, leaving you in nothing but those panties which have been begging to come off since the second they were put on. 

“And these… God, your fuckin ass is killing me in em”

They pleaded for him to rip them off your skin. He obliged, not ripping - he needed to see this set again. Not that he wouldn’t buy a replacement if needed.

His hands gathered the fabric, busted fists filled with blood red lace. He slid them down your legs, watching with a tilted head - needing to memorize every little thing about this moment. He would play this entire night in the back of his mind for the rest of his life, but he didn’t know that yet.

When he moved back up to be alined with your body, his dick smacked down onto your thigh. Both of you hissed in need, anticipation.

“Gator baby, I need you - now.”

He could do nothing but nod in agreement, his throbbing cock in pain - needing you as relief. 

“If it hurts, if you need me to do anything - you promise to let me know?”

“I promise, get in me now.”

“Fuck, babygirl”, he began to laugh, but your glare stopped him.

“What about a condom? Did you plan for that too? Shit, cause baby, I did not expect this so I don’t have anything on me - not in the truck or cruiser either…”

“Gator, if you knocked me up - I don’t even think I’d care.”

“Holy fuck, don’t say shit like that. Gonna make me cum and I aint even been in ya yet, sweet.”

“Speaking of that… now now now get in me now.”

He quickly nodded and grabbed ahold of his shaft, lining it up to your need.The tip brushing through your folds, coating him. Both of you released a loud moan in the sensation. He lowered his body, bringing your lips to his as he pushed into you.

The feeling of his hard cock pushing all of the boundaries you’ve kept for years was glorious, everything for him him him him him. You felt weightless, grounded only by him.

“Holy fuck”, he grunted out, trying to focus on you but the feeling was overwhelming to him. 

“Baby, you doing okay? You hurting?”, he huffed out, trying to blink away his own pleasure to make sure you were okay.

The pressure was intense, something you weren’t prepared for. The feeling of his fingers, toys, hell - even the pap smear tool didn’t do justice to what you had stretching you out inside. 

“You gotta talk to me, pretty girl - otherwise were not doing this.”

That snapped out of your daze.

“Don't you fucking dare. Im good. I swear I'm good.” You breath out.

The smile grew on his face, “Yeah? Want me to move a bit?”

“God… please please-”

He cut you off with a slow deep push, not thrusting into you - just pushing into you deeper.

You both being to moan at the sensation, his name spilling out as you nod aggressively to tell him that you want need more.

Understanding and agreeing completely, he began to rock into you repeatedly. Every upward thrust causing a moan to wind out of your mouth, a curse leaving his own. 

This felt different than anything he ever knew. You on one hand had only ever known this - he was your one and only. But for him? He felt like he could breathe, maybe for the first time. You were the only person in this cold bitter world to see him as worthy of a deeper connection. He barely had that with his own family, you… you had grown closer than family. You were his family. 

His hand reached up and interlaced with you, the other was propped next to your head in order to keep the angle that kept you moaning that pretty way.

The rocking of your bodies caused the bed to begin to squeak, which woke up the house. The walls began to amplify the mind fucked drunk names spilling out of your mouths. The floors adorned your discarded clothing, like it was a gift they had been asking for for months. Even the moonlight blessed you, casting its brightness onto the soft pink hues from your low lights. Like a spotlight, the main event being the two bastards who finally fucked.

His mouth found that little spot on your neck that he loved so much, making you arch into him. The movement shifted his cock inside of you, bottoming out inside of you. 

“Holy Shit! Gator, oh fuuuuck!” You scream, thanking yourself for moving to the country.

“And yes, Im fucking okay - don’t stop.” You added, which just made him exhale a laugh into your neck.

You found the pressure to be hypnotizing, and you needed something more. Moving your thigh to the right ever so slightly, you roll your hips upward into his thrust. The action caused Gator to bit down on your neck, holding in his own scream. Muffled groans erupted on your skin. Being weak for you, he began picking up his pace.

He slipped an arm underneath of your hips, angling you up towards him. The new angle made you see stars on the ceiling when you blinked. The sound of his skin smacking into yours was a symphony.

“Ya like that baby? You doing okay?”

You could only nod in response, completely fucked out.

“God… you are fucking perfect. You are an angel I swear. My fucking angel, huh? You my little angel?”, His breath sputtered against your ear. He pulled back to look into your eyes, keeping the same snapping pace - when he saw your smile, he felt himself twitch. Nearly coming undone at the sight of you enjoying him so much.

“Gator making you feel good, honey? You been needing this?”

“Needed it so bad, baby…”

Your voice right now nearly sent him over the edge. He thought about how many perverted times he muted himself on the phone as you would talk his ear off, his hand jerking himself off while you would ramble on about something ridiculous. Coach released a new bag. He came in under a minute. Talking about trying a new haircare line on your clients? Oh, yes, that had him moaning like a bitch. But nothing topped the night you were talking to him while you soaked in the bathtub, he couldn’t even remember what you were talking about - all he remembered was your voice echoing on the ceramic tub and the sound of splashing water. He came twice in his hand that night. 

“Fuck baby, keep talking to me-”

The heat rose in your gut when he asked, needing more from you. You had never been needed like this before - it sparked something in you.

“Gator, you feel so good baby. Keep fuckin me, baby. Im only yours.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Shit… fucking mine and only mine-”

You leaned up towards his ear, and whispered out, “Only yours, so fuck me like it.”

His eyes snapped open to look at you, and there it was again. 

The wolf, you his prey.

There was absolutely no hesitation to the next movement. Your legs were lifted and placed flush against his shoulders. He sunk himself deeper into your dripping wet heat, it sucked him in greedily. There was no denying how badly you both needed each other. The new position gave him even more room to thrust into you relentlessly, though he tried his absolute best to be gentle… but how could he be too gentle? Your face in absolute awe of the man above you, he needed to do everything in his power to make this the best for you.

He began to move, both of his arms wrapped around your legs. His biceps looked exceptionally huge pushed tight on your legs, tattoos marking his perfect body. His hips slammed repeatedly up against your ass, pumping himself into you.

You felt the pressure building up inside of you again, your hands reach up and grab ahold of his forearms. He lets go with one arm, bringing his hand down to cup your face. He wiped the soft tears that formed in the corners of your eyes, not daring to ask you if you were okay. The smile on your face told him everything he needed to know. He reached for your hand, trailing kisses on your palm and inside of your wrist as a smile formed on his own face.

“Gator-”

“Yeah, baby. Me too.”

“Shit shit shit shit!”, your eyes squeezed.

“Baby, you gotta let me go. Im bout to-”

“No.”

Shit. Okay.

His pupils blown as he looked at you, watching as your hand tightened around him. He felt you clenching around him, drowning out the prettiest moans. When your mouth flew open with a loud curse, he felt the release hit you - slamming him into his own. You felt the hot liquid flushing inside of you, coating you with heat and promises. Gator collapsed onto you, your hand grasping at his sweaty hair instantaneously. Your other hand gripping his shoulder, nails biting into the skin. He prayed you’d make him bleed.

The silence that followed was the high of the end of a concert. Confetti on the ground. Smoke lingering in the air. Bodies rushing out of the venue, but you - the two of you… sat there, staring at the stage in awe. The friendship you had built, the love you made… left you in absolute awestruck. 

“I have never-”, he started, choking on his own emotions as he laid buried in your neck, “Its never…”

“What…”

“Its never been like that before…”

“For me either-”, you joked.

He pulled back up, stupid grin on his stupid face.

“Don't start with me.”

“Okay, okay sorry..” You laugh, not knowing how to navigate such a tender moment.

“Its never felt like that before…I swear, I SWEAR this is not post-sex sweet nothings, I promise on my life because I already felt it… but-”

Your eyes locked onto him with curiosity, your bodies still intertwined. The heat of him still buried inside, your skin stuck together with sweat.

“What is it Gator bug?”, you ask.

“I think… no. No, I know…”, his voiced dipped down into a whisper.

“Gator-”

His eyes met yours.

“-I’m in love with you.”

_______

a/n 💌 HOLY SHIT, HOW ARE WE FEELING?

also side note, i’m so sorry but i have been enjoying taking my time with these chapters. i may continue this pattern of one to two a week - takes the stress off and helps me to enjoy my life without feeling guilty.

Support gatorgirlie

Support gatorgirlie

Tags: @lcversvoid @gxorgxa0000 @kissalready @insomniacpen @nosugarallspice @frankenkyle19 @maevebloom @scaramou  @rhaenyrasflame @djosfool @madisonbeersangel @s111ut @catwmah @neeverrgettinglaid @djob00bies @stoneyggirl2 @b1uecatt @sadieshairbrush @soggycerealtbh @djopug007 @pxlldrown @mojosodoppe @ch3rryshark @joekeerylice @buckysgrace @purplequeen64-stuff @chelliquinn @cecesblogg @itsdjoverr @fantasyreader130 @exooojongdaeee @louisbelongstome28 @strangegirl26sff @bearwithegg @babygirldoll @storietilman @jas-mines-things @leclercdream @torntaltos @pinkiepieshepardspie @djobug @eller41 @irllyluvcheezits @madaboutjoe @ilovecowboysyouknowthat @fapqueen @rubywillkins @delphinemix @michaelssassygirrrl

[ilovecowboysyouknowthat]

hey so if you have time, maybe you could write some more cook fanfics? Im currently obsessed w him cause I'm rewatching skins and you're the only good fanfic writer i trust

Best friends sister 𐀪𐀪

Innocent reader Headcanons edition (18+)

𐀪𐀪 cook naturally gravitated towards you and your calm and kind demeanour, you had never been one to talk down to his or even make fun of him when he showed up to Freddie’s half blind and stumbling, you would just bring him a glass of water and sit with him.

𐀪𐀪 cool is overly gross and a tease when he’s around you, the innocent look on life you had was something so foreign to cook who is so deep in the party scene he forgets girls like that existed apart from you. So he makes show of grabbing your ass or making dick jokes on you cause he loves how scandalised you get.

𐀪𐀪 Freddie has marked you off limits and whenever he sees cook looking at you with that stupid sparkle in his eye or when he’s touching you, the back hand he receives is instant lmao. Freddie hates the flirting.

𐀪𐀪 since he know how much Freddie hates the flirting cook makes it a point to slap your ass harder in front of him or pull you into his lap more when Freddie’s in the room. “Cookkkk, Fred’s right there stop it” you whisper to him after he’d come up behind you and wrap around you, ghosting his lip on your neck “ohhh so you just don’t like it when Freddie’s around?” “Cause all the other time you just Take it, aye girly?

𐀪𐀪 the first time you’ve ever smoked was with cook in the middle of the night in your back garden, you were 16 and he was just about to turn 18. He had been teasing you all day about being a goody goody when you’d told him you’ve never done anything like that, that was also the first time you had ever given a guy a blow job.

𐀪𐀪 cooks the type of guy to make up stupid “games” so that he can get you in a compromising position (he’s a horny teen idk what yall expect). Like asking you jump up and down really fast or asking how you would shake salt into your mouth 🫠

𐀪𐀪 cook offers to help you practice kissing. He’d been thinking about it all day Monday when you had admitted to him on Sunday you had never made out or even kissed a boy, fuck did that do something to him. Cook loved the thought of you being untouched and boy did he take the lesson serious. So Monday night he had implemented his “program” so you could master kissing under the guise of being a helpful friend and it ended you him showing you what it felt like to be eaten out

𐀪𐀪 after cook kissed you for the first time he impossibly became more obsessed with you, constantly making excuses to hang around you or touch you in any way that would be weird for a friend to touch another like, he became pussy whipped with the pussy

𐀪𐀪 all your friends had a crush on cook but were also a bit scared of him and cook loved the attention from the “slutty birds” but knew he only had eyes for you, sweet angel you.

𐀪𐀪 cook is extremely protective, he cannot STAND when another guy looks at you because he knows what they’re thinking. “I’m a guy I know what they’re thinking think when they look at you, they think your some fresh daisy to corrupt baby” “that my job” he says low enough to not reach your ears.

𐀪𐀪 cook like to grip you hair back and spit in your mouth 😵‍💫 he gets such a power trip because you never complain how gross that is and just swallow with a giggle.

𐀪𐀪 cook would stumble into your family’s flat at least 3 times a week look to sleep in your bed, wanting nothing more then when hes half blind and high off his head than to be with you, cuddled up with you, held by you.

𐀪𐀪 despite all the mean shit cook does to you, you are one of the only person other than your brother and jj he trusts but since trusting Freddie is a foggy now after all the effy stuff happened, even when he was trying to win over effy you never left him.

𐀪𐀪 when he went awol off with effy to find his dad you were the one to convince him to come home with you, after he did he stayed in your room every single night for a month and cried and held onto you every night the first week, not once did you complain and just let him spill his guts.

𐀪𐀪 you HATED effy after all of the awful things she’s done to cook, you’re sweet cook who never had anyone to understand him.

𐀪𐀪 you always called cook pet names in a sweet honeyed voice just for him, “honey” “cookie” “baby” jamsey” “cookie baby” it made everyone sick but cook just had a flutter in his stomach and hearts in his eyes every time.

𐀪𐀪 cook had like a bad obsession with your boobs, constantly grabbing them or simply pulling your top up without a bra on, He decides between just looking at them or using his on them multiple times and day and you’ve never had a problem with it.

𐀪𐀪 cook wants so badly to fuck you, he jerks off genuinely every night thinking about your face when he puts in in for the first time but can’t because he’s so scared of corrupting you even though you want it just as bad but he only allows himself to put the tip in.

𐀪𐀪 lets you clean him up, wash his face, cut or style his hair or remind him to slow down. You are the only person who could convince James cook to stay in on a Saturday night to do facials.

𐀪𐀪 after remembering how much cook loved orange poppyseed muffins and making a whole batch for him he ate you out in your kitchen to the point of stars to show how grateful he was.

𐀪𐀪 cook is crazy and so are you

[scalpdisease]

ᵢₙₖₑd ᵤₚ

PAIRING: James Cook x F!reader (oneshot) ❤︎⁠ WC: 2.4K ❤︎⁠ A/N: This was so random; I started this one when I was blazed, and I thought I might as well finish it. Not been proof read, I doubt anyone will read it anyways. Happy reading! ❤︎⁠ WARNINGS: throat fucking, drugs, fucking under the influence, oral m!recieving, noisy Cook?? MDNI!!!!!!!! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . INTRO: You were dragged out clubbing by Emily and Naomi.  You hadn't gone out much due to the weird living arrangements, being kicked out of your house by your bitch of an alcoholic mother and all. You were forever grateful towards Kate and Em's mum for letting you take up the spare room until you got back on your feet. Katie couldn't give a rat's ass if you came out tonight; the only interaction you shared today was the exaggerated roll of her eyes when coming face to face with her in the hall. But Emily was insistent. 

“Please, Bambs.” She groaned, leaning against the wall in defeat.  

“Em, I just feel like it's not my scene. Like, so many sweaty fucking bodies, mate.” You grimaced, nose scrunching at the thought.  

“Literally everyone is going. And... Katie said she would share her drugs.”  

You perked up at that.  

“She said that?” 

“Reluctantly.” Emily said with a little smile. 

You picked at your already chipping nail polish, doing your best to convince yourself it would be fun. 

It's not that you didn't like that sort of thing. Drugs, drinking, messy make outs, smeared eyeliner, you loved it all.  

It's just... clubbing.  

The music was always so shit, the guys always shirtless and gyrating to bass so heavy you felt it in your lungs. You just preferred to party with people you knew, people your age, people in much smaller quantities.  

You cringed, brows furrowing at the thought. With a small huff, you nodded.  

“Ok. Ok, fine!” You sighed, raising your hands in defeat.  

You could hear Katie groan in the hallway before she trudged over to your door, looking far from happy.  

“Didn't think shed actually say yes.” She mumbled to her twin, fishing a little baggie out of her handbag and haphazardly throwing it at you. You clapped it between your hands with a grin.   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You had lasted 2 hours. 2 hours of throwing your head back, laughter spilling easily from your glossed lips.

The aggressive beat of the music sounded somewhat bearable, the smell of body odour and the feel of the slick skin of strangers against your own wasn't as horrific as you imagined. 

But then the drugs started to wear off. You could feel the bite of discomfort from your shoes, the stench of beer and weed and bad breath.  

It took you no longer than 30 seconds to force yourself through the sea of hyper bodies and barge through the double doors of the exit. You were doubled over, hands on your knees as you caught your breath, swallowing gulps of air.  

You focused.  

The slight breeze prickling your hot damp skin, tickling your scalp, jingling your jewellery.  

The rhythmic sound of blood pumping behind your ears, a dull thud in your temple that came and went in weak pulses. You stood up straight, exhaling.  

Get it together. Just need more drugs.  

You shook your head with a huff, digging through your pocket before what looked to be smoke curled just out of corner of your eye. You whipped around, letting out a startled gasp, grabbing onto the handrail behind you.  

Cook blew out the rest of the smoke out to the side, raising his brows.  

“Ayup.” He murmured, slotting the cigarette back between his lips with a little smirk.  

You huffed a hello, leaning your weight back against the handrail.  

“Scared the shit outa me.” You groaned, leaning forward slightly to pluck the cigarette from between his lips, putting it between your own.  

He barked a laugh, sauntering over to lean beside you.  

“Party too hard, did ya peach?” He drawled as you passed his cigarette back.  

“No, the opposite.” You sighed, titling your head back to look up at the stars, or the three that were visible in the shitty weather.  

You closed your eyes. “I fucking hate clubbing.”  

That earnt a laugh from Cook. “Why'd ya come then?”  

You hummed to yourself. “Katie gave me drugs. That's why I'm out here.”  

You resume digging in your pocket, pulling out the pretty much full bag. Cook's eyes widened.  

“Aw, surely share with poor Cookie?” He whined, pouting as he stubbed out his cigarette.  

You rolled your eyes, carefully opening the bag.  

“Only because Cookie always shares with me.” You muse with a little smile, holding it out to him.  

His pout was quickly replaced with that flashy grin as he nodded towards you.  

“Proper lady, you are. What is it?” He asked, taking a bump and rubbing some on his gums before you could answer.  

You shrugged. He smiled and shrugged back, passing you the bag. You rubbed some on your gums and gagged at the unpleasant taste, body shivering in response.

“Why are you out here?” You ask, shoving the baggie back into your pocket.  

He huffed a laugh, sighing as he scuffed his shoe on the ground.  

“Fate.”   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You had never really been inside of Freddie's shed. Freddie never really liked you enough to invite you. You thought he was a bit overrated if anything, you didn't understand why everyone liked him so much.

He is the type of guy to write poetry about his crush and recite it to her outside her window thinking it was some sort of mind-blowing romantic gesture. But Cook and JJ liked him, so you kept your mouth shut.  

You're really not sure how Cook got in, whether Freds kept it unlocked or told him where the key was, but you finally understand why they're always hiding away in here.

Your head lolled to the side, your body sinking into the armchair. Cook was hugging the punching bag, laughing giddily and blabbering on about god knows what.  

“-And I spent a whole week convincing him to do it. He said it was fucking horrendous; no girls would hop on my dick if it looked like a fucken... fucken... but they do, don't they? Tattoo or not, he's a breadwinner mate.” He sighed, smooshing his face against the glossy red material of it.  

You snorted, barking out a laugh.  

“Thank god I wasn't there first day, I think if that was my first impression of you, I would find it a lot harder to look you in the eye.” You wheezed, catching yourself before falling out of the chair.  

He cackled, legs buckling and collapsing on the ground in a heap of laughter.  

“S'not that bad, I promise.” He grinned, pushing his hair back and ruffling it.  

You suck in a deep breath, steadying your laughter before attempting to sit upright in the chair. Your eyes settled on him, on the ground with legs kicked out lazily, propped up on his elbows. He blinked slowly at you, huge grin on his face.

Patterns danced in your periphery, specs of colours blooming everywhere as if you could see each individual particle in the air.  

“I'm kind of curious now.” You mumble, trying not to laugh.  

“What about?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. 

You raise your hand slower than intended and point directly at the crotch of his pants. His brows raised as he smiled wider. You laughed nervously at the thought of a tattooed cock, shaking your head to disperse the idea. But his smile slowly dulled into a small smirk, and he shook his head.  

“No can do, peach.”  

You threw your arms up in despair and let your body fall back into the armchair.  

"Why the bloody hell not? The rest of the school got to sodding see.” You sulked, squinting as you repeatedly pinched your fingers together, squishing his head from your perspective.

He let his head fall forward as he groaned.  

“Because it's only funny when its soft, and I can't stay soft around pretty girls.”

He said it so easily, like it was simple math that you should've figured out. 

You furrowed your brows at him, forcing your brain to process what he was saying.  

"W- but I'm not... like I'm not-”  

“Yep, you are.” He pointed a finger blamingly at you. “Hot stuff, love. Can't control it.” 

You scoffed, shaking your head. You were baffled. Baffled and high as fuck and so it seems, becoming horny as fuck. You turned away, trying to hide the rising heat in your cheeks.  

“Aw, come on princess. You think just because Cookie hasn't cracked ya yet you aren't pretty?” He slowly rose to his feet, wobbling a bit before sauntering over to you. You turned to look at him, a stupid smile on your face.  

“No!” You retort. Liar. He looked down at you; eyes locked on your own as he raised an expectant brow at you. You scoff.  

“No, I am pretty.” You say slowly, making sure he knows you mean it this time. “But it does stump me why you haven't.”  

Cook hums, considering that before slowly shifting to squat, head level with your own.

“I never said I wanted to fuck you. Just want to see this tattoo situation, ya horn dog.” You mumble, doing your best to sound genuine while he studied your gaze.  

A silence sat between you.

Thick. Palpable.

Cook quickly stood up, jumping up and down on the spot before working on the button of his trousers.  

“Right, well you gotta be quick, before he gets the wrong idea.” He says, shoving his pants down and leaving him in his boxers.  

Your eyes widen, hesitating for a second but registering his words and reaching forward.

Your hands hover over his waistband, fingers flexing before you gently grazed the elastic.  

You could see him tensing. The muscles in his legs were strained, his stance solid. You curled your fingers under the band, slowly pulling down.  

Oh wow.     You clapped a hand over your mouth in shock, muffling a shriek of laugher before looking up at him. His eyes were screwed shut, but he huffed out a little laugh, shaking his head.  

“Shut up, I know.” He sighed, but the sigh was cut off almost instantly.  

His breath snagged in his throat, eyes fluttering open at the feeling of your warm skin. You bit your bottom lip hard, forcing yourself to breathe normally.  

You weren't usually this confident.  

Correction, you were never this confident.  

You gently wrapped your fingers around the shaft of his flaccid penis, feeling it twitch and swell slowly in your hand as you pretended you were only here to examine his tattoo.  

Cook let out a small groan, hips bucking slightly as he forced himself to stay still. You looked up at him, searching for anything to say he wanted you to stop.  

"You just gonna stare at it?” He barely managed to croak out.  

That’s all you needed.  

You leaned forward, dipping your head to pepper soft kisses the side of his growing cock, earning a frustrated huff from him. You smiled to yourself as you gently started pumping him in long slow strokes, nuzzling into his hip as you breathed him in. His dick twitched attentively in your hand, and you finally lifted your head, really looking at it now.  

Ignoring the stupid stretch of coloured ink on the left side of the shaft, it was beautiful. Long but not ridiculously so, thick with a cute weeping pink tip. You hummed, eyes momentarily flicking up to his face before fluttering closed.  

You gave a small experimental lick, tongue prodding at his slit before flattening, gathering the precum that drooled out of him. His hips rocked ever so slightly as he bit back a soft whine, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. You slowly suck the tip into your mouth, tongue swirling as you moaned against him.  

“That's it, you got it.” He murmured half lidded, sucking in little breaths every time you took a little more. 

My god, he looked beautiful like this. No hollering, no stupid faces, no cheeky remarks. Just him, warm under your gentle touch, hair messy and voice a soft rumble. 

You moved the hand that had been stabilising his base down to his balls, cupping them and rolling them around in your palm. He bucked into your face with a sharp gasp, and you swallowed a small gag as his tip forced its way down your throat. He mumbled out a small apology, his shaky fingertips brushing a strand of hair from your eyes.  

You hollowed out your cheeks and took in another inch, reaching up your hand to firmly cover his. You curled your fingers over his, making him grab at your hair softly.

He seemed to get the idea.  

You moved both hands to his thighs, bracing yourself as he gripped your hair by the base of your scalp, pulling you forward. His voice cracked, slowly making you take more and more. You swallowed eagerly around his length, trying to keep your breaths measured and even while you still could.  

With a small grunt, he pushed the last of his cock down your throat, spasming and fluttering in response. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you whined around him, nose tickling the coarse hair at the base.  

His grip tightened in your hair, pulling you back just enough to let you breath before shoving you back. You gagged around him as he set the pace, uneven, frantic, desperate.  

You didn't expect him to be so noisy, blabbering curse words and nonsense in between little gasps and moans, bullying his way into you. You dug your nails into his muscular thighs, doing your best to ground yourself.  

“Fuckin’ hell... S'too good, too fucking good...” He mewled, brows furrowed and pupils blown.  

You didn't want it to end. You could pull away now, play with him before finishing him off, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You wanted to please him, wanted to hear how good you made him feel. Saliva dripped down your neck and chin, the bubbly mess smeared across your lips and cheek. His pace quickened, now slamming himself into you with high pitched little grunts.  

“M'gonna cum... Oh god, oh, oh fuck...” His voice was highpitched and depserate, nails digging into your scalp as his movements became sloppy, hips stuttering as he held you flush to his skin.

His voice cracked in a filthy whine, legs shaking as hot thick ropes of cum spurted down your throat. You swallowed the best you could, gagging and breathing deep through your nose.  

With a shaky sigh he slowly drew back, his deflating dick dripping with your saliva. You panted, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked up at the cum drained Cook.  

A lazy smile worked its way onto his flushed face. “I reckon we make that a regular thing, peach.”

[thedriftingmind]

THINKERBELL’S 100 FOLLOWER SPECIAL: MAN’S BEST FRIEND ft. JKCU (or at least all that i know … )

WE DID IT JOE 😭😭😭 WE MADE IT 😭😭😭

in all seriousness, thank you all who have been following along with me on this journey!! i started this account expecting to get unmotivated and end up deleting it, but i posted my first fic and stayed because of all the support and love i got🥹 thank you guys so so much — in honor of this milestone (yayayayay), i introduce to you a special “event” of sorts based off sabrina’s MBF album, where each piece is inspired by a track on the album, hope you guys enjoy :)!! 💌 p.s. i am unfortunately a mood writer, so this and other requests/drafts i have piled up will be written whenever i have the time to/mood to🥹

track 1 -> manchild - gator tillman x fem!wife!reader

being married to gator tillman was…hard sometimes. he had some flaws, such as leaving his socks stuffed inside each other when tossing it in the laundry, getting the floor dirty right after you had mopped it because he ‘forgot to take his shoes off’ after coming home, and many more! however, these were all you could look past ‘cause you love him after it all! however, what you cannot look past is him suddenly thinking it’s okay to walk inside your home with his ‘tillman macho man’ bullshit. or, in which gator tillman gets put on a sex ban because he thought it was okay to start telling you to ‘cook and clean like a woman was born to do’.

‘if i’m not there, it won’t get done. i choose to blame your mom!’ (get it cause he doesn’t have one?? anyone???)

track 2 -> tears - steve harrington x fem!reader

some people would call steve harrington a bimbo, of sorts. he doesn’t realize what he’s doing half the time, but you do, and it’s having a bigger effect on you each time. or, all the moments steve harrington has done casual acts that gets you wetter than any sexual act he could’ve done (this synopsis bad as hell SORRY)

‘i get wet at the thought of you, being a responsible guy!’

track 3 -> my man on his willpower - joe keery x fem!reader

since his very first days working with post animal, you had a feeling joe was gonna be big one day, bigger than just being the guy who plays ‘steve harrington’. you were all for it, why wouldn’t you be? he was happy doing what he loved and it’s not like he neglected you for it. well at least he didn’t up until early 2024 when he started going “viral” and getting booked constantly for interviews and small showings at bars across the US, then 2025 when he went on tour for the crux, and now 2026 where he’s leaving you again to open for tame. or, in which, joe starts to forget there’s someone waiting for him at home, and you start to feel neglected because he’s always busy and working.

‘my man’s forgotten his devotion, where he’s gone god only knows’ (lowkey wanted to add the whole song cause it’s my favorite but yk whatever idec fr…💔)

track 4 -> sugar talking - walter “keys” mckey x fem!wife!reader

you knew being a game developer was an important and stressful job, so you never shit on keys for accidentally missing dinner dates or coming home late when you’re already asleep. however, when you find out on the night of your birthday — that he’s not here for by the way because he’s “busy” — that all these times he’s been missing from events, he’s been with millie, you flip out, pack your shit, and stay at your moms while keys grovels for your forgiveness.

‘it’s verbatim what you said last week. it’s your seventh last chance, honey’

track 5 -> we almost broke up again last night - gator tillman x fem!sweetheart!reader (kinda connected to prev. gator tillman x sweetheart!reader)

ever since gator had asked you on a date to ‘make up for what he did’, you’ve noticed a pattern. every time it starts to get good and serious between the two of you, he pulls away and leaves you hanging. you make up your mind when he leaves you right after taking your virginity — you are not letting him come back and mess with your feelings again. (but you will when he grovels! sorry)

‘gave me his whole heart then i gave him head and then we almost broke up again’

track 6 -> nobody’s son - steve harrington x fem!reader

dating steve harrington was the best thing that ever happened to you — he takes you out all the time, buys you flowers ‘just because’, and your parents ADORE him. the only thing that upsets you is how secretive he is. there’s times he’ll show up late with a black eye and not tell you what happened or times where he’ll abruptly leave in the middle of movie night because ‘dustin needs a ride to mike’s’, which you know is a lie because you had talked to dustin’s mom that morning and she said they’d be at his aunts house for the weekend. the cherry on top is seeing him out with nancy the day he cancelled your date because ‘dustin needs him. it all builds up and gets to a point where you can’t handle it anymore, so you snap at steve and confront him to find out the truth. or, in which steve thinks he’s keeping you safe from the horror of hawkins when in reality he’s pushing away and leading you to believe he’s cheating on you.

‘there’s nobody’s son, not anyone left for me to believe in’

track 7 -> never getting laid - fwb!gator tillman x fem!reader

having a friends with benefits arrangement with gator tillman meant having to get used to him constantly reminding you that ‘this is nothing more than a quick fuck for the both of us’. you were fine with that up until he started acting like … yours? picking you up after work, staying over longer than usual, and hanging out just for fun and not for sex. so when you see him making out and getting frisky with another girl in an alleyway, you cut off all contact and cry in bed for the weekend. every time he stops by and knocks on your door, you ignore it. every time he comes by after your shift, you walk past him without a glance. however, now you’re forced to talk to him when your house gets broken into and he’s doing everything possible to figure out what went wrong. (he does everything possible in the span of a few months after that incident to get you back — it works)

‘i just wish you didn’t have a mind that could flip like a switch. that could wander and drift to a neighboring bitch’

track 8 -> when did you get hot? - kurt kunkle x fem!reader

back in high school, kurt was popular. well, as popular as you can get for being known as a total loser. back then, you found him cute with his puppy eyes and all, but now? after seeing #thelesson, you were now the one fawning over him the way he used to do you. you finally get your chance to pounce on him when you get him as your spree driver, so why not let him record it as well?

‘congratulations on your new improvements, i bet your light rods like bigger than Zeus’’

track 9 -> go go juice - joe keery x fem!reader

ever since your break up with joe, it seems your life has gone … slightly off the rails. you went from staying home every night and sleeping in a bed with joes arms hooked around your waist to drinking and finally joining your friends whenever they go out to distract yourself from the heartbreak you were still feeling. one night, you get a little too drunk and it’s evident in the way you walk down the street. a group of officers stop you to make sure you’re okay and end up calling your one emergency contact: joe, who rushes over to pick you up and bring you home where you then beg him to stay. waking up that morning was .. awkward to say the least. however, you and joe end up having a long conversation about what happens next.

‘ain’t nobody safe when im a little bit drunk .. + .. i miss you and i think about you every minute.’

track 10 -> don’t worry, i’ll make you worry - steve harrington x fem!reader

steve didn’t know where he stood with you. you guys would go out and have fun, then you’ll dodge his calls, and the cycles repeats when you ask him to hang out again. you also didn’t know where you guys stood, mostly because you didn’t trust yourself to get too serious with steve after having issues with your ex

‘i’ll make you worry like no other girl can, so don’t worry, damn sure i’ll never let you know where you stand’

track 11 -> house tour - joe keery x fem!reader

the fact that joe was finally coming back home after a year of touring and lollapalooza had you way more excited than you anticipated. you decided a week before he was expected to come home to have a full week of spoiling yourself. you went and got waxed, got new clothes (lingerie), and got your hair done. (yeah guys idk how to word this one except joe coming home to you being a sight for sore eyes and just fucking the shit out of u idk pls)

‘yeah, i spent a little fortune on the waxed floors.. + ..i’m pleasured to be your hot tour guide’

track 12 -> goodbye - gator tillman x fem!reader

how it feels being on and off with gator tillman ( so basically just head canons or something i can’t think of a full plot for this, sorry 🥹 )

‘sayonara, adios, on the flip side, cheerios! por siempre te amo - wait no! shit when did you get here?? put on some clothes! goodbyee’

anddd, that’s a wrap! would’ve done the bonus track, but that’s for another day ;) thank you to whoever is taking their time reading this, love you tata!

[ilovecowboysyouknowthat]

Cook getting a tongue piercing

Bf cook edition ⋆♱

FRESHLY PIERCED ╰┈➤

.⋆♱ cook who loses a dare on a night out, drunk off his head and gets his tongue pierced impulsively, without realising how long it would take to heal and use it.

.⋆♱ cook the next morning wakes up on jjs couch confused why his mouth is aching. when he realises why his first thought it to get to yours. excited to show you, thinking he’s getting so much play today.

.⋆♱ when you first see it you’re immediately turned on like who wouldn’t be? Cooks sticking his tongue out every which way to show it off and you’re already imagining him between your legs.

.⋆♱ you knew it would be a while till he could eat you out (cook doesn’t realise). “Babes come on try it out”, so duh you do and holy shit it feels amazing, cook makes quick work of slipping his tongue into your mouth. You can feel the coolness of the metal ball on your tongue and cooks pressed against you and moaning like a slut.

.⋆♱ cooks head gets really fuzzy the longer you kiss, his tongue is aching softly mixed with your moans vibrating between your lips was sending heat down low, cook could feel himself chubbing up and he was ‘ready to make out with that sweet pussy now’.

.⋆♱ cook breaks the kiss opting to trails kisses and kitten licks down your neck. Slyly grabbing your pants waist band to inches them down to get to what he’s been excited to show you since he woke up. And Just as he starts to drop to his knees you stop him.

.⋆♱ “no cook” you try to pull him up by the collar when you realise what he doing, even though you want exactly the same thing you have to be the responsible one (like always) “cook, baby no it has to heal before we can do that” babes wad the fuck are you talking about It’ll be fine, now let me treat my woman” cook complains.

.⋆♱ about it hurting all the time and asks for kisses to make him feel better. Will get you to put an ice cube in your mouth when making out and it feels soooo good. 🫠

.⋆♱ you have to do all of the aftercare for him.

.⋆♱ you’re obsessed with it, when cooks just sitting peacefully on your bed minding his business you’ll jump on his lap just to pry open his mouth to look and play with it using your tongue “babhy wadare ur doin” “it’s so hot babe”.

.⋆♱ he’s immediately showing it off to everyone at college, when you clock effy standing and little to close and seeming ton interested you quickly snatch his up away before you slap her.

.⋆♱ is soooo dramatic he can’t eat you out for the few weeks of healing that he Deadass cried on your shoulder because of it.

.⋆♱ cook also loves the attention of it all especially from the birds at college. even though he would never do anything or imagine cheating on you (he’s a slut what can he say).

.⋆♱ cooks oral fixation gets 10x worse with it, hes constantly playing with it in his mouth but…he finds himself loving to suck on your fingers or playing with your tits, flicking his ball against your nipples. It soothes him and stops the aching on his tongue.

HEALED ╰┈➤

.⋆♱ the second he gets the all clear his favourite pastime is eat out you out, like seriously it becomes a problem. The second he wakes up he wants your pussy. After breakfast he wants to devour you. After and in the shower he’s eating it. After college he’s getting you to sit on his face. After a night out he’s asking to 69. Right before bed he’s laying you down and sliding between your legs to make out with your pussy. (Ofc you let him whenever he wants)

.⋆♱ will beg you to get one of your own, and it doesn’t take much convincing for you to get it the following week after his is fully healed. “Come on babes it’ll feel so good on me cock” “69ing would be fucken magical” “image two of em when we kiss” “if ya loved me and me cock ya would hon”

.⋆♱ LOVES to show it off to any and everyone who asks him about it.

.⋆♱ loves temperature play, wants to kiss with an ice cube because it feels so gooddd With the cold bar.

.⋆♱ his favourites are a red pill, a classic 2000s red and black spike ball and a vibrating bar which is coincidentally your favourite as well. Loves when you buy him new ones especially so you can test which feels the best.

[keeryspullman]

I need some DEVIOUS sub!Gator Tillman thoughts, like devilish.

A/N: [Insert Olivia Wilde nod meme here] I've been missing Gator and this request unleashed something in my brain. Send me your thoughts/headcanons!

★ One of your favorite things to do is handcuff both of Gator's hands to the bed, then tease and edge him until he's a whimpering mess begging you to let him come. Instead of helping him release, you sit and watch. Sometimes playing with yourself, which makes him writhe on the bed and beg to help you, or trying on your different sets of lingerie, which has Gator screaming for you. By the end of it, he's sniveling and shaking with the desperate puppy dog look in his eyes. You finally uncuff him and let him jerk off.

★ Another thing you like to use on Gator is a leash. He got angry after you compared him to a puppy, then said something along the lines of "why don't ya just get me a leash then?", so you did. Gator was against it until he has the collar and leash on and you gave him a tug. Knowing that you were in complete control of him drove him insane. Usually, you'll walk him around the house with it a few times (while he's on his hands and knees, of course), just to get him in the mood. Then, you'll tie the leash to the bed frame, making it just loose enough so he can eat you out while he's on his knees.

★ Gator unravels any time you do something that has to do with his butt. Even something as simple as grabbing or slapping it (he will, of course, return the favor every time). If you even go near his hole while you're having sex, he's halfway to an orgasm. When you come home with a strap and introduce pegging to Gator, he practically starts begging you to go through with it. He completely gives himself up to you and lets you have your way with him. Gator's blissed out when you finish with him, eyes glazed and teary.

★ Everyone knows this but Gator totally has a praise kink. And Sub!Gator will do anything and everything to get praised by you. His favorite thing to do is eat you out (and he's very very good at it).

★ I had the idea for this about a month ago and I came across it again while doing my masterlist (I mentioned it in the tags of a post about Steve). It's forced feminization with Gator. You've gotten tired of his misogynistic bullshit and decide to do something about it. Gator's wary at first, but you're the boss and he knows he's usually into whatever you suggest. You buy him a dress and heels, then do his makeup when you get home. The whole time you're getting him ready, you make sure to tell him how pretty he is. While you're fucking him, you make sure to tell him what a pretty little slut he is for you. Gator pretends not to like it, but you can tell that he does. Some of his toxic masculinity begins to dissipate after that, and you start to call him a slut every once in a while, just to see him squirm.

★ This isn't very devious, but I like to imagine that after these intense situations, Gator gets the best aftercare. You brush away the tears he swears never came out and cuddle him until he feels ready to move. Once he is, you set up a bath for him, then wash his body and hair gently. He closes his eyes while you massage his scalp and muscles, telling him what a good job he did for you (which almost gets him hard again). After he's dried off, you get him a cup of water or a mug of warm milk because he refuses to drink tea and wait until he drifts off (which doesn't take very long).

A/N: This is very new for me, but I had a lot of fun writing it!