FOR ALL MY WRITINGS THE TAG IS #MY FIC. there are things tagged as such that are not linked here (like asks or drabbles, etc)!
DISCLAIMER: i am vehemently anti-AI. i have never and will never use AI for anything, much less for writing. i do not give permission for any of my written works to be fed into any AI program ever.
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gator tillman
s e r i e s •
“𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖” masterpost
carriage house masterpost
measured in threes
part 1: sixteen
“You stay away from that boy.”
That had been your parents’ mantra since you came to the Tillman ranch almost 16 years ago.
part 2: twenty-two
Six years after you left the Tillman ranch, you found a way back.
precarious
part 1: sheriff's gambit ••• part 2: safe zone
you’re the special investigator that the FBI sends down, not to investigate a crime per se; you’re there to investigate roy.
swg
3+1
3 times you sexted with gator, 1 time you didn't
late late shift
sometimes working overnight has its benefits
mirror image
gator finds a more entertaining show than a sheriff's department dinner
valentine's day
nothing says romance like sexting with gator tillman!
imperative
gator? no, dog.
&&
o n e s h o t s •
cotton candy dream girl
You were a cotton candy-wrapped dream in pink cowboy boots, sweet to look at and even sweeter to talk to, everything he could want.
rearview
Gator lets you off with a warning.
power play
Below we see the Alligator tillmanensis (common name: Gator Tillman) in his natural habitat, experiencing the 5 stages of grief.
nasty
spit kink with gator!
game over • #stepgator for asks/drabbles
what's a little taboo between stepsibs friends?
bite
You put Gator in his place.
free show
Gator brings you to a family barbecue, sans panties.
wanna hear you say
Just a friendly competition is all it is.
deputy, please respond
You can never get enough of Gator.
steve harrington
s e r i e s •
1995
chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3
Steve was cute, and he'd been a decent lay when you were both 17 and inexperienced, but you'd grown up a lot since high school. You could still see him in your mind: Athletic, thin build, mile-high hair, that absent yet pointed expression he always wore. Cute, but something you'd left in the past. You were a woman now. Interested in bigger, better men.
It's 1995 and you're back in Hawkins High's gym, staring down Steve Harrington like he's your next goddamn meal. Because he is most certainly a bigger, better man.
the tipping point
You didn't start out friends with Steve Harrington, that was for sure, but you reached a tipping point.
ch1: bruises
let's show them we are better; joint fic with @sheisjoeschateau
masterpost here • all chapters linked in masterpost.
my blog tag is here
&&
o n e s h o t s •
best girl
You wouldn’t say you hated Steve Harrington, not back then, anyway—that would mean you had to feel anything for him at all, which you totally didn’t.
sweater stays on
no one was immune to that sex sweater, yourself included.
lesson one
steve teaches you how to swim. among other things.
one more?
34+35 (thank you for 69 followers)
reprise
steve just likes being inside you
live fast, die young
you win a drag race and steve gives you a trophy (that is innuendo)
it could be
after a breakup, steve makes you feel better. a lot better.
until tomorrow morning
stuck in hawkins after the earthquake, steve changes your mind and your heart.
something new
spit kink with steve!
short straw
drawing the short straw gets you a trip to the upside down with steve, where things take a turn. a big one.
steve-morial day weekend!
teacake meacham
loquacious
teacake puts his mouth to better use than just yapping
reciprocal
BEST friends (with benefits).
more
spit kink with teacake!
mirror image
the couple that jerks it together, works out forever.
be quiet (no, don’t)
teacake literally cannot stop talking.
djolings headcanon masterpost!
KBOC masterpost
tillington
d r a b b l e s •
thoughts • gator/steve/you nsfw
advanced d&d • gator/steve/you fluff
compare//contrast • gator/steve/you nsfw
the back of your own hand • gator/steve/you nsfw
dick measuring contest • gator/steve/you nsfw
gotcha • gator/steve/you nsfw
This originally started life as a one-shot in response to an anon’s ask, where Gator says something misogynistic and you slap him - and it turns out he likes that. That idea grew arms and legs and turned into something I’m actually really proud of.
2018. You’re working a busy Friday night shift in a bar in Dickinson. When Gator Tillman and his band of merry deputies walk in acting like they own the place, it’s the last thing you need. When Gator pushes things too far, someone needs to kick him back into line.
cw - alcohol/drinking/drunkenness, something in the region of dom/sub vibes (sub!Gator hive rise up), canon-typical misogyny, mild violence, masturbation (m solo and f to m), domestic violence (discussed/off page), drunk-driving (discussed/off page), deaths of a man and child (discussed/off page), car accident (discussed/off page).
He’s had you the way you’d let him - laid out on his stomach between your legs, face buried between your thighs, taking his time about it. It took him a while to get there but somewhere along the way he’s become an enthusiastic champion of the art of pussy eating, and now he’ll tell you, hand to God, that sometimes he thinks he’d be happy if that’s all you ever wanted from him. Just that. Forever. He’d manage.
But then the itch comes back. At the back of his head. Low and insistent.
More.
He knows you’re nervous. Knows you worry about hurting him, about your weight, about all the logistics your brain runs through while his is running through something else entirely. He’s tried to tell you it doesn’t work like that. Hasn’t found the words yet. Gator’s not much for words when what he wants to do is just grab your hips and pull you up and up and up until the geometry of the thing stops being a problem you need to worry about.
He hasn’t done it. Yet.
But the wanting sits in him like a held breath, and one of these days he’s going to run out of patience, and it’s going to come out sounding less like a request and more like a fact.
That day is today.
“Get up here.”
You start to say something - the usual something, the weight thing, the worry thing - and he looks at you with that flat expression that means he’s already decided and the conversation you’re trying to have isn’t one he’s interested in.
“I know what I’m asking for.”
Six words. Said the way he’d order his coffee.
His hands find your hips before you’ve finished deciding, and there’s nothing rough about it, just certain - the grip of a man who has thought about this more than he’s thought about most things and is done thinking about it now. He moves you deftly, repositioning you like it’s obvious, like of course, like the only question was always going to be when.
And when you’re there, finally, where he’s wanted you…
He goes still for about half a second. Then something happens to his face that you don’t see very often. Not quite a smile but close, and more than that - bright, almost. Like a kid who’s been told yes after a very long no. His hands tighten on your thighs and he exhales through his nose and it comes out sounding embarrassingly close to fuckin’ finally.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to, but you can feel him grinning against your skin.
His hands grip again at your thighs. Holding, just on the right side of tight.
and now I’m thinking about how teacake would love those fun little app-controlled toys given his long boring overnight shifts ….
aw wait both of you having one tho
sorry i’m like this but just him getting a little vibrating butt plug bc he doesn’t want to be left out and you don’t want to be the only one having fun :’)
can i also just say scoops!steve's shorts waistband was definitely elastic and easy to pull down just enough to give him head under the counter ok im done -🥞
HELP I WAS JUST STANDING HERE AND SOMEONE SAID THIS TO ME
pairing: gator tillman/f!reader
wc: 5.6k
tags: MDNI//SMUT- use of slut and bitch (reader likes it), sorta mean gator but not really... kinda just like a fuckboy i guess, semi-public sex, public sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, possessive gator, fuckbuddies, lowkey panty kink, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, masturbation (f), nipple play, perhaps they have caught feelings, cutie ending bc i'm a romantic at heart
a/n: back on my bullshit 🐊🖤
&&
The perks of getting to the station at the asscrack of dawn were few and far between. As far as you could tell, there were two.
The first was the peace and quiet, without the shuffle of papers or chatter of your colleagues.
The second was Gator.
“Fuck—fuck, right there,” you half-shouted, hands scrabbling over the wood surface of the sheriff's desk, searching for purchase, as Gator held your hips even tighter, his hips slamming into your ass, driving his cock into you even further with every thrust, feeling like he was going to split you in half in the best fucking way.
“Yeah, that's right,” he said, voice gravelly from behind you as he pushed a little too roughly against you, your hands sliding over the reports placed on the desk, scattering them to the floor. Neither of you cared enough to worry about what they might have been or if they were in any particular order.
“Gator,” you moaned, just letting your upper half collapse onto the desk, not trying to move away from him but instead giving yourself the leverage to hike one of your legs up onto the surface beside you, your right knee nudging the sheriff's desk lamp and almost knocking it over, as you spread yourself even further apart for your fellow deputy behind you.
“God, fuckin' good little bitch y'are,” Gator muttered, and you groaned, reaching back with your right hand to dig your fingers into your ass cheek, holding yourself open too, now, so Gator could see himself entering you. You heard him chuckle.
“Fuck me,” you whined in response, half sprawled out on his father's desk as he slid his hands to your waist, pulling you back onto his cock as he just kept pounding into you, the slap of skin on skin audible, the wet sounds of him entering and leaving your tight pussy just serving to make your clit throb, your tongue peek out of your mouth. You were so goddamn worked up you were fucking panting.
And Gator clocked it, because of course he did. He could read your body like no one else ever had. He laughed again, derisive—your pussy clenched down on him, and he groaned before he spoke, his hand skimming up your spine through your uniform shirt, because all you'd bothered to remove was your boots and pants.
“Losin' yer breath there, huh?” Gator asked. “Need it that bad.” That one wasn't a question.
“Yeah,” you agreed, knowing you were better off keeping your wits about you, since you were here for work, after all, but not quite able to shake it off. Gator was a motherfucker with a mouth on him, someone you wouldn't bring home to mama, but with how he took care of you in other ways, that was actually the perfect reason not to bring him to meet her.
“Need me t'fill up this perfect little tang a'yers,” he said, and you loosed a stuttering breath at how filthy he made you feel, the absolutely vile shit he said to you—the way it made you clench down on him, made the slide even easier because he had you gushing at the demeaning words leaving his lips.
“Please,” you moaned, and he shoved into you fully, and stopped.
“N—Gator, don't—don't stop,” you whined, and he just laughed again, pulling out of you, watching as your pussy gaped a little once you were empty, your slit fluttering around nothing.
“Turn over,” he said, waiting as you managed to flip yourself around on shaky legs, leaning back against Roy's desk, watching as he made sure the condom was still exactly where it was supposed to be, not paying you any attention at all.
Your arousal was running down one of your thighs as you stood there waiting, his thick cock jutting straight out from his front, curved up just a little, the rubber sheathing him shiny, doused with you.
“Lean back,” he said, stepping closer to you, and you did, bracing yourself on Sheriff Tillman's desk—your boss and his father, making all of this even more fucked up than it was—and before you really had your balance, Gator had hooked one of his hands beneath your thigh, pulling it up roughly, opening you for him again. He held onto it, crowding you, bullying his cock back into your loose pussy and you groaned as he bottomed out yet again, this time feeling his breath fanning over your lips and cheek, mint mixed with tobacco, his eyes on yours.
“Y'like me close like this, right?”
“Yeah,” you agreed, but you'd take him in any position in any place at any time. You weren't picky, not when it came to him.
“Yeah,” he sneered, echoing you. “Like ya like this too. Grindin' that sweet little tang all over my cock, go on, get movin'.”
He held your leg to the side, making sure that he had enough room to fuck into you as you balanced half on the edge of the desk, the wetness that had been dripping onto your thigh now smearing over his front as he rolled his hips against you.
“I said get movin',” Gator said, and with his free hand he reached back behind you, pressing his fingers beneath you to cup your ass so you were nearly sitting on his hand. It spurred you on—you bucked into him, feeling his cock press even deeper into you, drawing a groan from your chest as you felt his cheek round up as he pressed the side of his face to yours, grinning as he whispered to you. “Y'know yer mine, right?” Gator asked you.
You shuddered, nodding, but that wasn't answer enough for him. He squeezed your ass, squeezed your leg, pushing it back even more to spread you open further, fuck you even deeper.
“All fuckin' mine,” he said. “Ain't no one else ever gonna fuck you like I do, y'know that, right?”
“Yes, G—” you started to say, but he wasn't finished yet. His hips pressed tight into yours as he pushed into you all the way, stilling deep inside you. Your body was squeezing down around him, your walls clinging to him, pulsing, trying to entice him to start moving again, though the weight of him just resting inside you was still satisfying in its own depraved way.
“This pussy belongs to me,” he said, pulling out and thrusting back in. “This mouth belongs to me.” He let his lips brush over yours but didn't kiss you—he never did. “This fuckin' tight little ass belongs to me.” He dug his fingertips into the plush flesh of your backside so hard it almost hurt. “I think y'like that, don'tcha?”
“Yes,” you nearly cried out.
His cheek was against yours again, lips brushing over it as he spoke, the faint tickle of his eyelashes making you shudder. “Then give it all t'me, darlin',” Gator said. “Show me how much y'like it, c'mon.”
“Gator...” you whimpered, and he huffed a short laugh as your hands gripped his arms, shaky fingers pressing into his triceps.
“Fucked ya out already?” he mused. “Fuckin' pillow princess.”
You whined as his hand slid out from beneath your ass and moved to your thigh, splaying out there as his thumb crooked against your mound, sliding down to press between your labia. He rubbed at the hood of your clit for a moment before moving down just a little further, the pad of his finger finally making contact with your neglected clit.
“Ah, fuck, Gator,” you said, not dipping your head back but forward, resting your temple against his shoulder, tipping your chin to kiss his neck.
“Wanna feel ya come, ya little fuckin' slut,” he said, with as much affection as he could muster—which wasn't a lot, but you had done this enough times by now that you knew the tone with which he said it wasn't as harsh as it could be. “Know I ain't done 'til you are.”
“I'm close,” you said, grasping at him. The sun was rising higher in the sky—the other deputies would be arriving soon. Sheriff Tillman would be arriving soon, and if he caught his son with you in his office, one of you would be getting the boot and it wasn't Gator.
“S'prised it took this long,” Gator mumbled, rubbing your clit in slow, deep circles now, feeling it kick against his thumb, feeling your pussy ripple around him in waves. “Must be offa my game.”
“Tried to—hold it back,” you admitted, and Gator didn't pull away to look at you, just kept shallowly dragging his cock out of you and then pushing back in, giving you the depth and pressure you liked rather than the friction he needed.
“What fer?”
“Wanna feel you all day,” you breathed, and you felt Gator's cock twitch when you did, his hips rub against your thighs as his body tried to seat him even further inside you. It affected him, but of course he had to pretend it didn't.
“Think ya wouldn't if it was quick?” he said, starting to fuck you properly again, but keeping it slow for you, snapping his hips in at the last moment so his front hit yours with a little extra pressure.
You whimpered in response, and he fucked you harder, quicker, picking up the pace with his thumb too. After a few passes, he hit just the right angle, and your orgasm hit you, your whole body tightening up around him—vaguely, you heard him groan as he fucked into you one last time, his hips stuttering against yours as your orgasm pulled Gator's along with it, and you both rode it out together, his face pressed into your cheek, your lips kissing his earlobe, drawing it between your lips for a brief moment.
“Fuckin' shit,” Gator half-growled as he came down, holding onto you to ground himself before he even attempted to move.
“Jesus,” you sighed, as he lowered your leg back down but didn't pull out of you, your thighs tight on either side of his hips. You looked up at him, eyes meeting, and he studied you for a moment.
“Fit fer duty?” he asked, as he always did after he wrung you out, and you laughed, because that was what you always did too.
“As a fuckin' fiddle,” you replied, and Gator pulled out of you, the both of you flinching a little at the sensation of losing each other, not wanting to even if this was nearly an every day occurrence for you. You slid off of the sheriff's desk as Gator backed up, tying off the condom and grabbing some tissues out of his jacket pocket for the two of you to clean up.
“Got any more?” you asked, still wiping your thighs. “I'm, um...”
Out of the moment, you were never as good with dirty talk, but Gator didn't have that problem, even a little.
“Got ya soakin' wet, didn't I,” he said, handing you the rest of the tissues he had. “Had ya fuckin' drippin' down yer own leg.”
“Yeah, well,” you said, dismissively, but felt your cheeks burning.
He stepped closer, caging you in against his dad's desk, even though you were at risk of being discovered now more than ever.
“Yeah, well,” he said. “She knows who she belongs to, don't she?”
You swallowed, nodding.
“Who?” Gator asked.
You scoffed, not quite believing he was going to make you say it.
“Who,” he demanded. “Say it.”
“You,” you replied. “You, Gator.”
He put his hand on your hip, sliding it over your abdomen, his thumb dipping into your folds again to brush over your swollen clit, still sensitive and wet, making you tense a little. “Goddamn right.”
He tugged his pants back up, tucked himself away, left you standing at his father's desk half-naked and completely debauched. “Have a good day, Deputy,” he said, smug, and left the office.
&&
The coffee you stopped for an hour later did nothing to calm you the fuck down—in fact, it only made you feel even more wound up. Gator was probably doing a task for his dad—you'd heard the sheriff reaming him for something or other as you twirled your keychain around your finger and headed out to the lot to climb into your cruiser and take off on patrol, waiting to become useful to dispatch.
But it was a slow morning. You'd pulled off the highway just behind a low wooded area, hiding yourself from oncoming vehicles to try and catch anyone who might get the bright idea to speed in broad daylight on the open road, and sipped your coffee. You'd ordered it light and sweet, heavy on the sweet, and apparently the guy who'd made it for you didn't know what either of those words meant because it was still dark and barely tasted of sugar at all.
You nursed the steaming cup, settling back in your seat, watching for anything untoward happening on the highway, but you didn't spot much, other than people slowing down once they noticed your car as they were halfway to passing you.
Wasn't worth pulling someone over for going only a few over the limit. No, you were waiting for the small-dicked show-offs in their overpowered pickup trucks or bright and shiny sports cars, pushing triple-digits because they thought they could.
It didn't take long for your mind to wander—the radio chatter wasn't worth listening to, not really, so you put your tepid coffee in the cupholder and exhaled deeply, sliding a little bit further down in your seat and adjusting your seatbelt so it wasn't pressing against your throat.
Sighing heavily, you tuned back in to the radio for a moment as you heard Gator's voice.
“Anyone know what time the pizza place near the station opens?”
You snickered, and then laughed quietly to yourself as dispatch responded.
“Deputy Tillman, the radio is to be used for official department business.”
“Fuckin' hell,” Gator said back. “Just tryna find out when I can get a slice.”
“It opens at 11,” Lemley answered, and you just smirked as Gator thanked him and a different dispatcher admonished them both.
You let your head tip back against the driver's seat, your hand trailing over your thigh, clad in your thick uniform trousers. Even through the canvas, you still felt yourself get twitchy, your inner thigh jumping a little at your touch.
God, you did still feel him, even though it had been a couple hours since you'd hooked up.
You glanced at the radio—silent. Surely there wouldn't be anything going on so early this morning that you'd be needed to get involved with. You hesitated, then lifted your hand from your thigh to lower the volume. It was fine.
With your right hand, you unbuckled your seatbelt and with your left, you dug into your pocket for your phone, swiping to open it and navigating to your text thread with Gator, which was pretty much exclusively nudes and lewds that you two sent to each other as spank bank material—you didn't have much to talk about otherwise, truthfully.
Scrolling through the photos with one hand, you unbuttoned your pants with the other and tugged down the zipper, lifting your hips and shoving them down just enough that you could slip your hand down between your thighs.
This was some Gator type shit to do, for sure—you smirked, because just as the thought crossed your mind, you passed a photo he'd sent you of his cock, propped up on the steering wheel of his cruiser, his thumb curled over the head, smearing his precome away from the slit. You felt your pussy clench a little at the sight of him, and pressed your fingertips against your slit through your panties, but kept flicking through pictures.
You paused for a moment on one you'd sent, a shot of you from the waist up, one hand gathered in your hair, head cocked slightly to the side, the other playing with one of your nipples, lips swollen from how you'd been biting them. You studied yourself, then nodded approvingly. You were fucking hot. You rubbed at your slit, then stopped. You might be a little conceited but probably not enough to jack off to yourself.
Back to Gator.
You loosed a little groan as you slid your hand up your front and then back down into your panties, letting your middle finger slip between your folds as you kept looking through pictures—and then stopped, finding one he'd sent pretty early in your situationship, when you were both still walking on eggshells around each other and thus going all out in your dick and titty pictures.
His cock was flushed, red at the tip, drooling precome in a streak down the head; he was flexing it toward the camera, so you could see how big he was, how close to coming he'd been when he snapped the picture, his hand not wrapped around it but just propping it up on his palm.
“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, pressing your finger further between your labia to rub over your clit, sighing a little. You were still wet, even though you'd tried to clean yourself up; your fingertip was slicking so goddamn easily over your clit that you felt your nipples perk up in your bra at how easy it was to touch yourself. You were still fucking drenched, and you curled your wrist a little, the pad of your fingertip sliding down from your clit to your leaking cunt, rubbing at your entrance but not moving inside—this was going to be quick and dirty to try to get it out of your system, not you taking your time the way you wanted to.
You tapped the picture of Gator's cock, fullscreening it, and moved your finger back up to your clit, tongue flitting over your lips as you rubbed yourself, looking at the picture but mostly thinking about Gator, especially that morning.
“Ain't no one else ever gonna fuck you like I do," he'd said, and you groaned quietly, because god, he was probably right. It took a special kind of person to walk the line between generous and debaucherous, and Gator balanced on it perfectly.
The sound of your hand working between your legs filled the car, and you closed your eyes, but held your thumb on your phone screen in case you wanted a visual to go with your memory, and you thought of the way you'd felt his lips just brush over yours, the slight graze of his eyelashes on your temple, and your whole body gave a kick, your clit throbbing, your pussy desperate for something inside of it again.
“Y'know yer mine, right?” he'd asked you.
“Yours,” you mumbled, so fucking lost, a little embarrassed of the hold he had on you, but fuck if he wasn't right. You did like it, liked how possessive he was of you, how much he wanted you, desired you. If you belonged to him, you knew that the reverse was also true—he could claim your pussy was his as much as he wanted, but all that meant was he was yours just the same. Wrapped around your little finger.
You opened your eyes and looked down at the picture again, then frantically swiped back through them to find the one of him in the cruiser, because suddenly that one seemed like the right one to see at the moment.
“Fuck,” you said, loudly, because you were about to crest your peak, your finger slipping erratically over your clit, and you still hadn't found the picture you were looking for—and then all of a sudden, a knock came at your window.
You shrieked a little, your hand stilling between your legs, dropping your phone; it bounced off your thigh and slid down between the door and the seat.
“Hell you doin'?” Gator asked, bemused, a smirk on his lips.
“Gator?” you asked, mouth dry, cheeks burning hot. “What are you—?” You got half the question out before you saw his eyes dip down to your lap, and then back up to your face. His lack of a reaction told you he'd seen what you were doing before he'd tapped on your window.
“Open the window,” he said. “Don't move otherwise.”
“Gator,” you said, stern, and started to pull your hand out of your pants as you reached to depress the button to roll the window down.
“Don't you fuckin' dare,” he said, leaning half into the car. You thought for one hysterical moment he was going to kiss you. Your heart sped up a little in your chest, even though it was already fluttering.
But no—he didn't even look at you as he leaned over you, past you, his arm reaching for your radio. He turned the volume knob up until you could hear.
“—pond?” A pause. “Deputy, please respond?” the dispatcher was requesting.
Gator grabbed the radio with one hand.
“Go on,” he said, voice low. “Respond.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, hanging half into the window of your cruiser, and held the radio up to your mouth while pressing the button on the side.
With his other hand, he reached down to cup his hand over yours, pressing your hand against yourself. Your breath hitched.
“D-Deputy sheriff, badge number 4101,” you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady. Gator tucked his hand further between your legs. “All clear, all—all set. Musta accidentally hit the radio knob 'nd turned the volume down.” You looked up at Gator, who just about nudged your cheek with the radio, then slid his hand up just the same as you'd done, and then right back down, fingers lacing with yours as he moved them together, making the pad of your finger slide over your clit again. “Deputy Tillman is on scene,” you said. “No problems, thanks.”
“Thank you Deputy,” the dispatcher said. “Be more careful with that radio.”
“Will do,” you said, shaking a little, waiting for Gator to release the button that would transmit any audio from your cruiser, and once you saw his finger move away, you moaned, moving your free hand to his wrist, clinging to him.
“Jesus fuckin' Christ,” he said, tossing the radio into the passenger seat, the coiled wire bouncing around as he did. “Didn't give it to ya good enough this mornin', ya needed even more?” He crowded into you, even though he was leaning in through the window. “When I said ya were a good little bitch I didn't think you'd start actin' like y'were in heat. God damn.”
“Gator,” you whined, and he smirked down at you, pulling his hand out of your pants and then, as you watched, lifted his wet fingers to his lips and sucked them off.
“Get out,” he said, as he lowered his hand. When you hesitated, he jerked his head toward the backseat. “C'mon. Get movin'.”
You opened the door to your cruiser as he backed up a few steps, taking his hand as he helped you out and then walked you right past the rear door, opening it and waiting for you to sit on the back seat. You sank down and he glanced around, so you did too. You'd been so enthralled in what you were doing that you literally hadn't even noticed the way he'd pulled up in his own cruiser, mostly blocking yours from view from the road, and when he sunk down to his knees and curled his hands into the waistband of your pants, you just lifted your ass up to let him pull down your uniform pants and your underwear, which were so wet they stuck to you just a little.
“Fuck,” Gator said, eyeing the way your panties were almost soaked through in the crotch. He pushed your legs up a little, looking at you between them where he bent you at the waist. “Get yer boots off, gonna be hard enough t'take care'a ya in the backseat, ferget keepin' anything on.” He pushed your thighs up against your stomach as you reached up to unlace your boots, knowing full well that your wet cunt was on full display for him. You let each shoe fall to the floor of the cruiser, and then together you pulled off your pants and underwear—though Gator plucked those from your fingers. You watched, eyes wide, as he crumpled them up in his hand and then lifted them to his face, breathing in your scent deeply, his own eyes slipping closed.
“Mm,” he hummed absently, and then you watched, speechless, as he parted his lips and let the soaked cotton drag against his tongue. “Fuck, that's real nice.”
You could feel your heartbeat in your fingertips, hear it in your ears; beyond aroused, you watched as he lowered his hand to stuff your dirty underwear into his pants pocket, and then pushed your legs back up so you were open and exposed to him.
“Just a taste ain't enough,” he said, holding your gaze as he lowered his face down to your cunt, already pulsing around nothing, already way too needy.
His tongue dragged over your folds, and the warmth of it against your heated core made you shudder, your hands sliding down to grope at your thighs, holding onto them as he sucked at your slit, your cunt squeezing down as he did, wanting to suck something inside of it, hold it there, get fucked hard and harsh, but he wasn't giving anything to you yet.
No—he just moved up, his lips moving over your clit as he sucked at it, tongue circling it, probing at it beneath the hood, between your lips, teasing it as you moaned, loud and unabashed, feeling it throbbing the more he sucked.
“Gator,” you whined, and he didn't pull away to speak; he just groaned against you, sucking you still, letting his tongue cradle it with gentle pressure until you were reaching for him, his hair, his face—he cut you off with his own hand, letting your fingers move between his as he held your hand. You squeezed it, hard, as you felt yourself let go against his face, your hips rolling up against him as he moved with you, not pulling his mouth off of you even as you pushed at his hand, because it was too much.
He flicked his tongue against you a few more times, then pulled away, licking your arousal off of his lips before he gave your ass a playful little slap and leaned up, hands on the backs of your knees, holding himself over you.
“Whatcha think, princess?” he asked. “Make ya feel any better?”
You shook your head.
“No?” he asked, smirking. “You tryna say she aint satisfied?”
“That's exactly what I'm saying,” you replied.
He laughed, releasing one of your legs—you curled your own hand around your knee, holding it up for him—and dipped two fingers into your cunt, still willing and ready for him. When he did, your eyes slipped half closed and a low, heavy moan fell from your lips.
“Got it,” Gator said. “Feelin' all empty without me in ya, huh?”
“Yeah,” you sighed, and he dug his fingers just a little deeper inside of you, feeling your walls pressing around him as you squeezed down onto them.
“Look at her,” Gator said, twisting his wrist so his palm was facing up, curling his fingers to try to find your g-spot. “She knows, don't she?” He scissored his fingers apart just a little, stretching you, pulling another moan from you. You released your legs—they fell against him just a little, but you needed hands on your tits right fucking now; your nipples were peaked inside your shirt, begging for attention from you, from him, you didn't fucking care.
Gator's fingers slowed to a stop inside of you as he watched you practically tear open the buttons of your uniform shirt, pulling it open and then just yanking your bra up, tits spilling out from beneath the cups as they ended up atop your chest, pebbled nipples hard. You cupped them almost immediately, pinching and rolling the perked buds as Gator watched, almost as dumbstruck as you'd felt when he'd interrupted you.
“Lemme in there,” he said, but you didn't relent, just kept your fingers working over your tits, as he pulled his fingers out of you and moved them to his waist, undoing his own belt, button, and fly and shoving his camo pants down along with his boxer briefs, cock springing out of the waistband. He was pink at the tip, not reddened yet, not like the picture you'd been touching yourself to, but he was getting there and the thought alone made you groan eagerly.
With one hand, he slipped two fingers into a pocket of his tac vest; with the other, he braced himself on the backseat of the cruiser and leaned over you, pushing your left hand away from your tit with his face as he covered your nipple with his mouth, sucking at it and making your back arch up off of the seat.
“Feels so good,” you whined, flexing your hips, like that could get him to move any faster; he couldn't even see you doing it.
“Gonna feel—even better,” Gator said, still groping around in a different pocket, “in a fuckin'—minute. There we fuckin' go.”
He pulled away from you and you saw, now, what he'd been looking for—a condom. He tore the corner of the wrapper with his teeth and then, pushing himself so he was kneeling over you, his slicked-back hair brushing the roof of the cruiser, he pulled it out, rolled it on, and with no warning, no preamble, sank right into you, your position and spread legs giving him the easiest access to your cunt he'd ever had.
“Oh my god,” you half-yelled, at the same moment he grunted out, “Shit, fuck yeah.”
He started a brutal pace instantly, not giving you time to acclimate, not waiting to bottom out before he'd pulled back, instead just going at you right away, fucking you hard and fast and making you squeal beneath him as his hips pistoned against yours.
“Gator—!” Your voice was high and broken as you said his name, the cruiser rocking back and forth as he fucked into you, desperate, your previous orgasm doing nothing to sate you—you just wanted everything he could give you and then some.
“Uh huh,” he uttered, bracing his hands on the seats for a moment as he tucked his knees up a little, giving himself more leverage to drill down into you, his cock reaching so fucking deep inside your pussy as you wrapped your legs around him, squeezing his sides with your thighs as you fought to keep him pounding into you, wanting the residual ache from him inside of you for as long as you could keep it.
“Keep—fuckin'—just like that,” you mewled, then moved your left hand down to your clit, your right hand still tugging at your nipple, switching to rubbing over it at the same pace and rhythm as you moved your hand over your swollen clit.
“Shit,” Gator said through gritted teeth. “So fuckin' tight, can't—can't—”
“Come for me,” you said, and he glanced up at you, meeting your eyes—you'd never asked him that before, never took even a little charge with him. His hips faltered for a second, weakened because of how it felt for you to speak that way to him. “Go on,” you coaxed him, squeezing your cunt down on his length. “Come for me, Gator. Give it all to me—”
You gasped as his hips snapped against you, you echoing what he'd said to you that morning bringing him to the edge.
“Fuckin'—gonna,” he moaned, leaning down further over you, his face right above yours, his nose brushing against your nose as he looked down into your eyes. This, probably, was the most intimate you'd ever been, looking right at each other in the throes of passion; or well—lust, at least.
“Please,” you begged, and then your fingers slipped over your clit just right, his cock driving home into you, and your lower half tensed and then snapped, your hips curling upward and fucking your cunt onto his cock as you came, hard, so hard you had to close your eyes and let your jaw drop in a silent scream, breathy gasps falling from your lips as you rode it out on his cock, his front still slapping against yours, his rhythm becoming sloppy as he got even closer.
“Whose am I?” you asked, voice weak.
“Yer fuckin' mine,” he growled at you, his hips canting into yours as he came. “Yer mine.”
Your heels dug into his back, pulling him against you, your pussy quivering, overstimulated, as you held him inside of you, his arms failing, his front falling flat against yours. “Yeah,” you decided, “but vice fuckin' versa.”
He met your eyes from where his cheek rested on your shoulder, the two of you smirking a little. Then, like he wasn't entirely sure about what he was doing, he rose up just enough off of your body to kiss you for the first time.
