🎀🎀

[riddlersoupwrites]

hi!

i love your headcanons !! i wondered if you could do something with the jkcu where its like them figuring out you have a specific thing turning you on like keys and his glasses for example… something like that !

⋆˖⁺‧ el talks: I love this, I got into this way too much, specifically Gator's 🫢 thank you for your patience on this I'm so sorry it took so long to get to, but I'm back in the mood for some jkcu so here we go 🌀

Navigation

Gator's thighs have always been something you've found attractive. Something about the thickness of them and how they look when he spreads his legs on the couch, leaning back with his arms folded. Usually you'd tell someone off for manspreading, but when Gator does it, you're all of a sudden absolutely fine with it.

When he gets himself a new accessory for work, a thigh holster for his gun, you almost pass out on the spot. He notices when you lift your head from his sheets as he's getting ready for work, your hair still a mess and the comforter slipping down your bare skin, and your eyes bug out of your head, immediately feeling the pressure in your gut.

He grins, because of course he does, walking over to the bed, his hips swaying arrogantly in the way they always do and he squats down by the side of the bed.

"You like that, huh?" He says, his voice is low and teasing as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You nod, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you look down at his thigh, then back up at his face. He pulls your lip free with his thumb, and runs his calloused skin across it.

"You be a good girl and wait right here for me, an' I'll let ya have some fun with it later, yeah?" He says, leaning in so his lips ghost over yours, revelling in the way you've turned to putty in his hands.

Your roommate Keys is absolutely clueless. That's what drives you insane about him, he sits opposite you, having no idea about the torment he's putting you through by merely existing. You have to try insanely hard to focus on what he's saying, and not get distracted by his cushiony lips, or his perfectly messy hair, or the smart stuff coming out of his mouth, spouting words you can't string together.

But when he's eating, twirling his noodles around his fork and you ask him how his day was, he looks up at you, your eyes connecting over the brim of his glasses, and you lose your train of thought. The frames have slipped down his nose enough to make him look like a professor from one of your romance books.

He has to wave in your face to bring you back to the moment. "Hey? You alright?" He asks, his brows furrowing slightly as his voice softens.

"Mhm." You say, pressing your thighs tightly together as you shift in your seat. He narrows his eyes, but then blinks it away, and lifts his hand to straighten his frames.

Your hand is wrapped around his wrist before you can stop it, and he stops mid-bite. "Leave them." You manage to choke out, and his eyebrows furrow for approximately three seconds before they raise in understanding.

"Really?" He asks, a flush creeping up his neck.

"Uh-huh." You nod, and before you know it, he's across the table, your leg pulled up around his hip as his fingers thread through your hair.

Travis slams the washing machine closed harder than necessary, every time. But you've come to love the noise, because it alerts you that he's back from the gym, and you stick your head out of the bedroom to see him drinking from his water bottle in the kitchen.

Under the light, his biceps glisten with sweat, the roots of his hair are damp, and a droplet of water drips down his chin. But nothing beats the way that he smells. You make your way out of the bedroom and over to him, pulling on his shirt to bring his mouth to yours, taking in the scent of his natural musk, and his half-faded cologne.

He startles when your tongue brushes his, and your fingers tug his shirt up. "Mmph- babe-" he mumbles between kisses, "I should shower- first."

"Uh-uh." You hum against him, tugging his shirt up as you break away. "You smell too good, need you right now."

He doesn't resist, in fact, he helps you discard his shirt and cups your head in his hands. "I dunno about good- but I ain't passin' you up." He says, bending to pull your legs up around his waist so he can set you on the kitchen counter.

"Kurt? Can you get this for me?" You call from the kitchen, and Kurt is there in an instant, skidding slightly on the kitchen tile. He sees you pointing your spoon up at the flour, which is on the top shelf of the cupboard, just out of your reach. He doesn't even question why you're not using the little stool he bought you for this specific scenario, he's just happy to help.

Your eyes drop the second he lifts his arms, straight down to where his t-shirt rides up, giving you the full display of his happy trail. The line of coarse hair is dark against his pale, soft tummy, and leads down underneath the waistband of his boxers.

He grabs the flour easily, and holds it out for you, confused about what it is that you're looking at. His first instinct is to get a little self conscious, and pulls on the hem of his t-shirt as it lowers back down to the top of his jeans.

You ignore the flour in his hand, and use the spoon to lift his t-shirt back up to see the hair again. He looks down, his eyebrows creased as the wooden spoon grazes his skin, sending a shiver up his spine.

"Once this cake is in the oven I have thirty minutes, and I'm gonna fuck you. Okay?" You say sweetly, pushing up onto your toes to kiss his cheek before taking the flour out of his hand. His hand stays still, not dropping from where it was holding the flour moments ago.

"Uh-huh." He swallows thickly, nodding quickly as his cock already starts to stir, still in disbelief that something so small could turn you on so much. "Not gonna argue with that."

You're lying on Steve's bed, holding a magazine above your head, flicking through the pages until you come across an article that will help you decide whether you're more like Cyndi Lauper or Joan Jett. Anything to not look at the headache-inducing wallpaper that Steve has plastered all around his room.

The bathroom door opens and Steve emerges, his hair dripping from the shower, little water droplets clinging to his chest hair, and a towel wrapped low on his hips. He pads over to the mirror to grab his hairbrush, completely oblivious to the way your magazine is slipping from your hands as you stared at him open-mouthed until the glossy pages smacked into your face.

He turns to see you throwing it down and sitting up on your knees to watch the muscles in his back move as he pulled the brush through his hair. "What?" He asks, eyes flicking between you and the mirror, wondering whether he forgot to wash off some soap or something.

"You look good." You say, your eyes moving over the moles dotted along his ribs that lead down to the top of the towel. He scoffs, shaking his head.

"I look like a wet dog." He laughs softly, brushing his hair back.

"I feel like a wet dog."

He turned to look at you, his eyes wide and mouth open in disbelief, curling upwards at the corners. "What did you just say?" He asks, half-laughing.

You shrug, crawling along the bed until you reach the edge, and reaching out to grab the towel and pull him closer to the bed. He stumbles forward, still laughing softly. "Babe- I'm wet."

"Yeah, so am I." You say, pulling him down on top of you.

Baron gets a little too into his work sometimes, leaning forward with his elbows on the kitchen table, papers scattered everywhere, and his hair sticking up from where he'd been leaning on his hand.

You walk into the kitchen to put your plate in the dishwasher, and notice his tired eyes under the dim lighting hanging above him. He's wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants, with his pen between his teeth. You head over, standing next to his chair and running your hand through the back of his hair. He sighs and wraps his arm around your thighs, his thumb trailing over your skin as he kept his focus on his work.

"Hi sweetheart." He mumbles, his thumb grazing along the back of your thigh just underneath the hem of your shorts. The gentle touch sends goosebumps trailing down your thigh, the little hairs standing on end. You lean your cheek against his head as your nails gently scrape down the back of his neck.

He notices the little shift between your feet as he brushes his thumb against your skin again, not turning to look up at you, but his eyebrow lifts in acknowledgement. He does it again, more purposeful this time, and immediatley clocks the hitch in your breathing, deciding that he's suddenly done enough work and shifts the chair back to pull you into his lap.

⋆˖⁺‧Taglist

@bellastone @keeryspullman @harringtondarling @deffnotvaal @jellyfishjpeg @aprincess-orjustme @s111ut

[covered-in-you-now]

Can you find me ? - Part 4

A/N : this pic is definitely gonna be shorter than I wanna be yours, but I'm really into it already 🥹

The next morning was ridiculous, there was no other word for it. You stood in front of your closet for nearly fifteen minutes staring, thinking, changing your mind about what shirt to wear. Why ? You had no idea. It wasn't a date, at least that's what you kept telling yourself. It was just Gator, the annoying nepo-baby deputy, the one who spent half his time bothering you, nothing more. And yet somehow you'd already changed outfits four times, pathetic.

At 9:56AM sharp, your phone buzzed. You looked down to se a text from Gator. 

Gator : outside  Gator : didnt run away ?

You rolled your eyes but still smiled. 

Two minutes later you were hurrying down the stairs with your coat, bag, and phone. The Stark County cruiser was parked in front of the building and you immediately spotted him. One arm hanging out the open window, green cap again, sunglasses, looking entirely too pleased with himself. The passenger door opened from the inside and you climbed in.

The smell hit you instantly, a mix of leather, cologne and something distinctly Gator. The cruiser somehow smelled exactly like you'd expected it to. He glanced over, a grin already waiting.

“Well.” You closed the door.

“What ?”

“I was starting to think you'd changed your mind.” You buckled your seatbelt.

“It's been four minutes.”

“Felt longer.” You rolled your eyes and his grin widened. Gator pulled away from the curb.

“So… Where are we going ?” You asked, and he shook his head right away. 

“Nope.”

“What do you mean nope ?”

“It's a surprise.” You stared.

“Ugh. You're one of those people ?”

“One of what people ?”

“The surprise people.” He laughed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the process. Shit, that’s kinda hot. 

“Apparently.” He looked at you and winked. Shit, that’s definitely hot. “You eat breakfast yet ?”

“No.”

“Perfect.” The road stretched ahead, snow-covered fields on both sides as the cruiser hummed softly beneath you. For a little while neither of you spoke, then Gator broke the silence.

“So… How long were you in California ?” Fuck, there it was, the questions. you’ve never even been to California. Quick, you need to think. 

“A long time, practically grew up there.” He hummed. 

“Where ?” Shit. The answer came way too quickly.

“Sacramento.” Another complete lie. Gator nodded slowly.

“Huh.” The way he said it made you nervous. Was he taking you out to eat or was he interrogating you ? “You got family there ?” Your stomach tightened.

“No. I told you, they’re all dead.” Another lie, and Gator glanced over this time. 

“Huh, really ? I thought you only said that to annoy me. Uh … I’m sorry, won’t ask again.”

“It’s okay.” No, it wasn’t okay, your family wasn’t dead, and the silence in the cruiser was crushing both of you now. 

Another mile passed, then another. Gator rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the center console. He finally decided to break the awkward silence. 

“So what made you move ?” You almost laughed, if only he knew. Oh I don’t know Gator, witness protection ? Federal relocation ? Potentially people wanting me dead ? Instead, you settled on another lie. 

“Needed a change.” Gator was quiet for a moment.

“That bad ?” You stared out the windshield, the question kinda hurting you. 

“Yeah.” He didn’t push, didn’t pry which somehow surprised you. 

Didn't ask more.

A few minutes later the mood shifted again, thankfully as he parked in front of a diner, something that was probably there since the eighties. You smiled. “A diner ?”

“Don't sound so disappointed.”

“I'm not. I sounded surprised.” He smirked. 

“That's disappointment.” You laughed as he opened his car door and pointed at you. 

“Stay.” You blinked.

“What ?”

“Don't move.” Before you could ask why, he was already climbing out of the driver's side. You watched through the windshield as he hurried around the front of the cruiser and opened your door. You stared and Gator stared back.

“...Did you just run around the car to open my door ?”

“Ran is a strong word.”

“You literally jogged.”

“That's not important.”

“This feels like something my grandfather would've done.” He groaned, a shade of red now coating his cheeks. 

“Get out.”

The bell above the diner door jingled as you entered. Warmth immediately wrapped around you.

“Gator Tillman.” An older woman behind the counter smiled brightly.

“Morning, Ruby.” She pointed at you and her eyes widened while looking at him.

“Don't start.”

“Oh.”

“Ruby.”

“Not saying a thing.”

“You are absolutely saying a thing.” You couldn't stop laughing and the woman winked.

“Booth by the window.”

A few minutes later you sat across from Gator. “You already know what you're getting ?” You asked, and he shrugged. 

“Yeah. I know the menu.”

“How often do you come here ?”

“Four times a week.” You lowered your menu.

“Four times ?”

“Maybe five.”

“Oh my God. Do you live here ?” He grinned again. 

“Practically.”

Once Ruby disappeared with your orders, you pointed at him.

“My turn.”

“Your turn what ?”

“Questions.” The deputy sighed dramatically. “You've been interrogating me for like a week.”

“Mh. I'll allow it.”

“How generous.” You leaned back, thinking. 

“Where do you live ?”

“The ranch.” He said it like this was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“What ranch ?”

“My dad's ranch.”

“Like your own place on the ranch ?” A brief hesitation.

“The main house.” You stared.

“Wait, you told me you were twenty-seven, and still live with your daddy ?” The moment the words left your mouth, you wished you could grab them and shove them back in. His smile disappeared and his jaw tightened. 

“Yeah.” The answer came flat, so you immediately changed course.

“How long have you been a deputy ?”

“Three years.”

“You like it ?”

“Most days.”

“Most days ?” He shrugged. 

“People keep speeding.” You rolled your eyes.

“There he is. The asshole.” He smiled again, and you felt some sort of relief that he wasn’t mad at you. “Favorite movie ?”

“Top Gun.”

“You are such a cliché.” The grin widened. “Favorite color ?” He looked genuinely confused.

“What am I, twelve ?” Before either of you could continue, Ruby arrived carrying your food. You stared at the enormous plate in front of Gator, then at him.

“Are you preparing for winter ?”

“Always.” You laughed again. And somewhere between the pancakes, the sarcasm, and the ridiculous amount of food sitting in front of him, you realized you were actually having a good time.

By the time breakfast was over, your cheeks hurt from laughing, which was annoying as you were trying very hard not to enjoy yourself. Ruby eventually appeared with the check and you immediately reached for it, so did Gator, and he was faster than you. 

“Hey.” You frowned. “I can pay, you brought us here.”

“Nope.” He already had his wallet out.

“Gator. I'm serious.”

“So am I.” You reached for the check again and he pulled it away.

“Let me pay, I got it.”

“Absolutely not. My mama would've come back from the dead just to slap me.” You blinked.

“What ?”

“If I let a lady pay while I'm sitting right here.” You stared at him for a few seconds before speaking again. 

“That might be one of the most old-fashioned things I've ever heard.”

“Thank you.” You groaned as he pulled out some bills from his wallet.

“Fine. But I'm paying next time.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, ‘next time’, you didn’t even know there would be a next time. Gator smirked. 

“Okay.” Your stomach did something weird, but you ignored it.

A little while later you were back in the cruiser. You buckled your seatbelt. “Now where are we going ?”

“Still a surprise.”

The first stop was a frozen overlook just outside town. A hill overlooking miles of snow-covered fields. You climbed out of the cruiser and immediately got hit by the wind. “Oh my God.”

“What ?” He laughed. 

“Why does this state hate people ?”

“Builds character.”

“It builds hypothermia.” Gator was still laughing as you shoved your hands deeper into your coat pockets. The view was beautiful though, you had to admit that, snow stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The winter sun reflecting off everything, making the whole world look silver.

“Pretty.” The word slipped out quietly. Gator glanced over, and smiled again. 

“Yeah… Pretty.” He replied, looking straight at you as the words came out of his mouth.

The second stop was a small lake, frozen solid. You watched two kids playing hockey on the ice, one recognized Gator right away.

“Deputy Tillman !” Gator waved and the kid waved back enthusiastically, then crashed into a snowbank. You laughed as the kid stood up completely unharmed.

Gator shook his head. “That's Cody.”

“Is he always like that ?”

“Unfortunately.” You spent almost half an hour looking at the kids playing and laughing. After a while, Gator got closer to you, his hand almost touching yours, but the kids laughed loudly and he jumped a little, pulling away. 

The third stop was a tiny general store. Apparently everybody in Stark County knew Gator. Most of the time, people would just shake their head and look the other way, that’s when you remembered Harold telling you about the Tillman’s reputation. Gator got in and bought a big pack of cookies. 

“These ones here.” He showed you the label clearly. “They’re the best cookies ever. They’re only sold here though, but they’re definitely worth the hassle.” He opened it and you took one out. He was right, they were incredible cookies. 

The afternoon passed surprisingly quickly. Conversations became easier, and at some point you stopped thinking about what to say before saying it, which hadn't happened in a long time.

Near sunset, you found yourselves walking along a quiet trail leading to your apartment, snow crunching beneath your boots. Gator had parked his cruiser further away, allowing you both to walk a little as the sky turned orange. He glanced over at you. “You had fun.” It wasn't a question, you rolled your eyes.

“Don't ruin it.” The grin widened.

By the time you reached your apartment building, both of you were still laughing. At this point, you weren't even sure what you'd been talking about anymore, only that it had been funny.

“There's no way that happened.” Gator looked deeply offended.

“Katie.”

“There is absolutely no way a goose stole your lunch.”

“It did.”

“A goose.”

“Yes.” You laughed so hard you had to stop walking. Gator pointed at you.

“See ? People always take the goose's side.”

“Because you're making it up.”

“Am not.” Eventually you reached the entrance to your building, and the laughter faded naturally, the way good conversations sometimes did. Neither of you immediately said goodbye, instead both of you just stood there.

“Well.” Gator shifted slightly. “Guess this is it.” You smiled.

“Guess so.” But neither of you moved. He looked down briefly, then back up. His expression had changed, it was somehow softer, less teasing and cocky.  Just… Gator, the real one. The version that appeared when he forgot to perform for everybody else.

Slowly, one of his hands slipped from his jacket pocket. You watched him reach toward you, watched him carefully brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so gentle your breath caught. His hand lingered and settled against your cheek.

You could feel the heat of him standing so close, could smell his cologne. The entire world seemed to narrow until there was only him. “I had fun too, Katie.”

And suddenly, the name hit you like a punch. Katie, the lie, the fake name, fake life, fake everything. The smile vanished from your face, because Katie wasn't you, she wasn't real.

And Gator didn't know that, he didn’t know who you were and what you had done. Didn't know what was following you and what could eventually find you. You couldn't do this, couldn’t drag him into it, couldn’t let him get attached to somebody who technically didn't even exist. The guilt hit so hard it made your stomach turn.

You saw the moment he decided to kiss you in his eyes, in the tiny shift, in the way he leaned closer slowly, giving you every opportunity to stop him. Your heart broke, because you wanted him to kiss you, but he didn’t deserve to be dragged in your shit life. So when he got close, you turned your head at the last second.

His lips landed against your cheek, not your mouth. The contact lasted barely a second before it was gone. A long and awkward silence settled between you, the kind that made your chest hurt. You looked up at him, and Gator had frozen completely. Then you noticed the tightening of his jaw, the brief press of his lips together as if he was trying not to react, trying not to show he has been hurt.

“Gator…” He immediately stepped back, his hand withdrawing from your face and back into his pocket like it had never been there. “Okay.” His tone was flat, and you hated it. 

“No, I…”

“It's fine.”

“It isn't.”

“It's fine.” He repeated, tone sharp now. You opened your mouth again, because you didn’t want him to feel that way, you needed to explain, needed him to understand. 

“I can’t…” But he wasn't looking at you anymore, he was looking somewhere over your shoulder, anywhere except directly at you.

“Katie. I get it.”

“No, you don’t.” A small laugh escaped him, not a happy one. You took a step towards him but he took one back. 

“Goodnight.” The word landed like a door slamming shut.

“Gator… ”

“No. Goodnight Katie.” He said, this time firmer. Before you could stop him, he turned and started walking away, hands shoved into his pockets and head down. You stood there frozen watching him disappear down the sidewalk, every step making the distance between you larger. And all you could think was that you'd done the right thing, you knew you had. So why did it feel so much like a mistake ?

taglist : @projections-mortal @delphinemix @nutinanutshell @keerygirlie98 @skkeletonns @corallandtragedy3 @louisbelongstome28 @cecesblogg @jas-mines-things @willyoucry13 @kristywidget97 @dreamerjj @scaramou @ilikereadinghardcoresmut @simsimstay2017 @cat-thingy-thing  @kristywidget97 @deeplightblue @oikawaheart @maaaachiii @proooof  @luminousdoomsellsword @us3r4682  @ophelialilly

[riddlersoupwrites]

this had been rattling around in my brain, but i can’t get over this concept for kurt!

reader is a friend of bobby or some other influencer who kurt is always trying and failing to impress. reader finally lets kurt come over and he’s very shy and submissive at first, but after the first orgasm, he turns into a fiend. i’m talking major switch - pussy eating, overstimulating reader and all that good shit

- stranger 💌

Once again, this was not meant to be as long as it is 🧍‍♀️. I need to stop listening to music that gives me ideas when I write. Thank you for requesting some switch Kurt, I loved writing this.

Offending playlist here.

Masterlist.

Kurt Kunkle x Fem!Reader

18+, oral m and f!receiving, impact play (reader slaps Kurt), begging, mommy kink, unprotected p in v

wc- 2.2k

Taglist: @kamisama1kiss @harringtondarling @wolfiee10 @scaramou @bellastone @itsdjoverr @britt-mf @sadieshortcake @louisbelongstome28 @deffnotvaal @jeepers-creeperz @bng-th-dldrmsss @hearts4steve @swirledyouintoallmypoems @evies4ngels @raccooncider @redvelvetcupcke1 @d3jecteddoll @chelliquinn @ilikeappleandbanana

When Bobby had introduced Kurt to you, he was certain he had died and gone to heaven. It was at a party at Bobby's house, you'd turned up late, dressed casually, and still managed to be the prettiest girl in the room. He had stumbled over every sentence he tried to say, and ended up opting to just keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night.

Since then, he'd haunted your mind and your Instagram page. Leaving cute comments, reacting to stories, messaging you sweet emojis. You'd replied a couple of times, after all, he was adorable. His nervousness, and awkward comments along with those brown puppy eyes worked on you. So when you posted another selfie on your story, and he messaged you again, you decided to message him back.

Kurtsworld96: So pretty ❤️

You: Thank you 🥰

Kurtsworld96: you're welcome, your hair looks really nice like that.

Kurtsworld96: not that it doesn't always look nice

You: Thanks Kurt 🫶

You: What are you doing today?

Kurt's hands tightened around his phone when you messaged. He hadn't expected you to continue the conversation, you didn't usually. He sat up against the wall, shifting on his floor mattress, chewing on his bottom lip as his thumbs hovered over the screen.

Kurtsworld96: Nothing

He sent it, his fingers twitching against the screen. What if you thought he was a loser because he had no plans? His thumbs flew over the screen again.

Kurtsworld96: I was thinking about doing some rides but idk

You: So you're free? I need help setting up my new gaming pc and thought you might know what to do a little better than I do

You: it's okay if you're not free though

His reply was instant.

Kurtsworld96: yes

Kurtsworld96: I'm free, I can help.

Kurtsworld96: I'm free all day

Kurtsworld96: I can come whenever

You smiled, catching your lip between your teeth as his messages came through rapidly

You: great, can you come by in like an hour?

Kurtsworld96: yes

Kurt immediately threw his phone down and made a beeline for the shower.

You opened the door, and he swallowed thickly. You were only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, a tight t-shirt and shorts. You smiled as you stepped aside to let him into your apartment, the smell of his cologne strong in your nose as he walked past you, like he hadn't known when to stop applying it.

“Your-” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Your apartment is nice.” He said, awkwardly flexing his fingers before stuffing them into his pockets.

“Thanks.” You said, walking past him to lead him further into the apartment. His eyes dropped as you walked in front of him, watching the way your hips swung as you walked, before moving back up to the back of your head like he was cursing himself for staring at you in that way.

When he got to your bedroom though, the gaming PC sat on your desk, already built and operational. His eyebrows creased as he looked from the computer to you and then back again.

“Wha-”

“I lied.” You said as you turned to face him, taking a couple of steps closer to him, your finger toying with the zipper on his hoodie. “I don't need your help with the computer.”

His breath caught as your fingers pulled at the hoodie zipper, eyes dropping to watch your hand. “Then wha- why did you ask me to come over?” He asked, his voice a little strained as you pulled the zipper slowly.

“Why'd you think?” You asked, your voice lower, as you tilted your head, your eyes flicking back up to his.

He swallowed again as you let go of the zipper, his hoodie falling open. He opened his mouth but nothing came out, his eyes dropped to your mouth as your tongue poked out to wet your bottom lip.

“You need some help?” You asked. He nodded, his eyes darting around your room like he was expecting Bobby to jump out of the closet with a camera, shouting “You got got!!”

“It's because I can't stop thinking about you.” You said, your hand moving back up his chest. His eyes snapped back to yours.

“What?” He asked, his voice breathy with disbelief as your hand moved up his chest to his neck, you thumb grazing his jaw. “Me?”

“Mhm. You.” You hummed, stepping closer again until you were pressed against him, and you could feel his cock pressing against your stomach. “That okay?”

“Wh- yeah. Um, yeah I- I think about you too.” He said, stuttering over his words as your other hand moved under his shirt, your nails grazing the skin at the bottom of his soft stomach.

“What do you think about?” You hummed, your nails dragging along the skin above the waistband of his boxers. He exhaled shakily, his entire body going tense under your touch. “It's okay, you can tell me.” You said, your eyes flicking back up to his from where they'd been watching your hand.

“I- I think about- y-you.” He said breathily as your hand finally slipped into his boxers, finding his hard cock with your fingers.

“You think about me when you do this?” You asked softly as you wrapped your hand around his cock. He let out a choked whimper and nodded quickly. “Words honey, tell me.”

“Y-yes.” He stuttered, his eyes wide as he breathed heavily. You pulled on the back of his neck to bring him down into a kiss. It was messy, his tongue licking into your mouth without direction, his hand finally moving to the back of your head like he was allowed to touch you now. Your hand moved on his cock, twisting your wrist as you worked him.

When you pulled away, his mouth chased yours for a moment, whining softly. You smiled again before slowly dropping to your knees, pulling his pants and boxers down with you. He exhaled roughly as he watched you wrap your hand around his cock, tapping the tip against your tongue before you closed your lips around it.

“Oh fuck, I ca- fuck-” He whimpered, his mouth hung open as he watched you move, the way your eyes closed as you took more of his cock into your throat.

“I wo- fucking- I won't last, that's too- fuck- that's too good.” He whined, watching as your hand and mouth moved in time with each other, and when you opened your eyes to meet his, his cock twitched before hardening as he came, spilling into your throat as you swallowed.

“Fuck, I'm sorry, I- it's-” he heaved through his breaths as he watched you, the way your tongue still danced around the tip of his cock, the way you didn't pull off and tell him to get out, the way your hand still wrapped around him like you wanted him to get hard again.

Like you wanted him.

And then something snapped.

He leaned down and pulled you up with him, walking you back towards your bed and dropping you onto it.

“Kurt!” You squealed as he grabbed your hips, turning you over onto your front, pulling your hips up to where he wanted them before dropping to his knees behind you.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned as his tongue delved through your folds, your hands tightening around your bedsheets as his hands came up to your thighs, holding you open as his tongue moved down to your clit, moaning as he sucked and licked at it.

“Taste so good.” He whined, pulling back as his fingers moving through your folds before sliding into you. You moaned again as his tongue returned to your clit, his fingers curling to massage the sensitive spot inside you. His other hand moved up to your ass, squeezing the soft skin as he moaned against you.

“Fuck, Kurt-” you moaned, your face pressed against the bed as his fingers sped up, his tongue flicking faster over your clit. Your hips pushed back against his hand as your stomach tightened. His tongue didn't let up, his fingers kept moving, your vision darkened at the edges as your thighs shook. Kurt moaned as you came, your arousal leaking down his chin as he didn't stop, his fingers slowed but didn't stop until your moans turned into whimpers.

He pulled his fingers from you gently and stood sucking them into his mouth before gripping his cock again, harder than it had ever been, and stroked it a few times before bringing the tip through your soaked folds, watching as your body twitched again at the contact.

“Please, let me fuck you, please.” He whined, his cock lay flat against your pussy as he grinded it against you. You pushed your hips back against him in response, and he lined himself up before sinking in slowly. You both let out a loud moan as he did, he pulled off his hoodie, and grabbed the hem of his shirt, holding it between his teeth as he moved his hips forward until he was fully inside you.

“Fuck, you feel good.” You moaned as he pulled back before pushing back in, his pace slowly picked up, his hands tight on your ass as he pulled you back against him, his hair dangling in his eyes and his shirt still clamped in his teeth to stop the embarrassing noises that would come out of him if not. He moaned as he lifted his foot to the bed, bracing it against the mattress as he pushed deeper, feeling the way your pussy squeezed around his cock as he did.

His hips snapped against yours, his cock punching loud moans and whimpers from your mouth as your fingers twisted in the sheets, his thighs slapping against your ass as he pulled your hips back against him. He bit down harder on his shirt as you moaned louder, slowing his pace before he came early again and embarrassed himself even more.

He pulled out slowly and moved to the bed, dropping his shirt from his mouth. You moved, crawling towards him on shaky thighs and waited for him to pull his shirt off before kissing him, biting down hard on his lower lip as you straddled him, sinking down onto his cock with another loud moan. His hands pushed up your shirt, and you leaned back to throw it off carelessly. His mouth found your nipple straight away, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it as you rolled your hips against him.

His head fell back as you braced your hands on his shoulders, bouncing your hips as you rode him. “Fuck- fuck t-that's good.” He moaned. You moved your hands to his neck, your thumbs resting against his throat as you moved your hips faster.

“Slap me.” He whined, lifting his head to look at you.

“What?” You asked breathily, still rolling your hips against him.

“Please, please slap me, hit me. Please.” He begged, and you lifted your hand from his neck to his cheek, your thumb tracing his cheekbone before bringing your hand up, and slapping your palm against his cheek. His head snapped to the side and he moaned loudly, his cock twitching inside you as you continued to bounce on him.

“Was that too hard? Sorry-”

“Do it again.” He asked, his hands moving down to your ass, squeezing as he thrust up into you against your movements. “Please, please, mommy. Please hit me again.” He begged, moaning at the way your pussy clenched around him when he called you ‘mommy’. Something you didn't even know you liked until it came from him in that whiny tone.

You slapped him again, his cheek going red from the impact, his cock hardening again, twitching inside you as he thrust up against you. “Thank you mommy.” He whimpered, before his hand came up to the back of your neck, pulling you down against him and burying your face in the side of his neck as his thrusts grew quicker, sloppier.

He came loudly when you bit his neck, his cock twitching sent you over the edge a second time, pulsating around him to milk every drop from him.

You went slack against him, breathing heavily as he released your neck, his hand sliding down your back as he panted. “Sorry.” He said breathily.

You lifted your head to look at him, your eyes hazy and heavy lidded. “What for?” You hummed sleepily.

“I dunno, in case it was bad. Or you didn't like it.” He shrugged, his eyes avoiding yours.

“Shut up.” You exhaled, rolling off him and laying next to him, he moved his arm to take it away from you and you pulled it back, settling his hand at your hip. You slung your leg over his and settled your head against his shoulder.

He was about to speak again when he noticed you slack against him, your breathing deep and even, completely worn out. His eyes moved around your room, the posters, the photos, the string lights, and then they closed, letting out a long exhale as he tried to get used to the feeling of being wanted.

[girlnymph]

being intimidated by rafe cameron is one thing, but discovering that he somehow knows entirely too much about your life is another. warnings. dark rafe cameron. obsessive behavior, stalking implications, invasion of privacy, slightly dark themes

frat!rafe cameron who is irrevocably obsessed with his sister's best friend.

you learned early on after moving into the outer banks that his reputation precedes him. everyone knows who rafe cameron is. most people spend their time trying to get his attention while you spend yours trying very hard not to.

meanwhile, he's spent years watching you trail after sarah. you've become such a permanent fixture in the cameron household that sometimes he forgets you technically aren't family since you're always there.

he always finds you sitting at the kitchen island while sarah gets ready upstairs. or curled up on the couch reading a book. or timidly helping ward clean up after dinners even if sarah tells you over and over again that you don't need to.

you're just awfully sweet to a fault and painfully polite.

frat!rafe cameron who realizes that making you nervous is one of his favorite hobbies. he notices how quickly your eyes drop whenever he catches you looking at him. he would even stand unnecessarily close to you simply because he enjoys watching you squirm.

your fingers would always start fidgeting with your clothes the moment you notice him getting closer. it's honestly a miracle that he hasn't done anything appropriate or crossed the line yet. he just occupies the space so much that he hopes he's large enough to cloud your mind as well.

frat!rafe cameron who becomes disturbingly observant where you're concerned. your flustered smiles, awkward laugh, and whatever nervous excuse you throw before retreating from a conversation.

sometimes you wonder if he watches people this closely in general. but a huge part of you suspects the answer is no.

frat!rafe cameron who gradually develops an unsettling habit of knowing things he shouldn't.

you never notice it but for some reason, he always seems to know when you've had a bad day before you have the chance to mention it. he knows it when a professor gave you trouble in class today or which cafés you're most likely spending the afternoon studying in.

as disturbing as it sound, none of the information seems to be impossible for him to know.

"how'd you know i was there?"

rafe glances up from his drink and his expression doesn't falter, "d'you forget? you told sarah about it."

"oh... right..." you nod timidly.

but later on, when you backread your messages with her again and notice you hadn’t mentioned anything to her, the conversation leaves you feeling confused.

notes. something a lil new and different ( ̆ 3 ̆) ❤︎ might make this a series

©  SACRAMENTGIRL ༒ reblogs are appreciated! do not plagiarize, translate, or upload my works onto other platforms.

[covered-in-you-now]

Can you find me ? - Part 3

TW : little asshole Gator

The next morning started with coffee. You got ready for your first day working in your new life. You arrived at the bookstore ten minutes early and Harold was already there. The little bell above the door chimed when you walked in. 

“Katie !” You jumped, Harold appeared from behind a bookshelf carrying two mugs. One was immediately shoved into your hands.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Thanks.”

“You’re gonna need it.” The old man nodded knowingly.

“Why ?”

“Because I talk a lot ! Especially when I’m with new people !” You laughed.

“That doesn't sound too bad.” Harold gave you a look.

“Oh, sweetheart.” That should have been your warning.

One hour later, you understood, Harold talked constantly. About books, about customers, about weather, about another bookstore he'd visited in 1987, about a customer who once accidentally locked himself in the bathroom for two hours. There seemed to be no subject he couldn't talk about. At one point, he spent ten minutes explaining why the town's old water tower was ugly.

 

The bookstore had officially opened at nine, and ever since it was open, it seemed like every person in town immediately appeared. The bell above the door never stopped ringing, people came in, browsed, bought books, talked a lot, and somehow every single one of them already knew your name.

“Morning, Katie !” You smiled politely. How the fuck do you know my name ?

Another customer. “Settling in okay, Katie ?”

Another. “Welcome to town, Katie !”

After what seemed to be the tenth customer who called you by your name, you leaned towards Harold. “Did you tell everybody about me ?” The old man looked genuinely offended.

“Of course not.” Relief. Then “I only told most people. The word probably got passed around.” You groaned, fuck these small towns. 

By eleven o'clock you'd learned more about Stark County than any outsider should ever know, mostly because Harold had decided you needed an education.

“You see that woman ?” You looked up, a woman was browsing cookbooks.

“Uh huh.”

“Third husband.” You blinked.

“What ?” Harold nodded confidently.

“Third husband. Second husband ran away with a yoga instructor. Terrible business.” The woman waved cheerfully and you waved back, horrified.

Twenty minutes later, Harold spoke again. “You see him ?” You followed Harold's gaze towards an older man in overalls.

“Yep.”

“He got arrested for stealing his own tractor.” You stared.

“I’m sorry ?” Harold nodded.

“Forgot he'd sold it. Decided to take it back.”

By lunchtime you'd accepted that Stark County ran entirely on gossip. The bookstore was basically town hall, people bought books as a side activity, they came here mostly to talk, and Harold knew absolutely everything.

The bell above the door jingled. You didn't even bother looking up at first, thinking it was just another customer. But then Harold groaned. “Oh, Lord.” You looked up and there he was, Gator Tillman, green cap, sheriff’s vest, that stupidly confident walk, and somehow an even more confident grin than yesterday. The second he stepped through the door, he removed his sunglasses and hooked them into the front of his shirt like he was arriving on a movie set.

“Morning, Harold.” Harold rolled his eyes.

“Morning, trouble.” Gator looked offended.

“Trouble ?” A hand pressed dramatically against his chest. “Harold, I'm a respected public servant.” He didn’t answer, so Gator turned his full attention on you. “There she is, the talk of the town.” You froze, that’s exactly what you didn’t want. You returned to organizing books, hoping that ignoring him would make him go away. 

Harold disappeared into the back room leaving you alone with him. Coward. Gator wandered over to the counter, not buying anything, just browsing. That’s when you realized that the two other people who were in the shop before before he walked in left. He rested his elbows on the counter and looked at you. 

“What do you want ?” You snapped, and he looked genuinely surprised.

“What a warm welcome.”

“What do you want ?” You repeated. 

“I came to support a local business.”

“Do you even know how to read ?” His jaw ticked once, you noticed he didn’t like that one. 

“You know, people usually appreciate law enforcement. What are you, one of those libtards that hate the police ?” You snorted, it slipped out before you could stop it.

“And what are you ? One of those rednecks that thinks a badge make them important ?” His jaw ticked again, clearly not enjoying this conversation. 

“You definitely don't appreciate law enforcement. And you definitely don’t know how to stay in your place.” You rolled you eyes and returned to stacking books.

“Maybe law enforcement should be more appreciative.” He blinked. 

“What does that mean ?”

“Oh sorry, was that word too hard for you ? It means you spend an awful lot of time bothering people.” His jaw dropped.

“Bothering people ? Katie, I literally keep this town safe.” You glanced around the bookstore, no one was in here anymore, sure looked very dangerous. 

“Mh. Looks exhausting. You’re not buying or reading anything. You can leave now.”

“Why would I do that ?” The bell above the door rang again, an old woman walked in, and when she noticed Gator, turned around and left. What the fuck ? “You know what's funny ?”

“No.”

“You haven't asked me a single question.” You resumed organizing books.

“Because I don't care.”

“Ouch. See ? Rude bitch again.”

“Oh you already called me a bitch twice yesterday, I thought this was already established.” He smirked, this was all a game to him. He reached into his pocket, getting out his card and handing it out to you. You took it, his name and number were on it. When you looked back up at him, he winked. 

“If that pretty mouth of yours ever get you in trouble, call me.” You were just about to respond when Harold Harold reappeared, noticing Gator and sighting. 

“You’re still here ?” He looked offended.

“Harold.” He rose a hand to his chest again. “You make it sound like I'm unemployed.” Harold pointed towards the door.

“Out.”

“I’m supporting local business.”

“You didn’t buy anything. And people don’t come in if there’s a Tillman somewhere near.” He smirked again, as if he was proud, and looked straight at you. 

“You see how I'm treated ?” You didn’t even look up, just shaking your head and pocketing his card. His grin widened when he noticed, and he titled his head towards both of you before turning around. A very small part of you was beginning to find all of this entertaining.

The bell above the door jingled one final time as Gator finally opened the door. The deputy walked backward through the doorway, pointing dramatically at both of you. “I’ll remember this.”

“Good.” Harold pointed toward the street. “Keep walking.” The door closed and the bookstore fell quiet again. Then Harold sighed, the kind of sigh that suggested he'd been dealing with Gator Tillman for years, which, you supposed, he had. You glanced up from the stack of books in front of you.

“He’s always like that ?” Harold laughed.

“Unfortunately.” You smiled despite yourself.

“That’s concerning.” The old man shook his head then looked toward the front window, watching Gator's cruiser disappear down the street.

“That’s Roy Tillman's boy.” The name meant nothing to you, at least not yet.

“Okay.” Harold didn't answer immediately, instead he adjusted a few books on a nearby shelf, choosing his words.

“Just be careful around that family.” You looked up as something in his voice changed slightly. 

“What family ?”

“The Tillmans. His family.” You frowned.

“Why ?” Harold hesitated, that made you nervous because he never hesitated. He spent most of the day talking constantly. 

“They’ve been around here a long time, own a lot of land. They have a lot of influence.” You leaned against the counter.

“What does that mean ?” Harold snorted.

“It means if Roy Tillman wants something done, it usually gets done. People around here have mixed opinions about Roy.” That sounded suspiciously diplomatic.

“You don't seem to like him.”

“No.” The answer came immediately, no hesitation this time. That was interesting. Harold glanced towards the front windows again, making sure nobody was nearby. “He’s the county sheriff. Gator is his son unfortunately. He’s a cocky bastard, thinking his daddy is king of the world.” The old man looked genuinely disappointed about it, so you laughed. 

“Harsh.”

“It’s true. Gator's a good kid, mostly. But Roy…” Harold shook his head like he didn't even know where to start. The gesture made you curious.

“What about him ?” He stared at the shelves for a moment, thinking.

“You ever meet somebody who thinks they're the smartest person in every room ?” Yeah, you surely have, so you nodded. “Now imagine they also have power.” He paused. “And money. And nobody ever tells them no.”

“What kind of power ?”

“The kind that makes people nervous.” That answer wasn't nearly specific enough.

“You make him sound dangerous.” He didn’t respond, just smiled faintly at you before turning back towards a stack of books. 

“What about Gator ?” The question even surprised you. Harold chuckled then leaned forward on the counter.

“Gator’s complicated. Always has been. He tries real hard to be his father. Problem is…” He shrugged. “I don't think he's very good at it. Just … be careful yeah ?”

“Of Roy ?” The old man thought about it.

“Of all of them really.” 

The next few days passed in a blur, same thing everyday. Wake up, go to work, listen to Harold gossip, go home, sleep and repeat. It was strange how quickly a routine could form, and stranger how quickly Stark County started feeling normal.

The bookstore opened at nine and closed at six. Harold spent most days alternating between selling books and informing you about everybody else's business. You'd learned who was cheating on who, who owed money, who was feuding over fences, who got arrested in the eighties. Life moved slowly here, and somehow, you hadn't seen Gator once. Not a single time, no patrol car, no terrible joke, nothing. 

At first you'd been relieved, then confused. Maybe he'd gotten bored ? Maybe the game he'd been playing with you had stopped being entertaining ? You told yourself you didn't care, but you were lying.

Tonight the bookstore closed late. By the time you locked the front door behind you, darkness had already swallowed the town. Streetlights reflected off fresh snow and the cold immediately made your nose hurt. North Dakota remained determined to kill you. You shoved your hands into your pockets and started the walk home.

The streets were mostly empty until you reached your apartment building. Then you noticed the truck, dark gray, parked across the street with the engine running. Your stomach tightened. The driver was still inside.

You couldn't make out his face, couldn’t see much of anything through the windshield, just enough to know he was watching the building. The thought made your pulse jump. No, stop, you were being paranoid. You'd spent months looking over your shoulder, months waiting for bad things to happen, you couldn't keep doing that forever.

You found yourself walking faster, keys already in your hand. You practically jogged up the stairs, unlocked the apartment, slipped inside and locked it again immediately. Deadbolt, chain, everything. Only then did you finally breathe.

A few minutes later you peeked through the blinds. The truck wasn’t there anymore. You let out a slow breath. See ? Paranoid, that’s all. Probably some guy waiting for a friend or checking directions, or literally anything else.

Not everything was about you. You repeated that to yourself several times.

The apartment felt especially empty tonight, and you were feeling really lonely. You made dinner, ate half of it, turned on the television, but nothing held your attention. Eventually you wandered over to the kitchen counter, your eyes landed on a business card, Gator’s business card. You stared at it before rolling your eyes. No, you weren't doing that.

Five seconds later you were holding your phone, number already saved. That was embarrassing but you refused to think about it. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

You still terrorizing innocent civilians or did Stark County finally get a restraining order ?

You hit send and immediately regretted it. Three minutes passed until your phone buzzed.

Gator : who is this ?

You stared, offended. 

Wow. Rude.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Gator : oh Gator : bookstore girl 

You rolled your eyes.

I have a name.

The response arrived so quickly it almost felt like he'd been waiting with the phone in his hand.

Gator : do u ?

You laughed despite yourself.

Haven’t seen you in a few days. Thought you got bored of bothering me.

A longer pause this time.

Gator : nah. just been busy. miss me that much ?

Your eyes narrowed.

You’re delusional  

The conversation somehow continued for almost an hour, mostly sarcasm, insults and yet, you didn’t stop responding. And neither did he. 

Gator : u working tomorrow ?

You frowned before answering. 

No. Why ?

Gator : good bc somebody gotta show u something besides ur apartment and the bookstore

You stared at the text for a few minutes without replying. Eventually, he texted again. 

Gator : u moved all the way to ND might as well see it

You couldn't help smiling.

Is this your version of being nice ?

Three dots appeared immediately. 

Gator : dont tell anybody. got a reputation

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. He double texted again. 

Gator : ten tomorrow ill pick u up 

You stared at the message, thinking longer than you should have.

Okay. Gator : night katie Gator : try not to run away when u see me tomorrow

You winced, this sentence landed wrong inside you, and for a few seconds you wondered if he knew about your story, but he just couldn’t. He surely was talking about the fact that you tried to hide from him this time on the street. You set your phone down, hoping tomorrow won’t be as lonely. 

taglist : @projections-mortal @delphinemix @nutinanutshell @keerygirlie98 @skkeletonns @corallandtragedy3 @louisbelongstome28 @cecesblogg @jas-mines-things @willyoucry13 @kristywidget97 @dreamerjj @scaramou @ilikereadinghardcoresmut @simsimstay2017 @cat-thingy-thing  @kristywidget97 @deeplightblue @oikawaheart @maaaachiii @proooof @luminousdoomsellsword @us3r4682

[sunshinereaderx]

Dear Dollie | Part twenty five

Gator & miss are doing well together, Blake is making miss feel uncomfortable.

Unwanted advances, little bit of smut but not really I guess. 18+

Previous part

Next part

“It’s strange to see you this side of the door” Blake laughed from behind you, you turn slowly to face him. Oh shit, the last time you spoke to him was when you kicked him out of your house after letting him think he was about to get lucky.

“I know” you sigh as you wait outside Dollie’s classroom door, awkwardly turning back around hoping that’s the end of the conversation.

“There’s been another job opening, at my son’s high school if you’re interested” he stepped forward so he was next to you now, his arm brushing against your shoulder. “I could help you again?” He smiled down at you.

“I think I’m just gonna take some time off from working” you gave him a quick half smile, pulling your phone out of your pocket to check the time to see how much longer you had to suffer this awkward encounter. “Spend some time at home”

“That’s a shame” he sighed looking down at your phone “here” he grabbed your phone from your hands before you had chance to stop him “my number for if you want the info put your number in here” he pushed his phone into your hands before giving you chance to think. Eyes burning down into you as he waited for you to do as he asked, so you did.

“Done” you half smile as you pass him the phone back, stomach turning.

“Wanna take the girls to the park?” Your stomach turned, why isn’t he taking the hint. He must have noticed the expression on your face as he took a step back “just friends” he raised both hands in the air laughing.

“N-“

“Mama!” Dollie shouted as she wrapped her arms around your legs, you look down at her smiling softly.

“Hey baby!”

“Girls! What do you say we go to the park?” Blake cut in, grinning down at the girls. You skin was prickling with anxiety as you look at him.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The girls screamed holding onto each others hands.

“Dollie, daddy will be home soon. We should get going” you nervously smiled at her, praying she wouldn’t fight you on this today.

“It’s cool, just half an hour” Blake pushed as he stepped closer to you, eyes burning into you.

“Please mama” Dollie begged as she jumped up and down in front of you.

You exhaled as you looked at her, she had you right where she wanted you at all times.

“Okay, not for long” you smile at her.

The walk to the park was mostly silent, from you anyway. The girls were happily skipping together and chatting away, Blake was talking to you about how his relationship with his wife ended. You tried to drown it out, not really giving a fuck as you just nodded.

At the park it didn’t get much easier, the girls played together while you watched. Blake went on and on and on not getting the hint that you didn’t want to hear it, you didn’t even want to be here.

“So, you never told me what happened with him” this caught your attention, turning towards him as you looked at him. Fuck, Gator. You knew having to tell him you were here with Blake today wouldn’t go down well, but in your defence you didn’t even want to do it.

“We.. we sorted it” you smiled softly, noticing the way his expression dropped as he looked at you “we’re back together”

“Oh” Blake looked down at the floor before forcing a smile and looking back at you “wasn’t expecting that” he scoffed.

“He made some mistakes, don’t we all” you let out a breathy laugh as you look at him, his expression blank as he looked at you. You could feel the panic rising through your body, his eyes felt intense as they watch you.

“doesn’t mean it can’t happen”

“What can’t happen?” You looked at him confused, heart beating in your chest rapidly. Oh god you felt scared, why did you feel scared?

“I know you like me, just like I like you” Blake scoffed, shuffling closer to you on the bench “Wouldn’t have invited me round that time if you didn’t, No one has to know”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked into his eyes, fuck had you really given him that impression?

“N-no” you started to shake your head “I don-“

“Hey! If it’s easier not to admit it, that’s fine by me” his hand settles against your thigh squeezing it, your eyes shoot down to where it rested before looking back up at him “we can make it work” he smirked as his hand slowly moved further up your thigh.

“Dollie! We have to go” you called as you practically jumped up off the bench, heart racing as you walked towards her.

“But mama..” Dollie pouted as her friend held onto her arm also pouting.

“Please baby” you quietly pleaded and to your surprise she didn’t fight you, holding onto her hand as you turn with her bumping straight into Blake who was right behind you.

“Did you ever tell him about that day?” He whispered next to your ear, sending a chill through your body. You turned your face away from him, looking down at Dollie whose eyes were wide as she looked between the two of you. “I’d hate to have to break the news to him”

“Stop” you whisper “it was nothing. I was in a bad place, this is.. nothing. I’m happy” you tried your hardest to convince him, maybe he’d back off it he knew how happy you really were.

Blake let out a sarcastic laugh as you gripped onto Dollie’s hand tighter, her big eyes looking up at you with worry.

“Wasn’t nothing and isn’t nothing” you feel the sick rising in your throat as his breath hits yours lips, quickly stepping back from him.

“I said STOP” you snap.

You swallowed hard as you looked at him, everything in you telling you to run but you were frozen with genuine fear. Maybe you could call gator? He’d help diffuse the situation but how would you explain to him that you’d got yourself into this situation in the first place. Fuck.

“Same time tomorrow?” He smiled picking the tone of his voice back up looking down at Dollie “make sure mama brings you” he squeezes her cheek softly before walking away.

~

You slam the door of the house behind you, gator wasn’t home yet.

You were thankful, the expression on your face he would know something was wrong. At least you had a few hours to pull yourself together before he got home.

“Chase me!” Dollie giggled as she ran towards the kitchen, looking back over her shoulder every so often “c’mon mama!”

“Coming” you smiled as you ran towards her, thoughts of everything that happened at the park flooding your head making you stop dead in your tracks.

“Mama?” Dollie’s eyes focused on your face, you looked down at her smiling softly “got ya” you reached out pulling her into you.

“Your doing the sad smile” she pouted “I don’t like the sad smile”

Your chest tightened at her words, she deserved your full attention. Not whatever this was.

“Let’s get you some dinner, yeah?” You smiled softly as you ran your hand over the cheek that Blake had squeezed.

“Okay mama” she smiled as you watched her drag the chair from the table towards the kitchen counter so she could reach the sides.

You kept your mind as focused as possible on Dollie, it wasn’t too hard with how much she chatted. She told you all about her day at school, her friends and even about what she wanted to read tonight in bed. You nodded along as you listened to her, making all the right sounds as she explained things to you. But your mind kept flicking between the baby, gator, and how you suddenly felt so un easy about Blake. He’d always been so understanding in the past, you’d even class him as a friend so what changed? Why did you feel sick about him when you thought of him? The way he touched your skin made your body shake, it felt wrong on all levels. It was unwanted.

Everything moved quickly before you knew it you’d ate, bathed Dollie and tucked her safely in bed. You hopped into the shower trying your best to scrub the memories of today away, the only sound through the house was the sound of the water hitting the floor. Relaxing, almost.

You pulled one of gators old T-shirts onto your wet body as you stepped out of the shower, not bothering to dry off. You picked up your phone off the side, only ten minutes until he usually walked through the door.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, hand resting against your stomach as you forced a smile to your face. He couldn’t know, you couldn’t ruin this.

~

“Evenin”

“Gator” you pushed up off the sofa walking towards him, hair still dripping down your back as you reached him. Wrapping your arms around his waist as your head rested against his chest.

“Yer like a drowned rat” he laughed as he rested one of his hands against the back of your head “got ya these on my break” you stepped back watching as he dug his hands into his pocket before pulling out the little bottle.

“What is it?” You reached your hand out towards it, he placed them gently into your hand as he watched your expression soften.

“Vitamins, thought ya could use em while ya get ya self back right with ya eatin an all tha”

You smile up at him, heart fluttering as you watched the smile spread across his lips. He was clearly proud of himself for trying, knowing more than you did about pregnancy had its perks. He felt like he could finally take care of you, like you had for him all these months.

“Thank you”

“S’ok” he shrugged as he looked at you “how’s doll been?”

“Good” you smiled softly walking back towards the sofa with gator following behind you, you placed the bottle of vitamins down on the table. “Took her to the park after school”

“Yeah?” He grinned at you “bet she loved tha, did Tara come?”

Your chest tightened as you looked at him, your eyes moving back to the vitamins on the table.

“No, we still haven’t.. made up” you half smiled still not looking at him. “Just us two” lie, lie, lie.

“Ya need ta be careful by ya self pretty girl, bad people out n bout”

Things still felt a little awkward with Gator, back together but things still felt.. off. Like neither of you wanted to make the first move to touch each other, scared one of you would pull away.

“Missed ya” gators hand rested against your stomach softly “ya ate today?”

“Not yet” you shrugged.

“It’s 11pm mama” gator sighed “cmere” he draped one arm over the back of the sofa giving you space to sit next to him.

You shuffled into the gap, his arm moving to wrap around you now. Big hand placed against your stomach, like that was its new place.

“Ya know, ya gotta try”

“I am, I’m sorry” you sighed as you turned your face to look up at him, his eyes meeting yours instantly and that’s where they stayed. No words, no movement just a quiet moment, like you both understood what this was but didn’t at the same time.

“Don’t be sorry” gator whispered, letting his nose drag across yours slowly “nothin ta be sorry bout”

You let your eyes flicker shut, the feeling of his skin against yours erasing every worry consuming you.

“I can’t wait y’know?” His voice was soft, soothing almost as his eyes settled against his hand resting on your stomach “ta jus be a family, we need some happy mama”

“We do” you smiled up at him softly, resting your hand on top of gators “I’m glad it’s with you”

“Who else would it be?” Gator teased making you laugh, his chest filling with butterflies just like it always did when you laughed “nah, I get it. Meant to be pretty girl”

“Do you love me?” You whispered letting your lips brush against his softly, a quiet hitched breath falling from him.

“More than anythin” he whispered back, his own lips bumping against yours as he spoke. “Always have”

You pressed your lips against his softly, hesitantly but he returned the kiss. You got onto your knees on the sofa so you were facing him fully, his hand resting at the back of your neck as he pulled you back towards his lips. You can taste the sweet taste of his vape on his breath as you kiss him, parting your lips to let him inside. Tongues brushing against each other softly as he groaned into your mouth, gators other hand slowly moving up your thigh before softly squeezing your ass as you bit down on his bottom lip.

“So perfect, mama” he whispered as he pulled you onto his lap “my pretty girl” his lips moving down to your neck, placing wet open mouthed kisses trailing down to your collar bone. “Missed this so much” his tone was soft, everything about tonight seemed soft.

A different side of gator that you wasn’t used to, but you liked it.

“Me too” you whispered back as you rolled your hips against his lap, feeling his hard cock against you. Your eyes flickering shut at the feeling you craved so much, gators hands found the bottom of the oversized shirt you were wearing pulling it over your head leaving you completely bare ontop of him.

Gators eyes darkened as his eyes worked their way down your body before looking back up to you, head dipping slightly to kiss across your chest. One hand resting against your breast as his mouth kissed its way down to the other, sealing his warm lips around your nipple as you moan softly. Your back arching as he sucked at it softly, warm tongue swirling across it.

“Gator..”

Your phone was buzzing away on the table in front of you, gator pulled away from you looking at it. His stomach turning, your phone never rang. You’d said you still hadn’t made amends with Tara so who was it?

“Wanna get that?”

“No, no” it was probably just Tara trying to make peace, she could wait. You pull gators face back towards your chest.

“Fuckin love these” he pulls away from your nipple to switch over to the other one “they’re gonna get so big all full mama” he groaned against your chest at the thought.

Your phone buzzed again, not stopping this time. Gator sighed as he pulled away again, eyes looking up at you.

“Sounds important”

“It’s not” you smile before leaning back into him, lips pressed to his as you moved his hands to your hips. “This is” you whisper against his lips.

Gator smiles before moving back in kissing your lips as his big hands move up your back, sending a shiver through your body.

Buzzing, again.

Gator exhales against your mouth, shaking his head as he looks up at you.

“Jus check it, then turn it off” he sighed “want all ya attention tonight pretty”

you climbed off sending him a flirty smirk, grabbing your phone off the table. Stomach turning as you looked down at it.

UNKNOWN: are you with him?

UNKNOWN: bet you’re thinking of me

UNKNOWN: did you like it when I touched you today?

UNKNOWN: I can touch other places tomorrow baby, touching myself thinking about it.

UNKNOWN: missed call

UNKNOWN: stop playing hard to get

UNKNOWN: missed call

Your hands start to shake as you held onto the phone, quickly turning it off placing it back down onto the table.

“Who was it?” Gator asked as he started stripping out of his clothes, a feeling of shame washing over you as you looked at him.

You wanted to tell him, you really did but everything was back on track. This would for sure throw it back off again, it wasn’t worth it. You could sort this.

“Tara” you smiled softly before walking back over to him.

Tags: @louisbelongstome28 @sainzzbrina @midnightmartini @simsimstay2017 @imdjoverit @xceafh @kristywidget97 @keerygirlie98 @storietilman

@amy-brooklyn99 @tenderlyuniquepatrol

@deeplightblue @exooojongdaeee @laliceee

@fawnharrt @dizzyrizzy444 @thoroughlymimi @emmasreaderacc @oohgeminii @sunflowergir62

@projections-mortal @michaelssassygirrrl

@camsbooksworld @laliceee @queenofconeyislandd @disiscami @eller41

@ophelialilly @soggycerealtbh @rubywillkins

@batmanssssss @skkeletonns @amirafloral

@mojosodoppe @pinkiepieshepardspie @cuddlyeren @kurtsw7rld96 @needylittlebabyintherain @st4rg1rl88 @luminousdoomsellsword @allthelove-a @bellaxwoods @delphinemix @dopeysunflowers @mr-mountebank4444

@gxorgxa0000 @crescentwillow @foreverdjofan @4v3rybl0zz0m @kissalready

[cha0ticstranger]

perv!gator with equally pervy bimbo reader but she’s still a little clueless to some of his advances??

i think gator with someone who is a little oblivious is really funny because he's trying to be smooth but is barely holding his cool

I'm thinking about perv!Gator, who came out to the bar with a few of his buddies, runs into you while out on a girls' night. [he knew you'd be here, that's why he suggested it to the guys.] His eyes are immediately locked onto your hips, seeing the sides of your black thong peaking out over the waistline of your denim shorts.

After a couple of beers, Gator brushes off his station buddies to stammer over to you. His index finger hooks into the strap of your thong, pulling your attention. His pink tongue darts over his bottom lip, "Hey, sugar."

"Hey, deputy," you giggle at his attention. Your friends leave you be, rolling their eyes as they know they'll be seeing very little of you for the rest of the night.

"Just Gator f'r you," he hums with a quick press of his lips to your neck. Gator nods toward one of the billiard tables, "Y'ever played pool? I could teach ya."

You eye his smirk, not quite understanding his question, "Um, no. I don't think I'd be very good at it."

His brow dips for just a moment. But as quick as you catch it, it's gone, and his fingertips press a little harder into the skin of your hip. He clears his throat and attempts to clarify his statement, "Let me teach ya how t' play pool."

With an exasperated sigh, you allow Gator to tug you in the opposite direction, lingering at the edge of the table as he grabs a pool cue. He passes it to you to hold while he racks the balls.

"Don't we need two sticks?" You ask him, tracking his movements with curiosity.

"Nah," Gator shakes his head, nose slightly scrunched in disagreement.

You yield, not understanding his sudden interest in teaching you pool when you could be dancing with your friends or making out in a dark corner. Yet as soon as Gator presses himself up behind you, he cages you in with the cue, and his bulge settles firmly against your ass — you slowly begin to understand why he's insistent on teaching you pool.

[stvswrld69]

endorphin therapy

pairing: steve harrington x reader summary: your stress levels have been through the roof for weeks and the only person bearing the brunt of your bad mood is your best friend, steve harrington. after too many coments, steve finally calls you out until finally he suggests a way to release the tension, and it's not in the way you expected. wc: 3.8k warnings: +18 (minors do not interact), explicit nsfw, unprotected sex, fem!reader, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, best friend steve, dirty talk, rough sex, mirror sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, masturbation in pool (f receiving), mention of alcohol, big dick canon, reader being a bitch with steve, fingers in mouth, aftercare. author's note: just wanted to say thanks my girl valeria for the help

college was wearing you out, finals were breathing down your neck, and on top of that, you had extra shifts in your horrible and boring work. and that made you absolutely buried under stress for weeks. 

you were sleeping barely four hours a night, and the only thing keeping you awake was the excessive amount of coffee and the occasional nap you’d take without meaning to when you’d fall asleep sitting at your desk.

everything annoyed you. everything was too loud, too bright, and just too much for you. and unfortunately for him, steve harrington –who had been your best friend since high school– was taking the brunt of your whole situation, including your bad mood.

you had been a complete bitch to him the past two weeks, but there was one particular situation that lingered in steve’s mind more than he would have liked.

you stormed into family video. the cool air conditioning hit your overheated skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. your shoulders were tight, your jaw locked, and you hadn’t slept properly in days. 

between finals and extra shifts, you were one inconvenience away from snapping. 

you just wanted a movie. something spicy enough to distract you tonight when you were alone, trying –and probably failing– to relieve some of this unbearable tension by yourself.

steve was behind the counter wearing that stupid green family video uniform that somehow made his shoulders look broader and his arms look bigger. robin was a few feet away, restocking some tapes, but you could already feel her watching you the second you walked through the door.

you went straight to the small adult section and grabbed the first movie that looked filthy enough. a half-naked couple on the cover with a dark lighting and a title that screamed horny. 

you didn’t even read the back, you just wanted something with sex, moaning and heavy breathing: anything to help you when you were alone in your room.

with the tape clutched tightly in your hand, you went straight to the corner, slamming it down. steve was leaning against the register, and the second he saw the tape, his hazel eyes lit up with pure mischief. 

he picked up the tape slowly and raised his eyebrows, turning it in his hands as he examined the cover with exaggerated interest. 

‘’so… what’s this?’’ he said, his voice dripping with teasing amusement. ‘’you have a date tonight and you’re looking for ideas for later or what?’’

your face instantly heated up with a mix of embarrassment and rage.

‘’shut the fuck up, steve,’’ you snapped, glaring at him with pure venom. ‘’just scan the tape and keep your mouth closed today.’’

steve placed a hand dramatically over his chest, pretending to be deeply wounded.

‘’no, no… you don’t get to say that,’’ he replied, acting completely indignant. ‘’we tell each other everything. everything. since when are you planning spicy nights and not telling me? i thought we had no secrets. i’m… deeply hurt.’’

robin, who was pretending to organize tapes on a nearby shelf, let out a loud snort and walked closer, clearly entertained.

‘’i hope steve doesn’t tell you in detail how he keeps sleeping with half the girls in hawkins,’’ she said, glancing at you with a smirk. ‘’because apparently he’s still very much in game.’’

steve turned to her with a fake smile.

‘’hey! i don’t sleep with all of them,’’ he protested though the little smirk on his face made it very obvious he was lying through his teeth.

he turned back on you, leaning further over the counter, his voice dropping into that low teasing tone that always drove you insane.

‘’but seriously, you didn’t tell me anything. what is wrong with you?’’ your hands clenched into fists at your sides. you could feel your face burning with humiliation and pure anger. 

‘’steve, i swear to god’’ you hissed through gritted teeth. ‘’if you don’t shut up your fucking mouth right now and give me the damn tape, i’m going to throw this at your head and walk out.’’

steve chuckled softly, scanning the tape painfully slowly, clearly enjoying every second of your frustration.

‘’damn, you really are wound up today, huh?’’ he said, still smirking. robin leaked against the counter beside him.

you snatched the tape the second it was scanned, practically throwing your money at steve’s chest.

‘’you’re acting like the worst best friend in the entire fucking world,’’ you growled with your voice shaking with anger. ‘’i don’t know why i even bother with you anymore.’’

steve just smiled innocently as you turned on your heel to storm out.

‘’enjoy your movie and your date!’’ he called after you sweetly. the second you were gone, robin whistled. 

‘’you’re such an asshole,’’ she laughed. steve stared at the door you had just slammed, a stupid smile still on his face.

after that, the week went on just the same—or even worse. you still were a bitch with him; snapping at his jokes, rolling your eyes when he tried to cheer you up, giving him short answers and telling him to shut up. and steve was patient, really patient. 

but he couldn't take it anymore.

it was friday night. steve dropped robin off at her house after closing family video. you were sitting in the passenger seat of his bmw, arms crossed tightly over your chest and your jaw clenched so hard it ached.

you stared out the window like you were offended, and the silence in the car was thick and uncomfortable, almost suffocating. steve glanced at you sideways  while his fingers drummed on the stared.

the silence only lasted a few more seconds before he couldn’t hold back anymore.

‘’jesus christ,’’ he muttered while shaking his hand. ‘’you gonna keep sitting there like i ran over your dog?’’ 

you didn’t even look at him. steve let out a sarcastic laugh.

‘’wow. really mature. you’ve been acting like this for you weeks and now you can’t even speak? what, did i breathe too loud today?’’

that did it.

you whipped your head towards him, your eyes blazing with anger.

‘’god, can you just shut up for once in your life, steve?’’ you snapped with a sharp and venomous voice. ‘’you’re so fucking annoying. always poking, always talking. i’m allowed to be in a bad mood without you making it worse by being a pain in the ass.’’

steve’s eyebrows shot up, but instead of backing off, he smirked.

‘’oh, i’m the annoying one now?’’ he shot back, teasing. ‘’you’ve been treating me like shit for two weeks straight and i’m the problem? come on. you’re being so dramatic.’’

your mouth fell open in disbelief. 

‘’are you serious right now?’’ you hissed while you raised your voice. ‘’you’re such a fucking asshole. i told you i’m stressed, i told you i’m tense and all you do is poke at me like i’m so kind of joke.’’

steve’s smirk faltered for a second, but he quickly recovered, still trying to push your buttons.

‘’maybe if you stopped being so uptight and actually talked to me instead of biting my head off every five seconds–’’

‘’pull over,’’ you cut him off coldly. steve blinked.

‘’what?’’

‘’i said pull the fuck over. i’d rather walk home than listen to you right now.’’ 

steve didn’t pull over. instead, he let out a long breath and softened his tone a little bit.

‘’alright, fine. i’ll stop. just… talk to me. what’s actually going on?’’

you let out a long exhausted sight and rubbed your face with both hands, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on you. your eyes burned from lack of sleep and your shoulders felt like they were carrying bricks.

‘’i’m sorry, steve… i’m not mad at you. i swear i’m not,’’ you numbed. ‘’i’m just… really fucking tired. everything irritates me. i’ve tried everything. i went running, took long hot baths, even touched myself and nothing helps.’’

steve stayed quiet for a long moment, driving slowly through the dark streets. the only sound was the low hum of the engine. then, he let out a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the heavy mood.

‘’you know… i did some reading the other day. family video stress the shit out of me and i searched some things.’’ he said casually, glancing at you. ‘’i’ll look into it properly. give me a couple of days. maybe i can find something that actually helps you realise all that tension.’’

you didn't reply. the car fell silent again as he drove you home.

three days. those were the exact days that passed. it was monday night, just past midnight.

steve invited you to his big house. you both had been drinking for a couple of hours by the pool. nothing too strong, just a few beers.

you were sitting on the edge of the pool with your feet in the water, wearing one of steve’s old shirts over your bikini. steve was inside the pool, leaning against the edge right in front of you, shirtless, and with his hair wet and messy.

he looked up at you, water droplets running down his hairy chest and you tried not to make too much eye contact there.

‘’so… i did the research i promised,’’ he said with a soft voice. ‘’i went to the library and everything. looked in actual encyclopedias and medical books.’’

you raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. 

‘’wow. you actually went to the library and read? i’m impressed, harrington. didn’t know you knew how.’’

steve grinned and grabbed your waist with both hands, yanking you in the water. you let out a surprised squeal as you both fell into the warm water with a big splash. when you came up for air, steve was right in front of you.

‘’you asshole!’’ you laughed, pushing his chest.

the soaked shirt was now clinging to your body like a second skin, and without thinking, you grabbed the hem and pulled it over your head, tossing it onto the pool deck with a wet slap.

steve’s eyes darkened as they roamed over your body for a second before he forced them back to your face.

‘’well, you deserved that. that was cold,’’ he said, pretending to be deeply offended. 

‘’start talking before i leave to drink another beer,’’ you said.

‘’i spent actual hours reading about endorphins, oxytocin, stress hormones… all of it. apparently the fastest way to release extreme built-up tension is through really intense physical activity. multiple orgasms.’’

he was getting more nervous the longer he spoke so his usual cocky confidence cracked.

‘’i mean– you don’t have to… obviously,’’ he added quickly while his voice got softer. ‘’it was an idea. we can pretend i never said anything. i don’t want to make things weird between us. i just hate seeing you this stressed and…’’

‘’are you insinuating something, steve?’’ you asked. 

you wanted to hear an answer from him to see if they were just empty words coming out of his mouth or if he really meant it.

‘’yeah… i mean, yes,’’ he admitted. then he backtracked. ‘’no, no, nothing like that! i didn’t mean– shit, forget i said anything. i wasn’t trying to pressure you or–’’

you smiled and leaned a little closer to him. steve took it as a signal, so he cupped your face with one hand and kissed you.

the kiss started gentle but quickly turned deeper. you responded, kissing him back while your fingers thread through his wet hair. 

after some seconds you pulled back slightly, breathing a little faster, and whispered against his lips.

‘’i’ll keep that in mind.” you started to pull away, but steve gently grabbed your hand, stopping you. he pulled you back toward him.

you smiled, then leaned in and kissed him again — deeper this time, more sure. 

he froze for half a second before he melted into the kiss with a deep groan. his wet hands immediately grabbed your waist. 

steve was an incredible kisser. girls weren't lying about that.

he started by pressing his lips against yours, then focused on your upper lip –kissing it gently– then with more pressure. his mouth moved perfectly against yours, slow and deep at first, then hungrier.

his nose kept bumping into yours.

you moaned softly into his mouth as he kissed you deeper, his tongue sliding against yours. his hands grabbed your ass under the water, squeezing firmly and pulling you flush against him. you wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, grinding against the obvious bulge in his swim trunks.

steve groaned against your lips, one hand staying on your ass while the other slid between your bodies. his fingers then pressed over your bikini bottoms, rubbing slow and firm circles against your covered clit.

‘’fuck..’’ he murmured between kisses. he kept kissing you on the upper lip while his fingers rubbed gaster, pressing against your clit through the thin fabric. 

you held onto his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin as pleasure built rapidly.

‘’that’s it, pretty girl,’’ he whispered hotly. ‘’grind on my hand like a good girl. you’ve been so tense for weeks… you deserve this.’’

he wasn’t as shy as he was a few minutes earlier.

you whimpered, rolling your hips desperately against his fingers. steve rubbed faster, pressing harder while the water made everything slick and intense.

‘’steve– fuck,’’ you moaned. 

‘’you touched yourself so many times and couldn’t cum properly, huh, princess?’’ he growled softly. ‘’look how quickly you’re shaking for me, baby. this pretty pussy is so needy for my touch. that’s cute.’’

your legs started trembling violently around his waist. pleasure built higher as he rubbed fast circles. you were right on the edge, thighs squeezing him.

‘’steve– oh god. i’m so close, please.’’ you whimpered. 

just as you were about to cum, he suddenly slowed down and pulled his hand away. you let out a broken whimper, burying your face in his neck.

‘’not yet, baby,’’ he whispered. ‘’i want you in my bed. i want to take my time with you, princess. i want to hear every pretty sound you make when i finally let you fall apart.’’ 

he kissed one last time before carrying you out of the pool toward the house, water dripping everywhere. 

the second you were through the front door, steve pinned you against it, kissing you again like he was starving. you stumbled up the stairs together, and halfway up, steve pressed you against the railing, kissing you deeply again.

you finally reached his bedroom door, crashing through it. steve kicked it shut behind him and threw you onto his bed slowly. you landed with a small bounce, still dripping wet from the pool.

steve crawled over you, his hair was still dripping. then he moved down your body, kissing and sucking marks into your skin until he settled between your spread thighs. he looked up at you with hungry eyes. 

he hooked his fingers into your bikini bottoms and slowly pulled them down your legs, tossing them aside. he buried his face between your legs and devoured you like a man starved.

steve was completely pussy drunk. he licked, sucked and tongue-fucked you with messy enthusiasm, moaning loudly against your pussy as two fingers pumped deep inside you. 

he licked a long slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, moaning loudly at your taste.

‘’fuck, you taste so good,’’ he groaned, the vibrations sent you shocks through your body. ‘’so sweet and sloppy. i could eat this pretty cunt for hours.’’

‘’please– don’t stop. don’t.’’ you moaned, rolling your hips against his face. 

he dove back in like a man possessed. 

steve licked broad, flat strokes through your folds, savoring every drop of your wetness. he sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, humming happily as he flicked his tongue rapidly over your sensitive bud. 

then he pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it while his nose was pressed against your clit. he was loud, messy and addicted. the obscene wet sounds of him slurping, sucking and moaning against your pussy filled the entire room.

his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he buried his face deeper.

‘’god, baby… you’re dripping down my chin,’’ he mumbled. ‘’such a messy little pussy. you’re soaking me and i fucking love it.’’

he replaced his tongue with his fingers again, pumping them and curling them perfectly against your g-spot while he focused on your clit again.

‘’fuck, steve… you’re so good at this.’’ you moaned.

‘’you love this, don’t you, princess?’’ he said. his chin was shining with your juices. ‘’love having your best friend eat your pussy like a starving man. bet you’ve been touching this greedy cunt thinking about me every night while you were being mean to me.’’

you moaned loudly, and steve doubled down, sucking harder and pumping his fingers faster. he was completely lost in you.

‘’steve, fuck. i’m gonna cum–’’ you cried out.

he didn’t stop, and you came hard with a loud scream. your thighs clamped around his head as you gusher on his tongue and fingers. steve moaned loudly, refusing to pull away. 

he kept licking and fingering you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive, pushing at his head.

he finally pulled back, his chin and lips shiny with your juices and his eyes glazed with pure lust. steve shoved his swim trunks down his hips, kicking them off, and his thick hard cock sprang free.

steve was huge. way too big. 

you’d had sex with other guys before, but you’d never seen anything like this.

you always heard him talk about his sexual experiences. that was the normal thing between you two as best friends. 

but you just thought he was exaggerating — that it was just an ego boost.

when robin joked about it, or steve said that girls told him it didn't fit in, you just laughed: you thought they were just jokes. 

but apparently, they weren’t.

he climbed on top of you and rubbed the head up and down your soaked folds. 

‘’look at me, princess,’’ he ordered.

and you did.

‘’i don’t know if it all fits steve. you’re so big…’’

‘’just the tip first.’’ he groaned, and then he pushed a little bit, the head stretching you open. ‘’relax for me… that’s it, good girl. you’re doing so well.’’

he rocked his hips gently, feeding you another inch. then another, watching your face the entire time.

‘’oh my god…. fuck, steve.’’ 

‘’taking me so good, baby.’’ he praised with rough voice. ‘’look how your pretty pussy is swallowing my cock.’’

then his control snapped. steve pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in hard, setting a brutal pace. the bed cracked as he fucked ou deep and rough, hips snapping against your ass with loud slaps.

‘’take it, princess,’’ he growled. ‘’take every fucking inch.’’

after a few thrusts, he pulled out, flipped you onto your hands and knees, and positioned you so you were facing a full-length mirror in the corner of his room.

the mirror was tall and elegant. 

steve had had it since his freshman year of high school, back when he was king steve: the ultimate jock who spent way too much time obsessing over his hair, clothes and appearance. he used to stand in front of it and fix his hair there, and now, some years later, he was fucking you in front of it.

steve got behind you, gripped your hips tightly and thrust back inside you again. 

‘’look. look in the mirror.’’

he grabbed your face with one hand, fingers gripping your jaw firmly but not painfully, and he forced you to look straight ahead at your reflection.

“watch,” he ordered, starting to fuck you hard again. “watch how pretty you look getting fucked by my big cock.”

you moaned loudly at the sight. the mirror showed everything in explicit detail; your flushed face, your tits bouncing wildly with every thrust, your mouth open in pleasure, and steve’s body behind you as he pounded into you mercilessly. his thick cock disappeared completely inside your pussy again and again, stretching you wide.

“steve— oh my god. look at how deep you are…” you gasped, unable to look away. “you’re so big…”

“yeah? you like watching me destroy this tight pussy, baby?” he groaned, slamming into you harder. he kept one hand on your jaw, forcing you to keep watching. “look at how well you take every inch. such a good girl for me, princess.”

he fucked you relentlessly in front of the mirror, hips snapping against your ass as the sound of skin slapped loud and filthy. his other hand reached around to rub your clit in fast giving rough circles.

he suddenly pushed two fingers into your mouth.

“suck,” he commanded, voice low and filthy. “suck my fingers while you watch yourself get fucked, princess.” you moaned around his fingers, sucking them greedily as he continued pounding into you.

“cum for me, baby,” he commanded with a low voice. “cum while you watch yourself get fucked by your best friend. gonna breed you so deep you’ll be leaking my cum for days. you want that, princess? want me to pump you full until your belly swells with my load?”

you moaned loudly around his fingers, nodding desperately as you watched yourself in the mirror. steve fucked you even harder as the same time he rubbed your clit faster.

“that’s it… cum for me, baby. let me breed this greedy little cunt.”

you came hard with a loud scream, your walls pulsing violently around his thick cock. steve followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and flooding your pussy with thick hot ropes of cum.

he stayed buried deep inside you, both of you breathing heavily, sweaty and satisfied. then kissed your shoulder softly, still holding your face so you could see your wrecked reflection.

then his entire behavior softened. 

steve slowly pulled out of you, making you whimper at the feeling of being empty. he gently turned onto your back and lay down beside you.

‘’you okay?’’ he whispered. ‘’was i too rough or something?’’ you shook your head, still catching your breath.

‘’i’m perfect,’’ you murmured. ‘’i feel relaxed now.’’ 

steve chuckled softly, sitting in the bed to put his clothes back again.

‘’let me take care of you now, okay?’’ 

he got up and walked to the bathroom, returning a minute later with a towel. steve gently cleaned between your legs, wiping away the mixture of your juices and his cum. he tossed the towel aside and climbed back into bed. 

after a comfortable silence, steve spoke.

‘’... is this gonna ruin our friendship?’’ 

you lifted your head to look at him.

‘’no,’’ you whispered. ‘’it won’t.’’ 

steve let out a relieved breath.

‘’good,’’ he said, smiling. ‘’because next time you feel this stressed… don’t be a bitch to me again. just come to my house. the scientific method clearly works.’’

you laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

‘’i’ll keep that in mind,’’ you said.

© dividers by angeliicide and suupersonic

[entrenoussir]

Homewrecker - Gator Tillman x Reader - Part 2

Gator grew up in a broken home - and eventually vowed that he'd never behave like his father. But when a familiar situation begins to unfold in front of his very eyes, does he have what it takes to be better for you?

a/n - ok I think this might end up being 3 parts my bad !!! hope everyone is chill w that !!

tw/cw - recollections/descriptions of domestic abuse + intimate partner violence, mentions of assault & rape, Gator is not entirely an asshole he’s doing his best ok, no use of y/n

~~~~~~~

Summer had arrived in Stark County not with a gentle breeze, but with a suffocating blanket of heat and humidity that shimmered off the asphalt in blinding, hallucinogenic waves. The air turned thick and soupy, tasting like dust and sweat.

Gator hated it. He hated the way his uniform chafed against his skin, trapped way too much sweat, and the way the days dragged on for far too long. But mostly, he hated that you were only going to be back for three weeks. Three measly, insignificant weeks.

You’d called him a week prior, your voice hurried and clipped - so unlike the melodic sound he used to know that always put him at ease - and explained that you wouldn't be spending the entire summer at home like you’d originally planned.

When Gator had pressed for a why, you admitted that - thanks to Caleb’s rich and powerful father - you’d landed an internship at a marketing firm in the city. Important. Prestigious. A foot in the door that would be “a huge stepping stone to further your career”. A one in a lifetime sort of opportunity, from the way you described it.

Gator had listened, of course, pressing the phone to his ear so hard it hurt. He forced a congratulations through a throat tight with jealousy and a cold, gnawing dread. Though it selfishly meant less time with you - he was more concerned about the fact that this whole opportunity was due to Caleb. Not that you couldn’t have gotten it through your own merit, but Gator’s gut felt sour. It seemed like just another thing for Caleb to hold over your head. Get you to rely on him. Plus it kept you in the city - which meant more time for him to sink his claws in deep. Mark you as his territory while Gator sat miles away, helpless and angry.

After what felt like ages without seeing you, the sight of your figure standing on your porch under the midday glare was a welcome one. Though his relief at seeing your face was instantly eclipsed by a confusion that curdled his stomach.

For some reason, you were wearing a sweatshirt. Not just a light layer for an over-air-conditioned room, but a heavy, grey university hoodie that looked about three sizes too big. It was at ninety-five degrees even in the shade today, the humidity oppressive enough to make a grown man gasp for air. But there you were, drowning in fleece, shivering like it was the dead of winter.

Gator got out of his truck and trudged up the steps to you,, squinting against the harsh white sun. "Expectin’ a cold front?"

You shrugged, hugging your torso - a defensive, cagey gesture he’d seen too many times from other women in his life. "It was cold in the car," you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze. "AC was blasting."

Gator bit his tongue so hard he tasted copper. He wanted to ask you who the hell you thought you were fooling. But he saw the way your eyes darted around the yard, checking for neighbors, observers, anything that could pose a perceived risk. You were like a cornered creature waiting for the trap to snap shut.

"Well, welcome back," Gator said, his voice deliberately light, belying the hurricane raging in his chest. "Wanna get outta here? We got a new foal down at the ranch. Ugly as sin but in a weirdly cute way."

The offer was a lifeline, and he watched you take it with a desperation that made his heart ache. You nodded eagerly, stepping past him toward his truck. His heart ached to pull you into his arms and shield you from the outside world, but you clearly didn’t want to be touched. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to violate that boundary.

The drive to the Tillman ranch was far too quiet. The windows were down, but the air rushing in did nothing to cool the tension radiating from you. Gator kept glancing over, noting that you were sweating through your hoodie, but also seemingly uncomfortable in a way that went beyond the heat. He could see a sheen of perspiration on your forehead, hair damp at the temples, yet you kept the hood up and your hands tucked deep inside the pouch. You looked utterly miserable, shrinking yourself down to take up less space.

When he pulled up to the main house, Gator’s radio crackled. Dispatch.

"Unit 4, we have a 10-15 at the Miller property. Requesting backup."

Gator sighed, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "I gotta check on this. It’ll just be a minute."

"Okay," you said quickly, opening the door and climbing out. "I’ll just… Wait here."

"Stay on the porch," Gator warned, holding up a finger. "Don't go wandering off. Got new dogs around somewhere, and they can be assholes if they don't know you."

You nodded, and Gator turned his attention to whatever the fuck was happening over the radio at the worst possible time. It only took five minutes - just a drunken dispute at a neighbor's, nothing serious - but when he glanced back towards the porch, his blood ran cold.

Roy Tillman was standing there, looming over you like a giant bear. You were backed up against the siding, posture rigid, that now-familiar, haunted look in your eyes as you stared up at him. Roy was too close. Way too close. He had one hand resting on the side of the house, caging you in, his face wearing a charming grin that was wildly out of place.

A white-hot spike of fury pierced Gator’s chest. He knew that look. That posture. He’d seen it a thousand fucking times aimed at his mother and Nadine. Really any woman who wandered too close to the Tillman orbit.

Gator didn't think. He just moved.

He sprinted across the yard, boots kicking up dirt, and arrived just as Roy leaned in closer, saying something that made you flinch violently.

"Hey!" Gator barked, skidding to a halt and inserting himself physically between you and his father. He met Roy’s steely gaze with a glare. "Get the hell away from her."

The older man raised an eyebrow, unhurried and unimpressed. "Just welcomin’ the young lady home, son. No need to get your panties in a twist."

"She doesn’t wanna talk to you," Gator spat, ignoring his dad’s narrowing eyes. He turned, placing a gentle hand on your lower back to lead you back towards the truck. "We’re just leavin’."

"Gator," Roy’s voice followed them, sharp as a whip. "Don't be rude, boy. We were just talking about her -“

"Fuck off, Roy," Gator shouted over his shoulder, not looking back. He opened the door to his vehicle and practically pushed you into the truck, slamming it and sealing you in before storming around to the driver's side.

He didn't speak until they were off the property, speeding down the gravel road with the tires spinning. His head spun angrily. The idea that his father had been sniffing around you made him want to vomit. The two of you may have been lifelong friends, but Gator hadn’t made a habit of bringing you out to his place even when Roy wasn’t there.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice trembling. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, and it broke Gator’s heart to see you so upset. "I didn't want to be rude. He just… He came out of nowhere."

"Not your fault. Don’t apologize. He's a prick," Gator gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He doesn't talk to people. He preys on them.

"I know," you said, pulling your knees up to your chest, burying your face in the sweatshirt. "I just wanted him to go away."

Gator drove aimlessly for miles, taking the backroads that wound through the cornfields, trying to outrun the image of his father trapping you on that porch. Finally, when he couldn't stand the silence anymore, he pulled off onto a dirt road that led to an old silo that decades of high school kids had taken turns vandalizing over the years. Killing the engine, he turned to look at you, his frayed patience finally snapping.

"You gonna tell me what the hell’s goin’ on?" He tried to keep his demanding voice in check, but it felt impossible. The corrosive anger was like acid in his bloodstream. "No bullshit. No 'it's complicated.' Tell me the truth."

You stared out the window, refusing to look at him. "Nothing, Gator. Just drop it."

"I can't just drop it!" He shouted, turning in his seat to face you fully, his desperation spilling over. You shuddered at the volume of his voice, unconsciously pressing up the passenger door in an effort to put some distance between the two of you.

“I -“

"You're sweatin’ through winter clothes in July. You look like you haven't slept since the last time I saw you. And now you're letting my dad corner you because you're too scared to tell him to get lost? That's not like you.”

That’s not my girl he wanted to add. But you weren’t his. Not really. Not in any way that mattered or that would change whatever the fuck was happening with you.

"It is me," you insisted, your voice rising in panic. "I'm just… Stressed."

"Bullshit.”

Gator reached out, his hand hovering over your sleeve, as if he was going to jerk it back to prove his point. He didn’t, but fuck, if it didn’t take every ounce of self control not to see if another purple handprint had bloomed across your skin. He needed to know if it was just a one-time thing. An accident. Ever since that day in the diner, he’d prayed to a God he didn’t even believe it that his eyes had played tricks on him. Your head snapped toward him, your eyes wide with fear.

“Fuck, don’t be - I wasn’t gonna -“

“Don’t touch me.”

Gator’s hand fell to his lap as he struggled to get his breathing under control. It felt like he’d run a mile in the midday summer heat without stopping. His next words tumbled out of his mouth before he could force them to stop.

“He hittin’ you?"

"What? No!" The denial was instant, explosive, and more tears sprang to your eyes. "God, Gator, stop it! Why do you always have to make everything so dramatic? He wouldn’t… He doesn’t hit me."

"Then why’re you hidin’?" Gator shouted, clenching his fists against his thighs. "Why the sweatshirt? Why’re you so fuckin’ jumpy?”

“I’m not -“

“You flinch when anyone moves too fast! You think you’re good at hidin’ it but guess what? I see you. I see the way you shrink away from everyone.”

"It’s not what you think!" Your voice was hoarse as you dissolved into sobs. "Please, just take me home. I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have done this."

You looked so utterly defeated and resigned that Gator felt the fight drain out of him. He wanted to scream, to demand the truth until his throat was raw, but looking at you - shaking and broken in the passenger seat of his truck - he felt like it would be the final nail in the coffin. If he pushed any more, he’d lose you. More than he already had.

"Fine," Gator bit out, putting the truck in gear. "Fine. I'll take you home."

The drive back to your house was agonizing. You cried silently the whole way, wiping at your face with the sleeve of that ridiculous sweatshirt, leaving dark streaks of mascara on the grey fabric. He wondered vaguely if it was Caleb’s, but he tried to banish the thought. Gator drove with white-knuckled intensity, the cab of the truck filled with the sound of your ragged breathing and the hum of the engine. He was spiraling, his mind racing with a dozen horrific scenarios, but he clamped his mouth shut, terrified that if he opened it, he'd say something he couldn't take back and frighten you away forever.

When he pulled into your driveway, the house was dark. Your parents weren’t home, apparently.

"Come on," Gator said, cutting the engine. "I'm walkin’ you in."

"You don't have to -“

"I'm walkin’ you in," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And I'm not leavin’ you alone like this."

There was apparently no fight left in you, and you didn’t protest as he followed you up the path to the front door, his boots heavy on the gravel walkway. You fumbled with the lock, hands shaking so badly you couldn't insert the key properly. Gator gently took it from you, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

The house was silent and empty, a tomb of suburban normalcy that felt completely at odds with the storm that raged within you.

"Can we talk? Like, actually?" He asked quietly as you stepped into the hallway.

"Just go, Gator," you whispered, not turning around. "Please. Just leave."

"No," he said, closing the front door and leaning against it. "We aren't done."

You turned on him then, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and terror. He hated that you were clearly scared of him - he certainly didn’t want you to be - but it gave him hope to see even a flicker of the feistiness you’d previously had.

“Yes, we are! I can't do this with you!”

“Can’t do what?”

“Getting interrogated every five seconds like I'm a fucking criminal!"

"I'm not interrogating you!" Gator fought to keep his voice even, stepping away from the door and into your space, his hands clenched at his sides. "I'm tryin’ to help you! Can't you see that? I feel like I’m the only one who actually gives a shit about whatever’s happenin’ with you!"

You backed away from him until your back hit the wall, hands out in front of you slightly has if to either defend yourself or placate him. Gator wasn’t sure which option was worse.

“You think just because you're playing cop that you can swoop in and save me. But you don't know my life. You don’t know what I -“

"But I know you!" The wild animal he’d fought against his whole life to keep in a cage clawed at the insides of his chest as his frustration boiled over into a blind rage. "Used to know you better than anyone! I know you're lyin’ to me. You're scared. And I know that Caleb is bad fuckin’ news."

Gator was towering over you now, chest heaving, his face flushed with anger. Not at you, of course. Never at you. But he was close enough that he saw the moment you snapped. The defiance in your eyes shattered, replaced by a primal, bone-deep fear.

You didn't yell. You didn't fight. You just…Crumbled.

A choked sob escaped your throat, and you slumped against the wall, sliding down until you hit the floor. You curled into a ball, covering your head and neck with your arms, and started to weep. Not the quiet tears from before, but heart-wrenching, terrified sobs that shook your entire body.

"Please," you gasped, your voice muffled by your denim-clad knees. "Please d-don't be angry. I'm sorry. I'm so s-sorry. Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me."

Gator froze.

Hurt you?

The rage drained out of him instantly, replaced by a cold, creeping horror. He stood there, looming over you like a monster, and realized with a sickening lurch that you weren't afraid of the argument. You were afraid of him.

You were waiting for the blow. You were reacting to him the way he was now willing to bet money on how you reacted to Caleb.

“Oh god," Gator breathed, the air leaving his lungs in a rush. "Oh god, no."

He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering awkwardly, terrified to touch you. "Hey… Hey, look at me. Shh, it’s okay. Please look at me."

You shook your head, face still buried in your arms as your body trembled violently. "I'm sorry.”

“What’re you sorry about?”

“I don’t - I-I'll be good, I promise. I won't do it again. Just please… Don't."

"Whoa, whoa," Gator’s voice cracked, his heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. "Baby, no. I’d never - hey, shh. Breathe. It's Gator. It's just me."

Slowly, you lowered your arms, peeking out at him with red, swollen eyes. You looked so small, so defeated. The sight of you made him ache.

"I’d never hurt you," Gator whispered, tears stinging his own eyes. "You know that, right? I would never… I'm not… I wouldn’t.”

You stared at him for a long moment, searching his face, looking for the lie. When you didn't find it, you let out a shuddering breath, but the fear didn't leave your eyes. It just settled in, a heavy, permanent resident.

"Why?" Gator asked, his voice trembling. He knew the answer, but it was still circumstantial. He didn’t want to hear you say it, but he needed to. "Why’d you think I’d do somethin’ to you?"

You didn't respond. You just looked down at your hands, picking at your cuticles. The silence stretched out between you, thick enough to choke on.

Gator waited. He waited for you to lie. Deflect. Tell him to leave again. But instead, you slowly reached for the hem of your sweatshirt. Your hands were shaking so badly you could barely get a grip. Hesitantly, you pulled the heavy grey fabric up, over your head, and off, letting it drop to the floor beside you. Underneath, you were wearing a thin tank top that was practically see-through even in the dim light of the entryway. With a small sigh, you peeled it off too, leaving you in just a bra and your jeans.

Though you were beautiful in any state, Gator felt his soul leave his body.

He couldn't breathe or even form a coherent thought. He could only stare, dark eyes tracing the map of violence that had been etched across your skin.

There were bruises everywhere. Dark purple splotches on your upper arms, fingerprints blooming on your biceps, and grapefruit-sized contusions all over your back and torso. A long, jagged scratch ran down your forearm, crusted over with dried blood - probably only hours old, if he had to guess. There were older bruises too, fading yellows and greens, evidence of a campaign of terror that had been going on for a long time.

But it was your chest that broke him.

Just above the curve of your left breast, stark and angry against your skin, was a burn mark. It was circular, about the size of a cigarette, or something similar, but the shape was undeniable. It was a C.

The brand of Caleb.

Gator felt a wave of nausea so strong he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from falling over. Despite the fact that his entire life had been marred by violence, seeing it effect you made him physically ill.

I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna find Caleb and tear him apart with my bare fuckin’ hands.

How could he do this? How could anyone hurt someone like you? It went against every natural instinct he had. Men like Roy and Caleb - they were parasites. Cancers that needed to be cut out.

After the initial shock wore off, rage hit him like a tsunami, a blinding red fury that threatened to consume him completely. He wanted to scream. Put his fist through the drywall. Hunt down your “boyfriend” and end his fucking life.

But then he looked at your face.

You were watching him closely, fear in your eyes, waiting for him to snap. Waiting for him to become a monster.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So Gator forced the rage down, swallowing it down like about as easily as shards of glass and sandpaper. He knew that if he completely lost it now and gave in to the violence singing in his blood - he would only be proving your worst fears right. He’d just be showing you that he was just like Caleb. Or Roy.

Instead of acting on his most primal urges, he just looked at you, his heart shattering in his chest, and reached out a shaking hand.

"He do this to you?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze, shame burning in your cheeks. "Please don't… Don’t m-make me say it."

"I need to know," Gator said, his voice gaining strength, steeling itself against the horror. "So I can… I dunno, fix it."

You let out a broken laugh, a hollow, empty sound. "You can't fix this, Gator. Nobody can."

The silence that stretched between you was heavier than the humid air pressing against the windows. Gator couldn't tear his eyes away from the brand on your chest - that, angry 'C' that claimed ownership over flesh that had always been too good for this world. He felt like he’d been hollowed out with a spoon, scraped clean of anything resembling hope or stability. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to act, but he forced himself to be a statue. He realized with a gut-wrenching clarity that if he so much as raised his voice right now, he would only exacerbate your nightmares.

So he just sat across from you, his back against the wall, close enough to be a comfort but far enough to be safe. Hopefully. He wanted to reach out, to gather you up in his arms and promise you the moon, but he kept his hands on his knees, white-knuckled and trembling.

"Hey," he whispered after what felt like an hour, the sound scraping against his dry throat. "Look at me. Please?”

Slowly, you raised your head. Your eyes were swimming a shame so profound it seemed to darken the very air around you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide the bruises and burn, trying to disappear inside yourself again.

"Don't," Gator said softly, shaking his head. "Don't hide. Not from me."

"I'm ugly," you choked out, the words barely audible. "Look at me, Gator. I'm… I'm ruined."

"You ain't ugly," Gator said, his voice fierce with a sudden, intense protectiveness. "And you ain't ruined. Not even a little bit.”

A scoff fell from your lips as you painstakingly pulled the tank top back on, hiding some of the injuries from sight again.

“You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Always have been.” The raw sincerity and honesty in his tone softened your expression. “Bruises don't change that. Burns don't change that. You could be covered in dirt and dressed in a fuckin’ potato sack and you'd still be the only light in this godforsaken state."

He saw the skepticism in your eyes, and tried not to think about all the shit you must’ve heard - probably from Caleb - that would make you doubt how stunning you were. Gator wouldn’t lie to himself and say he wasn’t occasionally as shallow as the next guy when it came to some women - he had his faults and vices. But the idea of anyone making you feel anything less than gorgeous inside and out made him want to scream.

"I mean it," he insisted, leaning forward slightly, careful not to crowd you. There were a million things he wanted to say to you, but words failed him.

I've loved you since we were kids scraping our knees on the playground. I loved you when you had popsicles smeared on your face. And I love you now. Nothing changes that. Not Caleb. Not anyone.

“I’m here with you, okay? Always will be.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled over your lashes, but the tension in your shoulders dropped a fraction. You took a shuddering breath, and for the first time, it felt like you were actually seeing him - seeing the boy who had stood by your side through everything, the man who was currently breaking apart at the seams just looking at you.

"Can you… Can you tell me?" Gator asked, his voice hesitant, terrified of pushing you too far. "How did this happen?"

You wiped at your face with the back of your hand, leaving a streak of mascara across your cheek. You looked down at the floor, picking at a loose thread in the carpet, gathering the courage to speak. It took nearly ten minutes for you to speak again.

"He was in my English class," you began, voice small and distant, as if you were narrating a movie you’d watched rather than a life you’d lived. "Last fall. First day. He sat behind me. He was… Nice. Really. He helped me with my essay on The Great Gatsby, and I helped him with Jane Eyre. He brought me coffee when I was pulling all-nighters. Said I was brilliant. Beautiful. That he’d never met anyone like me."

Gator nodded, keeping his face neutral, though inside he was fighting tooth and nail.

"Eventually he asked me out," you continued. "I didn't… I didn't really feel a spark. You know how it is. Like, he was handsome and smart, but he just… I didn't care about him like that. So I told him no. That I just wanted to be friends."

"’Course you did," Gator murmured. "You got standards."

"But he… He wouldn't take no for an answer," you said, your voice shaking. "Said I was just scared. He said I was damaged from my past or close minded or some shit. That I needed to give him a chance to show me how a real man treats a woman. He just… Kept pushing. And he was so nice about it. So persistent. I thought… I thought maybe I was being ungrateful for shrugging off someone who was making such an effort. Maybe I was being close minded.”

"You weren't," Gator ground out. "You were picky. That ain't a crime."

"At some point I said yes," you whispered, shame coloring your cheeks. "We went on one date. Then another. And then… Next thing I knew I was his girlfriend."

"And that's when it all changed?" Gator asked gently.

"Yeah," you let out a hollow laugh. "It was slow at first. Those little comments. 'Don’t you think that skirt’s too short?’ ‘Why are you talking to that guy?' 'You shouldn't go out without telling me.' I thought he was just… protective. You know? I thought he cared. Like you.”

Gator’s stomach churned. He was protective. But he didn't want to lock you in a cage. Maybe lock you away in a temporary safe house until he gutted Caleb like a fish so you’d feel safe again - but never an actual cage.

"And then it got worse," you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper. "He started checking my phone every time we were together m. And if we weren’t then he’d get mad if I didn't text back in five minutes. He’d drive by my dorm to make sure I was there. He hated any of my guy friends. He especially hated…"

You trailed off, eyes darting to Gator’s face and then quickly away.

"He especially hated what?" Gator pressed, dread pooling in his gut.

"You.”

Gator felt a cold shock run through him. "Me?"

You nodded. "I told him about you. Probably in the first date, honestly. How we grew up together, that you were my best friend. Turns out he didn't like it. After we started dating he liked you even less. Said you were in love with me, and were going to try and steal me from him or something stupid. He said you were… Um-“

“Said I was what?”

A tormented look crossed your face. As if a mean comment about him would would hurt worse than the harm Caleb had cause you. “He said you were a dumb hick cop who couldn't let go of his high school crush."

Gator wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. Technically - he was in love with you. He was a dumb hick cop unable to let go of his feelings for you. But hearing it used as a weapon to isolate you, made his blood boil.

"He was… Jealous?”

"Obsessively," you whispered. "It was like he couldn't stand that I had a life before him. That I had people who cared about me who weren't him. He wanted me to cut everyone off. My parents, my friends… Especially you. He tried to make me stop talking to you. But I… I couldn't. I’d already lost all my other friends. I couldn't lose you too. So I lied. I told him we weren't super close anymore. But I still… I still texted you. I still called you behind his back whenever I could. I didn’t tell him we met up over fall or winter break. And he only agreed to let me casually see you in the spring if he came too.”

A sudden, horrific clarity dawned on Gator. He remembered all the texts from the last many months, the phone calls that had gone unanswered. He remembered the frustration he’d felt, the confusion.

"The first time," Gator said slowly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "The first time he hit you. What happened?"

You didn't answer for a long time. You just stared at the floor, your body trembling violently. Finally, you looked up, your eyes filled with a devastating amount of sorrow.

"We were at his apartment," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "It was a Tuesday night in November. I was in the kitchen, making dinner. And my phone rang. It was you."

Gator stopped breathing. He remembered that night. He’d called you to complain about his dad, to ask you if you wanted to come home for Thanksgiving early. In all honesty, he’d just wanted to hear your voice.

"Caleb was in the shower, so I answered it," you continued, tears streaming down your face. "I was so happy to hear from you. I don’t even remember what he talked about, but I remember laughing with you. Honestly I hadn't laughed in weeks."

Gator squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the urge to cry himself. He could hear the joy in your voice in his memory, a sound he’d cherished without realizing how much it would cost you.

"Then he came into the kitchen," you said, your voice breaking. "He didn't say anything. He just… I said goodby and hung up, and then he took the phone out of my hand. Asked who I was talking to.”

“Did you -“

"I lied and told him it was my mom. But he didn't believe me.” You hung your head. “He checked the caller ID and said he’d known I was lying. He thought I was cheating on him so he smashed my phone.”

Your eyes clouded over, as if reliving the trauma all over again.

“H-he threw it against the wall. And then he… he grabbed me. By the hair. And he threw me on the floor."

Gator felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He opened his mouth to speak, to scream, to curse, but no sound came out.

"He started yelling," you continued, voice low and detached, as if you were reciting a list of groceries. "He called me a whore and a slut and said I was nothing. Told me how I was lucky he put up with me at all. And then… He kicked me."

"He kicked you?" Gator choked out, the image of you on the floor, defenseless and terrified, searing itself into his brain.

You touched your side unconsciously. "He knocked me around a little more, and said if I ever talked to you again, he’d kill you and make me watch. But honestly, I thought he was going to kill me that night. Thought that a lot over the last few months, honestly.”

Gator felt the world tilting on its axis. “I'm so sorry," he whispered, tears finally spilling over, tracking hot paths down his cheeks. "I am so fuckin’ sorry. I never should have called. I never should have -“

"It wasn't your fault," you said firmly, reaching out to touch his arm. Your skin was cold against his. "It wasn't you, Gator. It was… He just… I think he wanted - needed - a reason. And you were the easiest target. If it hadn’t been you, it would’ve been someone else.”

Gator covered your hand with his own, squeezing it gently, trying to pour every ounce of love he felt for you into that simple touch.

"I'm gonna kill him," Gator whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I'm gonna find him, and I'm gonna kill him."

"No," you said, shaking your head frantically. "No, Gator. Please. You can't. He… he knows people. He’s got money and lawyers and shit. If you touch him, he’ll destroy you. He’ll put you in jail. Or worse."

"I don't give a shit," Gator said, his voice gaining a dangerous edge. "I got people too. I don't care about jail. He can't keep doin’ this to you. He can't brand you like livestock."

"It's not just that," you whispered, pulling your hand back and hugging yourself again. "It's that… If you go after him and it doesn’t work out, he'll know I ratted him out. And he'll… Make me pay for it.”

The fear in your eyes was absolute. Gator felt helpless, a new and terrifying sensation for a man who prided himself on being able to handle anything. He knew that saving you wasn't just about beating the bad guy; it was about dismantling the cage you’d been locked in, brick by psychological brick. And he didn't know how to do that without breaking you further.

"Okay," Gator breathed out, forcing the violence back down into the dark place where he kept his father’s sins. "Okay. We do this your way. We play it smart. I don’t want you to think I’m tryin’ to control you, but you can’t go back there. You hear me? You’re never going back there."

“I have to go back to school in the fall, Gator.”

“Transfer somewhere else. Do online shit. Easy.”

“What about my internship?”

“The one his daddy got you?”

Your lower lip trembled. “I know it sounds stupid, but it was such a good career opportunity.”

“I’m not sayin’ you didn’t earn it, but dontcha think it’s just one more thing hes usin’ to control you?”

You looked at him, hope warring with despair in your eyes. "I don't know how.”

“How to what?”

“Leave.” You shuddered. “I’m not brave like your mom. Or Nadine.”

The comparison broke his heart all over again. “You’re plenty brave. An’ good news is you ain’t married to him. So this should be a lot easier.”

“But how -“

"We change your number. Get a restraining order. Maybe get you a gun -“

“A gun?!”

“I don't care what it takes. We’re gonna figure this out. Both of us."

"Together," you whispered, testing the word as if it were a foreign concept.

"Together," Gator promised, leaning his forehead against yours, careful not to crowd you too much, but desperate to bridge the gap between your pain and his protection. "I’m not lettin’ you go again. Not ever. And I sure as hell ain't letting him win."

Your shoulders relaxed half an inch.

"Come on," Gator said gently, pushing himself up off the floor. He kept his hands visible, open and non-threatening. "Let's getcha cleaned up. Some of those scratches… they look like they need attention."

You hesitated, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, but eventually nodded. Slowly, you let him help you up, your movements stiff and jerky from how long you’d been sitting on the hardwood floor. He led you upstairs to the bathroom connected to your bathroom, relishing in the scent of your perfume that seemed to have soaked into the walls over the years.

Gator closed the door softly, shutting out the rest of the house just in case your parents turned up while he was there, creating a small, safe bubble in the fluorescent light. He lifted you up onto the counter with ease and turned to the medicine cabinet. His heart beat wildly as he pulled out the first aid kit - alcohol, cotton pads, bandages.

It was a routine he knew intimately. Far too intimately.

Flashbacks of his childhood crashed over him - sneaking into the bathroom after his father had gone to bed or left in some rage. His mother sitting on the edge of the tub, trying to stifle her whimpers as he dabbed peroxide on a split lip or a bruised cheek. Or Nadine in the kitchen, ice pack in hand, while Gator checked her wrist for fractures. He had been the medic in a war zone he was too young to fight in.

And now, here he was. Years later. Doing the exact same thing for the only woman he’d ever really loved. Not that it was the right time to tell you that.

"Okay," Gator turned back to you, forcing a reassuring smile he didn't feel. "This might sting a little bit."

You flinched as he touched the cotton ball soaked in alcohol to the jagged scratch on your forearm. He worked with a surgeon's precision, his hands steady despite the turmoil raging inside him. He cleaned the dried blood, trying desperately not to cause you any more pain.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. "I'm such a mess.”

"You ain't a mess," Gator murmured, focusing intently on a particularly deep gouge near your elbow he was afraid to ask the origin of. You're a survivor. Big difference. “Besides. Even if you were, I like your mess.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on your lips. “You say that now, but you won’t -“

“Won’t what? Still think that when I wake up tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, though sadness radiated off of you in waves. “I’m more trouble than I’m worth sometimes, I think.”

Gator tucked a lock of hair behind your ear carefully, his eyes steadily meeting yours. “Who told you that?”

You hung your head, and Gator had his answer.

“He’s wrong, you hear me?” He leaned forward and pressed a light, chaste kiss to your forehead, only lingering for half a moment. As he drew back, he saw that you’d closed your eyes, as if relishing in the gentle gesture. How many times could one man’s heart break in the span of an evening? “You’re worth everythin’. And I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget it. Okay?”

All you could over him was a small nod.

He bandaged your arm, moving on to put a special gel on the burn. Then he examined the bruises on your shoulder and lightly massaged a menthol-scented salve across them. It wouldn’t cure the bruises, but it would help ease the pain in the muscles.

As he worked, a question began to form in the back of his mind. A question so vile and horrific, that he tried repeatedly to push it away. But it kept coming back, gnawing at him, demanding an answer. He’d seen the bruises. The burn. But those were things done in anger, in a moment of rage. There were other kinds of violence. Violations that didn't leave a mark on the skin but shattered the soul.

Gator finished applying a bandage to the burn above your heart after the medicine had soaked it, and took a step back, his hands resting on the edge of the counter on either side of your hips. He looked at you, finally at eye level, and felt his heart break all over again.

"Hey," he said softly. "There’s… Somethin’ I need to ask you."

You tensed, eyes darting to the door, the panic rising instantly. "W-what?"

"And I need you to tell me the truth," Gator continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "No matter how bad it is. I need to know."

"I… I don't know if I can," you stammered.

"You can," Gator insisted, his gaze intense but pleading. His thumb brushed the outside of where your hand rested on the counter, rubbing calming circles against your pinky. "You trust me, right?"

Trembling, you nodded.

"Then tell me," Gator said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Did he… Hurt you? In other ways?"

You looked at him, confusion warring with fear.

"I mean," Gator took a deep breath, steeling himself against the answer he knew was coming. "Did he ever force himself on you? When you didn't want to? When you said no?"

With that, the dam broke.

A sound tore itself from your throat - a raw, guttural sob that seemed to come from the depths of your soul. You didn't answer with words. You just collapsed forward, burying your face in Gator’s chest, and began to weep hysterically. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight as your body shook with the force of your grief. He didn't speak or soothe you with empty platitudes. He just held you, letting you cry, letting the poison out.

"He didn't understand the word 'no'," you choked out between sobs, your voice muffled by his shirt. "Didn’t like it either. Never did."

Gator closed his eyes, resting his chin on top of your head, fighting back the urge to put his fist through the bathroom mirror. He’d expected this. But hearing you say it out loud made it real in a way that stole the air from his lungs.

"Did he… Often?"

"So many times," the words were barely audible, your fingers clutched the fabric of his uniform. "When I said no, he just… Laughed. He said I was his girlfriend. It was my job. He said if I really loved him and wanted him to be happy, I’d…” Another sob wracked your body.

Gator felt physically ill. The thought of you, terrified and being used like a piece of meat by that monster, made him want to tear the world apart.

"It wasn't just… It wasn't just when he was angry," you continued, your voice detached, as if you were recounting a nightmare you couldn't wake up from. "He’d do it when I was asleep sometimes. I’d wake up, and he’d be… Inside me. And I’d just freeze. I’d just pretend I was still asleep because I was too scared to move."

Gator’s grip on you tightened, his jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. The violation of it, the sheer, calculating cruelty, made his blood run cold.

"And in the shower," you added, another sob tearing through you. "He’d… Make me wash him. And then he’d… He’d push me up against the wall or down in my knees and take what he wanted. Over and over, and it’s my fau-“

"Shh," Gator whispered, rocking you back and forth. "Nothin’ about this is your fault. You're safe now."

"I'm not though," you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with eyes full of devastation. "I'll never be okay. I’m ruined, Gator. I’m dirty and used up and what if I never… Never get over all this?”

"No," Gator said fiercely, cupping your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. "Listen to me. You’re not dirty or ruined or any of that shit. What he did to you - that's on him. He’s fuckin’ evil and you - you’re the best thing I’ve ever known. Period.”

You searched his face, looking for the revulsion you expected to see, but he holed you were finding only love. And maybe a burning, righteous anger.

"When we came back during spring break," you whispered, shame burning in your cheeks. "When we met at the diner."

Gator felt his stomach drop. He remembered that day. He remembered seeing you in the booth with Caleb, looking small and broken.

"He was so mad that we were even there,” you continued. "He said I was flirting with you. That I was embarrassing him. After we left, h-he drove us out of town to some abandoned field off the main road. There was nothing there. No one at all."

Gator closed his eyes, dreading where this story was going.

"He got out," you whispered. "And he hauled me around it and threw me in the bed of the truck. And he… He -“

You broke off, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to say the words.

"He raped you," Gator finished for you, the words like lead in his mouth.

"He was so angry. I knew he wanted to punish me, because he’d never been that rough before. And it hurt. It h-hurt so much. And when he was done, I was bleeding so bad, I thought I was gonna die right there. I know it sounds over dramatic, but I…” You touched one of the bandages on your arm. “Anyway. He said I needed to learn a lesson. Remember who I belong to."

Gator couldn't breathe. The image of you - his sweet, kind, beautiful friend - sitting next to Caleb, traumatized and bleeding, less than an hour after he’d seen you, was more than he could bear. It felt like a miracle you were still sane at all.

Gator pulled you back into his arms, holding you as if he could fuse your broken pieces back together with nothing but hope and his own body heat.

"I swear to you right now, I’m never gonna let him touch you again. Got it? You’re not his property. Or anyone else’s. I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you like that. Never again. We’ll figure this out.” The words came out in a rambling rush.

"I know," you whispered against his chest, your breathing finally starting to slow, though the tears still fell. "I know we will."

Gator held you there on the bathroom counter, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and despair, and made a silent vow to every God he’d ever ignored. He would burn the world down before he let Caleb so much as look in your direction again. He would go to hell and back to keep you safe.

[stvswrld69]

lying to my therapist

pairing: steve harrington x reader summary: after a bad breakup, you start therapy to fix your intimacy issues. your new therapist, steve harrington, is younger than expected and far too way attractive. what starts as professional help slowly turns into something more complicated and probably forbidden. wc: 8.9k warnings: porn with plot, +18 (minors do not interact), explicit nsfw, therapist / client relationship, thigh riding, cheating mention, fingering, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, female masturbation, semi-public if you squint, internal conflict, p in v, consensual sex, kinda forbidden sex, big dick steve. author's note: hihiii sorry for not posting tysm for 490+ followers and ty ani for the idea & nic for the help. i have a lot of exams but i wanted to post this before locking in and coming back with all requests and fics <3 love yall

four years. that's how much time passed since the night marcus –your now ex– broke up with you.

the breakup with him didn’t happen because you were unavailable. it happened because he was a lying cheating piece of shit.

and the memory still lingered like a bruise that refused to fade completely.

you found out a random tuesday evening. a mutual friend posted a story on instagram: nothing dramatic, just a casual photo for a party the previous weekend. in the background, clear as day, you saw him with his tongue down another girl’s throat.

the same weekend he told you he was ‘’too tired to hang out’’ and needed ‘’space.’’

you confronted him the next night when you two went out to have dinner. you played your role perfectly; laughing at his jokes and leaning at the right moments.

you were good at faking. you always had been.

you wanted to talk about that, and when you did, he didn’t even try to lie.

‘’yeah. i slept with her. so what? you’re never really present anyway. you’re always halfway out the door emotionally.’’

you tried not to cry. not in public. not in such a luxurious restaurant. you were about to speak, but he interrupted you.

‘’maybe if you actually talked to me instead of acting like some mysterious untouchable girl… i wouldn’t have needed to find pleasure in someone else.’’

his words were cruel, but the betrayal burned deeper than the insult.

you had let him in more than most. you shared pieces of yourself you usually kept hidden. and he rewarded that vulnerability by cheating you and then blaming you for it. 

that night you drove home in silence, your hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight your knuckles turned white. you didn’t cry until you took a shower. 

the hot water was burning your skin as reality settled in: trusting someone backfired spectacularly.

after marcus, something inside you shifted.

you stopped believing that real intimacy could be safe. 

every man who showed interest felt like a potential traitor. every sweet word sounded like manipulation waiting to happen. every touch made you wonder what that guy was hiding behind that smile.

you still went on dates. you still flirted effortlessly and still let men take you home and fuck you. but you never truly let them close.

the second things started feeling real –the second a conversation turned vulnerable, when sometime tried to stay the night and hold you, or even when a touch became too tender– you disconnected. you left your own body and watched everything from above.

years passed like this.

a string of shallow relationships that never lasted more than a few weeks. you became an expert at keeping people a comfortable distance while making them believe they were close. 

but you never stayed. not emotionally at least.

your best friend watched this cycle repeat itself with growing worry and frustration. she was there the night you found out about him cheating. she held you while you cried angry tears. and she was tired of seeing her best friend never letting anyone in.

one afternoon, after you mentioned yet another guy who slowly ghosted you after a few dates, she sat you down on her couch with two glasses of wine and a look that said she wasn’t going to let you dodge the conversation this time.

‘’i love you more than anything in this world,’’ she started quietly. ‘’but i can’t keep watching you destroy any chance of real connection because of what he did to you four years ago. you deserve to feel something.’’

you tried to brush it off with some humor, but she wasn't having it.

‘’you need therapy,’’ she said. ‘’you’re so scared and that fear is costing you years of your life. just go to one session. if you hate it, i’ll never bring it up.’’

‘’i don’t need therapy,’’

‘’yes, you do. you think you’re fine because you can still flirt and get guys, but you’re not fine. you’re lonely when you’re with someone.’’

you let out a bitter laugh.

‘’i’m not scared. i’m smart. after what marcus did, why the hell would i let someone in again? so they cheat on me and then blame me for having trust issues? no, thanks.’’

‘’not every man is marcus. but you’ll never know that if you keep pushing everyone away before they even have a chance. you deserve to feel safe with someone. you deserve to be loved and not just desired.’’

you looked away.

‘’i’m handling it.’’ you repeated stubbornly.

‘’you’re not handling it,’’ your friend said softly. ‘’you’re surviving. there’s a difference.’’

she slid a small business card across the table toward you.

hawkins behavioral health.

you didn’t book the appointment right away.

for nearly three weeks, the small business card your best friend gave you sat in your kitchen like a quiet accusation. every time you went to drink water, you saw it. every night you came exhausted from work, it was still there.

at first, you ignored it completely.

you told yourself you didn’t need therapy. but the words felt thinner every time you repeated them.

you started researching the place anyway – mostly out of boredom, you convinced yourself. hawkins behavioral health had a clean website and good reviews. 

but one name kept appearing with particularly strong feedback: dr. steve harrington.

you read review after review.

‘’he actually sees you. doesn’t just nod and write things down.’’

‘’first therapist who called me out on my bullshit in the kindest way possible.’’

‘’made me feel safe enough to be honest.’’

you closed the browser more than once, annoyed at yourself for even considering it.

then came the date with tyler. a guy you met.

it was supposed to be casual, just drinks at a nice bar. he was charming, successful, and funny. 

on paper, he was perfect. in reality, he spent most of the night talking about himself.

when you finally opened up a little, he didn’t seem to care. but there was a specific comment that hurt.

‘’guys don’t want to deal with a bunch of emotional baggage, you know?’’

the comment stung more than it should have.

later that night, when he kissed you outside the bar and invited you back to his place, you went. but the entire time you felt hollow. you two didn’t even kiss there, just talked at night and he let you stay to sleep.

the next morning you drove home in silence. when you walked into the apartment, the little business card was still on the counter. you picked it up, turned it over in your hands for a long time, and finally sighed.

‘’fuck it,’’ you whispered.

you called hawkins behavior health that same afternoon and booked an appointment for the following thursday.

the day of your first session arrived faster than you expected. 

you spent the entire morning convincing yourself you could still cancel. you changed outfits three times and almost turned the car around twice on the way there.

but somehow, you ended up walking through the front doors of the building.

the reception area was warm and comforting, with soft lightning and exposed brick walls. behind the desk stood a woman with short brown hair and energetic presence. 

her name tag read: robin buckley – office coordinator.

she looked up and gave you a bright welcoming smile.

‘’hi! you must be the 4:30. first time with us?’’ you nodded, gripping the strap of your bag a little too tightly.

robin’s smile softened, sensing your nerves.

‘’totally normal to feel anxious. everyone is on their first visit.’’ she typed something on her computer. ‘’you’re here to see dr. harrington, right?’’

‘’yes.’’

‘’he’s really good,’’ she said kindly. ‘’a little young for a psychologist, but perceptive. something annoyingly so, but don’t tell him i told you that.’’ she gave you a playful wink. ‘’just be honest with him. he can candle the truth.’’

she printed some forms and handed them to you.

‘’fill these out and i’ll let him know you’re him. deep breath. you’ve got this.’’

ten minutes later, robin returned and led you down a quiet hallway lined with plants. 

she stopped in front of a wooden door and gave you one last encouraging smile.

‘’dr. harrington? your 4:30 is here.’’

you took a deep breath and stepped inside.

the office was nothing like you had imagined. it didn’t feel clinical or cold. warm afternoon light poured through tall windows, bathing the room in a soft golden hue. 

one wall was lined with tall bookshelves filled with psychology texts, novels, and a few personal items – like a small framed picture of a group of friends, and what looked like a tiny hawkins high keychain hanging from a shelf.

two comfortable deep armchairs faxed each other with a low wooden table between them. a box of tissues on the table and a long couch that looked untouched.

and he was rising from one of the armchairs. steve harrington.

he was younger than you expected even if robin told you before. 

much younger. early twenties, if that. 

he looked tall even if he was sitting, with messy brow hair that looked like he’d run his hand through it several times that day.

and he had warm hazel eyes. big hazel eyes you weren’t able to ignore.

he also wore a brown jacket over a button-up shirt. 

steve looked more like a handsome graduate student than a licensed psychologist.

‘’hi,’’ he said with low warm voice. ‘’i’m steve harrington. you can call me steve if that makes you feel more comfortable. come in, please.”

he gestured toward the empty armchair across from him.

‘’sit however you’d like. there are no rules in this room.’’

you gave him a small smile and sat down, crossing your legs neatly and folding your hands in your lap. you studied him from a moment: the way he moved, the way he looked at you. 

he was annoying attractive. too attractive to be doing this job.

steve sat down across from you, leaning forward slightly with his hands clasped loosely between his knees. he didn’t speak right away. he just looked at you –not staring, but truly paying attention– and it made your skin prickle.

‘’so,’’ he said gently after a few seconds, offering a small smile. ‘’what brings you here today?’’

you let out a soft breath and gave him a smile.

‘’well…. apparently i’m very good at making men want me, but terrible at actually letting them stay.’’ you titled your head a little, letting your gaze linger on his face for a second. ‘’my last boyfriend said i’m emotionally unavailable. among other things.’’

you finished with a light laugh, hoping it would steer the conversation into safer waters.

steve didn’t laugh with you.

he simply watched you with a calm and thoughtful expression. 

after a moment, he talked.

“you started with a joke,” he noted gently. “and a compliment hidden inside it. you smiled while talking about something painful. that’s interesting.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your expression light.

“are you always this direct?”

“well… i’m noticing some things. you are trying to deflect,” he replied but not unkindly. “you’re very good at it. you use charm and humor to keep things from getting serious.”

you felt a flicker of irritation mixed with uncomfortably and nervousness.

“you’re very observant for someone so young,” you said, your tone was still light but with a subtle edge. “does that usually work for you? reading people before they even say anything?”

steve’s mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile.

but his eyes remained steady.

“you’re doing it again,” he said softly. “shifting the focus onto me and testing my reactions.” he paused, then added. “it’s okay. we don’t have to rush. this is your space.”

you sat back slightly, studying him.

he was good. too good.

and the fact that he was young somehow made it worse. 

he shouldn’t be this perceptive.

he shouldn’t be able to see through you this easily.

steve waited patiently, giving you time. his presence was calm, steady, and strangely grounding.

those hazel eyes never left yours, but they weren’t intimidating either.

they were patient. kind. like he really had nowhere else he’d rather be.

“so,” he said again. “when you say you’re “terrible at letting people stay”… what does that feel like for you?”

you opened your mouth, ready to give another polished half-joking answer.

but for the first time in a long time, the words got stuck in your throat.

steve didn’t push. he simply waited, watching you with that calm gaze. 

the silent stretched between you, not awkward, but heavy. for once, you didn’t know what to say. you didn’t have a clever line prepared. you didn’t have a flirty deflection ready.

after a long moment, you let out a slow breath and looked down at your hands.

‘’i don’t know how to… stay,’’ you admitted quietly. ‘’when things get real. when someone starts looking too closely. i just… leave. not physically. but emotionally. i go somewhere else in my head. i smile. i say the right things. but i’m not really there.’’

steve nodded slowly, his expression soft but attentive.

‘’that sounds lonely,’’ he said gently. ‘’being with someone but no really being with them.’’

you swallowed hard.

‘’it is,’’ you whispered. ‘’but it’s safer.

steve leaned forward sightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘’can you tell me more about that? when did you start feeling the need to protect yourself from the others like this?’’

you hesitated. the memories of your ex came rushing back – his cruel words, the way he blamed you for his own cheating, the humiliation of realizing you tried to be vulnerable with someone who never deserved it.

‘’four years ago,’’ you said, voice quieter now. ‘’i was with someone. i thought i was letting him in. i was trying and he cheated on me. then told me it was my fault and after that… it just felt easier to never let anyone close enough to hurt me again.’’

steve listened without interrupting. you liked that. and his eyes never left your face.

when you finished, he spoke carefully.

‘’so you learned that being vulnerable leads to pain. and now, even when you want connection, your mind and body protect you by disconnecting.’’

you looked up at him, surprised by how gently he said it.

‘’you’re very young to be this good at this,’’ you said, trying to regain some control with a teasing smile.

steve’s lip curved into a faint smile.

‘’and you’re deflecting again,’’ he replied softly, but there was no judgment in his tone. ‘’it’s okay. we’ll work on that. one step at a time.’’

he paused and then asked gently.

‘’when you’re with someone now… physically… what does that disconnection feel like in your body?’’

you shifted in your seat, feeling exposed under his attentive gaze. you hadn't expected him to go there so directly, yet so kindly.

‘’it feels like… im floating,’’ you admitted. ‘’like i can do everything right but i’m not really feeling anything. it’s like automatic.’’

steve nodded slowly, processing your words.

‘’and does that bother you?’’ he asked. ‘’or has it become normal?’’

you stayed silent for a long moment.

‘’.. it bothers me,’’ you finally whispered. ‘’but i don’t know how to stop doing it.’’

he gave you a small nod.

‘’that’s why you’re here,’’ he said gently. ‘’we’re going to figure that out together. no pressure. just honestly, at whatever pace you need.’’

for the rest of the session, steve listened carefully as you spoke. he didn’t interrupt. he didn’t judge. 

he simply asked thoughtful questions and noticed things you hadn’t even realized about yourself; the way you joked when things got heavy, the way you crossed your arms when you felt vulnerable…

by the time the session ended, you felt strangely drained. but also lighter.

steve stood up when the hour was over and gave you a warm smile.

‘’you did really well today,’’ he said. ‘’i know it wasn’t easy. same time next week?’’

you nodded, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and relief. 

as you left his office, you couldn’t stop thinking about how easily he had seen through every wall you tried to put up.

then the days after your first session passed in a strange haze.

you went back to your routine: work, nights with your best friend… but something felt different. lighter, maybe. or perhaps just more aware.

you tried dating again. not because you suddenly believed in love, but because you wanted to prove to yourself (and maybe to steve), that you could try.

his name was daniel. he was kind, funny and worked as a graphic designer. 

he didn’t try too hard. 

on your first date, you talked for almost three hours about music and movies. on the second, he kissed you goodnight outside your car. 

you wanted this to work. 

you returned for the second session. you spent the entire week thinking about steve’s words.

the way he looked at you. the way he actually listened. it was unsettling how much space he was taking up in your mind.

when you walked into his office and steve was already waiting, sitting in his usual chair. he wore a blue polo shirt that made his hazel eyes stand out even more. 

the moment you entered, he gave you a warm smile that made your stomach tighten.

‘’hi,’’ he said. ‘’it’s good to see you again. come in, make yourself comfortable.’’

you sat down in the armchair across from him, crossing your legs and folding your hands in your lap. for a few seconds, you didn’t know where to begin. 

steve waited patiently, as always – never rushing you, never filling the silence.

‘’i’ve been thinking about what we talked about last time,’’ you started quietly. ‘’and… i went out with this guy named daniel. a few times, actually.’’

steve nodded slowly, giving you his full attention.

‘’tell me about that,’’

you took a deep breath.

‘’he’s really kind. patient. he doesn’t pressure me. we talked for hours and he actually listens.’’ you paused, then added more softly. ‘’i wanted it to be different this time. i want to try going somewhere serious with him. not just casual.’’

steve listened, his eyes steady on you. when you finished, he spoke carefully.

‘’that’s a significant step – choosing to try something real with someone after being hurt. how did it feel for you?’’ you looked down at your hands.

‘’at the beginning it was okay. i felt present. but then i slipped away again.’’ you let out a small breath. ‘’i hate that i keep doing that.’’

steve was quiet for a moment, processing your words with care.

‘’what you’re describing is a very common trauma response,’’ he said gently. ‘’after being betrayed by someone you tried to trust, your nervous system learned that vulnerability equals danger. so when intimacy starts to feel real, your mind protects you by dissociating.’’

you looked up at him, surprised by how good he explained it. steve continued.

‘’the fact that you’re aware of it happening is already a progress. most people don’t even notice when they disconnect.’’

his words wrapped around you like a blanket. you felt your cheeks grow warm and you bit your lip. 

‘’thank you,’’ you whispered. steve’s expression softened further.

he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘’would you like to practice some grounding exercises? things you can use when you feel yourself starting to flow away?’’

you nodded. and for the next thirty minutes, steve guided you through several exercises with patience and care. his voice was incredibly calm and silky as he spoke.

he watched you practice, his eyes never leaving you.

‘’good,’’ he said when you did it correctly. ‘’that’s really good. you’re picking this up quickly.’’

every time he praised you, even subtly, you felt warmth spread through your chest. you found yourself feeling timid under his attention.

steve remembered details from your previous session and wove them in naturally.

‘’you mentioned last time that you tend to perform because you want others to feel good,’’ he looked at you. ‘’we can work on finding balance.’’

you felt exposed but safe. the way steve spoke made you feel truly seen.

when the session was nearing its end, steve looked at you.

‘’you did really well today,’’ he said softly. ‘’you were honest about something difficult. you let yourself be vulnerable.’’

his praise hit you deeply. you felt your face flush.

you left his office with warm cheeks and the confusing realization that your therapist’s gentle praise was starting to affect you far more than any touch from daniel ever had.

after that, you continued seeing daniel. the relationship –if it could even be called that yet– developed slowly and sweetly. he was consistent in a way that was almost foreign to you. 

but every time the moment leaned toward something more intimate, you gently stopped him.

daniel was always understanding. he’d kiss your forehead and never made you feel guilty. and yet, every time you left his apartment, you felt a quiet frustration with yourself.

you wanted him fully. you wanted to be normal. but something inside you still head back.

in the other way, your therapy sessions with steve became the anchor of your week. you found yourself in that office. steve seemed to look better each time you saw him. 

sometimes it was the way his hair fell across his forehead. 

sometimes it was the soft sweaters that hugged his biceps and shoulders. 

sometimes it was simply the way he looked at you.

the flirting on your part was subtle, almost unconscious. quiet and soft words while tucking your hair behind your ear. 

steve never crossed any lines. 

he remained perfectly professional. but his gaze would linger a second longer than necessary, and his voice would drop into that low silky tone when he praised you.

you told yourself it was nothing. he was just doing his job.

one afternoon, after a particularly long session, you met your best friend for a coffee. the moment you sat down, she studied your face with a knowing look.

‘’so… how are things going with daniel?’’ she asked, cutting into her avocado toast.

you smiled, a small genuine one.

‘’they’re good, actually. he’s really sweet. we’ve been seeing each other a couple times a week. we haven’t slept together yet… but i feel like i might be getting closer to wanting that.’’

her eyes lit up.

‘’that’s great! i’m really happy for you. he sounds like a good guy.’’ you nodded, stirring your coffee.

there was a comfortable pause. then she took a sip of her drink and asked casually:

‘’and how’s therapy going? you haven’t told me much about it lately.’’

you hesitated for a second, then shrugged lightly.

‘’it’s… going well, i think. my therapist is really good. he’s patient, he actually listens, and he explains things in a way that doesn’t make me feel like i’m broken. we’ve working on grounding exercises so i can stay more present, especially with daniel.’’

she raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

‘’tell me more about him. what’s he like?’’

you looked down at your cup, feeling a little shy.

‘’he’s… younger than i expected. really perceptive. he remember everything i tell him. he just helps me understand why i do it.’’

she stayed quiet for a moment. then she leaned forward with a mischievous grin.

‘’okay… i have to confess something. after you told me you started therapy, i got curious and looked him up on google.’’

you blinked. ‘’you what?’’

‘’i googled him,’’ she said, laughing. ‘’dr. steve harrington. i found his profile on the practice’s website and some pictures. girl… he’s ridiculously hot. like, stupidly attractive. i mean… i get why tour sessions feel intense.’’

you felt your face heat up instantly. you looked down at your latte.

‘’he’s just my therapist,’’ you said quickly, trying to sound casual. ‘’he’s professional. really good at his job. that’s all.’’

‘’sure. that’s why you are blushing right now.’’

after that comment, you may have started seeing steve a little bit differently. 

maybe more handsome. 

maybe with more interest.

you tried to think it was just nonsense, that your best friend’s talk was inside your brain.

while waiting in the reception area for your session, you made the mistake of checking the practice's recent google reviews on your phone.

several new ones appeared. from women in their twenties.

one in particular caught your eye:

‘’dr. Harrington is incredible. i’ve never felt so understood in my life. he’s helped me so much with my intimacy issues. 10/10, would recommend to anyone.”

there were several more like that – all women praising how attentive and emotionally available steve was.

your stomach twisted with an ugly feeling you didn’t want to name.

jealousy.

then, as you were sitting in the waiting room, the door to steve’s office opened.

a pretty brunette woman stepped out, smiling brightly. steve followed her to the door, speaking to her in that same gentle, warm tone he used with you.

“see you next week. you did great today.”

she left, laughing at something he said. you felt a sharp pang in your chest.

when Steve turned and saw you waiting, his expression softened immediately.

“hey,” he said warmly. “ready?” 

you forced a small smile and followed him into the office, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot of jealousy twisting inside you.

you sat down in your usual armchair. steve settled across from you, leaning forward sightly with his elbows on his knees.

‘’how has your week been?’’ he asked softly. 

you hesitated for a moment and opened your mouth to give a vague answer, but steve continued you could speak, his tone calm.

‘’you mentioned last session that you’ve been seeing someone. daniel, right? how are things going with him?’’

the question caught you slightly off guard. he had remembered the name. 

of course he had.

you shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling exposed.

“they’re… going well,” you said carefully. “he’s really kind. patient. we’ve been spending more time together. we talk a lot, we kiss… but we haven’t slept together yet.”

steve listened with complete focus, his eyes never leaving your face. he nodded slowly, processing your words.

“and how do you feel about that?” he asked with a soft voice. “about holding back with him?”

you let out a slow breath.

“i feel guilty sometimes,” you admitted. “he’s a good guy. he deserves someone who can give him everything. but i’m scared. every time things get more physical, i feel myself starting to disconnect again. i don’t want to perform with him… but i don’t know how to stop doing it.”

steve was quiet for a few seconds. His expression remained calm and professional, but you noticed the subtle tension in his jaw and the way his fingers tightened slightly around his pen.

“it makes sense that you’re scared,” he said gently. “after being betrayed by someone you tried to trust, your mind and body learned that intimacy equals danger.”

he paused, then added in that low silky tone he had.

“but I also notice that when you talk about daniel, you describe him as ‘nice’ and ‘kind.’ you don’t talk about desire. about wanting him. does that feel significant to you?”

his question felt more direct than usual. you felt your cheeks warm under his steady gaze.

“i… i don’t know,” you whispered. “maybe I’m still not ready. or maybe i’m comparing how i feel with him to… other things.”

steve’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. he didn’t push further on that comment, but the air in the room felt heavier.

you felt your face flush. you looked down at your lap, unable to meet his eyes. 

a shy, nervous smile formed on your lips as you played with the hem of your sweater and your fingers trembled slightly.

you left his office with the confusing realization that steve’s gentle praise affected you.

and no matter how many times you told yourself he was just being a good therapist. 

the feeling was getting harder to ignore.

another day that daniel texted you asking if you wanted to do something casual. you said yes before you could overthink it.

the night arrived. he was the same as always: easy to talk to, interested in what you said, and never pushy. he brought you flowers –white daisies– and remembered your drink.

when dinner was over, you ended up on his couch. the kissing started slow and sweet. his hands were careful as they slid under your sweater, caressing your back. 

for a while, you stayed present. you felt the warmth of his body, the softness of his lips, the way he whispered how beautiful you were. it felt nice.

but the moment his hand moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, something inside you tightened.

you pulled back gently, placing a hand on his chest.

‘’daniel… wait,’’ you whispered. he stopped immediately, looking at you with concern.

‘’is everything okay?’’ he asked softly.

you sat up a little, pulling your sweater back down. 

your heart was racing, but not from desire – from anxiety.

‘’i’m sorry,’’ you said quietly. ‘’i thought i was ready, but… i’m not. not tonight.’’

daniel nodded without hesitation. he sat back and gave you a kind, understanding smile.

“that’s completely fine,” he said. “we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. i’m really happy just spending time with you.”

you felt a wave of relief mixed with guilt. 

yet you still couldn’t give him what he probably wanted.

you stayed for a little while longer, talking on the couch, but the atmosphere shifted. 

when you left his apartment that night, you hugged him goodbye and told him you’d text him soon. the drive home was quiet. you felt disappointed in yourself.

by the time you got home, took a shower, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the frustration had built up to a breaking point.

now it has been months. months of this same cycle. flirting, dating, getting close, but then freezing or performing the moment things became truly intimate. 

you were tired of it. exhausted.

you arrived at your session feeling a mix of determination and deep embarrassment.

steve was already seated when you walked in. he wore a sweater that made his shoulders look broader. when he saw you, his hazel eyes softened with that familiar warm attention.

“hi,” he said gently. “come in. make yourself comfortable.”

you sat down. steve noticed your body language immediately.

“you seem a little nervous today,” he observed softly. “would you like to tell me what’s on your mind?”

you took a deep breath and decided to be honest.

“i’ve been thinking about what we talked about last time,” you said quietly. “about why i disconnect during sex. i… i want to understand it better. so i can try to fix it with daniel.”

steve nodded slowly, his gaze steady and kind.

“i’m glad you want to explore this,” he said. “to help you, i’m going to ask some personal questions about your sexual experiences. you don’t have to answer anything that makes you uncomfortable. but the more honest you can be, the better i can understand what’s happening and help you work through it. is that okay with you?”

you swallowed hard and nodded. steve kept his voice low and professional.

“when you’re with daniel, or with previous partners… do you feel any physical pleasure at all? or does it become purely mechanical after a certain point?”

your cheeks started burning.

“sometimes… at the beginning,” you whispered. “i feel warmth. tingling. but then it fades. i start focusing on what i should be doing instead of what i’m feeling.”

steve nodded, completely focused on you.

“do you touch yourself when you’re alone?” he asked calmly. “masturbate?”

your face went hot. you looked down at your lap, fingers twisting nervously in your sweater.

“…yes,” you admitted.

“how does that feel compared to sex with someone else?” he asked gently. “do you stay present when you’re touching yourself?”

you bit your lip, feeling incredibly exposed.

“mostly yes,” you whispered. “it’s easier when i’m alone. i can control everything. i don’t have to worry about what the other person is thinking.”

steve’s voice remained soothing.

“that’s very common,” he said. “when you’re alone, there’s no fear of judgment or betrayal. your body feels safe enough to stay present. but when someone else is involved, that safety disappears and your mind protects you by dissociating.”

he paused, then continued.

“when you masturbate… what do you usually think about? do you stay focused on the sensations in your body, or does your mind wander to fantasies?”

your face was burning now. you couldn’t look at him.

“i… try to focus on the sensations,” you mumbled. “but sometimes i fantasize. about… being wanted. being seen. not just fucked.”

steve was quiet for a moment, giving you space. the silence felt heavy but not uncomfortable. 

when he finally spoke, his voice was even softer, almost careful.

“thank you for being honest about that,” he said. “that’s really helpful information.”

he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

“as an exercise for this week, i’d like you to try something at home. when you masturbate, i want you to focus completely on the physical sensations. you don’t have to do it every day, just when you feel comfortable.”

your heart was beating fast. the idea of doing that and then telling him about it made your stomach twist with nerves.

“and… you want me to tell you how it went?” you asked, voice small.

steve nodded calmly. 

“only if you feel comfortable sharing. this is your space. but yes, talking about it next session could help us understand what makes it easier or harder for you to stay present.”

you swallowed hard, cheeks still burning.

“okay,” you whispered. “i’ll try.”

the drive home was quiet. your hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly the whole way. 

steve’s voice kept echoing in your head. 

the way he looked at you when you spoke. the subtle way his fingers tapped against his knee.

by the time you stepped into your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of your bed, replaying steve’s words from the session.

you lay back on your bed, still wearing your clothes from the day. you slid your hand inside your now pajama pants and started slowly rubbing yourself over your panties. 

you tried to focus on the sensation, on your own body like steve suggested. but after a few minutes your mind began to wander.

you kept thinking about him.

about the calm way he looked at you when he spoke.

about how low and steady his voice got when he explained things. 

about the way his hands rested on his thighs during sessions. 

you imagined those same hands on you and immediately felt a rush of heat between your legs.

you slipped your fingers under your panties and touched yourself directly, circling your clit slowly. soft sounds left your lips as you got wetter. 

every time you tried to push the thoughts away, they came back stronger. 

you pictured steve’s face, his kind eyes, the slight scruff on his jaw, the way he said your name.

guilt twisted in your chest even as pleasure built between your legs.this is wrong, you thought. 

he was your therapist. he was trying to help you and you were here touching yourself while thinking about him.

still, you didn’t stop. your fingers moved faster, sliding inside yourself while your other hand gripped the sheets. 

your breathing grew heavier. you whispered his name once, very quietly, like a secret you couldn’t keep inside.

when you finally came it was sharp and intense; your thighs shaking, a soft broken sound leaving your throat.

you felt dirty. wrong. like you had crossed a line you could never uncross. 

steve trusted you. 

he was patient and professional and genuinely trying to help you heal, and here you were fantasizing about him.

“what the hell is wrong with me…” you whispered into the quiet room.

the next few days were hell.

you tried to pretend it never happened.

you told yourself it was a one-time mistake. that it wouldn’t happen again.

but when thursday afternoon came and you walked into steve’s office, your hands were already shaking.

steve was sitting in his usual chair, wearing a soft beige sweater, looking calm and professional like always. 

he smiled gently when you entered.

“hey,” he said warmly. “how have you been since last session?” 

you sat down on the couch across from him, legs pressed tightly together.

“fine,” you mumbled.

he studied you for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

“did you try the homework i gave you?” he asked, voice gentle but direct. “touching yourself without pressure?”

you stayed silent, staring at the floor. your throat felt tight. steve waited patiently.

“you don’t have to share details if you don’t want to,” he continued softly, “but it would help if you could tell me whether you did it or not… and if you did, what came up for you. what you were thinking about.”

you still didn’t answer. your fingers twisted in your lap.

steve tilted his head.

“it’s okay,” he said. “you can sit over here if it feels easier to talk.” he gestured to the smaller couch closer to his chair, only a couple feet away. “sometimes being a little closer helps.”

you didn’t move.

after a few seconds of silence, steve slowly reached out and placed his hand gently on your knee, warm and steady, trying to get your attention.

“hey,” he said quietly, voice low. “talk to me. what’s going on in that head of yours?”

your heart hammered in your chest. his hand on your leg made everything worse. you felt tears burning in your eyes.you finally whispered, barely audible:

“…i did it.”

steve nodded slowly, thumb brushing lightly against your knee in a comforting motion.

“good. that’s okay. and when you were doing it… what were you thinking about?”

you stayed quiet for a long moment, shame burning through your whole body. then, in a tiny, broken voice, you admitted:

“…you.”

the word hung heavy in the air between you.steve froze. his hand stilled on your knee. 

for the first time since you’d known him, he looked genuinely caught off guard.

steve didn’t move. the air between you grew thick. 

he stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing your words, then spoke carefully.

“you need to try thinking about something like that when you’re with daniel. that kind of arousal… that’s what we’re trying to build with him.”

you finally looked up at him with glassy and frustrated eyes.

“how am i supposed to feel that way with daniel?” your voice cracked. “how do i differentiate it? how do i know what i really want with him?”

steve stared at you. his breathing changed.

the professional mask cracked right in front of you. 

for a moment he looked conflicted, struggling hard with himself.

then he leaned in slowly, cupped your face with one hand, and kissed you.

the kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but full of months of hidden tension. his lips were warm and gentle against yours. your heart slammed in your chest.

he pulled back after a few seconds with his breathing ragged.

“fuck… i’m sorry,” he whispered. “that was completely unprofessional. i shouldn’t have done that. we can’t—”

you didn’t let him finish.

you grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him back into the kiss, harder this time. 

steve froze for half a second before he gave in completely, kissing you back with a quiet groan. his hand slid to the back of your neck as the kiss deepened, growing more desperate.

both of you knew how wrong this was.

but in that moment, neither of you cared.

“this is so wrong…” he said. “i could lose my license. i could get fired. we shouldn’t be doing this.”

you looked into his eyes, desperate.

“i need you, steve,” you whispered back, voice breaking. “i don’t want anyone else. i only think about you.”

he let out a shaky breath, clearly fighting with himself. 

then pulled you onto his lap so you were straddling him, your jeans rubbing against his thighs. his hands immediately gripped your hips.

“fuck… you’re going to ruin me,” he murmured before kissing you again, deeper this time.

his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin as his hands worked between you. 

“ride my thigh, baby,” he whispered hotly against your neck. “just like this. with your clothes on. use me to feel good.”

you moaned softly and started rocking your hips, grinding your clothed pussy against his thick, muscular thigh. 

the rough fabric of your jeans created a delicious friction against your clit with every roll of your hips.

steve’s hands stayed on your hips, guiding you, pulling you harder against his leg.

“that’s it,” he breathed, sucking on the sensitive spot below your ear. “grind on me. use my thigh to get yourself off.”

you moved faster, rolling your hips in desperate circles, the seam of your jeans pressing perfectly against your clit. 

you could feel how wet you were getting, the fabric growing damp as you humped his leg.

“steve…” you whimpered, burying your face in his neck.

“good girl,” he praised softly, kissing down your neck while helping you grind harder. “look at you… riding my thigh fully dressed like you can’t wait any longer.”

his hands squeezed your ass, pulling you down firmer against him with every roll. the pressure was intense, the friction making your legs shake.

“does that feel good, princess?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “humping my leg like a needy girl?”

“yes… fuck, yes,” you moaned quietly, moving faster, chasing the building pleasure.

steve kept kissing and biting your neck gently while you rode his thigh desperately, the wet patch on your jeans growing bigger with every grind.

then he didn’t even wait for you to cum and unbuttoned your jeans and tugged the zipper down. his long fingers slipped inside your jeans and under your panties, finding you soaked.

you gasped as two thick fingers touched you.

“so wet already,” he breathed against your neck, kissing and biting softly while his fingers played with your pussy. “you really do need this, don’t you?”

you moaned quietly, rocking your hips against his hand as he fingered you deeper. 

his thumb found your clit and rubbed firm, steady circles while his mouth continued its assault on your neck.

“steve…” you whimpered, gripping his shoulders. “with you… i feel good.”

he lifted his head from your neck, eyes dark but full of concern. his fingers kept moving inside you, slower now.

“tell me,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and careful.“i don’t feel blocked,” you breathed, grinding down onto his fingers. “i’m not anxious… i’m not overthinking. i’m just… enjoying it. i feel safe with you.”

steve let out a shaky breath, clearly worried.

he stopped moving his fingers for a moment and looked straight into your eyes, his free hand gently cupping your cheek.

“are you sure?” he asked softly, thumb brushing your cheek. “i need you to be honest with me. if anything feels wrong or too much, you tell me immediately, okay? your comfort is the most important thing right now.”

you nodded, leaning into his touch.

“i’m sure,” you whispered. “i want this. i want you.”

steve searched your face for any sign of doubt, then kissed you again, slower this time, more tenderly. 

his fingers started moving once more, curling gently inside you while his thumb kept rubbing your clit in steady circles.

“good girl,” he whispered against your lips, voice full of care. “just relax. i’ve got you. tell me if you want it slower or deeper.” he whispered hotly against your skin, curling his fingers inside you perfectly. “just ride my fingers, baby. take what you need.”

his other hand slid under your shirt, squeezing your breast as he kept kissing and marking your neck. 

his fingers moved faster inside you, thrusting deep while his thumb pressed harder on your clit.

you were grinding desperately on his hand, moaning softly into his shoulder, completely lost in the feeling of his fingers stretching you and his mouth on your neck.

steve groaned quietly against your skin.

“you feel so fucking good… so tight around my fingers.”

you moaned quietly, rolling your hips against his hand as he fingered you with perfect rhythm. 

his mouth returned to your neck, kissing and sucking softly while he focused completely on your pleasure, always watching your reactions, always making sure you felt safe.

“you’re doing so well,” he murmured against your skin, fingers curling just right. “i just want you to feel good, baby. nothing else matters right now.”

the pleasure built quickly until it crashed over you. you came hard with a broken moan, thighs shaking, pussy clenching tightly around his fingers as waves of pleasure rolled through your body. 

steve kept moving his fingers gently, helping you ride out every last pulse.

when you finally came down, breathing heavily, you reached down to palm his obvious erection through his pants.

steve immediately caught your wrist, stopping you.

“no,” he said softly but firmly, breathing hard. “not today. this is about you.”

he gently lifted you off his lap and laid you down on the couch. 

he knelt on the floor between your legs, pulled your jeans and panties down in one smooth motion, and spread your thighs wide.

steve leaned in and kissed your inner thigh, then higher, until his mouth was on your pussy. he licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting you. 

you moaned loudly, your hand flying to his hair.

he licked you slowly at first, savoring you, then became more eager; sucking gently on your clit, fucking you with his tongue, then sliding two fingers back inside you while he focused his mouth on your sensitive bud.

“steve…” you whimpered, back arching. “oh my god…”

he ate you out with perfect focus, humming against you, curling his fingers deep while his tongue worked your clit in stead patterns. 

you felt completely overwhelmed in the best way.

“it’s been so long…” you moaned, voice breaking, fingers tightening in his hair. “i haven’t felt this good with anyone in so long… steve, fuck—”

he groaned against your pussy, the vibration making you shiver. 

he doubled down, sucking harder on your clit while his fingers thrust faster.

you came again with a loud cry, thighs clamping around his head as intense pleasure flooded your body. 

steve kept licking you gently through it, drawing out every wave until you were trembling and oversensitive.

he finally pulled back, lips shiny, breathing heavily. he looked up at you with dark, worried, but undeniably hungry eyes. then he slowly stood up, towering over you as you lay on the couch. 

he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at you for a long moment.

“do you really want me to fuck you?” he asked, voice low and rough. “because we’ve already broken every rule… if we do this, there’s no going back.”

you nodded, still catching your breath.

“yes,” you whispered. “i want you.” steve let out a shaky breath, clearly fighting with himself one last time.

he quickly unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, pulling out his cock. he was big — thick and long, the head already leaking. 

you stared at it, a mix of nerves and excitement flooding you.

“you have to be quiet,” he warned, voice serious. “no matter what. if someone hears us, i’m done.”

you nodded quickly. steve pulled your jeans and panties completely off, then climbed on top of you on the small couch. 

he rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked pussy before slowly pushing inside.you gasped at the stretch. he was so big it almost hurt, but it felt so good. 

he covered your mouth with his large hand as he sank deeper while his eyes were locked on yours.

“shhh, baby,” he whispered, bottoming out inside you. “fuck… you’re so tight.”

he started fucking you on the couch, deep and steady thrusts, his hand still firmly over your mouth to muffle your moans. every time he buried himself completely you whimpered against his palm, eyes rolling back.

after a few minutes he pulled out, stood up and turned you around, bending you over the desk. he pushed back inside you from behind in one smooth thrust, groaning quietly.

“quiet, princess,” he reminded you, hand returning to cover your mouth as he started fucking you harder. 

the desk creaked softly with every deep thrust. steve was so big you could feel him in your stomach, stretching you perfectly.

his free hand gripped your hip tightly as he pounded into you, trying to stay as quiet as possible while giving you exactly what you needed.

“is this what you wanted?” he breathed against your ear, voice strained. “you feel so fucking good…”

you could only moan helplessly against his hand, completely lost in how full you felt and how deep he was hitting inside you.

“is this what you wanted?” he whispered, voice low and rough, lips brushing your ear. “when you were touching yourself at home… thinking about me… is this what you imagined?”

you moaned against his palm, nodding frantically.

“oh yes, steve…” you whimpered, the words muffled against his hand.he fucked you a little harder, deep and slow, making sure you felt every inch.

“you were fucking yourself thinking about my cock, weren’t you?” he breathed, voice soft but filthy. “touching that pretty pussy and wishing it was me stretching you open like this…”

you whimpered louder, pushing back against him.

“yes… yes, steve… i wanted you so bad,” you gasped against his fingers.

steve groaned quietly, pressing deeper, grinding against you.

“good girl,” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck while still covering your mouth. “you feel even better than i imagined… so fucking tight and wet for me.”

he kept a steady rhythm, rolling his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. his hand stayed firm over your mouth, muffling your moans as you trembled beneath him.

“that’s it, baby… take it,” he whispered hotly. “this is what you needed, isn’t it? my cock deep inside you while you’re bent over my desk…”

you nodded desperately, tears of pleasure in your eyes.

“yes, steve… oh god, yes…” you moaned against his hand, voice broken and needy.

steve kissed your neck again, sucking softly on your skin as he fucked you deeper, slower, making sure you felt every single inch.

“you’re doing so good for me,” he praised gently, voice full of lust and care at the same time. “such a good girl… letting me fuck you like this…”

“that’s it, baby,” he whispered against your ear, voice low and rough. “cum for me. let go.”

your orgasm hit you hard. your whole body tensed, thighs shaking as you came around his cock with a muffled cry against his palm. 

your pussy clenched tightly around him, pulsing again and again.

steve groaned quietly, burying himself deep as he followed right after you. his hips stuttered and he came hard inside you, filling you with warm pulses while pressing his face into your neck to stay quiet.

for a few seconds you both stayed like that, breathing heavily. 

then reality seemed to hit him. steve pulled out slowly and grabbed the box of tissues from his desk. he cleaned you gently first, wiping between your legs with care, then cleaned himself.

you both dressed quickly in silence. he helped you button your jeans. once you were both fully dressed, steve sat on the edge of the desk and pulled you to stand between his legs.

he looked at you softly.

“how do you feel?” he asked quietly, genuine concern in his eyes. “be honest with me.”

you took a deep breath, still a little shaky.

“i didn’t feel blocked,” you whispered. “i didn’t overthink everything like i usually do. i just… felt good. really good. safe.”

steve’s expression softened. a small, relieved smile appeared on his lips.

“that’s really good,” he murmured, sounding genuinely happy. “i’m glad you felt that way. that’s important.”

“and… is this what all your patients get?” you asked softly, half-joking but clearly a little nervous.

steve’s eyes widened. he let out a surprised little laugh and shook his head immediately.

“ohhh no, no, no,” he said quickly, almost embarrassed. “you’ve been the exception. completely. i usually stay very professional… i’ve never crossed this line before. not even close.”

he cupped your face with both hands, looking straight into your eyes, sincere.

“this has never happened with anyone else. you’re the only one.”

you bit your lip, feeling a strange mix of relief and warmth in your chest.

steve leaned in and kissed your forehead gently, then rested his forehead against yours.

“this is new for me too,” he whispered. “and probably really stupid… but i couldn’t stop myself with you.”

© dividers by angeliicide and suupersonic

[entrenoussir]

Homewrecker - Gator Tillman x Reader - Part I

Gator grew up in a broken home - and eventually vowed that he'd never behave like his father. But when a familiar situation begins to unfold in front of his very eyes, does he have what it takes to be better for you?

a/n - started writing this for kicks & this just kinda flowed out of me anyway it's gonna be like 2 parts !!(yes I know I have other stuff to finish I'm sorry !!)

w/cw: discussions/memories of domestic violence & intimate partner violence, controlling boyfriend, discussion of injuries, Gator is NOT the asshole this time, no use of y/n

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gator Tillman - for all his many, glaringly obvious faults - had never hit a woman.

Not that he couldn’t have. Hell, with his dad’s reputation and reach in Stark county, he probably could’ve gotten away with that and more. Easy. The entire soundtrack to his childhood had been fists and boots colliding with skin and bone, while his mother - and eventually poor Nadine - held back sobs. Beaten black and blue by an angry Roy Tillman.

He’d been so small and scrawny back then, unable to protect either of them, or bust down the locked doors that Roy kept them behind. There’d been far too many nights when he struggled to fall asleep as muffled cries of pain and his father’s angry shouts echoed through the farmhouse.

No, Gator Tillman had never hit a woman. But fuck, he thought he at least knew the signs well enough to prevent that sort of shit from happening to other people.

Flinching. Refusal to get close to anyone. Wearing oversized clothing and long sleeves even when it was hot out to cover any bruising or injuries. A haunted look in the eyes that wavered between victimhood and the desperation to not be pitied - but to be a survivor. And not some eventual statistic.

He’d seen all that and more consistently from the women in his life. But maybe he just didn’t want to see it when it came to you. Of all people.

You were his friend, after all. A childhood playmate turned genuine friend who got him through the worst days of high school. Smart, funny, beautiful, and the brightest light in his life on any given day - Gator would’ve been lying to himself if he said he hadn’t craved from you since the day he started noticing girls at all.

One minute, you were all scraped knees, pigtails, and popsicle stains. Carefree and goofy. Then the months of summer break had passed and suddenly you were… Different. Not bad different. But a sort of different that made Gator’s skin feel hot even when the autumn breeze should’ve easily cooled him down.

You’d grown a few inches over the summer (though Gator noted with a small satisfaction that he was still taller than you), and looked way more like a woman than you had before. Soft and more filled out in areas you hadn’t been earlier in the year. Your hair was a little shorter, but still soft enough that Gator felt the urge to run his calloused hand over it whenever he saw you. You’d gotten your ears pierced, and were even experimenting with makeup - a wash of something sparkly over your eyelids, and something that made your lips look like they were stained with raspberry jam or something. It was a mesmerizing picture to say the least.

All in all, you were still most certainly you, but god - your little changes did a number on Gator’s already fragile mental state. His brain almost short-circuited seeing you from afar in the schoolyard on the first day back, and he nearly had a heart attack when you ran up and flung your arms around his neck in an excited greeting. He’d stiffened, unsure of how to respond to a girl - much less you - hugging him so tightly. The scent of vanilla washed over him, and he had to resist the urge to sniff your hair. With great effort, he’d wrapped his arms around you, and listened to you go on about your summer as if your very existence hadn’t just shaken his entire world.

The confusing feelings inside Gator’s chest whenever he saw you only multiplied and grew as the years went on. You only grew more beautiful and vibrant in his eyes - painting the bleak midwestern skies of his heart in technicolor hues. Every touch of his arm, or smile he got to bask in spurred him on another day. Made him forget about his shitty home life, father, & dead-end future - just for a little while.

But more than that, you were his anchor. No, his lighthouse in the violent sea that was his personal life. You never ditched him when you made other friends. You always took time to hang out with him, or help him with his homework. You spoke in a way that was encouraging and soft, but also laced with tough love when he needed to hear it. It always seemed like you knew exactly what he needed. Thing if he was being honest with himself, the only thing he really needed was you.

It was an addiction, to a degree, this sort of feeling that he had towards you. If he didn’t get to see you all weekend, his mood towards the world at large quickly soured. The world felt too big without you by his side. He felt jealous of people who had more classes with you. Of your eventual coworkers when you got a part time job at the local diner. None of them deserved someone like you.

Hell, he didn’t even deserve you and he knew it.

Through every bad day, black eye, and cruel interaction with his dad, you stood by him. Sometimes offering kind words he didn’t know how to fully process. Other times taking his hand in yours and resting your head against his shoulder as you sat in silence together. He did his best to support you too, although he knew he wasn’t very good with words or actions aside from using his fists. A protective sort of urge always overcame him whenever you were around, and he didn’t fully know what to do with that.

You were all sweetness and humor and brazen independence where he was often bitter and hard edges - even if he did his best to hide that fact from you. After all, you deserved the best of him. Even if there wasn’t much of that at any given time.

A cavernous hole took up residence in his chest when you left for college. He didn’t want you to go. He did, but also, in the same breath, he didn’t. You’d be hours away, and texts or phone calls weren’t a match for the real thing. He wanted to beg you to stay. He almost did, truth be told. The night before you left, he’d driven to your house, parked his truck down across the street, and nearly shown up on your porch to beg you not to leave him. His mother had left him. Nadine had left him. He could barely stomach that he was losing you too - even temporarily.

But if he ever cared for you, he knew he had to let you go experience life outside of Stark county. Even if it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Gator kept his gut feelings of dread to himself when you turned up during Thanksgiving break and eagerly asked to meet him for breakfast one morning. You’d come up to him outside of the diner to hug him - just as you always had - but there was a far-away look in your eyes that dimmed the megawatt glow he’d missed so much. You were smaller and a bit more stiff in his arms as he held you, as if college had already taken a toll only a few months in. But then again, he’d started his journey to becoming a cop - so maybe both of you were changing a bit.

The two of you had fallen into your easy back and forth during breakfast as if no time had passed, and Gator felt the knots in his stomach loosening somewhat. The tenseness with which he walked about the world slowly eased out of his body as time with you went on.

This was what he needed. You were what he needed. Even though you’d be headed back to school in a few days, he was determined to spend every moment he could with you to soak up the light and joy you radiated. You were truly a balm to his bruised and battered soul.

Gator practically counted down the seconds until your winter break.

It wasn’t as though the two of you had any big plans or anything, but fuck - he missed you terribly. Everything seemed to remind him of you. If he saw a cute animal while he was out on patrol, he’d text you a picture. If he saw a celebrity you’d mentioned in passing on a magazine at the grocery, he’d ask if you had recommendations for a movie they were in, or a song they wrote. When it was sunny outside, it was a poor imitation for the warmth you made him feel, and when it was grey and cold all he wanted to do was hold you close to keep you from it.

The first thing Gator noticed about you a few days before Christmas was the dark circles underneath your eyes. He knew better than to comment on a woman’s appearance, but he couldn’t ignore how his heart clenched when he showed up to your parents’ house for cookies and a movie night to find your eyes looking practically bruised. It was probably from all the late nights studying. That’s what college kids did, right? Cram for finals and shit?

That night, sometime after his fifth sugar cookie and between It’s A Wonderful Life and Elf was when he first heard it. The name.

Caleb.

It wasn’t from you. It came from your mother. Not even in front of Gator, but in the dim light of the kitchen when you’d gone to refill your hot cocoa. Gator had been on his way back from the bathroom as he heard hushed tones. Cloaked in the darkness of the hallway, feeling only a bit of guilt for eavesdropping, he watched as you leaned against the counter, shoulders tense.

“He was welcome to come with you.”

“Yeah, mom. I know.” You shifted uncomfortably. “He wanted to go see his own family.”

“Maybe next time?”

“Maybe.”

“If Caleb matters to you, he matters to us, sweetie.”

Gator felt physically ill from his hiding spot. Who the fuck was Caleb? And since when did he matter to you enough that your mom knew about him but not Gator? Were you embarrassed by him? Were you drifting away from your friendship due to distance? Or some other reason? The very idea made him sick.

“So who’s Caleb?”

He fought to keep his voice and stance neutral as two of you stood out in your parent’s porch a few hours later. Snow swirled trough the air in violent flurries, but Gator barely felt the chill. He had to know why you didn’t tell him about some guy from college.

Logically, Gator knew he was giving in to his possessive side under the guise of trying to protect you. It wasn’t as if you were his. As a result, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on to demand answers or explanations as to who you interacted with in your free time.

But uncertainty clawed at his insides, hot and ravenous, worried beyond all reason that you were hiding shit from him. Why would you leave out such a huge detail in your life? Did you think he’d be mad? React with rage like his dad? The idea that you potentially thought he could act like Roy - despite never giving any indication of feeling that way - broke his fucking heart.

“I knew that was you in the hallway.” You muttered, wrapping your arms around your torso to guard against the frigid weather. “Didn’t peg you for a gossip, Gator.”

“Ain’t gossip if I’m just curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“And satisfaction brought it back. Your point?”

You sighed. “Does it matter?”

“‘Course it does.” Gator felt a sharp pang in his chest. “I care about you. I wanna know what’s goin’ on. So who is he?”

“No one.”

“Bullshit. Your mom wanted you the bring him home for the holidays. That’s not nobody.”

“Drop it, Gator.”

“Please,” he didn’t make a habit of begging anyone for anything - but the cagey way you were acting set his teeth on edge. “Who is he?”

You ran a hand through your tangled hair, exhaling deeply as if your exhaustion ran bone-deep in a way sleep couldn’t fix. “I met Caleb in my English class a few months ago. He’s nice. We’ve gone on a couple of dates. Nothing serious.”

“Then why’re you tryin’ so hard to avoid talkin’ about him?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” You shivered, instant regret making a home in your eyes after you snapped at him. “I’m sorry, Gator. I shouldn’t have… I just… He’s not really anyone. I’m probably gonna end things soon. I don’t see it going anywhere.”

Your admission that Caleb wasn't super serious should have been enough to soothe the beast roaring in Gator's chest. But as he watched you practically fold in on yourself against the biting wind, your eyes darting away from his to scan the empty, snow-dusted yard, he felt a cold dread that had nothing to do with the temperature. You were vibrating with a specific sort of tension he hadn’t seen since… Since Nadine had suffered a particularly bad beating from his father. It was the kind of nervous energy that made a person look like they were ready to bolt at the slightest sudden noise.

"Sure you're okay?" Gator asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher. He took a half-step closer, invading your personal space just enough to gauge your reaction. "You seem… Kinda jumpy."

"I'm fine.” He knew it was a lie because you did that thing with your jaw - clenching it tight before forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Just tired. Finals were a nightmare. A-and the travel back always wears me out."

"Right. Finals." Gator nodded, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets to stop himself from reaching out to grip your shoulders. "Well, you're home now. You can relax."

Your smile tightened. Fragile and brittle. "Yeah. Exactly. Home."

He wanted to push. Demand to know why you looked like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Why there was a shadow haunting your gaze that hadn't been there back in August. Shake you just a bit till you told him the truth.

The sudden memory of his dad’s old habits flashed through his mind - Roy looming over a trembling Nadine or his mother, demanding answers and submission with his fists. Their cries still plagued his worst moments. He’d always vowed he’d never do something like that.

Because Gator wasn't Roy.

He would never be Roy.

So, he swallowed the questions, choking them down until they tasted like bile.

"C'mere," he grunted, opening his arms.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second - a micro-second of pause that spiked his anxiety before you stepped into him. You felt small, fragile, like a bird or something. Gator wrapped his coat around you, engulfing you in his scent of leather, the fruit-flavored vape you’d been trying to convince him to quit for ages, and the cheap pine tree air freshener dangling from his rearview mirror. He held you tight, tucking your head under his chin, and felt you exhale a shuddering breath against his chest.

For a short moment, you melted into him, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt around his waist. It was the only moment of genuine relief he felt from you all night.

"I missed you," he murmured into your hair, the vanilla scent he loved so much wafting over him. "Don't be a stranger, alright? You're back for three weeks. Wanna be sure I see you."

"I know," you muffled into his jacket. "I missed you too, Gator."

He forced himself to pull away first, because if he didn't, he was terrified he'd never let go. Truthfully, he probably would’ve held you forever if you’d’ve let him. “Get inside before you freeze your ass off."

"And you get home safe," you gave his hand a small squeeze before slipping back into the house, the door clicking shut behind you.

Gator stood in the cold for a long time after the automatic porch light flicked off, staring at the dark wood of the door, his gut churning with suspicion he couldn't name.

Over the next two weeks, Gator saw you nearly every day, but sometimes it felt like he was talking to a ghost.

You met him for coffee one morning before his patrol shift, but you spent the whole time scanning the parking lot through the window. You came over to watch trashy reality TV - a longtime guilty pleasure for you both - at his apartment the next night, but you sat on the edge of the couch, your phone in your lap, screen down, as if it were a live grenade.

When he asked about Caleb again - only once - you replied vaguely that it was over, and that you didn't want to talk about it. So, Gator played along. He talked about the his own job, the idiots he was training with, and the local gossip around town. He tried desperately to be the safe harbor you'd always been for him.

But as the days wore on, the knot in his chest only grew tighter.

The night before you were slated to drive back to campus - January 2nd, the dead of winter - you were at his place again. He’d insisted on a final movie night - the both of you curled up on his worn-out sofa under a pile of blankets. Gator had made popcorn, burning a bag slightly because he was distracted by the dark circles bruising the skin under your eyes that had only gotten worse.

You looked exhausted. Hollowed out. A shell of your former vibrant self. It set his teeth on edge, seeing you like this. He wasn’t mad at you - but he wanted to find the cause of it soon because he couldn’t bear for you to be this upset. Ever.

"Hey," Gator said softly, pausing the movie as the credits rolled. "Want another soda?"

"Yeah, please," you whispered, not looking at him. You were staring at the muted TV, thumb hovering over your phone screen. “I gotta use the restroom. Be right back.”

He headed into the small kitchenette, grabbing two cans from the fridge. He was taking his time - not wanting to miss out on time with you, but also trying to figure out a way to ask you what the hell was going on without sounding or acting like his old man. He was still debating his approach when he heard your phone vibrate on the coffee table. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.

A long pause. Then, four more quick buzzes.

Gator frowned. He wasn't a snoop. He mostly respected your privacy. But the sheer volume of notifications so late at night set his teeth on edge. Walking back into the living room, he intended to jokingly ask why your phone was going so crazy.

But you were still in the bathroom.

Gator looked at the phone. It was lit up, the screen bright against the dark wood of the table. A notification banner slid across the lock screen. He bent down, eyes narrowing.

Caleb: Baby?

Caleb: Got back a few days early & campus sucks without you.

Caleb: When do you get back?

Caleb: Tomorrow, right?

Caleb: Why aren't you answering?

Caleb: Don’t ignore me. I miss you.

Gator’s stomach dropped. He told himself to walk away. This was clearly private. Very much your business and no one else’s. But then another message popped up, the preview text longer this time.

Caleb: I've been driving around campus for hours thinking about you. Thinking about what I'm going to do when I see you.

Caleb: Fucking answer me.

Gator’s vision narrowed to a pinpoint. The rational part of his brain - the part that acknowledges shit like boundaries and laws - screamed at him to put it down. But the protective, far more feral part of him - the part that remembered his mother’s bruises and Nadine’s sobs - forced his hand forward. He picked up the phone, punching in your birthday - which he’d told you was a shitty passcode but you swore it was the only date you’d remember.

He swiped up, scrolling hastily back through the message thread that was a waterfall of mostly one-sided texts, spanning back to the day you arrived home. They started innocently enough.

Caleb: Miss you already, beautiful.

Caleb: Can't wait to see you.

Caleb: Wish you were here.

As he continued to scroll, the tone shifted.

Caleb: It's so empty here without you. Why’d you leave me?

Caleb: Sent you a snap. Did you see it? ;)

Caleb: Can’t wait to fuck that smart mouth of yours when you get back, baby

Gator felt his face heat up, a mix of embarrassment and intrusion, but he kept scrolling, morbid curiosity driving him. He’d reached ones from only a few hours ago.

Caleb: You ignoring me now?

Caleb: Are you with someone?

Caleb: Is it that dumb hick you told me about? The cop?

Caleb: Call me.

Caleb: Answer the phone.

Caleb: You whoring yourself out to him since I’m not there to make you feel good?

Gator’s grip on the phone tightened, the plastic casing creaking under his fingertips.

Caleb: Don't let him touch you. You're mine.

Caleb: I better not find out you fucked him.

Caleb: Send me a picture.

Caleb: Now.

Caleb: Send me a pic of your tits.

Caleb: STOP IGNORING ME

Caleb: If you don't send a picture right now I'm driving out there.

Caleb: I'll put that son of a bitch in the fucking ground if he touched you.

Caleb: Think he’ll want to be around you when he finds out what a slut you are? How rough you like it?

Caleb: Send me a fucking picture.

You: Attachment: one image

The photo loaded before Gator could scroll, and while the sight of your naked body made his breath hitch, it wasn’t right for him to see you like that. He threw the phone onto the couch cushion as if it had burned him. Bile rose in his throat. He wanted to vomit. Put his fist through the wall. Get in his truck, drive however many hours it took to find this Caleb prick, and put a bullet between his eyes.

The bathroom door creaked open. You shuffled out, your eyes red-rimmed, looking like you’d spent the last five minutes crying.

Gator stared at you, his jaw working, He saw the way you flinched slightly as his gaze intensified, the way you curled into yourself on the couch, protecting your stomach.

With a sickening lurch, he realized that if he told you what he saw - went full ballistic "Gator Tillman" - on the situation, you might clam up completely. Retreat. Accuse him of invading your privacy and go back to… Him. Gator wasn’t stupid. He’d seen enough battered women in his life and job that he knew sometimes they sought the safety of the familiar hell instead of the unknown.

"I should probably head back," you said quietly, though you looked reluctant to leave the safety of his apartment. "Mom wants to do a big breakfast thing before I hit the road early tomorrow."

"Right," Gator nodded. He walked you to the door, his hands shoved deep in his pockets to hide their shaking. "Drive safe, alright? Call me when you get there."

"I will," you promised, giving him a quick hug - far too quick and detached for his liking. "Thanks for everything, Gator. Really."

He walked you down to the parking lot, watching you get into your car, check the backseat before getting in - a habit he'd never noticed you had until tonight - and he stood on the sidewalk until your taillights faded into the snowy darkness.

Gator didn't sleep that night. He couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw those texts. The photo of you - beautiful, obviously - but with such empty, sad eyes. Seeing how Caleb spoke to you made his heart - that he’d long assumed incapable of feeling much of anything at all - shatter into a thousand ugly pieces.

You went back to school the next day, and Gator went back to work, but he was a man possessed. His phone became an extension of his hand. Every time it buzzed, his heart jumped. He waited for your texts like a starving man waits for bread.

He started counting. Counting the hours between your texts - three hours, six hours, twelve. Counting the days until Spring Break - forty-two, forty-one, forty. He marked the calendar on his wall with a red X.

Spring break arrived with a deceptive warmth, a cruel tease of a sun that did nothing to melt the lingering grey slush in the ditches of Stark County. For Gator, the weeks leading up to it had been an exercise in psychological torture. Every infrequent text message from you had been analyzed like evidence in a homicide, every phone call dissected for a tremor in your voice or a hesitation that spelled trouble. He’d been running on fumes and caffeine, temper fraying around the edges.

Admittedly, he’d built up a fantasy in his head. Driving to your house the second you pulled into the driveway, picking you up bridal-style and putting you in his truck, and speeding you away to the middle of nowhere where he could wrap you in a blanket and just keep you safe for a week. Not kidnapping per se. But he needed to see you, to confirm with his own eyes that you were still in there. That the spark he loved so much hadn't been extinguished by the cancer growing in your dorm room miles away.

Instead, he got a text that made his stomach hit the floor.

You: Meet us at the diner at noon?

Us.

The word sat there on the screen, mocking him. Gator stared at it until the letters blurred, willing it to change, willing it to be a typo. Us could easily mean you and your mom. Or maybe both your parents. But deep down, in the dark, primal place where his gut instincts lived, he knew exactly who us meant.

He arrived at the diner ten minutes early, his knee bouncing aggressively under the table as he nursed a cup of black coffee that was doing nothing to settle his nerves. When the bell above the door chimed, Gator’s head snapped up so fast his neck cracked.

There you were.

For a second, Gator’s breath caught in his throat. You were wearing a light blue sweater - the color of a springtime sky - and you looked beautiful. Obviously. You always did. But the light in your eyes was even dimmer than it had been over winter break.

The man who must’ve been the infamous Caleb walked in front of you, leaving you to trail behind, and Gator hated him instantly on a molecular level. He looked like every trust-fund prick Gator had ever wanted to arrest just for existing. Expensive jeans, designer shoes, a smug, entitled set to his shoulders that screamed I own everything in this room - including her. He was good-looking in a way that was manufactured. Too polished. Like he belonged on a gold course or something. Nothing like the rough-hewn, dangerous edges Gator possessed.

Caleb led you to the booth where Gator was sitting, a smirk playing on his lips as if he’d won some prize. You slid in across from Gator, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes, while Caleb sat next to you, draping his arm across the back of the booth, his fingers resting heavily on your shoulder. The same fingers that had texted you all that vile shit. And probably tried to - no. Don’t think about that happening. She’s your friend.

"Hey, man," Caleb greeted him, his voice smooth and unbothered. "You must be Gator. Nice to finally put a face to the name. This one just won’t shut up about you.”

Gator saw red as he stared at Caleb, expression flat and hopefully unreadable, a mask he’d perfected from years of dealing with his father. He grunted noncommittally, not wanting to waste his one precious life interacting with this guy any more than he absolutely had to. For your sake.

"Fuck, I’m hungry." Caleb snagged the menu from the dispenser. "Hopefully this place has something edible. It’s… Quaint."

"It's food," Gator grunted, finally tearing his angry gaze away from the other man to look at you. "You doin’ okay?"

You nodded, but you were twisting your hands in your lap and you could barely meet his eyes. "I'm good. Tired.”

Caleb twirled a lock of your hair around his index finger, tugged slightly and ignoring your small wince. “Come on, baby. I didn’t tire you out that badly, did I?”

“Th-the drive was long." You shot an embarrassed glance at Gator. “But I shouldn’t complain. Caleb insisted on driving.”

"Just trying to make sure you’re safe, sweetheart," Caleb replied, his thumb stroking the back of your neck in a way that made Gator’s skin crawl. It felt less like a bit of harmless PDA and more of a claim. Like he wanted to piss Gator off. "She gets so distracted. Bit of a ditz, but that’s why I love her.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, and you tried to supress a shudder. Gator wanted to reach across the table and break Caleb’s nose as it nuzzled against where your neck met your shoulder.

Before Gator could defend how smart he knew you were, the waitress, a tired-looking woman named Barb who’d known Gator since he was in diapers, came over to take everyone’s orders. Gator ordered a burger and fries. When it was your turn, you opened your mouth to speak, but Caleb cut you off.

"I’ll have the club sandwich - extra fries, and a coke. She'll have the side salad," Caleb said, flashing a charming smile at Barb. "Dressing on the side. And a water. With lemon."

Barb looked at you, her pen hovering. "You sure, hon? That ain’t much food. The pancakes are real good today."

"I'm fine," you said quietly, not meeting the woman’s eyes. "The salad sounds good."

Gator saw it then - the way your shoulders slumped, the almost imperceptible tremor in your chin. He knew you. You loved food - especially greasy diner breakfast food at any and all hours of the day. But it was like you were shrinking yourself, disappearing, just to keep the peace.

"Bring her the pancakes," Gator said, his voice loud and firm in the sudden quiet of the booth. "Extra chocolate chips."

Caleb’s smile faltered, a flicker of annoyance crossing his polished features. A crack in the veneer of his composure. "I don't think so.”

“An’ why the hell not?”

“She's watching her figure. Right, baby?"

"Gator, it's fine," you said, reaching across the table to touch his arm. Your touch was cold, fingers trembling slightly. "I'm not super hungry anyway."

Gator ignored you, his eyes locked on Caleb.

Barb, sensing the tension, wisely just nodded, mumbled something about getting that right out, and scurried away.

Caleb laughed, a short, sharp sound that lacked any humor. "You sure you don't want some more coffee to wash down the superiority complex? Maybe an extra side donuts to go along with sticking that big nose in our relationship? Cops love donuts, right?”

Gator’s jaw tightened. Not that it mattered, but he actually didn’t care much for them. "I'm good."

"I bet," Caleb leaned back, draping his arm back around you, his hand landing heavily on your shoulder once more. "So, tell me, Gator. What exactly do you do around here? Besides harass the locals and watch paint dry?"

Gator wanted to slam his head into the table. Flip the booth over. Drag this man outside and introduce his face to the pavement. Instead, he sat there, trapped by his own internal promise to not be Roy, to not be a fucking monster. He forced himself to take a sip of his coffee, the bitterness coating his tongue.

"I'm in the academy," Gator said flatly. "Deputy program. Doin’ a lot of patrol work.”

"Ah," Caleb nodded. "Respectable."

"Somethin’ like that."

The conversation that followed was a torturous session of small talk. Caleb talked about his father's law firm that he’d be joining as soon at he graduated and his most recent ski trip to Aspen. You sat there, silent and fading, nodding at the appropriate times, laughing softly when he made a stupid joke, but your eyes were dead.

When the food arrived, Gator dug into his burger with gusto, eager to do anything that wasn’t interacting with Caleb. He watched you out of the corner of his eye. You picked at your salad, pushing a lettuce leaf around your plate. The pancakes sat untouched. Mocking you.

"Gonna eat those?" Gator asked, pointing his fork at the stack.

You looked at the pancakes, then at Caleb, who was watching you with a predatory stillness, as if daring you to try. "I… I'm full."

“Good girl.” Caleb murmured at the same time Gator replied “Bullshit.”

"She said she's full," Caleb said, his voice dropping an octave, the charm evaporating. "Don't be fucking rude, Gator."

It was the tone. Exactly how Roy spoke to his mother when she was five minutes late with dinner. Or to Nadine when she talked back. Gator felt the rage building in his chest, a physical heat spreading through his veins.

"I'm just lookin’ out for her," Gator said, his voice low and dangerous. “Someone has to. Clearly ain’t gonna be you.”

"I can look out for myself," your voice cracked slightly. You turned to Gator, your eyes wide. "Stop making a scene. Please."

Gator recoiled as if you’d slapped him. He was the one making a scene? But as he looked at you, pieces fell into place. He saw the terror behind the annoyance. You weren't really angry at him. You were terrified for him. Or maybe - more likely - terrified of what would happen to you later because of his interference. Fuck, he was so stupid.

He slumped back in his seat, defeated. "Alright. Sorry."

The rest of the meal passed in a suffocating silence. You managed to choke down half the salad, but the pancakes remained a sad, cold mess. Caleb paid the bill - commenting loudly about how everything in the town was so “cheap” as he pressed a kiss to your forehead and stood to go to the restroom. Gator watched him walk away counting the seconds until he was out of earshot. He turned to you immediately.

"Why?" Gator hissed, leaning across the table. "Why’s he here? I thought you were gonna end it.”

You looked down at your lap, picking at a loose thread on your sweater. "I know."

"So what changed?"

"It's complicated, Gator."

"Try an’ un-complicate it," he demanded. "He treats you like shit. Barely lets you speak. He's controlling what you eat, for Christ's sake.”

"I'm fine," you insisted, but your voice was weak.

"You ain’t fine," Gator reached out, intending to take your hand, but you pulled it back quickly, tucking it under the table. "He's bad news. I can feel it. My gut is never wrong about this shit."

"He's just… Intense," you whispered. "He cares a lot. Sometimes he just gets worried."

"About you eatin’ pancakes?" Gator scoffed.

You looked up at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Please, just stop. I don't want to fight, okay? Not with you.”

"I'm not tryin’ to fight with you," Gator softened his voice, hating the fear in your tone. "I just… I can't stand seein’ you like this."

You looked away, staring out the window at the bleak March landscape. "I made a mistake. And now I'm… Dealing with it. And I don't know how to get - never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything. Fuck.”

"We can figure it out," Gator said urgently. "Me ‘n you. Like old times. You just gotta say the word, and he's gone."

"I can't," you shook your head frantically. "You don't understand. If you interfere, he'll… His dad is… I- shit. Forget I said anything. I’m just being over-dramatic, okay? I’m good. Promise.”

Gator felt like he’d been punched in the gut as you plastered a fake smile on your beautiful face, but before he could argue, Caleb sauntered back to the table, his smug grin firmly back in place.

"Ready to roll, sweetheart?" He asked, reaching out to grab you from the booth.

You jumped up as if burned by his touch, grabbing your coat. "Yeah. Let's go."

Gator stood up slowly, his body aching with the tension of holding himself back. He watched as Caleb helped you into your coat, his hands lingering on you for a second too long.

Caleb clapped Gator on the shoulder as he stood with a grip that was outwardly friendly but felt like a warning. "We should do this again." He leaned in. “You lost, Tillman. Best thing you can do is get the fuck over it. She doesn’t want you.”

Gator gritted his teeth.

You turned to him, offering a small, tight smile. "It was good to see you, Gator. Really."

"Yeah," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "You too."

You turned to leave, walking slightly ahead of Caleb toward the door. Gator’s eyes tracked your movements like a hawk. As you reached out for the door handle, pushing it open against the spring wind, your sleeve rode up your arm ever so slightly.

Gator stopped dead in his tracks.

There, on your wrist, was an angry-looking bruise. It wasn't a small bump. It was a full handprint. Four distinct finger marks wrapping around your wrist, dark purple and mottled with green, clearly made by someone gripping you hard enough to leave a severe mark.

It looked exactly like the bruises his father used to leave on his mother when he dragged her down the hallway. When the nights were filled with sobs and pleas for him to stop.

Gator felt the blood drain from his face, the world tilting on its axis. He stood there in the middle of the diner, surrounded by the clatter of silverware and the murmur of conversations, and felt violently sick. The realization hit him like a physical blow: Caleb wasn't just texting you inappropriate shit or being a controlling prick. He was putting his hands on you.

And you were going back with him.

[covered-in-you-now]

Can you find me ? - Part 2

TW : kinda both assholes

A/N : I think I tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged, if I forgot you you can remind me <3

When you woke up the next day, the first thing you felt was panic, the second was confusion. You shot upright in bed so fast your heart immediately started pounding. What room was this ? Where were you ? The walls were unfamiliar, the furniture was unfamiliar, the smell was unfamiliar. For one horrible second, you genuinely thought someone had broken into your apartment and moved you somewhere else.

Then it came back, North Dakota, apartment 204, Witness Protection, Katie Foster. Right. You groaned and dropped back onto the mattress. “Fantastic.” It had barely been 24 hours of your new life, and you already hated it. 

A little while later, after forcing yourself into the shower and changing clothes, you sat at the tiny kitchen table with the envelope they'd given you, the one that basically contained your entire existence now. You pulled the papers out again and started reading. Most of it was stuff you'd already heard, but apparently they really wanted to make sure it stuck.

RULES FOR PARTICIPANTS IN THE WITNESS SECURITY PROGRAM

You immediately hated the title.

Rule One : Do not contact anyone connected to your former life.

Already depressing.

Rule Two: Do not disclose your former identity to anyone.

Rule Three: Do not discuss your relocation with neighbors, employers, friends, or romantic partners.

You stopped reading, romantic partners ? Well, that sounded optimistic.

Rule Four: Do not leave the state without authorization. Rule Five: Maintain your assigned identity at all times. Rule Six: Immediately report any suspicious activity. Rule Seven: Do not attempt to investigate your former case.

That one made you laugh, a short, humorless laugh. As if you needed the reminder. You shoved the papers away then noticed the phone sitting beside them, the new phone. You picked it up, powered it on, but it contained nothing. No contacts, no photos, no messages, no history, no life. It was just a blank phone waiting for Katie Foster to start existing, and you hated that too.

By eleven o'clock you couldn't stay inside anymore, the apartment felt too small, too quiet, too much like a prison. So you left.

The cold slapped you immediately, North Dakota seemed determined to punish you for arriving. You shoved your hands into your pockets and started walking. The town wasn't what you'd expected, it was much smaller. Everybody seemed to know everybody, people waved at each other from passing trucks, stopped to chat on sidewalks, called each other by name.

A woman walking her dog smiled and said good morning. A man leaving a hardware store nodded politely. A teenager held a door open for you. It was all incredibly normal, something you really wasn’t used to anymore. 

You didn't want people noticing you, didn’t want people remembering you, and you certainly didn't want people learning your name. Yet somehow this town seemed designed specifically to make that impossible.

Eventually you found a small bakery which smelled like heaven. You bought a cinnamon roll and a coffee, and obviously paid in cash, then escaped before anybody could start a conversation.

A few minutes later you were sitting on a bench downtown, people-watching, wondering what these people were up to, watching traffic while slowly eating your breakfast. This was your life now, Katie Foster, future bookstore employee, North Dakota resident, professional liar.

You glanced at your watch, you still had plenty of time, the bookstore interview wasn't until two, not that it was really an interview, everything had already been arranged. Apparently witness protection came with customer service.

As you were taking a sip of your coffee, movement caught your eye. A familiar cruiser rolled down the street and your stomach immediately dropped.

Nope, absolutely not. The deputy from yesterday, the annoying one who asked way too many questions because that asshole was way too observant. The cruiser rolled past you, and for a brief second, the deputy turned his head towards you and made eye contact. Right after, his car slowed down. “Oh no.” The brake lights flashed. “Oh hell no.”

The cruiser pulled beside the curb. “Yeah, absolutely not.” You stood immediately, coffee forgotten and half-eaten cinnamon roll still in hand before hurrying away. Not running, definitely not running, just walking very quickly, like a totally normal and perfectly innocent person. 

You turned down a side street, then another, then ducked around a corner, heart racing. You carefully peeked back. The cruiser was still there, parked, but no deputy. Where the hell had he gone ?

You waited ten seconds, twenty, thirty, but no sign of him. Maybe he'd gone into a building ? Maybe he'd gotten distracted meeting someone he knew ? Okay, enough, you were being ridiculous. 

You stepped away from the corner and started walking again, the cinnamon roll still clutched in your hand, and immediately walked straight into somebody. You yelped, the other person barely moved and a large hand caught your elbow before you could stumble backward.

“Whoa.” You froze and slowly looked up. Green cap, brown eyes, slicked back hair, sheriff's department jacket. The deputy, of course it was him. A grin slowly spread across his face, the kind people got when they caught someone doing something suspicious.

“Morning, Katie.” Your soul left your body.

“Oh.” The deputy tilted his head.

“Funny.” He paused, looking you up and down. “You looked a whole lot happier before you saw me.” You were holding half a cinnamon roll like a weapon, and he looked far too pleased with himself. The grin never left his face, which immediately annoyed you. “You know, most people say hello before trying to evade law enforcement.” You stared at him.

“I wasn't evading law enforcement.”

“Mm. You weren’t ?”

“No.” Another grin.

“Just speed-walking away from me ?” Your eye twitched and the deputy seemed delighted by this.

“I was going somewhere.”

“Uh huh, sure.” God, you already couldn't stand him.

“You always this annoying ?” You asked, and that got a laugh out of him. 

“No. Only when people act suspicious.” You immediately stiffened, and he noticed, his smile fading slightly. “You know, most people don't react this strongly to seeing a deputy.” You crossed your arms.

“Most people probably weren't stopped on the side of the road by one yesterday.”

“Fair.” A beat passed before he spoke again. “But if I remember correctly you were speeding, no ? My memory’s good.” You rolled your eyes.

“Good for you.” He started at you, not sure why you were being so harsh. He shoved his hands into his cargo pockets.

“I’m Gator. Gator Tillman.” He grinned, as if that was supposed to mean anything to you. You just shrugged. 

“Gator ? What kind of name is that ?” His grin disappeared, and he immediately sighed. Apparently he'd seen that reaction before.

“Well, it’s my name.” You raised your eyebrows. 

“Did your parents hate you ?” He tensed, and snapped back immediately. 

“No. But yours probably did. And probably still do considering you’re such a rude bitch.” His answer came out before he could stop it, and you realized maturity wasn't one of his strengths.

“Oh, I'm the rude one ?”

“Yeah. I stopped you yesterday, you looked terrified of me, and now you're insulting my name.”

“Maybe because you keep following me.”  His eyebrows shot up.

“Following you ? That’s rich. You think I stopped because of you ?” He laughed. “I stopped to get coffee you dumb bitch. Can’t believe you think you’re that important huh ?” You roll your eyes, his insults stinging a little. 

“Whatever.” You tried to get pass him, but he blocked your path with his body. 

“You looked like a criminal.” Every single muscle in your body froze. 

“You don't even know me.” He shrugged. 

“No. But you definitely looked guilty, Katie Foster.” 

“And you are definitely an asshole, Gator Tillman.” The deputy groaned dramatically then looked up at the sky, like he was asking God for patience. You found yourself weirdly satisfied by that.

“Where are you from anyway ?” Your walls went back up instantly. 

“California.” The answer came too fast, too rehearsed and you knew it. Apparently he knew it too.

“Mh. You have family back in California ?” 

“No. They’re all dead.” That seemed to throw him off guard for a few seconds, probably wondering if you were being serious. After a few seconds, he rocked slightly on his heels, changing the subject. 

“Well, Katie. Try not to run from any more deputies right ?” 

“I wasn’t running.” The grin returned full force on his face. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Then he turned around and started walking away, only to stop after a few steps. “Oh, by the way. If you’re gonna live here, you should probably get used to seeing me.” He tapped a few times on his badge.  “And if you keep speed-walking away every time you see me, people are gonna start thinking we're having an affair.” You nearly chocked on your own spit, but he laughed and headed back toward his cruiser before you could think of something to throw at him.

By the time two o'clock rolled around, you'd managed to convince yourself that the deputy wasn't going to magically appear again, which was good, because if you had to spend another twenty minutes talking to Gator and his stupid grin, you might've committed a crime just to spite him.

The bookstore sat on a quiet street a few blocks from downtown. A small bell chimed as you stepped inside. The smell hit you immediately, old paper, coffee, dust. The place looked like it belonged in a movie, tall wooden shelves, ladders, stacks of novels balanced in places that definitely violated safety regulations. It felt cozy. For the first time all day, your shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Well now.” You turned and an elderly man appeared from between two shelves, gray hair, round glasses wearing a cardigan that looked older than you. The man smiled warmly. “You must be Katie.” You smiled back, it was impossible not to.

“Yeah.” He extended a hand.

“Harold.” You shook it. “Nice to meet you.” He pointed towards the store, and just like that, the tour began. 

The next hour passed surprisingly quickly. Harold knew every single inch of the bookstore, eery shelf, every author, every squeaky floorboard. You quickly discovered that he wasn't hiring because he wanted help, he was hiring because he desperately needed it.

“You see that ladder ?” You looked up, the ladder reached almost to the ceiling. “I can't safely climb that anymore.” Fair. He pointed toward another shelf. “Or that one, actually, most things. You laughed and Harold sighed dramatically. “Getting old is a scam.”

The store wasn't complicated, a cash register, inventory in the back, deliveries every Thursday, customer orders. Nothing difficult. By the end of the tour, Harold seemed satisfied.

“You’ll do.” You blinked.

“That’s it ?” He shrugged.

“You seem competent.” Harold smiled, then looked around his beloved bookstore, his expression softened, almost sad now.  “I built this place forty years ago. I just can't keep doing it every day anymore.” And suddenly you understood, this wasn't just a bookstore, this was his whole entire life. He cleared his throat. “You can start tomorrow morning.” 

“I’d like that.”

The walk back to your apartment was quiet. The town felt a little less intimidating now, still strange and unfamiliar, but less hostile. No deputies appeared, thank God. When you finally reached the apartment complex, your car was exactly where you'd left it, still overflowing with the remnants of your old life. You sighed. 

Three trips later, you were questioning all your life choices. Suitcases, boxes, bags … The apartment slowly began looking less like temporary housing and more like a place someone actually lived. You unpacked clothes, bathroom supplies, kitchen stuff, more clothes.

At some point you gave up entirely and ordered groceries online. There was absolutely no chance you were going back into town today, not after running into Gator.

The groceries arrived just before dinner. You put everything away and made yourself something simple. Pasta, nothing exciting but it was food, and food was good. Especially after three days of gas station snacks.

While the water boiled, you continued unpacking until you found old photographs, almost forgot that you had packed them. Your fingers carefully picked up the first one, mom and dad, both smiling, both completely unaware of how much you'd miss them.

The next pictures were worse. Friends, birthdays, summer, your normal life, your real life. The one that no longer existed. Your chest tightened as you sat down on the edge of the couch. Another photo, another memory, another person you weren't allowed to call, another person who thought you'd simply disappeared.

The apartment suddenly felt very small and empty again as a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You quickly wiped it away as if someone might see even though nobody was there.

You looked down at the photographs one last time and carefully placed them inside a drawer, not hidden, just put away. The pasta finished cooking and you ate quickly, watched television you weren't really paying attention to.

Eventually exhaustion won. The dishes could wait until tomorrow, everything could wait until tomorrow. You changed into pajamas, turned off the lights and crawled into bed.

You stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking about your real home, thinking about all the people who no longer knew where you were.

Then eventually your eyes drifted shut, and for the second night in a row, Katie Foster fell asleep in a life that still didn't feel like hers.

taglist : @projections-mortal @delphinemix @nutinanutshell @keerygirlie98 @skkeletonns @corallandtragedy3 @louisbelongstome28 @cecesblogg @jas-mines-things @willyoucry13 @kristywidget97 @dreamerjj @scaramou @ilikereadinghardcoresmut @simsimstay2017 @cat-thingy-thing @kristywidget97 @deeplightblue

[frootybb]

Handcuffed to the Hood

Gator Tillman x Reader

Summary: Your Deputy boyfriend Gator Tillman keeps seeing constant Tumblr notifications on your phone. One night while you’re distracted, he sneaks a look and discovers your very popular (and very explicit) deputy x reader blog complete with dozens of filthy fics. Shocked but ridiculously turned on by how nasty your little Tumblr community actually is, Gator decides to show you exactly how much he appreciates your “research.”

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, uniform kink, Gator being a smug little shit

A/N: this one is for all my fellow writers girlies, love ya

———————————· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·———————————-

———————————· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·———————————-

Gator Tillman had been dating you for almost four months now, and he still couldn’t figure out half the shit that lived inside your phone. You kept it face-down on the counter most nights, or tucked in your back pocket when you were over at his place but those little buzzes kept catching his eye.

Notifications from “tumblr.”

What the fuck is Tumblr? he thought the first dozen times. Sounded like some kinda app for artsy kids or book nerds. He figured it was one of those social media things girls used to post pictures of coffee and sunsets. No big deal. You were allowed your hobbies. Hell, he spent half his free time scrolling through truck mods and dumb memes on his own phone.

But the notifications kept coming. Dozens a day sometimes. Little red bubbles popping up with usernames he didn’t recognize and snippets of text that cut off too quick to read. One night, after you’d both crashed on his couch watching some old action flick, you got up to grab a drink from the kitchen. Your phone was right there on the coffee table, screen lighting up again.

tumblr: someone just reblogged your post…

Gator glanced toward the kitchen. You were still rummaging in the fridge, humming under your breath. He wasn’t proud of it, but curiosity won. He snatched the phone quick, your passcode was your birthday, easy enough and swiped open the notification.

The app loaded. Black background, weird white text, a dashboard full of posts. His thumb scrolled before he could talk himself out of it.

At first it was just pictures: aesthetic shit, some fandom stuff he didn’t recognize, a lot of quotes about mental health and “touch grass.” Then he hit your blog. Your username was something cute and random: @deputywhore with a little badge icon. Profile pic was you smiling in the snow, the one he’d taken last winter.

He scrolled faster.

Reblogs. Comments. A whole feed of you interacting with other users. Hearts, fire emojis, long strings of keysmashes. Then he saw the tags.

#deputy x reader

His stomach did a weird flip. Reader? Like, fanfiction reader?

He tapped one of the posts. It was a reblog of something you’d written.

The title: “Patrol Car Confessions – Deputy x Female Reader (18+)”

Below it, your writing started:

The cruiser smelled like pine air freshener and gun oil. Deputy’s hand was heavy on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to leave marks. “You’ve been teasing me all shift, sweetheart,” he growled, voice low and rough like gravel. “Think you can get away with that?”

Gator’s eyes widened. He kept reading.

You bit your lip, spreading your legs wider in the passenger seat. “Maybe I want you to do something about it, Deputy.” His belt buckle clinked as he freed himself, thick and hard and already leaking. He didn’t bother with niceties just shoved your panties aside and thrust in deep, one hand clamped over your mouth so no one outside would hear you moan his name.

Jesus Christ.

He scrolled down further. There were dozens. Some were short drabbles, quick and dirty: Deputy eating you out in the station bathroom, Deputy bending you over the hood of the cruiser at 2 a.m., Deputy tying your wrists with his handcuffs while he fucked you slow and mean. Others were longer, almost story-like, with plot and feelings mixed in with the filth. You wrote about him being possessive, jealous, a little pathetic underneath the tough-guy act. You wrote him begging. You wrote him making you squirt. You wrote him calling you “good girl” while he came inside you raw.

And the comments. Holy shit, the comments.

“OP I’m deceased this is so in character”

“the way you write Deputy’s dirty talk… ma’am I’m on my knees”

“more breeding kink pls the community is starving”

“girl you’re feeding us SO well, this is why you’re the queen of deputy x reader”

There were hundreds of notes on some posts. Reblogs from blogs with names like @deputygirl69, @deputythirst, @deputywhorehours. People tagging their friends: “@mutual read this and tell me you don’t need him to ruin you.” Kudos. Asks in your inbox begging for continuations, headcanons, “what would Deputy do if he caught you touching yourself thinking about him?”

Gator sat there frozen, thumb hovering. His face felt hot. His dick twitched in his jeans, traitor that it was.

He heard the fridge door close. Footsteps. He barely had time to lock the phone and drop it back on the table before you walked back in with two beers.

“You okay?” you asked, handing him one. “You look kinda… flushed.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, taking a long swig. “Just… hot in here.”

You settled beside him again, legs tucked under you, completely unaware. Gator stared at the TV without seeing it. His brain was spinning.

All this time he thought he was the nasty one in the relationship. He’d whisper filthy shit in your ear while he was balls-deep, call you his little slut, smack your ass hard enough to leave handprints. You’d moan and take it and give it right back, but he always figured girls had a limit. That deep down they wanted the romance novel version, flowers and slow missionary with eye contact.

Apparently not.

Apparently you and a whole army of other girls on that weird blue app were writing shit that made his own dirty thoughts look tame. Breeding kinks. CNC. Somno. Public risk. Him degrading you one paragraph and worshiping you the next. And they ate it up. Thousands of likes. Girls thirsting openly in the comments, talking about how they’d let “Deputy” do whatever he wanted, how they’d drop to their knees in the snow if he snapped his fingers.

He stole glances at you for the rest of the night. You looked so normal. Sweet smile, soft laugh when something funny happened on screen, head on his shoulder like always. But now he knew there was this whole other world in your head. A version of him that was cocky and cruel and tender all at once, a version you shared with strangers who got off on it.

Later, when you were both in bed, lights off, your breathing slow and even, Gator lay awake staring at the ceiling. His hand rested on your hip under the covers. You shifted closer in your sleep, pressing your ass back against him.

He was hard again just thinking about it.

The next morning he waited until you went to shower. Then he grabbed your phone again, guilt twisting in his gut but not enough to stop him and went straight back to Tumblr.

He read more. A lot more.

One fic had him pulling you over for “speeding” on a back road, then fucking you against the trunk while the lights flashed. Another had him coming home after a bad day with Roy, crawling between your thighs and eating you out for hours like it was the only thing that could fix him. There was even one where you wrote him as a little pathetic, whining when you edged him, tears in his eyes while you rode him slow and told him he was a “good boy” for once.

He snorted softly at that one. Yeah, right. Like that’d ever happen.

But the comments… girls losing their minds over it. “The vulnerability mixed with the filth is chef’s kiss” “I need a Deputy who cries when he cums, I don’t make the rules.”

Gator rubbed a hand over his face. He felt… thrown. Not mad. Not even really embarrassed for you. More like his whole view of what girls wanted had cracked open. He’d grown up around guys who talked big, locker room shit, bragging about conquests, calling women names behind their backs. He did it too sometimes, when he was trying to fit in with the other deputies.

But this? This was next level. Women writing whole essays about wanting to be manhandled, degraded, praised, filled up, marked, claimed. And doing it publicly, with usernames and avatars and little heart emojis. Supporting each other. Hyping each other up. Building a whole community around wanting to get absolutely railed by a fictionalized version of him.

He found your masterlist. Over thirty fics, all tagged #deputy x reader. Some had warnings: dubcon, knife play, daddy kink (that one made him raise an eyebrow, Roy would have a stroke). Others were soft: aftercare, cuddling, him whispering “I love you” while he was still inside you.

You had a little bio at the top: “27 | she/her | writing filthy deputy dreams in the frozen north | minnesota girl in ND | asks open for thots & requests”

And a pinned post: “thanks for 5k followers!! you guys are the horniest, sweetest bunch. keep sending me your nasty little ideas, I live for them.”

Five thousand followers. For writing about him. Or at least a version of him.

Gator set the phone down when he heard the shower turn off. He was still half-hard, brain buzzing.

When you came out in one of his old t-shirts, hair damp, he couldn’t help himself.

“Hey,” he said, voice casual even though it wasn’t. “What’s Tumblr?”

You froze mid-step, eyes widening a fraction. “Uh… why?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. “Saw notifications on your phone. Looked like you got a lot of ’em.”

You laughed nervously, climbing onto the bed. “It’s just… a blogging site. For fandom stuff. Memes. Writing. Whatever.”

“Writing, huh?” He smirked, but there was heat in it. “Like stories?”

Your face went pink. “Maybe.”

“Stories about me?”

The color drained then flooded back. “Gator—”

“I read some,” he admitted, no shame now. “When you were in the kitchen last night. And again this morning.”

You stared at him, mouth open. “You… went through my Tumblr?”

“Yep.” He reached over and tugged you closer until you were straddling his lap. His hands settled on your thighs, thumbs stroking. “Found your whole deputy x reader collection. Real popular, baby. Five thousand people following you just to read about me fucking you in the cruiser.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, hiding your face in your hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.” He pulled your hands away gently, forcing you to look at him. His voice dropped lower. “Kinda hot, actually. All those girls out there reading your nasty little stories. Getting wet over the same shit I do to you every night.”

You bit your lip, squirming on his lap. He could feel you getting warm through the thin fabric of your panties.

“I didn’t think you’d ever see it,” you mumbled. “It’s just… fun. Fantasy. They’re all so supportive and it’s a whole community of girls who like the same stuff. It’s not like real life.”

“Some of it’s pretty close to real life,” he pointed out, grinning. One hand slid up under the t-shirt to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple. “The way you wrote me talking dirty? Spot on. And that one where I bend you over the hood? We did that two weeks ago.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, well… inspiration strikes.”

Gator’s other hand gripped your hip, rocking you slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. “What threw me is how freaky y’all are. I always figured guys were the nasty ones. Talking shit in the locker room, watching porn, whatever. But reading those comments… girls are out here begging for breeding kinks and handcuff play and wanting me to call them my little cumslut while I’m still in uniform.”

Your breath hitched. “We’re not all like that. It’s just fantasy.”

“Bullshit,” he said softly, leaning up to kiss your jaw. “You wrote it. You get off on it. And so do thousands of other girls. Makes me wonder what else is in that pretty head of yours that you haven’t told me yet.”

He flipped you suddenly, pinning you to the mattress with his body. You gasped, legs wrapping around him instinctively.

“So,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing skin, “you gonna show me the rest of your blog? Or do I gotta keep sneaking your phone when you’re not looking?”

You moaned softly as he ground against you. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole deputy.” He kissed you hard, tongue sliding against yours, then pulled back just enough to whisper, “And apparently the star of your horny little fan club.”

Later, after he’d fucked you slow and deep while making you read one of your own fics out loud, voice breaking every time he hit that spot. He lay beside you, both of you sweaty and satisfied.

“You really not mad?” you asked quietly, tracing patterns on his chest.

“Nah.” He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Kinda proud, actually. My girl’s out there writing smut that gets thousands of notes. And learning that women are just as filthy as men? Eye-opening.”

You laughed, burying your face in his shoulder. “Welcome to Tumblr, Deputy.”

Gator grinned into your hair. “Yeah. Think I’m gonna need my own account. Gotta keep up with all the competition.”

You swatted his chest, but you were smiling.

He didn’t tell you that part of him wanted to read every single thing you’d ever written about him. That another part wanted to live up to the version of him you’d created: cocky, rough, devoted, a little broken. That knowing you fantasized about him like that, shared it with the world, made him feel wanted in a way his father’s approval never could.

For the first time in a long time, Gator Tillman felt like he might actually be a winner at something.

Even if it was just being the hottest fictional deputy on some weird app full of horny girls.

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

Taglist: @stydiaforeverbitchezz @keerygirlie98 @exooojongdaeee @stoneyggirl @gatorgirlie @soggycerealtbh @whispersoflost @louisbelongstome28 @needylittlebabyintherain @silkscreams @ulalalauwu @lacywithdrawal @stoneyggirl2 @sanctumdemunson @luminousdoomsellsword @kristywidget97 @shecleansup

[covered-in-you-now]

Can you find me ? - Part 1

A/N : okay didn't even last two days without writing so ...... here is a new story with Gator 🥹 hope you'll like it <3

The gas pump finally clicked. You pulled it out of the tank and glanced around for what felt like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. Nothing, just snow, flat roads, a few trucks and a gas station that looked like it'd been standing there since the eighties. North Dakota, you still couldn't believe you were actually here, that this is where they sent you. 

A week ago you’d never even thought about North Dakota, and now you were apparently supposed to live here, start over, become somebody else out here. You sighted, the thought was already exhausting. 

You shoved the nozzle back into the pump and headed towards the station convenience store, the cold biting you hard. Jesus Christ, nobody should have to live somewhere this cold. Inside, the heat fogged up your sun glasses for a second.

You grabbed a bottle of water, a bag of chips, a protein bar, not because you wanted them, because you had been living off gas station food for three days and apparently intended to continue doing so. The hood of your sweatshirt stayed firmly over your head, old habits. 

You paid in cash, like always. The cashier didn't even look up. Perfect, that’s exactly how you liked it, invisible. Five minutes later you were back in the car, locking the doors behind you automatically and checking all the mirrors right away. Nobody watching, nobody paying attention. Good. 

You reached into the center console and pulled out your wallet, then your ID, the new one, the fake one. The one you were supposed to use now. You stared at it, Katie Foster, 24 years old, from California, your picture smiling back at you, taken about six months ago when this whole shit show started. You sighed. 

“Who the fuck is Katie anyway ?” You muttered to yourself. Katie, that’s not your name, not even close, and if you had been given a choice, you definitely wouldn’t have picked Katie. But apparently nobody had asked your opinion. You shoved the ID away and started the car before going back on the road. Only about an hour left, then you could collapse into bed, or whatever passed for a bed in the apartment they had rented for you. 

Forty-five minutes later, you were struggling to keep your eyes open. The road stretched endlessly ahead, white fields, snow, more snow, a few trees, and then even more snow. You glanced at the clock, almost there. Then you saw it. 

WELCOME TO STARK COUNTY

Relief immediately flooded through you, thank God. You pressed a little harder on the gas, just a little, wanting this trip to be over, wanting ti sleep, wanting to stop looking over your shoulder every five seconds.

Blue and red lights exploded behind you. “Oh, you've gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your heart immediately started pounding, of fucking course this had to happen right now. You carefully pulled onto the shoulder of the road, put the car in park and waited. A few seconds later, the cruiser door opened and a man stepped out. Your glanced in your mirror, even from here he looked tall, broad shoulders, a green cap on, a Sheriff tactical vest on and a holster strapped on his right thigh, one hand resting casually on the butt of his sidearm.

What the hell kind of town was this ? You lowered the window, cold air immediately rushed inside. The man approached, he was young, younger than you expected, late twenties maybe ? Sharp jaw, slicked back brown hair sticking out from his cap, brown eyes. The kind of face that probably got away with murder in high school. He stopped beside your window.

“Evening ma’am.” North Dakota accent, great. You smiled politely. 

“Hi.”

“License and registration.” Straight to business, wonderful. You handed them over. The man glanced down at them, then back at you, then down again. 

“You know how fast you were going ?” You sighted. 

“I’m sorry, no. Long day, wasn’t paying attention, probably too fast.” A tiny smile appeared on his lips, just for a second.

“Well, that's refreshingly honest.” You blinked. 

“I’m sorry officer.” He looked up and you forced a smile. 

“It’s deputy. Long drive huh ? Where you headed ?” You pointed vaguely ahead.

“Stark County.” His eyebrow immediately lifted.

“You are in Stark County. Where exactly you going ?” Right, shit. 

“Uh. Dickinson.” His smile got a little bigger.

“Thought so.” Great. Fantastic start to this new life. The deputy looked at your license again. “Katie ?” For one horrible second, you almost said your real name, mouth already open. The panic hit instantly, like a punch to the stomach. You paused a few seconds before speaking again, you couldn’t fuck this up already. 

“Yeah.” The deputy noticed your weird behavior, people like him always noticed.

“Hm.” Well, this couldn’t be good. Never trust a cop who says hm. He looked at the road, then back at you. “Not exactly the safest weather to be speeding in.”

“I know.”

“Especially when you're unfamiliar with the roads.” You nodded, just wanting him to leave you alone. He nodded too then looked at the documents again, and immediately frowned. Uh oh. “California license.” Your stomach dropped.

“Yeah.”

“And you got Illinois plates on your car.” 

“…Yeah.”

“And you're moving to North Dakota.” You forced a laugh, it was painful to hear, the kind that should've gotten you arrested on principle.

“I just bought the car.” The deputy looked unconvinced immediately. “It was a good deal.” Still unconvinced, so you kept going. “I need to get the plates changed.” Nothing, just brown eyes staring directly at you.

“You drove all the way from California ? Or from Illinois ?”

“California. Had to pick up my stuff before moving here.” He glanced inside the car, towards the back. You only had two suitcases and a few cardboard boxes. 

“That’s commitment.” You smiled weakly.

“Or poor decision-making.” That actually got a small laugh out of him, okay, progress.

“Got family in Dickinson ?”

“No.”

“A job ?”

“Yeah.” Technically true, eventually, hopefully. 

“What kind of job ?” Shit, asshole. You picked the first thing that came to mind.

“Bookstore.” He blinked.

“A bookstore ?”

“Yep.” 

“You read a lot ?” You stared at him. What kind of question was that ? Apparently he realized it too, because he immediately looked annoyed with himself. “Forget I asked.” You almost laughed for the first time since he'd walked up. He handed your documents back, finally. “Well.” Relief immediately flooded through you. He pointed towards the road. “Slow down.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” His expression softened slightly.

“Roads get nasty after sunset.” He paused for a few seconds. “I don't wanna find you wrapped around a tree five miles from town.” The statement should've sounded threatening, instead it sounded weirdly genuine. You nodded.

“I’ll be careful.” The deputy stepped back, then leaned slightly towards the open window.

“Welcome to Stark County, Katie.” The way he said your fake name felt strange, wrong, like he was talking about somebody else. Maybe he was. You forced another smile.

“Thanks.” Then he tapped the roof of the car twice, turned around and walked back towards his cruiser. A minute later, you were back on the road, your hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than before. In the rearview mirror, the deputy's cruiser disappeared into the snow.

By the time you finally pulled into the apartment complex, exhaustion had settled deep into your bones. The parking lot was mostly empty, just a few scattered cars, a couple lights glowing behind curtains. Nothing unusual, exactly what you wanted.

You parked in the reserved space listed on the paperwork and shut off the engine. For a moment, you just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, trying to convince yourself this was real. Then you grabbed your keys and climbed out, the cold immediately bit at your face. Great, you already hated North Dakota.

Opening the trunk, you stared at your luggage. Two suitcases, a duffel bag, a few cardboard boxes. Your entire life reduced to whatever could fit in this car. You grabbed the smallest suitcase, the other things could wait, tomorrow’s problem. Everything was tomorrow's problem, tonight you just wanted a bed. You checked the paperwork again.

Building C. Apartment 204. Second floor. You headed toward the stairs, each step felt heavier than the last. Eventually you found the correct door.

You stared at it for a second, this was it, you new home, or at least the place you were supposed to pretend was home. You reached into your pocket and pulled out the key, hoping this would work.  The lock clicked and relief immediately flooded through you. Thank God.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. The apartment was small, smaller than anywhere you'd ever lived, but surprisingly nice. A tiny living room, a small kitchen tucked into the corner, a couch, a television. Everything already furnished, everything already prepared waiting for Katie Foster. Not you, Katie.

You slowly closed the door behind you. The silence felt strange, almost unnatural. Nobody knew you were here, absolutely no one. No friends, no family, no history, no past, exactly as intended. 

You wandered through the apartment, opened a cabinet, looked inside the fridge, peeked into the bathroom, then finally opened the bedroom door. A queen-sized bed sat against the wall. You didn't even bother taking your shoes off, the suitcase landing somewhere near the closet.

You collapsed directly onto the mattress, the ceiling stared back at you. Your body ached, your eyes burned, yet somehow your brain refused to shut up.

Katie, this was you now. You still hated the name. You rolled onto your side, staring out the bedroom window at the unfamiliar parking lot below.

No more old life, no more old name, no more old home, no more being who you used to be. Just Katie Foster, apartment 204, Stark County, North Dakota.

You were now part of the Witness Protection program. The words felt heavy, permanent, terrifying. You swallowed hard, then closed your eyes. Tomorrow, you'd figure out how to become Katie. Tonight, you were just trying to survive being her.

taglist : @projections-mortal @delphinemix @nutinanutshell @keerygirlie98 @skkeletonns

[bunnyclawzz]

Sweetheart!Gator is absolutely in love with his girlfriend !!

Sweetheart! Gator always visits you at work. He loves to show up unannounced while your busy to tease you for a bit before inevitably giving you some money “just because”

“I don’t need to get tipped for doing nothing, Gator” “Alright, okay..give me a kiss and I’ll tip you for that?”

Sweetheart! Gator is obsessed with anything you do. It looks like he’s watching his favorite show when he’s really just watching you make yourself a snack or pick out a movie. He loses his sense of personal space when he watches you. You’d turn to ask if he wanted a snack or drink only to bump into him the second you turn. “Oh-Hello..do you mind backing up?” “You don’t want me close? What did I do to deserve getting punished? I’m just—c’mon, let me stay close t’ya.”

Sweetheart! Gator who almost always lets you pick what to do for date night. A movie, dinner, shopping, summer swimming..he does get severely annoyed when you try to pray for any of it though. He huffs and groans-he’ll even take your wallet if you get too persistent about paying for your items.

Sweetheart! Gator who insists you model every outfit before date night as well. Any dress, skirt, shorts, or swimsuit must be modeled before you leave the house. Not because he would make you change, he rarely ever made you do that. He just liked to admire you like his prize. Like you were something he won-Like you made him a winner at something.

Sweetheart! Gator who lovesss tasting your lipgloss or chapstick. He loves to steal quick pecks and mumbles his guess of the flavor. “Mh..strawberry?” a whisper against your lips that made your smile go wide and your heart melt. “Mhm..good job.” He also has a habit of buying you dozens of flavored lip products-you have enough for a life time because of him.

[sunshinereaderx]

Baby brat

Husband Steve Harrington x Wife reader.

Steve gets the snip & is a real brat about it.

Written from these requests: here & here 🫶🏻

Steve was sat against the edge of your bed, jaw tense as he looked up at you. You smiled softly as your eyes moved down to the bag of frozen peas resting in his lap,his eyes burning into you.

“You doing okay baby?” you asked as you walked towards him, hand resting on his shoulder.

“Great” he rolled his eyes sarcastically “never been better”

You laughed as you looked at him, the way he was still so pisssed off over something you’d both agreed on weeks ago. Five children you’d gave him, just one less than he wanted but that one you didn’t give him? Oh he was mad about it.

“It’s just a small procedure Steve, and just think” you lean down kissing his head softly “all that sex with no babies” you smiled.

Steve huffed looking down at his lap, the idea didnt excite him as much as you thought it would. He wanted that sixth kid, it was something you’d agreed on a long time ago. Before you decided one day that five really was enough, you had teenagers, toddlers even a baby and Steve still always pushed for that last one.

“I didnt think it would feel like this” Steve sighed.

“The pain? It’s that bad baby?” You exhaled as you sat down next to him, your head resting against his shoulder.

“No, this.. its so final” you lifted off his shoulder to look at him, the hurt in his eyes. Maybe even betrayal. “This really is the end.. no sixth nugget” he let out a breathy laugh as he looked at you.

“I know” you sigh as you pull his head closer to you, placing a kiss to the warm skin on his forehead “im sorry”.

~

The next few weeks were a blur of Steve shuffling miserably around the house, exaggerated groans every time he moved too quickly and honestly you were starting to get worried. The doctor said a few days of mild discomfort not weeks later still needing you to help him in and out of the bath, stroking his hair while he napped lay across you, shooting you the puppy eyes every time he needed help.

“Fuck” Steve sighed as he tried to push himself up off his spot on the sofa.

You walked over linking your arm under his to give him a boost, once he was firmly on his feet you wrapped your arm around his waist. His eyes looked down at you more puppy like than they usually were.

“Still hurts so much baby” he sighed, you couldn’t help the smirk creeping across your face as you look at him.

“I think we should go back to see the doctor, this just isn’t right Steve” you watched as Steve’s face changed instantly, his jaw tensing as he listened to you.

“N-no, no need for all of the hassle” he smiled down at you “Just need some more..”

“Attention?” You scoffed as you looked at him, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

“Love” he whispered, making your stomach turn as you looked at him. He wanted babying, he’d spent so long being the tough man of the house that now it was his turn to be looked after that’s all he wanted.

“Oh baby” you exhaled as you sat down on the sofa pulling him down with you, Steve’s head resting against your chest as you stroked his hair softly. “It’s okay, im sure it’ll all feel better soon”

“Mhm” Steve hummed as his eyes flickered shut, the warmth of you holding him itching the scratch he so desperately needed.

“You know..” you started “all of the kids are out, its past the reccomended wait time to doctor reccomended” you brush the hair off his forehead so you can see him more clearly, his eyes fluttering open as he looks up at you.

“No” Steve replied bluntly.

“No?”

“Mhm, no. You didnt want no more kids” Steve’s jaw tensed again as he looked at you, your stomach turning.

“But now we can have sex without the risk of kids?” You offered, fingers stroking down the side of his face softly.

“This is the way you wanted it” your breath caught in your throat as Steve pushed himself off you, leaving you sat in the room alone.

~

More weeks passed and Steve was mostly back to normal now apart from the bitchy looks he sent in your direction every time you dared to get into the bed you shared with him.

“Steve?” You spoke softly as you climbed in next to him, wrapping your arm around his waist as he faced away from you “i miss you”

“I’m right here” he replied bluntly, you felt him tense under your touch making your heart flip.

“I miss being… intimate with you” you cringed at your own words, but he stayed silent. “Please baby?”

“You made your choice” you pulled your arm away from him exhaling.

“No Steve, we both made the choice!” Your voice raised a little as you sat up in the bed, feeling embarrassed at yet another no to your advances. Steve rolled onto his back looking up at you, his beautiful wife who’d done nothing wrong really. You both did agree to it, but he did it because you wanted it mostly.

“I agreed because it would make you happy!” He shouted “fuck, you stopped having sex with me. Said not until we dealt with this”

“How was i meant to know you did it for me?” You laugh sarcastically “fuck Steve, im not a mind reader!”

“Well you got it, you’re still not happy!”

“I’m not happy because you’re punishing me Steve!” You could feel the tears starting to burn your eyes, maybe you shouldn’t have pushed him towards this but you wanted something perminant. After having two rough natural births and three c sections you thought it was Steve’s turn to take one for the team. You didn’t expect him to ever use it against you. 
Steve sighed as he looked at you, guilt washing over him as he noticed the tears running down your cheeks.

“I’m not punishing you” he sighed “well, i dont mean to”

“That’s what it feels like” you look down at him “i love you”

“I love you, nothing changes that im just…”

“Being a brat?” You scoff making Steve laugh.

“Yeah, i guess so”

[harringtonsugar]

Fixed on You

summary: steve notices your fixation on his hands

warnings: smut, oral and hand fixation, fingers in mouth, p in v smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk,

word count: 1.7k

Steve Harrington may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed but when it came to his girlfriend? Well he was incredibly perceptive.

And for the past two weeks, he’s been picking up on the way you’ve been staring at his hands.

It doesn’t matter what he’s doing – if his hands are visible, you’re fixed on them. At first he thought he was imagining it but you proved him wrong.

When he’s counting down the registers at work, mindlessly swiping his tongue over his fingers for a better grip on the cash, you’re staring.

When he came over last week and built you a new vanity, screwdriver between his teeth, and his hands hammering in every screw, you’re staring.

After work when he surprised you with a glass of wine and plan for a homemade meal, chopping up vegetables – you’re staring.

And tonight he was going to prove it.

He whisked you away for a casual date night – spending the night at a new dive bar he found and used every possible excuse to showcase his hands.

He showed up in a white button down, the top three buttons left open to show just enough of his chest hair to tease, and made sure to keep his sleeves rolled up to his elbows – displaying the veins in his hands and forearms.

He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the expanse of your thigh, gently kneading the skin every few minutes. And when he was pulling into the parking spot? That same hand came to land on your headrest, muscles twitching as he maneuvers the car – inches away from your face, and your mouth.

It worsened once he roped you into a game of pool. His body bent over the table, the thin wood looked minuscule between his long fingers. The veins in his hands shifting as he lines the stick up.

It was all so consuming that it was hard to carry out a full conversation with him.

And of course, Steve noticed.

By the end of the night, he could see the way you were a buzzing mess of nerves – practically drooling over the sight of his hands and the way he used them tonight.

It was no surprised when you all but pounced on him the minute you stepped inside. Your mouth was on his seconds after the door was shut, hands clawing at any inch of skin you could reach. He smirked into the kiss, awfully aware of how he triggered your reaction.

But he let you have your fun, because by the time you got upstairs, a trail of clothes left behind leading up the stairs, he knew what he wanted.

And that was getting you to admit what he already knew.

You’re laying flat on his bed, legs spread wide for him to settle between. Steve hovers over you, his warm mouth gliding against yours, his tongue licking into your mouth. Your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging every time his teeth bites into your lip.  

It’s messy and desperate and still not enough.

Steve pulls away suddenly and watches the way you raise your head off the pillow, chasing after his lips. Your chest heaves as you try and catch your breath, all the while he stares down at you – a barely there, teasing smile on his face.

Slowly, he grinds his still covered cock against your pussy. You don’t hold back the moan he pulls from you and your hands raise to grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

His smile widens at your reaction. “That feel good, baby?”

You’re nodding instantly. “Mhm.. so good, Steve,”

He hums an agreement, still slowly rocking his hips. He knows it’s not enough for you, but you’re sweet enough not to rush him.

“You want more though,” He says softly, lowering his head to hover his mouth over yours – not quite a kiss yet. “Don’t you?”

Your breath hitches, just barely, but enough for him to notice. You swallow hard and nod timidly.

“Use your words.”

His hips are still lazily moving into yours but it’s still enough to turn your brain into mush.

“Y-Yes, Steve. I want – I want more, please.” You beg him and raise your head, pushing your lips against his. He doesn’t fight you and kisses you back just as hard.

His hips move faster now, a new harsh and fast rhythm. You can physically feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of the boxers he still wears, but neither of you care. The room fills with the sound of your lips smacking against each other and you’re mewling for more under him.

Slowly, he slides his hand up your thigh, over your hip, up your ribs, all the way until he reaches your face. His palm cups your cheek and he brushes his thumb over the skin there.

It’s a gentle touch and it’s a dizzying difference compared to the way he’s slamming his hips into you.

He pulls back then and waits for you to open your eyes. You’re breathless when you do, staring up at him. Your mouth is swollen red, lips bitten raw. The skin of your face is flush, a faint blush covering the apples of your cheeks.

So fucking beautiful.

His fingers slide down your face, carefully tracing your lips and taps his thumb against them.

“Open.” His voice is low, soft and gentle, and there’s no room to question him.

You blink up at him but he doesn’t repeat himself.

Your lips part and he lets his thumb slip inside. Instinctively, your lips wrap around his finger – and you don’t just hold him there. Your cheeks hollow out, tongue swirling around him. Your eyes flutter shut, a content hum surrounding his finger, like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

Steve groans quietly above you and he presses his thumb down on your tongue. Your whimper is muffled around him.  

“This what you’ve been wanting, baby?” He murmurs, carefully sliding his thumb in and out of your mouth.

With your mouth full, you still nod. Your eyes are hooded, swirling with unfiltered need and desire – it’s almost enough to make him cum right there.

“Yeah I know it is,” He breathes. “Been watching my hands, my fingers. Just needed them in your mouth – something for you to suck on, huh?”

Your face burns – from embarrassment, shame, hunger, you have no idea really. All you know is you want him to keep going.

He watches your reaction before he pulls his thumb out with a pop!

You whine at the loss and he smirks down at you. He doesn’t let you suffer for long before he reaches down and pushes his boxers off.

Your stomach twists in anticipation while you watch him. He kicks them off the bed, and grips his cock in his hand, sliding it through your wet folds.

“Please – don’t tease me,” You whine. Steve ignores you and pushes the head of his cock against your clit, moving in small circles over the sensitive bud.

You watch the way his hand tightens around his cock – veins protruding and twitching beneath his skin.

He guides himself down to your entrance, your wetness giving him easy access but before he pushes in, he looks back up at you. He plants a gentle kiss on your lips and slides home.

Your shared moan is instant. The stretch he brings is intense and the feeling of being completely full overwhelms you in the best way. It’s almost like you can feel him all the way in your throat.

He starts his brutal pace – hips slamming into yours and his cock hits that sweet spot inside you almost immediately.

“Mhmm.. fuck,” You cry out, mouth hanging open and Steve takes the opportunity.

His hand rises to your face again and his pointer and ring finger flat against your tongue. You suck him in, encouraging him further.

“So good baby, so fuckin’ good,” He moans. Your mouth soak his fingers, all the while your pussy soaks his cock. “Just stuffed full, aren’t you? This pussy full from my cock and this pretty mouth stuff with my fingers,”

His words are so fucking vulgar and should make you disgusted with yourself but you’re not – it just makes you want it even more.

You nod feverishly, whining around his fingers. Drool slips past your lips and onto the pillow beneath you. His hips haven’t stopped slamming into you for a second and already, you can feel the coil pulling tighter and tighter in your tummy.

Steve can feel it and it’s pushing him closer to the edge behind you.

“Come on then baby. Cum for me,” He rasps. His cock drills into your harder, deeper. “Cum around my cock while I fuck your mouth with my fingers.”

Your orgasm washes over you the second the words leave his mouth, giving you barely any warning. Stars burst behind your eyes, your skin burns from the feeling of him and his words.

Steve watches the way your thighs convulse around him, your pussy tightening and clenching around him, your juices gushing the base of his cock.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Steve whines. His hips stutter, losing rhythm, and he pulls his fingers from your mouth – giving you only a second to breathe before slams his mouth against yours. You swallow down his whines as his cock jerks inside you, hot ropes of cum spilling inside you.

He steadies himself over you after a moment, his lips gently pecking at yours as you both try to catch your breath. When he pulls his face away from yours, he smiles down at you.

“What?” You ask breathlessly.

“Nothin’.” He responds. You narrow your eyes at him. “Just thinking of all the other ways I can use my hands to get you like this now,”

“Steve!” You gasp out a laugh. He laughs back, burying his face in your shoulder.

He found a hundred different ways that night.