⤷ warnings: smut, p in v, cockwarming, punishment, ˎˊ˗
“J-just—just stay like that, baby,” Steve panted into your ear where you were flipped onto your side, slowly maneuvering the head of his cock into your hole. He had come home from a rough day, and only wanted to be close to you without the exhaustion of sex, when he mentioned keeping his cock still inside you, your eyes almost bulged out of your skull.
“Are you serious, Steve? You just wanna—stay inside there?” You spluttered out, the task sounded impossible, and with the way he was spearing you achingly slow, it certainly felt impossible.
“Mmm—so tight, and—ahh—wet f’me.” He cursed when your walls clenched around him instinctively, begging for him to start his usual restless pace. He kept going until he was fully buried inside of you, you gripped the sheets tightly in order to stop yourself from grinding back against him.
But when Steve adjusted your body slightly, moving your hips, it caused his cock to accidentally shift inside of you, making it brush up against that spot which made you whimper desperately. “Please, Steve,” you moaned, unable to help the way your body reacted instantly, pussy throbbing around him and hips knocking back. “Need you to fuck me—real bad.”
Steve inhaled sharply, holding your hip in a tight grip to prevent you from fucking yourself back onto him anymore. “Ah, ah. What did I say, sweetheart? Be a good girl and keep still for me, yeah? Maybe I’ll reward you later…” you could hear the restraint in his voice, your pussy molded around him so perfectly it was practically choking his cock.
Oh, but the way you imagined how hard he could fuck you right now, how this position enabled him to brush against your cervix, plant his seed real deep inside you if he wanted. You bit your lip harshly until your eyes watered, and when Steve started giving you little kisses on the side of your neck, your horniness took over.
“C-can’t do it, Stevie.” You let out a weak cry, clenching around the base and dragging your pussy up until the familiar sparks of pleasure ran through your stomach, bringing immediate relief. Steve faltered for a moment, allowing you to give into your desires briefly.
“I told you to stay fucking still, didn’t I?” Steve growled, immediately taking your hips in both hands and pushing them with force against the mattress, turning you fully over onto your stomach. “Can’t even follow simple instructions.” He muttered to himself almost annoyed, climbing above you and hiking your knees up.
“Guess I’ll just have to show you how to listen. You’re not finished tonight until I say you’re finished.” He warned, spreading your ass cheeks and plunging his cock even deeper inside you, you gripped the sheets for an entirely different reason now. If Steve stuck true to his promise, he was going to make you cum over and over again until you were begging him to stop from too many orgasms.
Gator shows you with new spot at a lake and gifts you something very meaningful. One day Gator skips school and when you ask him why he starts pushing you away.
content warning
fluff & angst, they’re kids and teenagers, arguing, crying, overthinking, Gator realises he has feelings for reader and is afraid.
author’s note
Im so excited to finally start writing this series🥹🥹They will be only younger in this chapter, in the upcoming ones they are 23 years old!
masterlist
There was a ranch located outside of Lehigh, North Dakota, The Tillman Ranch. It belonged to Roy Tillman, the sheriff. A preacher who believes that his position is above the law, sees himself as a righteous leader and rarely admits that he is wrong.
There were two houses and a farm. One house belonged to Roy, and the other one to your father. Roy and your father are really close friends, although you never got to know the story behind how they met. Your dad claimed that Roy saved his life, but did he?
Ever since you learned how to walk and talk, you have been together with Gator Tillman, Roy’s son. He was only 5 months older than you, both of your parents claimed that you’d make such a cute couple in the future. Yeah definitely not.
Gator was your best friend. From being the only kids on the ranch, you two always spent time together.
Gator was the complete opposite of you. He had brown hair and hazel eyes, sometimes more green than hazel. If he disliked someone he made sure to show it. He acted mean to everyone except those he loved.
You practically grew up with him, playing tag and chasing each other around the ranch, making tons of snow angels in the snow every winter, sharing your favourite snacks with him but more specifically — sitting by the big oak tree by the lake. Gator found it when both of you were 6 years old, an age where you could explore places together.
That spot was your hideout. No one knew about it except for Gator and you. The first day you two hung out there, you pinky promised not to tell anyone about the spot.
(Safe to say 17 years later it was still a secret.)
17 Years ago
“Gate where are you taking me?” you squeaked, trying to hold onto Gator’s hand while he jogged in front of you. He was taller and stronger than you, every once in a while you struggled keeping up.
Both of you held hands and ran through the meadow, that was filled with bunch of colourful flowers in the spring.
You realised that Gator was guiding you towards the lake, you knew it was here, just never visited it.
“Look!” he exclaimed, studying your reaction. Your attention was fixed on the grand oak tree with its attached swing. A wooden path ran alongside it leading to the lake.
“Wow” your hand left his grip, running towards the lake to dip your hands in it.
“It can be cold” Gator said, following you. You squatted at the end of it, admiring your reflection on the water. Gator joined you, standing right next to you.
“Look at this” he said, picking up a rock from the ground and throwing it in the lake. He showed you a trick, the rock jumped across the water three times before it finally sank in.
“How did you do that?” you asked, amazed by it.
“I will teach you” he said, and he did. Gator never made you feel left out or behind. Every time you asked for help about something, he made sure to help you.
The two of you sat on the soft grass right under the tree. Gator cracked stupid childish jokes while you couldn’t help but laugh. Butterflies and bees flying around the large field, while the sun kissed the lake perfectly, making it sparkle.
“I have this for you” he said, reaching out in his pocked for something. He pulled out a small white ring with words across it, probably made out of newspaper.
“What’s this?” you asked, taking it into your hands to get a better look. It was smaller than your hands, you held it gently, afraid to ruin it. It was beautiful, it had a heart shape at the top.
“A paper ring, my nana taught me how to make it”
Your eyes sparkled just by looking at it, you wrapped your arms around Gators shoulders, hugging him. He was not a fan of hugging, he didn’t hug you back, but he didn’t pull away either.
“Thank you I love it!” you said, sliding it on your pointer finger. It looked adorable on your small fingers.
Later at home, you were so excited so you showed your parents the ring. They exchanged a look together, but not a concerned or bad look, they smiled, by looking how your eyes sparkled while showing off the ring. They say that people can’t predict the future, but your parents already had.
10 Years ago
Gator skipped school today, which was unusual since he usually told you. As soon as you got home from school you threw your backpack across your room and left.
You made your way to the Tillman’s house. Roy was outside, leaning against his truck, talking to a policeman and taking a puff out of his cigar.
“G’day sweetheart” he greeted you, smiling. You never liked his smile. There was something that made you feel uncomfortable around him.
“Hello is um Gator home?” you asked, tucking your hands in the pocket of your jacket.
“Yes, he should be in his room, you know the way,” he said. You gave an awkward smile and made your way inside.
Walking up the stairs, you saw the door of Gators room closed. Calmly approaching it, you knocked three times “Hey Gator, it’s me”
You waited, nothing.
Knocking again “Gator I know you’re inside” you said.
“Leave me alone” He yelled from the inside of the room.
“Gator I’m coming in” You twisted the door knob and pushed the door open. Gator was still in bed, facing the wall. What on earth?
“Are you okay?” you asked, approaching him from behind. He was lying with his eyes closed, he wasn’t sleeping obviously, but why was he doing this?
“I said leave” he muttered.
“Not until you tell me what’s happening” you crossed your arms.
“Why do you want to know everything!” he raised his voice, sitting up from the bed. His eyes were red and almost slightly swollen. Was he crying?
“I- I got worried you didn’t come to school today”
“Pfft like you care, it’s nothing leave me alone” he said
“Gator of course I care! It’s not nothing, you have been crying” you said pointing out and sitting on the bed.
The moment you sat down on the bed, he froze. He then stood up, walking away from you and to the door. He then opened it and stood there “Go” he said.
“No”
“I said go”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong” you replied.
“I don’t want to tell you so go”
“Gator what’s happening? I just want to help” you walked to Gator, stopping right in front of him.
“I don’t need your help and i don’t want you here”
His words made you freeze I don’t want you here kept repeating in your head over and over again. A simple sentence made you feel like everything in your life changed it did.
“What do you mean!” you raised your voice
“Please stop being annoying and leave!” he yelled
“Oh so i’m annoying now?”
“God just leave me alone for once!” he snapped
You felt your eyes sting. Not now- you said to yourself. Something was bothering Gator, you knew it. He pushes people away when things get hard.
“Fuck you, Gator,” you shouted as you slammed the door shut behind you, causing the pictures on the wall to move. Tears welled in your eyes as you hurried to leave.
Roy saw you outside but didn’t say anything. He sensed something was wrong. You dashed home through the gravel, your beat up Converse clinging desperately to your feet. You should definitely get new ones; God it’s not the time now.
Stepping inside, the aroma of delicious food filled your nostrils. Your mother was busy cooking in the kitchen. You kicked off your shoes and made your way towards your room. Didn’t even bother saying hello to your mother.
You locked yourself in your room and lay on the bed, tears streaming down your face. You couldn’t hold it any longer.
I don’t want you here
I don’t want you here
I don’t want you here
Was it true? Did he genuinely not want you there? You kept overthinking about it, thinking that you’re not good enough for him, the way he acted towards you? He won’t hear from you anymore.
*GATOR POV*
You were in her room, she was crying. Crying because of a boy who broke her heart. Holding her hand was all of the comfort you could offer her. You wished you could break his nose, but getting into fights, your father would be pissed. You’d start eating punches for breakfast like you did as a little kid, and god you didn’t want any of that.
“Hey” you said, tucking a soft blonde hair-strand behind her ear, taking a look at her. She looked so…..beautiful? No Gator no- get yourself together. She’s your best friend.
“It’s going to be okay” you whispered, trying to make her feel better, because seeing her hurt made you feel hurt.
“You think so?” she asked, taking a look at your face with her teary blue eyes. They looked even more blue now.
“I mean— I- I can try to um make it?” you said unsure.
“How?” she asked.
Instead of telling her how, you showed her. Your hand cupped her cheek and pulled her closer, closing the gap between you. Her lips were softer than you thought, it felt like you were in heaven. Her hands caught your hair, pulling herself closer to you, until suddenly, she was straddling your lap.
The kiss slowly started getting messy, you could feel her saliva on your mouth, her tongue moving slowly against yours.
Then her hand traveled under your shirt, touching your stomach, she could feel your happy trail under her finger tips, which made them travel downwards to the waistband of your boxers.
— Then suddenly you woke up, sitting straight up on the bed. No no no no you thought to yourself. There was an unusual aching feeling in between your legs, taking the blanket off, you realised. You heard in school about boys getting boners, you never got one, not until now.
This can’t be happening, she’s your best friend. You can’t ruin the friendship with her, no. What if you get closer to her and she leaves, just like your mother? What if she sees what kind of loser you are and decides she’s done with you? What if you love her and she doesn’t love you back?
What if…
*Back to original pov*
4 years later, Gator and you didn’t have a single normal conversation. Constantly avoiding each other, if you had to talk you’d argue and bully each other. You two changed, like a lot. Puberty hit you like a freight train.
Gator grew much taller with broader shoulders. He began slicking his hair back and you hated it. He transformed into a fuck boy, bringing home a different girl each week and skipping school with another. It was revolting. This wasn’t Gator; he had changed and the sad thing was there was nothing you could do about it.
And the bad thing is that he started bullying and harassing you. The girl who helped him when he fell off his bike, the girl who was there for him when his mother left, the girl who always made him laugh no matter what; the first girl he fell in love with.
summary: attending a wedding in a pretty dress gets gator all worked up to the point where he makes you go back to the hotel early
cw: smut, piv, oral (f receiving), spanking, spitting, hair pulling, rough & soft sex, soft ending, they’re so obsessed with each other it almost seems toxic
wc: 2.7k
the sun was still shining bright even as it got lower in the sky. golden light flooded the small garden where your cousins wedding reception was being held.
the ceremony was like something out of a dream, surrounded by multicoloured flowers and a green screen like backdrop.
however the whole time, sat in the second row of the crowd, gators eyes did not leave you once.
all day his eyes had been burning holes through the fabric of your dress that clung to all your curve in just the right way.
it took you ages to get out the hotel room in the first place, gator clinging to you, kissing your face so much you had to re do your make up three times.
"either you change or we're not going"
"no can do gate, only got the one dress"
"well then get naked and we'll stay here" his arms were wrapped around your waist, his face in your neck as you attempted to wiggle out of his grasp.
eventually you got gator out the hotel, being around a load of your family putting him off dry humping you for the length of your ceremony.
now, as the sun set on the outdoor venue, the orange rays bouncing off the shiny string lights and glass ornaments, gator was back on you.
"mama yer killin me"
"hmm?" you pretended not to hear him properly, avoiding his gaze from beside you as you refilled your champagne glass.
"you heard me"
your eyes flick over to him for a second as you let the bottle stopper slip from your hands and roll across the table.
you waited until it reached the edge, watching in your peripheral, before bending over and leaning across the table to catch the stopper, pushing out your hips right in-front of gator.
he didn't even pretend to look elsewhere, shamelessly staring right at your ass, hands lifting up instinctively to grab it.
"gator!" you jumped, spinning around.
"don't do that"
"don't do what?"
"act like ya don't know what ya doin" he stepped forward, causing you to strain your neck looking up at him.
"not acting"
"yer-"
"jessica!" you cut gator off, spinning around at the sight of your newly wed cousin, turning your back on gator.
you held your arm out for a hug, brushing your hair over your shoulder, giving gator a full view of the low back on your dress.
as you embrace your cousin, twisting your body slightly to show off the curve of your waist, gator's jaw tightens, his hands twitching by his sides.
after an agonising long 4 minutes of watching you converse with jess in high pitched voices over a whole lot of nothing, you turn back slowly, bringing your glass up to your mouth.
wrapping your lips around the edge as you find gators eyes, they're dark, slightly squinted with pure frustration and unadulterated lust.
"quite done?"
"with what?" you say into the glass, using it almost as a shield as gator shakes his head slowly, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek.
as much it was taking you just as much willpower not to jump his bones, you knew he was worse at hiding his temptation so teasing him was high on your priories for entertainment.
"yer playing a dangerous game young lady"
"maybe i like the game"
"i think you like the consequences"
you raise your eyebrows, stepping forward and brushing past gator towards a small circle of your closest family.
"cmon, just a bit longer" you subtly reached out to take his hand.
he groaned loudly and aggressively even though he closed his large fingers around your smaller ones with a stark contrast of gentleness.
joining the group, gator draped himself over you from behind, his head on your shoulder, looking completely innocent as he took advantage of the noise to whisper into your ear.
"gonna fuckin ruin ya when we're outa here"
you nodded and smiled politely along with your families conversations, trying to ignore the heat rushing south to your core.
"yer blushin doll"
"youre hard"
jaw clenching again, gators fingers dug into your sides, pulling you a step away from the group, not amused by your attitude one bit.
"i've had enough"
"wh- what?" you turned around slightly, finding gators face to be a lot closer to you own than you were expecting.
"we're leaving"
"now?"
"yes"
"sure" you scoffed.
"i don't like this fuckin attitude"
"why? you're the reason f'it"
he takes a step back, exhaling slowly as he did, eyes flicking over you, your family, the venue.
"what's that my darlin?" he starts up, loudly and put on.
"gate?" you whisper, cheeks already flushing with incoming attention.
"got a headache? might be a migraine ya know"
he reaches out and takes your whole face in his large palms, brushing away stray baby hairs with that same contrasting gentleness, furrowing his brows with faux sympathy.
in an instant, all the women in your family found and surrounded you, sharing sympathetic 'awhs' and 'ohs' until you found yourself being told-
"sweetheart you should really go, you do look awfully unwell"
you stare back at your aunt blankly, offence simmering dangerously close to showing on your apparently 'sickly looking' face.
gator stood behind you, not even bothering to conceal the smug smile that had his lips in a chokehold.
"yeah cmon sweets, let's get you back"
his hands guided you away from the crowds, at least letting you find your cousin to say goodbye first before he swooped you off your feet and carried you towards the hotel entrance, ironically bridal style.
you reach the lifts where gator kindly sets you on the ground not letting you go far out of his hold.
as you get in the lift, his lips finally meet yours for the first time all night. his tongue forces past your lips, tasting the champagne you never got to finish.
he presses you up against the cold metal wall of the list, causing you to gasp against his mouth which he took to his advantage, deepening the kiss.
the ping of the lift stopping pulls you out of each others mouths too soon for your liking, gator grabbing your upper arm to hastily pull you out of the small box.
quickly checking down the halls, gator takes your hips, hauling you up and over his shoulder without hesitation.
"gator!" you squeal.
"quiet ma- don't wanna disturb anyone do ya?"
he smacks your ass through your dress, rubbing the side of his face into your hip as he makes the short walk down the hall towards your room.
"ah fuck- the card" he groaned, setting you back down on the floor once again. "gimme"
"ask nicely"
"don't do-"
"gator" speaking in a singsong tone, you clutched your bag, turning it away slightly as he reached out to snatch it.
"please gimme the card"
without breaking eye contact, or the thick tension between you, you reach into your bag, fiddling around and pulling out the keycard.
"pain in my ass you are" he snatched the card out of your fingers.
"you love the pain"
he flashed you a playful smile as he opened the door, his hand finding your lower back to push you past the threshold.
he kicks the door shut behind him, lips already back on yours, both your hands pulling at each others expensive evening attire as he toes off his shoes clumsily.
you rid him of his blazer, pulling frantically at his tie and shirt buttons beneath it. he fumbled over the zipper on the side of your dress after spending far too long trying to unzip fabric across your back that had no zip.
"fuckin- stupid- size- zip" he mumbled against your lips, pulling it down with a harsh sound that you swore was the seams ripping.
you shimmied out of the silky fabric, leaving you in just a delicate pair of lace panties and stiletto heels. gator pulled back to look at you, taking you all in like a prize he worked so hard for.
"hey cmon- we're not even" you gesture to your bodies.
"such a bossy thing arent we"
instead of answering, you undo his belt, pulling it smoothly off his waist, letting it drop to the floor along with his shirt and tie.
as your both working on his dress trousers, the backs of your knees hit the big king bed in the middle of the room.
wobbling on your feet, one of gators hands shot out to grab your wait as you steady yourself with his larger frame.
"steady on mama" he laughs, kicking his trousers off all the way. "cmere"
he lifts you by your hips, stepping back to throw you into the middle of the bed from the foot of it.
"been waiting f'this all fuckin night"
gator pulled your knees, leaning down onto the bed between your legs as he forced them apart.
after slowly taking off your heels, he licked up the insides of your thighs, messily kissing over the fabric of your panties, groaning into them at the taste of your arousal that had seeped through.
"gate" your breathing was erratic with anticipation, catching when you saw him spit onto the fabric.
his lips latched onto your covered clit, sucking it through the lace. your hips bucked up into his face, despite his hands trying to hold you still.
heat bubbled low in your belly, the friction of the lacy fabric adding to the already overwhelming pleasure from gator, making your body jerk and legs tremble around his head.
your fingers found his hair, pulling it out of the gel cast frantically as your back arched with the sudden wave of your orgasm washing through.
with a loud cry of his name he pulled off you, just long enough to peel away your wet, sticky panties, watching as they clung to your puffy lips.
"hadn't even got these off and yet fallin apart" gator groaned as he dipped his head back down between your thighs.
chocking out a moan, you felt gators tongue push through your slick folds and flick over your sensitive clit, still throbbing with the aftershocks of your climax.
"gate- too much"
instead of listening to you, he dragged two rough fingertips up your slit, teasing your dripping entrance to make you shiver before plunging them inside.
wrapping his lips around your bare clit, he curled his fingers up against your spongey walls, bringing you close to another high.
"aah- mffh- gator"
"i can feel ya squeezing, baby- cum all over my fingers"
his words vibrating into your core sent you over the edge, pulling another devastating orgasm out of you, your eyes tightly shut and jaw slack in a broken cry.
he rode out your high until you'd stopped shaking quite as violently, climbing up your body to lock his lips onto yours. you kissed him back with desperation, teeth clashing, tasting yourself on his tongue.
finding the strength in your weak joints, you sit up and push gator to the side. he fell onto the mattress beside you, your body settling half on his in an attempt to keep him down.
with his mouth still on yours, you palmed him through his tented underwear, making him groan against you. you dipped your fingers under the band, immediately finding a small slick patch on his skin.
you let your fingers gently dance over the velvety skin of his cock, swiping pre cum from his slit until gator had had enough.
"yer fuckin-" he pushed you off him, back down onto the mattress. "always such a tease"
kneeling up, he took your hip, rolling you roughly onto your stomach before settling between your legs. he grabbed your hips with no longer gentle hands and pulled your ass back, forcefully arching your back.
"think it's funny to drive me insane all night- then keep up that little attitude back here?"
his palm connected with your ass with a sharp sound from the contact, and from your throat.
"when i said you like the consequences" another smack, making you whine. "i think i was right ya know"
you knew better than to talk back, especially when gator was right. each smack to your ass had your pussy clenching around nothing, and he could see it.
before you could whine anymore, gator was bullying the fat head of his cock into your tight cunt. not before he spat down on where you connected a couple times, pulling his tip out to smear his saliva all over your already dripping wet core.
he didn't stop for a second once he slid all the way in, stop to feel you around him, stop you let you adjust. he set a brutal pace immediately, tearing broken cries from your chest, making the headboard slam against the wall.
"this what ya wanted sugar? huh?"
"yeaaah"
"what was that?" his hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head out of the pillow that was muffling your moans.
"this- i wanted"
"fuckin knew ya did- dirty girl" he let your hair go, hands returning to press bruises into your hips.
you were a mess underneath him, teetering on the edge of another orgasm, so worked up and over sensitive from gators tongue.
"fuck- you gonna cum again- gonna cum all over my cock this time?" his hand slipped around your front to find your clit as he could tell you were close.
"please" you chocked out at the sudden attention to your overworked nerves.
"go on mama- let go f'me"
you did. your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, white hot pleasure soaring though your veins, your legs giving out from underneath you, dropping flat onto the mattress. gator fell over you, his face pressing into yours, slowing his pace.
"cmon sweets, turn over f'me- you're okay" his nose nudges against yours, his lips pressing kisses to any part of your cheek that he can.
still shaking, he pulls out slowly, helping you turn onto your back and your head to find a pillow. your legs unconsciously open back up for him, in which gator smirks proudly.
with softer hands, he pushes back in, watching himself disappear into your slick heat, transfixed at the creamy ring that has formed around his base.
"jesus- look at that- she's just sucking me right back in"
when he reached the hilt, he leant back over you, taking your legs up to wrap over his back. your arms locked around his neck as he braced himself on his forearms right by your head.
the only way that you two would be closer is if you literally got inside his skin, even though you were pretty sure somewhere along the line you already were.
"squeezing me so good mama- 'm so close"
"i- mffh"
gator buried his head in your neck, kissing and biting the skin as his hips rolled in a steady rhythm, each thrust felt like he was rearranging your insides.
"stay with me yeah? i want one more from ya"
"yeah- close-" you mewled, finding his lips with your own in a lazy, messy kiss.
your nails scratched down his back as gators hips rolled quicker, frantically chasing his own, desperately sort after release.
"fuck- sugar- i'm gonna- aah"
with a deep, chesty groan gator came, filling you up with a heavy load, rope after rope of hot cum until it was dripping out from around his length.
the sensation of gator painting your soft walls pulled one final, softer, orgasm out of you, leaving you feeling all fuzzy and warm and boneless.
"fuck mama- ya alright?"
"so good" you smiled, fucked out and blissful.
gator rolled over, keeping you tight to his chest, and his dick plugged in your cunt. you sprawled out over his chest listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat settling down.
his hands traced soft patterns over your back as his smiling lips pressed little kissed into your hair.
"could be us one day mama" he croaked out after a beat of quiet, his words vibrating against your cheek.
"huh?"
"a wedding"
you peeled your eyes open, using all your energy to lean on your forearm and look up at gator.
"you saying ya wanna marry me gator tillman?" you teased.
"don't do that-" he goes to dismiss you automatically looking away but only for a second when he sees your little blush that he knows isn't just from the way he fucked you.
"course i wanna marry ya sweets- im gonna marry ya"
Hi!!! Can I request a fic where Joe keeps an old Polaroid photo of him and reader in his wallet? Maybe like the first photo they ever taken together on the night they met? And reader finds the picture in his wallet?
Thank you so much!!
“the first picture”
☆ joe keery x fem!reader ☆
hi !! i literally wrote this one in an hour😭 i absolutely loved this request and i really hope i did it justice. english still isn’t my first language, so i’m sorry if there are any mistakes or weird sentences <3 requests are open btw !!
summary: after borrowing joe’s wallet for a quick grocery run, you accidentally discover something hidden behind one of the card slots—a worn-out polaroid from the very first night you met. what starts as an ordinary tuesday afternoon turns into a quiet reminder that some memories never really leave us.
word count:
warnings: established relationship, fluff, slight angst (insecurities), kissing, emotional conversations, grocery store setting, no use of y/n
The hallway was quiet, save for the rhythmic, metallic clinking of guitar pedals being shifted across the hardwood floor.
“Can I steal your wallet for five minutes?” you called out, leaning against the doorframe of the living room.
Joe barely looked up from where he was sitting cross-legged, a tangle of black patch cables pooled around his ankles like sleeping snakes. He’d been insisting since Tuesday that he was finally going to organize his pedalboard, but mostly he just seemed to be rearranging the chaos into slightly different piles of chaos.
“Hm?” he murmured, his fingers still wrapped around a battered distortion pedal.
“I left mine upstairs.”
Without breaking his concentration, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his worn, dark leather wallet, and tossed it toward you through the air in one fluid, practiced motion.
You caught it against your chest with both hands.
“You trust me way too much,” you said, examining the scuffed edges of the leather.
“I really don’t have another choice,” Joe replied, finally lifting his head, a faint, lopsided smile ghosting over his lips.
“You could’ve said no.”
“You would’ve taken it anyway.”
“…Fair.”
He wasn’t wrong. The grocery store was only three blocks away, nestled right on the corner of the busy avenue, and all you needed was coffee, a carton of oat milk, and the vanilla yogurt you’d accidentally finished the night before while watching old episodes of Columbo. It certainly wasn’t worth climbing three flights of creaking stairs just to fetch your own purse from the bedroom dresser.
You slipped Joe’s wallet into the pocket of your canvas tote bag and shifted your weight toward the front door.
“Love you,” you called over your shoulder.
“Love you,” he echoed automatically, already looking back down at a stray power supply.
The exchange was completely automatic now. As natural as breathing, or leaving your shoes by the entryway, or knowing instinctively which way the front door latch needed to be jiggled so it wouldn’t stick.
The bodega was warm, smelling faintly of roasted coffee beans and damp pavement from the afternoon drizzle. It wasn’t until you were standing near the front register, absentmindedly waiting for the woman directly in front of you to finish a remarkably intense argument with the cashier over the expiration date of a half-gallon of orange juice, that you finally reached into your tote to grab the wallet.
You pulled out his debit card, sliding your thumb over the raised numbers.
You pulled out his driver’s license, noting the slightly chaotic expression in the photo that always made you laugh.
A couple of crumpled receipts from a hardware store downtown.
A silver guitar pick with a worn edge.
You paused, frowning slightly as your thumb brushed against a thicker section tucked deep within the leather folds.
Why do you even keep this? you thought, assuming it was some old business card or a loyalty punch-card for a diner three towns over that he’d visited once while on tour.
When you went to slide his debit card back into its designated slot, something caught your eye—a sliver of stark white cutting through the dark leather.
Not a receipt.
Not a note.
A photograph.
Curious, you carefully pinched the edge with your fingertips and slid it out into the fluorescent light of the store.
The white border of the instant film was soft from years of being handled, the edges slightly rounded and worn down from slipping in and out of card slots. There was a tiny, faint crease running diagonally across one corner, proving it had lived inside this specific leather pocket through at least two different wallets and countless cross-country flights.
You looked down at the image.
And immediately, everything around you—the hum of the refrigerated cases, the cashier’s sigh, the rustle of plastic bags—seemed to fade completely away.
It was you.
Well, both of you.
Joe couldn’t have been older than twenty-three or twenty-four when it was taken, still practically a kid navigating the strange, disorienting blur of sudden visibility and quiet anonymity. His hair was significantly longer back then, falling into his eyes in thick, messy waves that he kept pushing back with an impatient hand.
He wasn’t looking at the camera.
He was looking at you.
It wasn’t the smile everyone else knew. It wasn't the bright, camera-ready grin from red carpets, nor the exaggerated, goofy smirk he’d flash during interviews when he wanted to deflect a silly question.
It was the small one.
The quiet, private one that only ever surfaced when he forgot anyone else was in the room. The one that felt like a secret kept just between the two of you.
In the photo, you were laughing so hard your eyes were completely shut against the flash, one of your hands tightly wrapped around the thick sleeve of his vintage denim jacket while the other held out the bulky plastic frame of the instant camera.
The date was scrawled at the bottom in fading, watery blue ink.
October.
Your very first night together.
“…No way,” you whispered under your breath, earning a brief, sideways glance from the woman with the orange juice.
You hadn’t seen this picture in years. In fact, you weren't even entirely sure you’d ever seen it fully develop that night, given how fast the evening had spiraled into a blur of cheap wine, endless conversation, and the sudden, terrifying realization that your life had just fundamentally shifted on its axis.
That night came back to you in sharp, vivid pieces as you walked the three blocks back to the apartment, the plastic bag swaying against your knee.
You had met him through his sisters, an accidental collision of circles at a cramped apartment party where the music was too loud and the air was stifling. Someone had shoved a camera into your hands, shouting, “Wait, don’t move! Get in there!” Joe had groaned audibly, ducking his head because he notoriously hated surprise photos, muttering something about how flash photography should be outlawed after midnight.
Then the flash had gone off, blindingly bright in the dim room.
The loud, mechanical whirring sound as the square of film slowly slid out of the top slot like a tiny printing press.
Someone had grabbed it, shaking it dramatically in the air even though everyone with a passing knowledge of instant cameras knew that only risked ruining the emulsion. You’d both laughed about it, heads bumping together in the tight space, before the rest of the night had simply swept you both away.
Music playing from a laptop speakers on loop.
Talking until the sky outside turned a pale, bruised shade of purple just before dawn.
Walking home through the quiet, empty streets with your shoulders brushing against each other with every step, neither of you daring to break the fragile, electrifying tension.
You honestly and truly thought the picture had disappeared years ago. You figured it had either been lost during that frantic move across town when half your belongings ended up mixed in plastic storage bins, or accidentally thrown away in some forgotten pocket of an old winter coat.
Apparently, Joe had known exactly where it was the entire time.
When you unlocked the apartment door later that evening, the heavy scent of old wood and brewing coffee welcomed you back.
Joe was still sitting in the exact same spot on the living room floor. The guitar pedals were now arranged in a vaguely semi-circular pattern that looked suspiciously like Stonehenge, though he was currently just strumming an unplugged electric guitar and staring blankly at the wall.
He looked up as you stepped into the kitchen, dropping the neck of the guitar against his thigh.
“You were gone forever,” he noted, his voice laced with mild, theatrical grievance.
“There was a line. A woman was fighting about citrus.”
“Mhm. Sure.”
You quietly unpacked the grocery bags, putting the oat milk in the fridge and the yogurt on the top shelf, your movements deliberate and measured. You didn’t say a word.
Joe immediately picked up on the shift in the room’s atmosphere. His eyes narrowed slightly, watching you from across the open-concept kitchen.
“…Why are you being weird?” he asked, shifting his weight.
“I’m not being weird.”
“You’ve got your weird face on.”
“I do not have a weird face.”
“You have a thinking face. That’s your code for I’m about to dismantle your entire emotional baseline.”
“I don’t have a code.”
“You absolutely do.”
You finished wiping down the kitchen counter, your fingers lingering on the cool laminate surface. Then, slowly, deliberately, you reached into the pocket of your cardigan, pulled out the faded Polaroid, and set it flat against the center of the island, right between the salt shaker and the fruit bowl.
Joe stared down at it.
His expression didn’t shift into shock. There was no sudden panic, no defensive excuses, no clumsy attempt to cover it up with a joke.
Just a long, quiet moment of realization.
Like a man who had always quietly assumed that the truth would catch up to him eventually, and was almost relieved that it finally had.
“You still have it?” you asked softly, the space between you suddenly feeling very vast and very tender.
The tips of his ears turned a bright, undeniable pink.
“I guess.”
“‘I guess?’”
He shifted on the floor, finally setting the guitar down against the sofa before rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I forgot it was even in there, to be honest.”
“You forgot?”
“…Kind of.”
“Joe,” you said, stepping closer to the edge of the kitchen counter. “You’ve carried this around for…” You reached down and flipped the white border over, checking the tiny embossed numbers on the back. “…Almost ten years.”
He shrugged, offering a small, helpless half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“It stayed.”
“Joe.”
“It fit right behind the card slot.”
“Joe.”
“What?”
“Why?”
He looked down at the photograph again, his gaze softening into something so profound and unfiltered that it made your chest ache. When he finally looked back up, his eyes were clear and steady.
“…Because that’s the first picture anyone ever took of me where I looked genuinely happy,” he said, his voice dropping into that quiet, gravelly register he reserved only for late nights in the dark.
You blinked, caught entirely off guard by the absolute simplicity of it.
Before you could gather your thoughts, he kept talking, as if letting the words out for the first time felt like dropping a heavy pack after a long hike.
“And because you’re in it.”
Silence settled over the apartment, broken only by the low, steady hum of the refrigerator in the corner.
“…That’s it?” you whispered.
He looked up at you as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Isn’t that enough?”
Your chest actually hurt. Not in a sharp, sudden way, but in that slow, expanding ache that happens when someone loves you so steadily, so consistently, that you almost forget to notice it—until one tiny, ordinary Tuesday reminds you all over again just how deeply rooted you are in their life.
You walked around the counter, your footsteps making no sound on the floorboards.
You stopped right between his knees, looking down at him where he sat looking up at you from the floor.
You reached down and picked up the Polaroid one last time, holding it up between you like evidence in a trial.
“I look awful in this,” you murmured, pointing at your own face.
Joe didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second.
“You look beautiful.”
“My hair is a complete disaster—”
“I wasn’t looking at your hair.”
“My eyes are completely closed, Joe, I look like I’m sneezing.”
“I know.”
“My smile is weird and crooked.”
“I know.”
“And you still kept it through every apartment, every move, every stupid wallet upgrade?”
Joe smiled then, a real, full smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and chased away the shadows of the room. He reached up, his warm fingers wrapping gently around your wrist to lower the picture away from your face.
“I wasn’t keeping it because it was a technically perfect photograph,” he said softly, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles against your pulse point. “I was keeping it because it was the first picture I ever had of my favorite person.”
Your eyes filled with hot, sudden tears before you could even try to stop them.
“You are so annoying.”
“I know.”
“You literally made me cry over a piece of trash paper from 2016.”
“I know that too.”
“You planned this.”
“I definitely didn’t plan on you digging through my receipts while buying oat milk.”
“You absolutely planted it there to manipulate me.”
He let out a low, rumbling laugh as you finally gave in, stepping closer until your shins pressed against his knees, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck.
“I thought you lost it,” you mumbled against his collarbone, breathing in the familiar scent of laundry detergent and cedarwood.
“I almost did,” he admitted quietly, his arms coming up around your waist to pull you flush against him, anchoring you to the floor.
“When?”
“The day I switched to the new wallet last year. I took everything out, laid it all on the bed.”
“And?”
“And I looked at it for like ten minutes. Felt completely weird not seeing it in the leather pocket.”
“So you put it right back.”
“Obviously. Where else was it going to go?”
You pulled back just enough to look down into his face, a watery smile breaking through your frustration.
“You carry me around everywhere inside your pocket like a little laminated pet.”
“Pretty much,” he agreed, resting his forehead gently against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Makes the grocery runs a lot less boring.”
“…That is genuinely the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I think buying you mozzarella sticks at two in the morning ranks pretty high up there too.”
You let out a wet, breathless laugh, shaking your head against his forehead.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“…No. I don’t.”
You leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep, the kind of lingering kiss that completely erased the space between the kitchen and the hallway, between ten years ago and right now.
When you finally pulled back, resting your hands in his messy hair, Joe reached down to the floor, picked up the worn leather wallet, and quietly slid the Polaroid back into its familiar, designated slot behind the plastic sleeve.
Exactly where it had lived for years.
You watched him complete the motion, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone.
“…You’re really putting it right back?”
He looked up at you, a flicker of mock confusion in his eyes.
“Where else would it go?”
You smiled, leaning down to press one last quick, soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Nowhere else.
It had already found its place a long, long time ago.
hi!! thank you so much for reading ♡ sorry i haven’t posted anything these past few days, i’ve been traveling and haven’t really had much time to write. i’m finally back, and i absolutely loved this request, so i really hope i did it justice. as always, requests are still open, so feel free to send me anything you’d like to read next <3
thinking about laying by the pool all day with steve…. rubbing sun lotion on his back…. the faint taste of sweat on his lip when he leans down to kiss you…. shaking his wet hair all over you like a dog when he gets out the pool…. the splat of your bikini top dropping to the patio when he finally peels it off you…. UGHHHH
Omg okay so i just saw a TikTok where a girl was doing the TikTok trend “calling my bf a friend to get his reaction” and someone in the comments said “i can hear the “this is what a friend does to you huh” and all i can think about is gator tillman pls do something with that im freaking thinking about it
a/n: oh my god yes i fucking love that. also big thank you to @tellcherhesgone for helping me with this a lil <3
“friend”
tags: reader ragebaits gator (and it works), smut, p in v sex, yeahh
It started as a harmless joke. Something you saw on your phone thinking it’d probably be really funny if you could get Gator’s reaction to it.
“What’s this?” Gator looked at your phone, mildly disinterested. He didn’t really pay attention to social media trends, so this was perfect. He wouldn’t know what you were trying to do.
“It’s just a video Gator, can’t you do this for me?” You asked.
He looked at you then, rolling his eyes at the pleading look on your face. “Fine.”
You quickly set the camera down, knowing Gator wouldn’t have the patience. You pressed record, grinning, unable to keep the smirk from your lips. Gator looked at you a bit skeptically, but leaned back, facing the camera, crossing his arms so it’d bulge on camera. The show off.
“So… I got a few snacks to try on camera, with my friend Gator of course, and-”
“Excuse me?” Gator cut in, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. You ignored him.
“First, we got this spicy beef jerky, my friend here really likes-”
“The fuck?” Gator fully turned to you now, anger evident on his face. His eyebrow twitched a little, making you stifle a laugh.
“What?” You tilted your head innocently, as if you had no idea what you had done wrong.
“Wanna try that again, baby?” he said coolly, voice low. That’s how you knew you were pissing him off but he was trying to not let it show.
“Try what?” You blinked, feigning confusion. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he grumbled, “I’m not your fuckin’ friend.”
“Got no idea what you’re talking about, Gates.” You got up, internally laughing at how furious he was. You tried not to let it show, turning your back to him as you approached the table to get more snacks.
And that’s how you ended up in this position. Bent over the desk, your skirt pulled up, panties tugged down to your knees. He hadn’t bothered taking you to the bed, no, you hadn’t earned that luxury with your behavior. Because to him, being called your friend was an insult. Like he wasn’t allowed to have you at his beck and call, eager to have him leave his mark on your body to show everyone you were his. Not his friend - his.
His cock was heavy against your thigh, thrusting his fat, wet tip in and out, slow and not nearly enough. It was driving you crazy and he was enjoying it, relishing in the way it was making your thighs tremble every time he slid his tip in.
Soft, heavy breaths left your lips, your palms awkwardly pressed down against the table. Your clit pulsed against the cool air, puffy and wet — a delicious tinge of pleasure spiking through your body every time his tip nudged against it, making you sigh. But he pulled back just as quickly, not giving you an inch.
“Still gonna call me your ‘friend’?” his breath was hot against your ear, lips brushing against your jaw, setting your skin aflame.
“It- it was just a joke,” you tried to speak between soft pants. Your thighs twitched with every little contact, the way his breath fanned against your cheek, the way his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips.
“I’m not laughing,” said Gator, voice low, his tip catching against your clit once more. He hissed softly at the sensation, giving away that this was getting to him more than he was letting on. “Are you?”
You shook your head, fingers curling around the edge of the desk, pathetic moans leaving your mouth.
“Use your words, darlin’,” Gator muttered, a sharp smack against your ass sending a surprised jolt right through your body. A little squeak left your throat, and he smirked at the sound.
“No. Not laughing,” you mumbled. “Not funny.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, large fingers pushing your cheeks apart to spit on your cunt. He watched the way it dripped down your folds. You couldn’t see him, but you felt his smirk. “You wouldn’t let a friend do this to you, yeah?”
Gator’s hand slid around your face, hooking his thumb into your mouth when you tried to speak. You were drooling, spit soaking his thumb as he pressed down against your tongue.
Your lips closed around his thumb, sucking softly, earning a low groan from Gator.
Maybe he couldn’t take it anymore, or maybe he decided he was done punishing you for your silly joke. Either way, it didn’t matter. Because he finally slid his thick cock inside your aching pussy with a rough slam. Your walls fluttered, the stretch tangling a perfect mix of pain and pleasure that had you pressing back against him, aching for his cock deeper inside you.
“Mhm, that’s it,” Gator said, and your toes curled at the praise. His balls were thick, heavy against your ass. “My friend takes it so good.”
You glanced back at him over your shoulder, panting. Eyes hazy, you were already looking fucked out and he hadn’t even started moving yet.
“What, baby?” he asked, his eyelids heavy. “Don’t like being called my friend?”
He didn’t give you a chance to respond, pulling out before slamming all the way back in. Brutal, deep thrusts driving into your cunt like he was trying to make his point; carve the shape of his cock inside your pussy. Your fingers gripped the desk tighter, knees almost buckling when a particularly sharp thrust slammed right against that spot that made you dizzy, that familiar haze overtaking your senses until all you could think or feel was him.
“Say it,” he muttered, “say you’re mine.”
His hand moved to the small of your back, pushing your body further against the desk as he angled his cock deeper. The wet squelch of his dick sliding in and out filled the room, your walls squeezing tightly around him.
“I’m yours,” you said pathetically.
“Good,” said Gator, slamming into you harder, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your thighs trembled, teetering close to the edge already. “My girl.”
Then his thumb reached down, circling your puffy clit, sending another wave of pleasure over your body. His balls were heavy against you, slapping against your skin with every thrust. And you were gone.
Your body shook as your orgasm hit you, drool dripping down your chin, your knees nearly buckling again, but he held you up. Gator wasn’t far behind you, his movements turning erratic as you pulsed around his dick. You bit your lip to muffle your moans but was useless, your pathetic sounds filling the room.
“Fuck, gonna fill you up,” he groaned, breaths heavy. His fingers dug into your skin, keeping you in place as his cum filled your fluttering cunt, sending another delicious shiver down your body, still shaking from your climax.
You kept your head down, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Gator yanked your panties back up - now getting soaked with his cum that was leaking out of your still wet cunt. His touch was softer now, satisfied that he'd made his point, as he smoothed your skirt back down.
Gator picked up your phone that was still set on the table - still fucking recording. His lips twitched up, handing it to you with a lazy smirk on his face. “You should post that.”
“Funny,” you muttered, snatching your phone from his hands - but letting him lean forward and kiss you anyway. “Should we try the video again?”
“Fuck no,” he said, snatching the packet of beef jerky off the desk, settling back into the chair and tugging you onto his lap.
You hid your smirk. You’d gotten what you wanted anyway.
I’m just telling you because I’m bored that you BETTER work on the paper rings series because I need that shit thank you very much and let gator dive in DEEEEEEEEPPP, merci.
Side note: I won’t sleep, the town needs me 😈
With love, your friendly spidergirl 🕷️
I AM WORKING ON IT🤓 The first chapter is maybe 80% done!?!?!??!?!???
You've been washing Steve Harrington's car all summer long but one hot July afternoon, you finally decide to tease him back.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 3.6k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with very little plot, perv!steve, needy!steve, hint of sub!steve, steve fantasying about reader, nipple play, light temperature play, teasing, lots and lots of teasing, inappropriate use of a hose, mutual masturbation, semi-public masturbation, praise kink, steve likes being called a good boy, horse cock harrington, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: back here again with another 'this was meant to be a blurb'. hope you guys enjoy this shameless summery smut! ❤️🔥
to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page
Steve Harrington had lost count of how many times that he had been to Suds & Shine car wash over the past two months. In his defence, he liked to take good car of his car and maybe—just maybe—he liked to look at the woman who washed it for him.
He swears it had started as a completely innocent thing. Just a guy needing to wash his car after stupidly letting Max Mayfield encourage him to do doughnuts in the dirt. But when he had pulled up and saw it was you—the once quiet, slightly awkward girl who used to sit behind him in math class, apparently picking up extra shifts at your dad's car wash for the summer—he no longer really cared about his car. Not when he could see the baby pink of your bikini through your soaked shirt.
His car had a habit of getting pretty dirty very quickly after that.
It was a roasting hot July afternoon when Steve Harrington's all too familiar maroon beamer pulled into the lot.
You had been leaning against some of the old tyres piled up outside of your dad's office, reading Hollywood Wives while you remained in the shade. You were sure that it was shaping up to be the hottest day of the year and your dad had left you to man the wash by yourself.
Thankfully, it had been a relatively quiet day and now, you wouldn't have your dad watching your every move while you interacted with Steve. The thought of him alone with him made your body tingle.
"Hey, stranger," you greet him with a warm smile as he rolls his window down—that easy smile on his handsome face making your heart thump in your chest. "Fancy seein' you here again. Only been a few days, that has got to be a new record."
Steve laughs, hoping that you don't see the way the tips of his ears have turned red. He was very aware that he had been at the wash only a few days prior but it was hot and he wanted an excuse to see you, see your body dripping with suds and water. Even the thought of seeing the pebbled peaks of your nipples through your white vest top was enough to make his cock stir beneath his shorts.
"Yeah um, fuckin' bird took a shit on my bonnet so figured I should get it cleaned again," Steve explains, grinning at you like he definitely had not been rehearsing that excuse on the drive over as he opens his door and climbs out of his car.
Your mouth feels a little dry when you see the red shorts he was wearing, the ones that stretched deliciously over his thighs. Then there was the white tank top he wore, one that gave you a perfect peak at the dark hair that adorned his chest, one that showed those incredible biceps of his and displayed his skin tanned from the sun, peppered with freckles and moles that you wanted to explore with your mouth.
You're quick to pull yourself back to the present, your eyes flickering down to the small splatter of white and dark brown on the bonnet that you can't help but smile at. You could see right through this guy.
"Of course. Can't have that, can we?" you say with a wry smile before turning around so that you could bend down to grab a large bucket full of cleaning supplies that waited beside the tyres, allowing Steve to look shamelessly at your ass as you did.
You busy yourself with grabbing the rest of the gear—the hose, the wash mitts, wheel brushes and a spare bucket while Steve watches, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as you lean down to fill up one of the buckets with soapy water, which allows him a clear view of your cleavage. He feels his traitorous cock swelling beneath his shorts already.
"So," you begin as you start by cleaning off the bird shit on the bonnet with a wet rag. "You got any plans this evening, Harrington?"
"Um," Steve begins, adjusting his stance so that you didn't see the growing bulge forming beneath his shorts. "Yeah. I um, I have a date."
Steve did not know what had possessed him to say those words. He did not, in fact, have a date tonight. In actuality, Steve had been planning to head straight home after the wash and fist his cock thinking about your tits in that tank top. But he couldn't tell you that.
You falter for the briefest of seconds when he mentions he was going on a date, something that felt an awful lot like disappointment swirling in your gut. You had thought, perhaps stupidly, that Steve might actually like you. That perhaps he was soon going to pluck up the courage and ask you out. But no, Steve Harrington was going on a date tonight with someone who wasn't you.
For a moment, you remain quiet. Despite the confidence you had gained from the years after high school, despite the fact you were no longer an awkward teenager, you found yourself feeling the way that you did back then. Inadequate. Not enough for a hot jock like Steve.
"Sounds fun. Hope you have a good time," you say finally as you finish scrubbing up the bird mess from the bonnet before you bend down to start cleaning the wheels.
You would have cleaned the rest of his car in complete silence, would have let the thought of him going on a date remain on your mind the entire wash. But then you remembered that you were completely alone with Steve and that you weren't the same shy, quiet girl you were in high school.You were a grown woman.
And so, if you wanted to fuck with him a little before his little date—you could do so.
You finish cleaning the wheels and tyres before you stand up straight, glancing over your shoulder to see Steve looking at you. You smile at him sweetly before turning your attention back to his car.
You grab the hose, turning it on to give his car a pre-rinse of loose dust and dirt (one that wasn't at all necessarily, considering he had only had his car washed on Monday) before you look over at him again.
"It's pretty fuckin' hot today," you comment, glancing up at the sun that was beating down on your exposed skin.
"Yeah," Steve says, a little distracted by the image he had of himself kissing up your exposed neck, of him licking the sweat off your skin as his hands roam all over your body, his hands slipping beneath those denim shorts and finding you already soaking wet—
Steve shakes his head, trying to stop his imagination from derailing any further and making his cock any harder than it already was.
"Yeah. It is really hot."
God—now he was stating the fucking obvious. He wondered what the hell had happened to the guy who once only needed to smile at a girl for her to drop her panties for him.
Oh yeah—you happened.
It was quiet again then, the only sounds being the water dripping onto the beamer. You lean unnecessarily over the front bonnet, not bothering to pull your shorts down as they ride up the backs of your thighs, exposing the very bottom of your ass cheeks for Steve to gawk at. Which he does—shamelessly.
You switch off the hose, grabbing the spray nozzle from the supply bucket and twisting it onto the hose pipe before you turn to look at a very flustered looking Steve.
"Did you mind if I take my top off?" You ask him, tilting your head to the side with a sickly sweet smile as you watch Steve's eyes widen. "Don't worry, I have a bikini on underneath. It's just—it's really hot—"
"—y-yes,” Steve stutters out quickly, breathless with want, heat prickling up his neck that had nothing to do with the summer sun and everything to do with you. “Ye-eah, if it’s hot for you then I don’t—”
The words die on his tongue, in fact, any coherent thought that Steve has disappears at the sight of you pulling your tank top off over your head. The sight of the cherry red bikini you were wearing beneath was nothing short of torture for Steve. Your tits looked—fuck—incredible, the material of your bikini hugging your breasts perfectly and making Steve’s shorts feel way too tight.
You could see Steve’s reaction. It was hard not to miss the large tent that had formed at the front of his red shorts. You can’t help but look because you had heard so many rumours over the years about how big Steve Harrington’s cock was and now—now you could see the clear, thick outline of it through those shorts of his. The undeniable evidence that yes, Steve Harrington’s cock was fucking huge.
And fuck, if the sight of it didn’t make your pussy throb.
You turn the hose on, switching to the soft shower setting as you spray Steve’s car like you weren’t already thinking of your next move, thinking about a way to make Steve Harrington lose his damn mind.
“Just gonna—try and cool down a bit,” you tell Steve, turning to face him with the hose still spraying water in your hand.
Steve blinks back at you, too dazed, too turned on to really understand anything you were saying to him. He just nods, his lips parting as he tries to form a reply.
But you don’t wait for him to do so.
You raise the hose above your head, letting the spray drench your upper body. It was cold and you let out a small, satisfied moan at the feeling of the water cooling your too hot skin. You feel the goosebumps forming over your skin, feel your nipples harden beneath the material of your bikini and you can’t help but look over at Steve to gauge his reaction. When you see him looking at you like you were the most delicious thing he had ever laid eyes on, you don’t hesitate to lower the spray directly onto your breasts.
The cold water hitting your tits directly makes you squeal, coupled with the feeling of your sensitive peaks rubbing against the material of your bikini makes something hot surge through your body.
“Feels s’good,” you moan out, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you tilt your head back, feeling the water drip down over your stomach and into your denim shorts.
You can’t see Steve but you certainly hear the way he takes in a shuddering breath.
You switch the hose off, glancing down at your bikini top that was now completely soaked through, your perked nipples poking through the material and making Steve forget every single word in the English language.
“I b-bet it d-does,” Steve manages to say, his throat feeling too tight, his cock now so hard that it was almost painful. “Ni-nice and w-wet, huh?”
“Yeah, huh,” you smile at him, your eyes dropping back down to the bulge that had formed his shorts for the briefest of seconds before you look back up at his stupidly handsome face. “I’m so wet, Stevie.”
Steve lets out a noise—something that almost sounded like a whimper and the sound goes straight to your throbbing cunt.
“T-that so?” Steve asks, his hands now twitching with the effort it was taking him to not palm himself over his shorts, to give himself some relief from the aching he was feeling from between his thighs. He could feel himself leaking already. You just looked so fucking hot, your top half completely drenched, water dripping down the valley of your breasts and your fucking nipples—
You let out a small tut, glancing down at your denim shorts that were also now beginning to drip with water.
“These might have to come off too,” you hum, your fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of the denim and causing Steve’s eyes to nearly bulge out of his head. “Is that okay with you, Stevie?”
Steve can only nod, completely unable to form a sentence as your words finally register.
“Words, Stevie,” you tell him, one of your hands trailing upwards, gliding over your wet skin to cup one of your breasts over your bikini. “Be a good boy and use your words.”
You weren’t entirely sure what had gotten into you. Sure, the car wash wasn’t in the middle of town but you were still very much at risk for getting caught if another customer pulled in. But maybe it was the heat finally getting to you or maybe it was the fact that Steve Harrington was stood less than eight feet away from you, hard as a fucking rock all because you decided to fuck with him.
And you certainly weren’t going to stop now.
“Yes,” Steve grits out finally, his jaw tight as he watches you roll your nipple between two fingers, pleasure blooming across your face at the sensation. “Yes, please—fuck—take ‘em off too.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you hum, your hands returning to the waistband of your shorts to unbutton them.
Steve Harrington had never looked so desperate. You watch, your shorts pooling at your feet, as Steve runs one of his large hands through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands as though that would offer him some kind of relief.
“You good, Stevie?” You ask him as you switch the hose back on, blasting a spray of cold water to your stomach, causing your body to jolt and sending a shot of pleasure through your body. You were so ridiculously turned on, cleaning Steve’s car was at the very back of your mind as you felt heat pooling between your thighs. That feeling, almost like molten lava surging directly to your core, made any rational thought leave your mind entirely.
“You can touch yourself y’know,” you tell him, your own voice completely breathless, mostly from the cold water spraying over your warm skin but also from the fact Steve Harrington was looking at you as though he wanted nothing more than to devour you.
Steve groans—he actually fucking groans—at your words, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as one of his hands rest on his soft tummy, tugging it up slightly and revealing a dark trail of hair that disappeared into his shorts. That sight made your cunt clench around nothing.
“You sure?” Steve asks you, his hips bucking upwards in a not so subtle way, trying to seek some relief. “I don’t—I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
You almost roll your eyes, he was being so kind, so considerate and so Steve that you felt your heart beat a little faster in your chest.
But you also wanted him to take a fucking hint.
“Touch yourself,” you tell him, switching the setting on the nozzle with one hand as the other directs the spray directly towards your covered cunt. “I want you to watch me and I want you to touch yourself.”
Steve didn’t even have time to comprehend what you were about to do, didn’t have time to prepare himself for what was about to happen. And so, the moment that you move the hose between your legs, directing the spray right against your covered clit—that was the moment Steve Harrington lost all sense of control.
Steve lets out a loud, shameless groan of your name, a sound that you hope you would never forget before he hastily tugs down his shorts, his boxers quick to follow.
Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for the first sight of Steve Harrington’s cock. It was fucking beautiful. Long, thick and impossibly heavy. The audible smack that it made as it slaps against his soft tummy makes your mouth feel dry. You couldn’t help but notice how the ruddy tip was leaking, how precum was dribbling down a vein that bulged down his length.
“You’re so fucking big, Stevie,” you tell him, completely breathless as you press the nozzle against your clothed cunt, a moan slipping out as the pressure hits your swollen clit and causing your thighs clench around the hose. “S’fucking big.”
“Fuck,” He groans, one hand gripping the stack of tyres beside him to steady himself while the other wraps around the base of his thick cock. “You’re so fucking hot, I—”
Whatever Steve was about to say was almost entirely drowned out by the sound of his own moan as he began to stroke his cock. The sight was truly something to marvel at. His handsome face twisted in pleasure as he began to fuck his fist, the hair he had been famous for in high school now falling in front of his eyes, completely dishelved as he lost himself in watching you continue to press the nozzle between your thighs, watching your tits bounce with every movement and listening to the sweet sounds of pleasure falling from your lips.
“Look at you, Stevie,” you gasp out, a smile tugging on your lips as you watch him pump his thick cock desperately, his eyes darting between the nozzle between your thighs and your face contorted with pleasure. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?”
He whimpers. King Steve, Steve the hair Harrington fucking whimpers at your words and you swear, you could had gotten off to that sound alone.
“Yes,” he groans out, his hand twisting as he reaches the tip of his cock, hips canting up into every stroke. “Only for you, baby.”
Your stomach tightened. Your body felt as though it was burning, pleasure was surging through every cell in your body at the pet name. You wanted nothing more than to drop the damn hose, get on your knees and take Steve’s cock into your mouth until your jaw ached. But you couldn’t give him what he wanted. Not yet anyway.
But you needed more, you needed something because you were so close and you knew Steve was too. You could hear it in those small groans and whimpers he was letting out, could see it in the way he was biting down on his bottom lip so much that he was in danger of drawing blood.
And so, you lean back against his car, one hand pulling the nozzle slightly away from your body as the other tugs down your bikini bottoms, exposing your soaked cunt to the hot summer air.
Steve looks as though he was in physical pain from holding back as he gets a full view of your glistening wet pussy. You watch, heart hammering, as his tongue swipes along his lower lip, as though he was desperate for a taste.
But you wouldn’t give him that—you just wanted to give him something to remember when he was on that fucking date tonight.
You direct the water directly against your clit and the moan you let out surely could have been heard from miles away. Pleasure shoots through you, so intense that you had to grab onto Steve’s car behind you with your free hand so you wouldn’t lose your footing.
“Stevie,” you gasp out, your hips jerking upwards as you chase that feeling again. “Stevie, are you—”
“—yeah,” Steve groans out, the wet sounds of him fucking his fist with his precum meeting your ears and making the heat burning inside of you feel even more intense. “Yeah, baby. I’m—I’m s’fucking close. Gonna cum. Gonna cum fuckin’ watching you. You’re so fuckin’ good. So fuckin’ hot, baby.”
You mewl out, white hot pleasure consuming you as cold water blasted against your swollen clit. It was too much, the pressure, the fact that Steve Harrington was fucking watching you, that he was getting off and that you weren’t even fucking touching. It was so hot. It was so fucking hot and you could feel the pressure—building, building, building and—
Steve lets out a sound, one that was almost animalistic in its desperation. And you watch as he spills white ropes of his cum down onto the hot concrete and the sight of how much fucking cum was coating the asphlat was what tipped you right over the edge with him.
You let out a wanton moan, one that ripped from the very back of your throat, one that you felt deep within your bones. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your thighs shook, your release mixing with the water being sprayed from the nozzle and Steve’s name fell from your lips like it belonged there.
You didn’t know how long both of you stood there—you still leaning against Steve’s car for support and Steve bracing himself against the tyres. All you knew was that when you finally found the courage to look over at Steve—you found that he was already looking right at you.
“I don’t actually have a date tonight,” he tells you, leaning down to pull up his shorts and boxers that he pooled at his feet while you mirror his actions, switching off the hose and tugging your bikini bottoms back up. “I don’t—I don’t know why I told you that I did but I—”
“—do you want one?” You ask him, your voice still a little breathless from the intensity from your orgasm.
Steve blinks, seemingly confused at your words as he looks at you quizzically. “I don’t know what you—”
It then seems to hit him, he seems to understand the meaning of your words and the smile that breaks out across his face was so breathtakingly beautiful that you couldn’t look away.
And when he takes a step closer, you feel as though he has stolen the air from your lungs.
“With you?” Steve asks softly, leaning in to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers then lingering on the warm skin of your cheek. “Of course I fucking do.”
Summary: At a tense Tillman family dinner, you finally kill your old lipliner. Your pervert stepbrother Gator notices immediately and offers you a fancy new one right there at the table. What starts as a “helpful” touch-up quickly turns into something much filthier in the bathroom, his truck, and his bed. Gator’s always been a little too attentive to your mouth…
Word count: 5.8K
Warnings: NSFW, explicit smut, oral sex (m/receiving), unprotected p/v sex, step siblings incest, dubious consent/power imbalance, crude language & dirty talk, slight exhibitionism risk, Gator’s canon typical daddy issues & insecurity mixed with heavy perv behavior, no plot just horny
A/N: going back to my stepbro!gator roots with this one lol. Hope I still got it!
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The fluorescent lights in the Tillman kitchen buzzed like angry hornets overhead, casting a harsh glow over the chipped Formica table and the mismatched plates piled with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans swimming in canned mushroom soup. It was another one of those mandatory family dinners, Roy Tillman’s way of pretending the household wasn’t a pressure cooker of resentment and old scars. You sat squeezed between the edge of the table and Gator’s broad shoulder, your stepbrother’s knee occasionally brushing yours under the tablecloth like it was an accident. It never was.
You were the outsider who’d somehow become family when your mom married Roy a couple years back. Not blood, thank God, but close enough that Roy treated you like another extension of his empire: quiet, obedient, useful. Gator, though? Gator treated you like something he wanted to poke at until it squirmed.
Dinner had dragged on with Roy droning about some case, his voice all gravel and authority, while Gator slouched in his deputy uniform, vape pen tucked behind his ear like a trophy. He’d been watching you the whole meal, those restless hazel eyes flicking from your face to your hands and back again. You tried to ignore it, focusing on scraping the last bit of color from your lips with the cheap drugstore lipliner you’d been nursing for weeks.
The tube was ancient, the product worn down to a nub. You twisted it up one final time, angling the mirror of your compact under the table so no one would notice, and swiped it across your lower lip with a quick, practiced motion. The color came out patchy, more habit than pigment at this point. You pressed your lips together, blending, then capped it with a soft click that somehow cut through the low hum of conversation.
Gator’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. His lips twitched into that crooked, shit-eating grin he wore like armor. “Well, shit,” he drawled, loud enough for the table to hear but casual enough that Roy just grunted in annoyance. “You finally killed it, huh? That poor little pencil’s been hangin’ on by a thread for months.”
Heat crept up your neck. Everyone glanced over, Roy with his perpetual scowl, your mom offering a polite but tired smile, even the distant cousin who’d shown up uninvited. You shoved the empty tube into your pocket, muttering, “It’s fine. I’ll get a new one tomorrow.”
Gator leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He was built like someone who spent more time lifting weights in the station gym than actually doing paperwork: tall, broad-shouldered, with that messy dark hair he kept pushing back like he was in a damn cologne ad. “Nah, don’t bother with that cheap crap. I got somethin’ better.”
You blinked. “What?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his tactical vest, because of course he wore the damn thing to dinner and pulled out a sleek black tube. It looked expensive, the kind of brand you’d see in those glossy makeup ads with models pouting in infinity pools. Gator twirled it between his fingers like a cigarette, his eyes never leaving your mouth.
“New lipliner,” he said, voice dropping just a notch, that pervert edge slipping in like smoke. “Saw you finishin’ the old one right here in front of God and everybody. Figured you might need a refill. This one’s the good shit—long-wear, won’t smear when you’re… y’know. Eatin’. Or whatever.”
The “whatever” hung there, heavy and suggestive. Your mom cleared her throat, but Roy just chuckled low, like his son’s weird little gifts were normal bonding. Gator’s knee pressed firmer against yours now, deliberate. You could feel the heat through his jeans.
“Thanks,” you said flatly, reaching for it.
He pulled it back just out of reach, grinning wider. “Hold up. Lemme see if it matches first. C’mere.”
Before you could protest, Gator scooted his chair closer, the legs scraping loud against the linoleum. His free hand cupped your chin, fingers rough from years of gripping steering wheels and guns, but surprisingly gentle as he tilted your face toward the light. The table went quiet again. Roy muttered something about “kids these days,” but didn’t stop him. Gator’s thumb brushed just below your lower lip, wiping away a nonexistent smudge.
“Open up a little,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear the pervert lilt in it. His breath smelled like the mint vape he’d been hitting earlier mixed with the faint tang of the beer he’d snuck despite Roy’s rules. “Gotta make sure it don’t look like clown paint on you.”
Your heart hammered. This was classic Gator, pushing boundaries in front of everyone because he knew no one would call him on it. Not really. He was Roy’s boy, the deputy who could flash a badge and make problems disappear. You parted your lips slightly, more out of shock than obedience, and he uncapped the liner with his teeth, the plastic clicking softly.
He leaned in closer than necessary, his face inches from yours. Those eyes, dark and hungry locked on your mouth like it was the only thing in the room. The tip of the pencil touched your cupid’s bow first, cool and waxy, gliding with a precision that surprised you. Gator’s hand was steady, but his breathing wasn’t. You could see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, the faint flush creeping under his stubble.
“Stay still, sweetheart,” he whispered, the word dripping with that fake-sweet tone he used when he wanted something. “Wouldn’t want to mess it up. Though… bet it’d look pretty smeared anyway.”
Your stomach twisted, half embarrassment, half something warmer and more dangerous. The rest of the family was pretending to eat, forks clinking awkwardly, but you felt their eyes. Gator didn’t care. He traced the liner along your upper lip with agonizing slowness, then the lower, his thumb still anchoring your chin. When he finished, he didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he rubbed his thumb across your bottom lip, “blending” it, pressing just hard enough to feel the give of soft skin.
“Perfect,” he said, voice husky. “Matches your pretty little mouth just right. Bet it tastes good too.”
“Gator,” your mom started, half-scolding, but Roy waved her off with a grunt.
“Boy’s just bein’ helpful. Ain’t that right, son?”
Gator finally leaned back, but not before his fingers lingered a second too long, brushing your jaw. He capped the liner and tossed it into your lap under the table, where it landed warm from his pocket. “Keep it. I got more where that came from. Figured you’d run out eventually, the way you’re always playin’ with your lips at the table.”
You clutched the tube, cheeks burning. Dinner resumed in strained silence, but Gator’s gaze stayed glued to you. Every time you licked your lips, testing the new color, the smooth glide, he smirked like he’d won some private game.
Later, after the plates were cleared and Roy had retreated to his study with a cigar, you escaped to the upstairs bathroom to wash up. The house was old, creaky, full of shadows and the faint smell of gun oil and leather. You stared at your reflection: the lipliner looked expensive on you, a deep berry shade that made your mouth look fuller, poutier. It suited you too well.
The door clicked open without a knock. Gator slipped in, locking it behind him with a soft snick. He filled the small space immediately, tall frame, broad chest in that tight black tee under the unbuttoned deputy shirt, jeans slung low on his hips.
“Couldn’t wait to see how it looked up close,” he said, leaning against the sink beside you. His voice had dropped the dinner-table casualness; now it was all raw, needy edge. “Fuck, it does look good. Real good.”
You tried to step back, but the wall was right there. “Gator, what the hell? Dinner was bad enough.”
He chuckled, low and rough, crowding you without quite touching. “Aw, c’mon. You know I was just lookin’ out for my little stepsis. That old liner was pathetic. This one…” His eyes dipped to your mouth again, dark and heavy-lidded. “This one won’t budge even if you’re on your knees suckin’ cock or somethin’.”
The words hit like a slap, crude and deliberate. Heat pooled low in your belly despite yourself. Gator had always been like this: pervy comments wrapped in “brotherly” concern, lingering stares when you changed clothes, “accidental” brushes in the hallway. He was insecure as hell underneath the swagger, desperate for any scrap of attention that wasn’t Roy’s disappointed glare. And right now, that desperation was aimed square at you.
“Shut up,” you hissed, but your voice lacked bite.
He grinned, stepping closer until his boots bracketed yours. One hand came up to trace the liner on your lip with his thumb again, pressing in until your mouth parted. “Make me. Or better yet… lemme see if it smears.”
Before you could protest, Gator dipped his head and kissed you, hard, hungry, nothing like a stepbrother should. His mouth was hot, insistent, the faint taste of mint and meatloaf mixing with the waxy berry of the liner. He groaned into it, one hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you in place while the other gripped your hip, fingers digging in possessively.
You gasped, and he took the opening, tongue sliding in to taste you properly. The kiss turned filthy fast, wet, open-mouthed, his teeth nipping at your lower lip like he’d been thinking about it all through dinner. When he pulled back, the liner was slightly smudged at the edges, but mostly intact.
“See?” he panted, forehead against yours. “Told you it’s good shit. Stays put even when I’m fuckin’ your mouth with my tongue.”
“Gator…” Your hands were on his chest, not pushing him away as much as you should’ve.
He smirked, that crooked charm cracking open to show the pervert underneath. “What? You gonna tell Dad I’m bein’ inappropriate with his new daughter? Go ahead. He’ll probably just tell me to ‘handle it like a man.’” His hand slid lower, cupping your ass through your jeans and squeezing. “Or maybe you like it. Bet you do. Always catchin’ you starin’ when I’m out in the yard liftin’ or comin’ back from a shift all sweaty.”
You swallowed, the new liner making your lips feel slick and sensitive. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah, but I’m your asshole stepbrother.” He kissed you again, slower this time, grinding his hips forward so you could feel the growing hardness in his jeans pressing against your thigh. “Been watchin’ that mouth all night. The way you licked the fork, finished that liner like it was nothin’. Got me thinkin’ about other things you could finish with those pretty lips.”
His free hand wandered up under your shirt, calloused palm skimming your stomach, thumb brushing the underside of your bra. Gator wasn’t smooth, he was eager, a little clumsy in his desperation, like he needed this validation more than air. Roy never gave him enough, so he took it wherever he could. Right now, that was you.
“Gator, someone could hear,” you whispered, even as your body arched into his touch.
He laughed softly against your neck, nipping the skin there. “Let ’em. Whole damn family knows I’m a fuck-up anyway. Might as well be a pervert too.” His fingers found the button of your jeans, popping it open with practiced ease. “C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme show you what else this liner can handle. On your knees for me? Just for a minute. I’ll be quick.”
The bathroom felt too small, too hot. You should’ve shoved him out, told him no, reminded him of the thousand reasons this was messed up. But Gator’s eyes were wide and hungry, that insecure boy peeking through the cocky deputy mask. He wanted you to want him. Needed it.
You sank down slowly, the tile cold through your knees. Gator’s breath hitched, hands fumbling with his belt like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Fuck yeah. Good girl. Knew you’d look perfect down there.”
He freed himself, thick and already leaking, and guided your head forward with a gentleness that contrasted the filth coming out of his mouth. “Open up. Let me see that new color wrapped around me. Bet it’ll look even better smeared all over my cock.”
You took him in, the taste of salt and skin mixing with the berry wax. Gator groaned loud enough that you worried about the walls, his hips jerking shallowly as he tried not to thrust too hard. “Shit… just like that. Your mouth’s so fuckin’ warm. Been jerkin’ off thinkin’ about this for weeks. Ever since I saw you puttin’ on lip gloss in the hallway mirror, all innocent-like.”
He talked the whole time. Pervy ramblings mixed with praise, his hand gentle in your hair even as his words turned nasty. “Swirl your tongue—yeah, fuck. You’re a natural. My perfect little stepsis slut. Roy’d kill me if he knew, but goddamn, it’s worth it.”
The liner held surprisingly well at first, but as he got closer, it started to smudge at the corners of your mouth, glossy and messy. Gator’s eyes were glued to it, pupils blown wide. “Look at that… perfect. Just how I imagined.”
He came with a choked groan, hips stuttering, spilling hot across your tongue and a little on your lips. You pulled back, breathing hard, the berry color now artfully wrecked: smeared at the edges, mixed with spit and him.
Gator hauled you up immediately, kissing you messy and grateful, tasting himself on you without a care. “Fuck, you’re amazin’. Knew that liner was a good pick.” His hand slipped back into your open jeans, fingers finding you wet and sliding through slick heat. “Now it’s your turn. Gotta return the favor, right? Can’t have my girl unsatisfied.”
You didn’t correct the “my girl.” Not yet.
He fingered you right there against the sink, two thick digits curling just right while his thumb rubbed your clit in messy circles. His mouth stayed on yours, or on your neck, whispering more filth: how pretty you looked with his cum on your lips, how he’d buy you a whole set of makeup just to ruin it all over again, how no one else got to see you like this.
You came hard, biting his shoulder to muffle the sound, body shaking against his solid frame. Gator held you through it, murmuring soft praises now that the edge was off. “That’s it, baby. So good for me. My secret little thing.”
After, he helped clean you up with a warm washcloth, surprisingly tender. The liner was a lost cause, smeared beyond repair but he just grinned and pulled out another tube from his pocket, same brand.
“See? Told you I got more. Keep this one in your room. I’ll check on it tomorrow night. Make sure you’re usin’ it right.”
You rolled your eyes, but took it. “You’re such a pervert, Gator.”
He winked, adjusting his uniform like nothing happened. “Only for you, stepsis. Only for you.”
As he slipped out the door, checking the hallway first, you stared at your reflection again. Lips still tingling, new liner clutched in your hand like a dirty secret. Downstairs, Roy’s voice boomed something about patrol schedules. The house felt heavier now, charged with whatever this was becoming.
Gator wasn’t done. You knew that much. He’d find excuses, another “gift” at breakfast, a late-night knock on your door after Roy passed out from whiskey, more pervy comments disguised as brotherly advice. And part of you, the part that craved the attention in this cold, fucked-up house just as badly as he did, was already wondering what color he’d pick next.
The days blurred after that. Gator made it his mission to “help” with your makeup routine. Mornings, he’d corner you in the kitchen while your mom was out and Roy was at the station, pressing you against the counter to “test” the new liner by kissing it off. Afternoons, when he came home from a shift, he’d drag you into his truck in the driveway, tinted windows hiding the way he’d pull you into his lap and grind against you until you were both breathless, his hands under your shirt, mouth on your neck leaving marks he’d cover with more “helpful” suggestions.
One night, after a particularly tense dinner where Roy had chewed Gator out for botching a simple traffic stop, Gator showed up in your room at 2 a.m., eyes wild and needy. “Dad’s asleep. C’mere. Need you.”
He was gentler that night, the insecurity raw after Roy’s words. Instead of the usual rush, he laid you out on your bed and took his time kissing down your body, murmuring how soft you were, how no one else made him feel like this. When he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, hips rolling steady. “Tight little pussy clenchin’ around me like you were made for this. My stepsis… shit, we’re so fucked up, but I don’t care. You’re mine.”
You came together, his hand over your mouth to keep quiet, bodies slick and tangled in the dark. Afterward, he didn’t leave right away. He stayed curled around you, tracing patterns on your skin with those rough fingers, the empty lipliner tube from dinner sitting on your nightstand like a trophy.
“You know I ain’t good at this shit,” he admitted quietly, the tough-guy mask slipping. “Roy says I’m a disappointment every damn day. But with you… feels like I’m doin’ somethin’ right.”
It was messed up. Deeply, undeniably. Step-siblings in a house ruled by a corrupt sheriff who’d probably lose his mind if he found out. But in the quiet moments, Gator wasn’t just the pervert deputy with the ego and the daddy issues. He was the guy who noticed when your old makeup ran out, who bought something nice because he paid attention. Who craved touch and validation so badly he’d risk everything for it.
And you? You kept using the liners. Kept letting him “test” them. Kept falling a little deeper into whatever this toxic, heated thing was.
Weeks turned into a secret routine. Gator would text you from the station crude photos of new makeup hauls he’d “confiscated” (stolen from some evidence locker, probably), followed by promises of what he’d do when he got home. At family barbecues, he’d sit beside you, hand on your thigh under the table, whispering how he couldn’t wait to smear that pretty color all over his dick again.
One evening, Roy was out of town for some law enforcement conference, leaving the house empty except for the two of you and your mom, who’d gone to bed early with a migraine. Gator wasted no time.
He found you in the living room, flipping through channels, and hauled you upstairs to his room without a word. It was messier than yours. Posters of bands he barely listened to, empty vape cartridges, his deputy gear slung over a chair. He pushed you onto the bed, crawling over you with that predatory grin.
“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he said, stripping off his shirt to reveal the lean muscle underneath. “You in that little sundress at dinner, lips all shiny with my gift. Drove me fuckin’ crazy.”
He didn’t bother with slow this time. Clothes came off in a frenzy, your dress hiked up, panties shoved aside, his jeans barely pushed down his thighs. He thrust into you hard, the bed creaking under you both, his mouth latching onto yours in a bruising kiss that destroyed the fresh layer of lipliner you’d put on just to tease him.
“Gator—ah—slow down,” you gasped, but your legs wrapped around his waist anyway.
“Can’t,” he panted, hips snapping relentlessly. “Too good. Too fuckin’ tight. Gonna fill you up, make you walk around tomorrow with me still leakin’ out. Bet you’d like that, huh? My dirty little secret.”
His hand found your throat, not squeezing, just holding, thumb pressing over the pulse point as he fucked you deeper. The pervert in him loved the control, the risk. But underneath, there was that desperate edge: the way he buried his face in your neck afterward, whispering “Don’t leave me, okay? Everyone else does.”
You held him close, fingers in his hair, the smeared berry color staining his lips now too. “I’m not going anywhere.”
It wasn’t love. Not the clean kind, anyway. It was need and rebellion and the twisted comfort of two broken people finding solace in the one place they shouldn’t. Gator kept buying more lipliners: different shades, different brands, leach one an excuse to watch your mouth, to ruin it, to claim it as his.
And every time, at dinner or in the truck or in the dead of night, he’d lean in with that crooked smile and say, “Open up, sweetheart. Let’s see how this one holds up.”
The Tillman house kept its secrets, just like it always had. But yours and Gator’s? They were written in smudged berry and desperate moans, in the quiet aftershocks where a pervert stepbrother became something dangerously close to yours.
How would Gator act if it’s readers first time with him would he wait for her to finish first
short answer: no
slightly less short answer: he’s gonna make her come as much as he can
long answer: SMUT//MDNI- mean gator, manipulative gator, reader who doesn’t quite take his shit, use of “slut,” slight degradation kink, clothed/unclothed sex, mating press, [unsafe] vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, creampie
&&
You were two orgasms in and Gator hadn’t even gotten his cock out yet.
At the bar you’d made the mistake of joking that his reputation preceded him一all you’d meant in that moment was that the name “Tillman” wasn’t the last name of the Stark County’s most eligible bachelor. But, well, Gator had taken it some type of way.
He was good looking, attractive一hot, you’d go so far as to say, once he’d removed all the stupid tactical gear and that sheriff’s department ball cap, his hair falling loose around his forehead. It softened him, made him look a little more normal and less severe. You liked it.
“Still think ‘Tillman’ ain’t worth ‘is salt?” Gator asked you, his lips shiny with you and his hands splayed out on your thighs.
“What?” you asked, head spinning a little, because you’d barely come down from your first orgasm on Gator’s tongue before he went down on you a second time.
“Said, still think I ain’t the best yer ever gonna get?”
“Who said that?” you asked stupidly. Was it possible to be cockdrunk before you’d even seen it?
Gator chuckled. “Ain’t gonna be you who does,” he said, smoothing his hands down your thighs before curling them down below your knees and pulling your legs up. “Know why?”
You shook your head, hair shushing over your pillow beneath you.
“Lemme show ya?” Gator asked, and you nodded. He leaned in, cheek against yours as he whispered in your ear. “Ya gonna make me use a rubber?” You hesitated, then nodded. He cocked his head a little to the side. “Aw, what?” He moved a hand from your thigh to your pussy, rubbing your whole mound with his big palm. “Perfect lil’ slut like you don’t fuck raw? I don’t believe that fer a second.” He kissed your temple. “I’ll pull out. Promise.”
You’d heard about this, too. Because the other part of his reputation preceding him was this. The darker side, the sick but somehow still enticing version of the man who made you want to agree to things that you would ordinarily never.
“Promise,” you said, not an agreement but a demand of him.
“I promise,” Gator said, practically mewling at you, sounding stern and serious. “Swear ta God. Cross m’heart ‘nd hope ta die.” He kissed your temple again, just softly enough to win you over to his side. “Good enough?”
You nodded even though it wasn’t. “Yeah.”
“Good girl,” Gator said, and then he pulled your legs up even higher, ducking down to rest them on his shoulders while he worked at the waistband of his camos, undoing the button and fly and shoving them down. He had you fully naked and he hadn’t even undressed一he had all the power and it had your fucking pussy quivering. He’d earned that damn reputation.
With one fluid movement, he had the head of his throbbing prick lined up at your wet slit, his spit still dousing your folds even as your own come glistened there too, clinging to your lips as he held himself with one hand, the other flat on your stomach like he wanted to see if he could feel himself entering you.
“Wanna help me out a lil’ down here?” he asked, jerking his chin toward your crotch, and you lowered both hands to your thighs, holding your legs open for him as you slipped your legs off his shoulders. “Almost,” he said, pulling back just enough that he could tap the underside of the tip against you, the feeling of it almost as potent as the sound of it, the little wet plaps along with the firm, spongy head against your folds. “Wanna gimme a clear shot into ya, c’mon.”
Swallowing, you moved your hands to your pussy lips, the index finger of each hand spreading yourself apart, exposing yourself so fully to him that he now knew you more intimately than pretty much anyone else you’d ever slept with.
He pushed down against your stomach as he angled the head of his cock into your open slit, the weeping tip sliding against you for a moment before it caught and he was able to enter you.
“Fuckin’ tight little gash ya got, goddamn,” he said, glancing up at you to see how you reacted. Your chest heaved a little, your fingers trying to hold your slick lips apart for him as he pushed in, eyes back on your cunt as he fed inch after inch into you. The heel of his hand on your stomach was pressing down against you, hard, and you wondered if he could actually feel his cock inside you.
“Don’t say that,” you said, finally finding your words, because he looked like he was enjoying it a little too much and you wanted to knock him down a peg.
“Whassat?” Gator asked absently, rubbing his hand over your stomach below your bellybutton as he pulled out and thrust back in; the crooked grin curled his lips up on one side.
“Gash,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “That’s nasty.”
“That’s nasty?” Gator repeated. “That’s nasty, ‘nd yer down there lettin’ me have ya bare.” He moved his hands to your knees again, pulling your legs up straight and quite nearly folding you in half as he bent over you, his face right in yours. “Whaddaya want me t’call it, then? Tang? Snatch?” He licked up over your mouth, and you opened your lips to let him in, tongue moving against his because this was actually the hottest thing anyone had ever done to you, the most insane shit you’d ever had in bed and he hadn’t even started moving yet. “Pussy?” he continued, drawing out the syllables, mocking you, pushing your thighs against your chest, and he was so deep inside you now that you bet he could feel himself with his hand against your stomach, because you were certain he was in your lungs, forget about your guts.
You bit his lip and he laughed, kissing you again, letting you suck his tongue before pulling away, though your hands on his shoulders kept him from moving too far.
“Maybe ya like somethin’ a lil’ more… refined. How ‘bout… How ‘bout we call ‘er princess since that must be what ya think y’are, makin’ fuckin’ demands. How ‘bout that? Want me ta fuck this pretty lil’ princess for ya?”
You groaned as he rolled his hips against you, your body wholly unable to adjust to his size, to the position, to the aura he was giving off.
“Uh huh,” Gator hummed, “‘s what I thought. Typical princess I got here, talk a big talk but once ya get some good fuckin’ pipe in ya, ya shut the hell up like yer s’posed一”
You cut him off with a slap to the face, and then your hand fisted in his hair.
“You haven’t shut the fuck up since you took your face outta my cunt,” you said, feeling a twist of satisfaction as his eyes widened down at you. “So either show me that salt you were talkin’ about havin’ before, or put your mouth back down where your money was and get me off again.”
Gator’s lip curled, but you could tell he was pleased by the turn of events, by the acquiescence but also the talking back. He snickered and planted his knees more firmly on either side of your hips, your knees on either side of your head, and then started moving一started fucking you properly, reaching deeper with every thrust, or so it seemed, and you arched your back up, breasts pressing into your legs as he licked into your mouth again.
You kissed him back, tongue slipping alongside his, deepening the kiss until you were both panting into each other’s mouths, your hands exploring his back, muscles tense as he fucked into you, both of you already breathless and he’d only thrust in a handful of times. He was moving into you hard, slow, intense motions that had you incessantly moaning lowly underneath him, your toes curled because of how thick he felt, how hot and hard, spearing into you over and over until you were clenching up around him, clit untouched but still so keyed up from your previous orgasms that you felt yourself tipping over the edge.
“Oh, yeah,” Gator groaned, his lips on your chin. “Fuck yeah, feel ya一feel that一hah, fuck一ya comin’? Yeah? Comin’ on this cock?”
“Gator,” you said, babbling beneath him both of you talking at the same time, the words just pouring out of both of you. “I’m coming一fuck, fuck me, fuck一harder一nn一I’m一I’m一” you struggled to speak as your body shook, the feeling of his dick so far inside you, stretching you, rearranging your fucking insides一you came on his cock, trembling, a tepid mess dribbling out of you as he pulled out, fucking back in and forcing all of your come, your fluids, down over your lips and between your ass cheeks, the wet spot on your bed only growing, renewing itself every time he pistoned into you.
“Gonna fuckin’一” Gator said, choked, as he took your lips again in a heated kiss, cutting himself off as he delved into your mouth with his tongue, groaning low in his throat as you sucked his tongue for real, spit coating your lips and his, tasting yourself on him as you closed your mouth around the wet muscle. Your hands were all over him, in his hair, his shoulders, down his arms, his back, myriad places on his body and then you felt it一one of his hands moved to brace himself right beside your head, fingers curling into the pillow so tightly you heard the fabric straining in his grasp, and then with a gasp, you broke the kiss because his other hand was down between your body and his.
His wrist twisted, forearm straining against you as he rubbed at your clit desperately. Again一your last orgasm had barely faded and he was just trying to bring you there again, and your body didn’t know how to react一to go along with it and let it happen or push it back down, too overstimulated, too worn out一but Gator’s insistence won out, and you felt your back bow down against the bed as you started to rise up again, your hands scrabbling at his back, fingernails scratching against the cotton of his t-shirt as his hips slapped yours with renewed vigor, uninhibited ferocity, and then as you felt yourself fall, your second orgasm in as many minutes overtaking you一he came too, buried to the hilt in your pussy, shot after shot of hot spunk coating you inside, painting your walls and filling you, exactly as he said he wouldn’t do.
You couldn’t say anything for the moment一you were strung the fuck out, the aftershocks rippling through you fucking unprecedented, and you could only lie there, cunt undulating around his prick, your legs solidly against him, until he pushed himself up, lifting his wet hand from between your legs and to his mouth, cock still half-hard in your channel while he licked his fingers clean and waited for you to drift back down to yourself.
And when you did, meeting his eyes, he sucked off the tip of his middle finger like he was savoring the taste of your cunt and then tipped his head to the side, shrugging one shoulder.
“Oops,” Gator said, feigning being sheepish, obviously not apologetic at all about coming inside you.
You only smirked back up at him, lifting a shaky hand to curl into his hair again to tug him away, up and off. He moved with you, the obedient one now, his cock slipping out of you with a wet squelch, and he didn’t resist at all as you pushed him down, further still, positioning his face between your legs. He looked at you and you looked at him, and then you pushed his head down for him, his mouth and nose smearing against your sloppy, come-filled hole before he could even try to resist.
“Clean up your mess,” you said, and held his face down between your legs as he opened his mouth against you one more time.
