L✪U

Hi I’m Lou ! And my pronouns are she/her. I’m French, so English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes.

My requests are open ! Don’t hesitate and send me a message, I will gladly write you back ;)

I often use pictures in my stories, but for aesthetic reasons only, not as readers descriptions.

I suck at tws, but I try my best to mark the main ones. When it comes to sensitive or darker content, I always specify as much as possible, even if it means giving a little hint. If I ever miss something, please don’t hesitate to let me know.

When you see a little “♡” next to a fic, it’s because it’s one of my personal favs !

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽⟡˙⋆

⭒ 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓈 ⭒ 𝒶𝑜𝟹 ⭒ 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒷𝑜𝓍𝒹 ⭒

⤷ my latest works :

✶ Atta girl - Gator Tillman

✶ Chapter one of Kiss on my list - Steve Harrington

✶ Figure you out pt.1 and pt.2 - Gator Tillman

✶ Time after time series- Steve Harrington

✶ Don’t marry him - Arthur Guinness

⭒

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽⟡˙⋆

ℳ𝓎 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

✶ Bohemian Rhapsody

⊹ Borhap cast ; ⊹ Queen

✶ Criminal Minds

✶ Euphoria

✶ Gator Tillman

✶ Harry Castillo

✶ Harry Potter

⊹ Marauders era ; ⊹ Golden trio era

✶ House of Guinness

✶ Joel Miller

✶ Marcus Acacius

✶ Narcos

✶ Rhett Abbott

✶ Stranger Things

✶ Top Gun : Maverick

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽⟡˙⋆

A/N : a little something for you because your girl has a date tonight 😝 (guys, just came home from the date lmao, didn’t sleep at all)

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

A burst of laughter rolled across your table, the kind that came easily after a couple drinks and good company. The bar was loud in that messy way that only happened when everyone had just enough to start talking over each other. You sat tucked between two friends, elbow on the table, nursing the last of your drink.

Your friend Jade leaned across the table, straw between her lips, squinting at you like she was trying to solve a mystery.

“Okay,” she said, pointing at you dramatically with her drink. Her eyes bright with the particular kind of curiosity that only appeared after two cocktails and a slow night out. “You still haven’t answered the question.”

You blinked slowly. “What question ?”

“The Gator question.” She smirked, like the answer was already obvious and you were the only one pretending otherwise.

Across from you, Mila groaned immediately, dragging both hands down her face. “Oh my god, not him again.”

You laughed under your breath, swirling the ice in your glass. “There is no Gator question.”

“There is absolutely a Gator question,” Jade insisted, leaning even closer. The dim bar lights caught in her earrings as she tipped her head at you. “You two have been orbiting each other for, what, two years now ?”

“Three.” Mila muttered darkly into her drink.

You shrugged one shoulder, trying very hard to play it off. “We don’t orbit. We just know each other.”

Lea, sitting on your right, snorted so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “Know each other,” she repeated, incredulous, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth while she laughed. “Girl, the man practically materializes whenever you’re around.”

“That’s because he’s a cop,” you replied a little too quickly. “He’s always around.”

“Uh-huh,” Jade said slowly, clearly unconvinced. “And when he shows up, he looks at you like he’s deciding whether to arrest you or kiss you.”

Your mind flashed briefly to the memory. One night, you had been leaning against his truck outside the gas station, the parking lot empty. He had been standing closer than necessary, one hand braced against the door beside your shoulder, his voice low when he said something you didn’t even remember now. 

What you had remember was the way his eyes had dropped to your mouth and stayed there just long enough for your stomach to flip. Then, he had leaned in to say something near your ear, and when you turned your head, your noses had almost bumped. For a second neither of you moved, but someone had walked out of the store and the moment totally broke. He stepped back and scoffed under his breath, saying he had work in the morning. Like it had never happened.

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the faint heat creeping up the back of your neck. “That’s not true.”

“It absolutely is !” Lea said, pointing at you like she had personally witnessed a crime. “The last time we saw him he stared at you for like thirty seconds straight.”

“Yeah,” Mila added, wrinkling her nose. “In the most intimidating way possible. I swear that man is eighty percent attitude and twenty percent bad decisions.”

You picked absently at the peeling edge of the label on a bottle in front of you, still refusing to look up at them. “He’s not that bad.”

All three of them stared at you and you sighed, already regretting saying anything. “Okay,” you admitted, lowering your voice a little. “He’s… kind of a dick.”

“Kind of ?” Mila repeated.

“But,” you added quickly, lifting your hands in surrender. “He’s kind of nice with me.”

Jade leaned back with a smug smile. “Aha !”

“There’s no ‘aha,’” you protested, though you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing a little. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Why not ?” She asked immediately.

You hesitated for half a second, then shrugged again, trying to make it sound simple. “Because he’s him.” 

“That’s not an explanation.” Lea said.

“You know what I mean.” You muttered.

Mila tilted her head thoughtfully, watching you over the rim of her glass. “Let me get this straight for everyone,” she said slowly, “He’s grumpy, he’s stubborn as hell, barely talks, and when he does it’s usually something that sounds like a red flag. Half the time it’s borderline misogynistic, the other half it’s questionably racist, and on top of that he actually enjoys intimidating people

“Some people are into that.” Lea said casually.

Mila gaged dramatically. “Not me.”

You shook your head at them, trying to look annoyed, but the corner of your mouth still betrayed you with the hint of a smile. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like ?” Jade pressed.

You hesitated, trying to find words that didn’t sound ridiculous. “I don’t know,” you said after a moment. “I just like when he’s around.”

Mila tilted her head. “That’s it ?”

You shrugged, cheeks warm from the alcohol. “It’s stupid.”

“Try us.” Lea said, more serious now.

You sighed. “Okay, look, I know he’s not exactly boyfriend material.”

“That’s the understatement of the year !” Mila exclaimed.

“But,” you continued, ignoring her, “when he’s there it just feels,” You search for the word. “Steady.” You laughed awkwardly hearing yourself. 

“No, keep going.” Jade said, fully invested and supportive.

You glanced between your friends before admitting quietly, “He’s very take-charge.”

Lea squinted. “Meaning ?”

You groaned softly, dropping your head onto the table. “This is going to sound bad.” You muffled in your arms.

“Even better.” Mila smirked and you looked back up at her.

 “I don’t know. It’s probably gonna sound sexist or something,” you said lowering your voice a little, “but sometimes I just like when he takes control of the situation.” 

Lea raised both eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jade said slowly, clearly delighted. “That explains a lot.”

Mila made a face, “Ew. No.”

“What ?” You said defensively, looking at her.

“He’s scary. Like not fun scary. Actual scary.” She replied immediately.

“He’s not scary.” You said automatically.

“I have to agree on this, he looks like he could break this table with his bare hands.” Lea shot back, tapping on the wooden table between you.

Mila squinted suddenly, “Wait.” You all looked at her. “Isn’t he gay ?”

“Mila !” You and Jade both snapped at the exact same time. Lea burst out laughing, slapping her hand hardly on the table, while Mila looked completely unbothered.

“What ?!” She said defensively. “He has a vibe !”

“He does not have a vibe.” You insisted.

“He absolutely has a vibe !” Mila argued.

“He is not gay.” You groaned horrified. 

“How do you know ?” She pressed.

“Because—because I just know !”

Lea was laughing so hard now she had to wipe tears from the corner of her eyes. “Imagine that’s why nothing’s ever happened.” You groaned louder and shoved her shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Jade gasped. “Imagine him hearing you say that.”

Mila shrugged unapologetically. “Look, he’s mysterious. Mysterious men are sometimes gay.”

“He literally flirts with her.” Jade said, pointing at you.

“That’s not flirting.” You muttered quickly.

They all looked at you again.

“You just said he wasn’t gay.” Maya said slowly, the corners of her mouth curling upward.

You groaned and covered your face for a second. “He’s not !”

“Maybe that would’ve help actually.” She said with a mischievous shrug. 

A second later the words seemed to catch up with Lea, and she broke into laughter again, impossible to hold back. She reached over and gave Mila’s hand a playful tap.

Someone bumped the back of your chair as they squeezed past the crowded aisle, their hand briefly catching the edge of the table as they steady themselves and muttered a distracted apology over their shoulder, and you gave them a polite smile without really looking, your attention still drifting between the conversation at your table and the music pulsing through the bar.

Then, across the room, a voice rose sharp enough that your eyes lifted instinctively, the same way everyone else does when something in the atmosphere changes. Two men at the bar were leaning too close to each other, hands moving in that tense, jerky way drunk people get when their patience has finally run out.

At first it almost looked stupid rather than dangerous. One of them shoved the other’s shoulder like he was brushing him aside, the movement sloppy with alcohol, and a few people nearby laughed nervously like it was just another bar argument that would burn itself out.

But the bartender leaned forward over the counter immediately, saying something firm you couldn’t hear over the music.

The second man shoved back harder then. A stool screeched across the floor with a sharp metallic scrape that cut through the room. Someone swore loudly and at your table, Mila rolled her eyes, tipping her head back toward the ceiling like she was already tired of the drama. “Oh great.”

Across the room the shoving didn’t stop as one of the men grabbed the other by the front of his shirt and suddenly, they were tangled together, bodies crashing against the bar as drinks sloshed over the counter.

The shift from irritation to violence happened so fast it almost felt unreal. A fist swinged and landed with a heavy crack against someone’s jaw, the bartender already reaching for the phone.

People jumped up from their tables all at once, chairs scraping loudly across the floor as everyone tried to get out of the way or closer to see, depending on their level of common sense. Someone yelled for them to stop while someone else shouted encouragement like it was a goddamn boxing match.

“Jesus.” One of the girls muttered under her breath.

You were still sitting for a moment, watching the chaos unfold with that strange, detached curiosity people get when the disaster hadn’t quite reached them yet, your brain still half convinced it was just background noise. Then one of the men stumbled backward when he was hit again and crashed into a nearby table.

Drinks spilled everywhere, and so Lea’s hand closed around your sleeve immediately. “Let’s move before we get dragged into it.”

You slid out of your chair with the others, the table abandoned without a second thought as the four of you pushed back toward the wall along with half the room, bodies pressing together as people tried to create distance from the fight while still craning their necks to watch. The music cut off abruptly and voices overlap from every direction.

“Call the cops !”

“Hey—HEY—break it up ! ”

“You two idiots—”

After a moment, outside, the sound of sirens began to rise in the distance. Red and blue lights started flashing across the bar windows, washing over the room in quick pulses of color that reflected off the bottles behind the counter and flickered across everyone’s faces.

The front door opened only a minute later as three deputies stepped inside, their presence cutting through the chaos with the quiet weight of authority, and even the loudest voices started dropping as people instinctively made space.

One of them headed straight for the bartender, already asking questions. The other two moved toward the cluster of men near the bar where the fight started, their posture steady and purposeful as they scanned the room on their way over, eyes moving across the crowd with practiced attention.

One of them turned slightly as he approached the fight, and your stomach dropped before your brain even caught up.

Gator.

He moved through the room and the bar suddenly felt smaller with him inside it. His uniform sat tight across his shoulders, sleeves stretched over his thick forearms, the fabric pulling slightly when he reached out to wedge himself between the two men still trying to lunge at each other across the bar.

“Alright,” he said, voice low but firm, cutting through the shouting like a blade. “That’s enough.”

Neither man listened. One of them tried to push past him, still yelling over Gator’s shoulder at the other guy, chest puffed up with drunk courage. Gator caught the man’s arm mid-motion, twisting the grip just enough to stop the movement and shove him back a step with an ease that made it clear this wasn’t the first bar fight he walked.

“Sit down.” He said flatly.

The other deputy moved in from the side to pull the second guy away, guiding him back toward the bar while the bartender started talking loudly about broken glasses and who threw the first punch. The tension in the room slowly began to leak out as the fight dissolved into muttering, drunken accusations, and embarrassed laughter from people who suddenly remembered the cops were here now.

Gator kept one hand loosely on the first guy’s shoulder, holding him in place while he asked a couple short questions. His posture steady, feet planted wide, jaw tight in that familiar way that made him look even broader than he already is.

Then his eyes lifted just briefly, scanning the room. They moved over the tables and then they landed on you. For half a second his expression didn’t change at all, but something shifted behind his gaze.

He finished what he was saying to the man in front of him without looking away from you, the words coming out short and automatic now as his attention split. The other deputy started walking one of the fighters toward the door.

Gator handed the second guy off with a quick murmur to his partner, clapping him once on the shoulder, then he finally turned away from the bar, and started walking straight across the room.

“Wait—” Jade nodded toward him. “Isn’t that—”

“Yeah.” You muttered quietly.

Your pulse picked up without permission as he got closer. Up close he somehow looked even bigger than he did across the room, his thick neck disappearing into the collar of his uniform. He stopped in front of your group, his eyes ran over you quickly, head tilting just slightly as he checked you over the same way he would a scene, making sure you’re not hurt. 

Then his gaze flicked to the girls, and they were all staring at him. He gave them a small, brief nod. “Evenin’.”

The word was casual enough, but there still was that quiet authority in his voice that made everyone sit a little straighter, even Mila.

His eyes came back to you. “Get in my car,” he said, calm but firm. “I’m drivin’ you home.”

The three pairs of eyes snapped to you immediately but you sighed softly, already pushing yourself off the wall.

“Seriously ?” Mila whispered under her breath to Lea, half amused, half scandalized.

“Text me when you get home.” Jade murmured quickly as you stepped past her.

You nodded once and Gator was already turning toward the door like the conversation was finished.

The cold air outside hit immediately when you stepped out of the bar. The night felt quieter out here, the chaos muffled behind the door as the red and blue lights from the patrol car flashed across the pavement and nearby parked cars.

Gator walked straight toward the cruiser without slowing, he didn’t even look back to see if you were following, he just knew you were. He reached the passenger side and opened the door, stepping aside to let you pass. As you moved to get in, his hand came briefly to the small of your back, guiding you forward without really thinking about it. The touch lasted a second, just enough pressure to steady you as you ducked into the seat.

His hand rested on the top of the door frame, fingers tapping against the metal as he waited, his eyes flicking over you briefly, a quick check, head to toe. You slid inside without arguing and a second later he climbed in behind the wheel, the driver’s door shutting with a solid thud that seemed to seal the two of you inside a space suddenly much smaller than the whole patrol car should feel.

For a moment he didn’t move. His large hands rested on the steering wheel, fingers flexing once like he was grounding himself before he exhaled slowly through his nose. He turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life beneath you, he pulsed the cruiser away from the curb without turning the sirens back on. The town was quiet at this hour anyway, the streets mostly empty, storefront windows dark as the headlights sweep over them one by one.

You sat with your hands folded loosely in your lap, trying very hard not to think about how strange it always felt to be alone with him in a space that small. The patrol car smelt faintly like worn leather and his stupid frosted grape vape, a scent you had already complained about more than once. He’d shrugged the last time you brought it up and said it was either that or cigarettes, and since you hated the smell of smoke even more, the grape had apparently won by default.

Streetlights slid slowly through the windshield as he drove, each one briefly illuminating the strong line of his profile before the car slips back into shadow again. And you told yourself it was ridiculous that your pulse still reacted like this, that stupid little spike of awareness.

“You shouldn’t be in places like that.” He said suddenly, voice firm, his eyes never leaving the road.

You glanced sideways at him. “It’s a bar, Gator.”

“Yeah, and ?”

“That’s where people go.”

His jaw tightened slightly, a small shift in the muscle that you’ve learned to notice over time.

“Fight broke out,” he said. “Not safe for a thing like you.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, watching him with mild disbelief. “The police handled it,” you replied lightly. “Very impressive work by the way.”

He shot you a quick look then, sharp and unimpressed, his brows drawing together. “You think that’s funny ?”

“I think you ordering me into a patrol car like I’m under arrest is a little dramatic.”

“You got in anyway.” His words came out blunt, but there was something quieter underneath them.

You shrugged one shoulder. “Because you asked.”

He exhaled through his nose again, almost a huff this time, but he didn’t argue with that. His grip shifted on the steering wheel, thumbs rubbing absently along the worn leather as the cruiser turned onto a quieter road leading toward your neighborhood.

The silence stretched for a minute, then he spoke again, his voice softer now. “You been there long ?”

“Couple hours.”

He nodded once.

The patrol car slowed as he turned onto your street, tires crunching lightly over gravel near the curb before he pulled to a stop in front of your house. 

You reach for the door handle, but he cleared his throat, the sound almost reluctant, but it was enough to stop you. You paused and turned back toward him. He didn’t look embarrassed about it at all. Instead, he simply lifted one hand and tapped his index finger against his cheek, tilting his head slightly toward you like it was the most normal request in the world.

You stared at him for half a second. “You’re unbelievable.” You murmured, but there was no real bite to it.

The first time he’d done it had been a year ago—maybe even longer now—after another late ride home that neither of you had really planned. You remembered staring at him like he’d completely lost his mind, asking him if he was serious. He had only shrugged, one corner of his mouth twitching like he was amused by your disbelief, murmuring a ‘manners’ under his breath.

Now you leaned across the center console again without arguing. Up close the warmth of him was impossible to ignore. Your lips brush softly against his cheek, quick and gentle, the scratch of his stubble grazing your skin for just a second and he made that quiet, satisfied sound in the back of his throat.

For the briefest moment, his hand came up without warning, fingers sliding to the back of your neck, just firm enough that you’d felt the squeeze of his palm there, his thumb pressing briefly against your skin, holding you in place resting. 

His shoulders loosen a fraction and something almost satisfied flickered across his face. “Atta girl.” 

The words were low, rough in that way that always sent a small, unwanted warmth curling through your chest. Then he gestured toward your house with his chin. “Text me when you get inside.”

You blinked at him. “You’re literally watching me walk up to the door.”

“Still.”

You shook your head softly, but you were already pushing the passenger door open. Cold air rushed in around you as you step out onto the quiet street, the porch light from your house casting a warm glow across the walkway.

You could feel his eyes on your back as you headed toward the porch and halfway up the path you glanced over your shoulder, he was still sitting there in the driver’s seat, one arm resting on the window frame now, making sure nothing happened between the car and your front door.

When you reached the porch, you took your phone out before you even unlocked the door. You typed quickly,

You : Inside

Your phone buzzed almost instantly.

Gator : good

masterlist | next chapter

-ˋˏ ༻✮༺ ˎˊ-

The bell rang through the school hallways just as you headed toward the library, where you were supposed to meet the student you’d been assigned to tutor. The principal had put together a support program for kids who were failing too many classes. In his speech, he had talked about helping the community, mutual aid among students, and all that sort of stupid things. To be honest, you didn’t care about that part. 

You were far from being the type of person who took an interest in other people's problems, you just simply didn’t have the energy for it. But college applications ? Scholarships ? Admissions committees that loved to see initiative and community involvement ? That you cared about.

You weren’t rich, not even close. And if you wanted to get out of this shitty town, you’d need more than decent grades and good intentions. You weren’t an athlete or a gifted prodigy, not someone schools would fight over, and you've known this for a while now. You were just solid. Good enough to stand out just a bit, but not impressive enough to be remembered. 

And apparently, that, wasn’t enough anymore. So, you signed up one random Monday and didn’t think too hard about it the followings days. 

The tutoring sessions were held every afternoon at the library but could also be done outside of classes depending on student availability. Struggling students were paired with volunteers who were supposed to help them avoid an academic disaster, and if possible, give them a bit of hope. You hadn’t been expecting much, just hoped you’d be assigned to someone younger. Because less work from you, meant less responsibility. 

Not that you had much else to do.

Between working weekends at your father’s store, dragging yourself through high school, picking up the occasional babysitting job when someone canceled last minute, and clinging stubbornly to the writing club you absolutely refused to give up—the last place that still felt like it belonged to you—you were rarely ever still.

And yet, in the small hours of the night, or during long walks home when the streets were empty and your thoughts had nothing to hide behind, the truth always caught up with you, realizing how shitty your life was.

You had no real friends. No family steady enough to offer even the illusion of one. No safety net waiting to catch you if things went wrong. But you hadn’t signed up for the program to make friends or to be saved. You had signed up because you only had two years left. Two years, and then you could finally leave behind the wreckage of your teenage years and never look back.

As you stepped into the library, the last people in the hallway disappeared into the classrooms, the room settling into its usual hush. Several students’ pairs were already seated at tables, heads bent together, voices low and serious, as if they were doing something that actually mattered. 

You walked up to the librarian, who held a clipboard that seemed far too important for the rest of your year to hinge on it and gave her your name. 

She frowned, scanning the list. “Oh, dear.” She said after a moment. “It looks like there’s been a last-minute change. The student you were assigned no longer needs tutoring.”

You blinked. 

Of course.

Even the kid who needed help didn’t want you.

The librarian looked up quickly, clearly sensing your reaction. “But don’t worry. We’ve found a replacement. He hasn’t arrived yet; I don’t have his name on my list, but he should be here shortly. Just take a seat.”

You thanked her and chose a table tucked into the far corner of the library, away from curious glances and whispered conversations. You set your bags down, folded your arms and waited.

A few minutes passed, then a few more. You sighed, slumping lower in your chair, eyes drifting over the room. Everyone else seemed settled, like they knew what they were doing with their lives.

You leaned back, letting your head fall behind for a second before straightening again and pulling a book from your bag, Frida Kahlo by Hayden Herrera. If you were going to waste time, at least you’d do it productively.

You’d barely made it through a few pages when a sharp noise cut through the quiet. The library door slammed open, and you looked up just in time to see Steve Harrington stumble into the room, one hand scrambling to catch the door he’d just sent crashing against the wall. He froze, clearly aware of the attention he’d drawn, then tried far too late to close it gently.

The librarian’s glare could’ve killed him on the spot as he offered a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck, completely out of place among the whispering students and neatly arranged tables.

You snorted softly to yourself and dropped your gaze to the page, determined not to look up again. Whatever that was, it wasn’t your problem. But suddenly, you had a very bad feeling in your gut about who your replacement student could be. Then, you felt a presence too close to your personal space. 

You turned your head, already annoyed, and came face to face with the boy who had just disrupted the entire library. 

“Sorry,” you said coolly, barely sparing him a glance as your eyes returned to the book. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Oh, uh…” he hesitated, shifting his weight. “I think you’re my tutor actually.”

Your eyes stayed fixed on the line you’d been reading, though you had no idea what it said anymore. Your brain stalled, then screeched to a halt. Slowly, you closed the book and placed it on the table as you looked up at him. “You’re my student ?”

“Yes.” He replied, flashing that stupid, effortless smile. The one everyone else seemed to adore.

Your jaw tightened. You opened your mouth, fully intending to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, you shut it again and shook your head. 

“No.” You said finally, closing your book. “There has to be some mistake.”

Of all the students in Hawkins High, it had to be him.

Steve Harrington. King Steve. The one everyone knew, the one everyone liked, the one teachers gave second chances to and students gravitated toward without even thinking about it. The kind of person who took up space effortlessly, who existed loudly and comfortably in a world that barely seemed to notice you at all.

You had never hated your life more than you did in that exact moment.

There was no version of reality in which you were going to help him. None. It was beyond you. Beyond patience, beyond goodwill, beyond whatever fake sense of altruism this program was supposed to awaken in you. You hadn’t signed up to be noble or kind, and tutoring Steve Harrington felt like the universe laughing in your face.

Everything about him irritated you.

His stupid car, always parked like it belonged wherever he left it. His perfect hair that never seemed to move no matter how hard he ran or how late he stayed out. His voice, confident and easy, like it belonged in rooms you were never invited into. He walked through school like it was built for him, like every hallway opened just a little wider when he passed.

But what really made you despise him was his friends.

The way they laughed too loudly when they passed you. The way they looked at you like you were some joke they’d been telling for years. The comments they didn’t even bother to whisper anymore, because why would they ? You were invisible most of the time, unless they decided it was a good day to make you feel small.

And every time one of his loyal idiots opened his mouth and said something cruel about you, Steve Harrington did the same thing as always.

Nothing.

He would just stand there, hands in his pockets, looking at you with those stupid, confused puppy-dog eyes, like he didn’t quite understand what was happening, like he hadn’t heard it before, like he wasn’t part of it simply by staying silent. 

It made you want to scream.

Because being ignored hurt, but being seen only when it was convenient, only when it was funny or cruel, hurt in a way that stuck with you. Because he had the power to stop it and never once chose to. He could’ve said something, anything, and instead he’d looked at you like you were something sad and complicated he didn’t want to touch.

No wonder Nancy dumped him. What a pathetic, cowardly jerk.

“Oh yeah, there was a change.” He said awkwardly. “So they paired me with you—”

You didn't let him finish and give you his stupid explanation as you stood abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Sorry, I can't do this.”

Without further ado, you turned and walked away. Behind you, Steve blinked, stunned, before scrambling to his feet and nearly tripping over the chair. He chased after you, leaving his things behind.

“Hey, hey, wait !” He hurried to catch up, stepping in front of you in the hallway and blocking your path. “What are you doing ? You're my tutor.”

“Not anymore, sorry.” You said flatly. “You'll have to find someone else.” You tried to step around him. 

He reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder to really stop you. “Wait, okay, just listen.” He said quickly. “I get it. You don’t like me. I’m just some idiot. I get it, I really do.”

You frowned, irritation bubbling over. “Sure.”

“But I really, really need your help.” He added, voice dropping just enough to sound real.

You shrugged his hand off, “If you need it that badly, then find someone else, and fast.” 

You kept walking.

“Wait !” He called after you, saying your name, and the fact that he knew it startled you but not enough to stop. 

“Please.” He begged. “Just stop for a second so we can talk about this.”

Pathetic.

“My mind is made up.” 

You pushed through the front doors and let them slam shut behind you. Through the glass, you shot him one last look, filled with everything you thought of him. And it was enough to make him stop mid-step. 

As you disappeared before his eyes, Steve exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair before turning back toward the library. Defeated, he went to collect his things. But as he reached his bag, something caught his eye. And that was when he noticed it. 

Your book. 

He picked it up, glancing at the cover before a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. Looks like you weren’t done with him after all.

-ˋˏ ༻✮༺ ˎˊ-

The next morning, Steve spent every free minute scanning the hallways for you. 

Between classes, during lunch, lingering near lockers he had no reason to be near, but nothing. By early afternoon, the hope he’d been clinging to thinned into something dull and heavy in his chest. How could he not find you ? Maybe he’d really blown the one chance he had to fix things.

He dragged himself toward the football field, bag slung lazily over one shoulder, kicking at a small stone as he walked. Your book sat in his hands, thumb hooked around the spine, the cover already creased from how often he opened it without really reading, like it might somehow lead him back to you.

He leaned against a brick wall at the edge of the football field, staring off into nothing in particular when a whistle blew sharp and loud, cutting through the air. Steve lifted his head absentmindedly just in time to see a group of girls jogging past him in a loose line, laughter and chatter bouncing. His gaze skimmed automatically over the blurred moving crowd, until he froze.

You ran right passed him and didn’t even seem to notice he was there. He couldn’t help but smile like an idiot, in his entire life, he had never been so happy to see a group of girls in mini shorts.

Without thinking, he tossed his bag behind him and broke into a run. “Hey !”

He merged onto the field, breath coming quicker as he tried to match the pace of the group, weaving through bodies. You were faster than he excepted, your pace steady and determined, forcing him to actually sprint if he wanted to catch up. 

All he could see was you, your hair bouncing, focus locked straight ahead until he fell into step beside someone familiar. Carol glanced at him sideways as they ran, perfectly compose, not even questioning where did he came from. “What, lose something ?” She asked lightly, barely out of breath.

Steve shook his head weakly, taking deep breaths, eyes fixed ahead. “How does she runs that fast ?” He muttered instead, more to himself than to his friend.

She followed his line of sight and immediately let out a short laugh, spotting you a few strides ahead. “Oh. Her. She always run like that. Like she’s better than anyone else. Probably thinks running laps makes her mysterious or something.” But as Steve didn’t add anything else, she squinted her eyes mischievously, piecing it all together, “Wait—she’s the tutor ? The one you talked us about yesterday ?”

His jaw tightened but he kept his pace, sneakers hitting the ground a little harder as Carol's mocking laughter echoed across the field, clearly enjoying herself.

“She’s so weird man. I mean, who turns that down ?” She glanced at him, then ahead, lips curling into a familiar smirk. “Guess you’re lucky though. At least you won’t have to sit with her, right ? Can you imagine ?” She wrinkled her nose. “She’s always been weird.”

He said nothing.

Carol glanced back at him, eyes flicking briefly to the book tucked under his arm. Her smile sharpened. “God, you’re really invested in this, huh ? Carrying her book around like it’s yours.” She laughed loudly once again. “Did she give you homework too ?”

“Forget about it.” Steve said quietly, a little sharper than he intended.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, turning her attention back to the field. “Relax, Harrington. I’m just saying, she seems like a real pain in the ass.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. He pushed harder, suddenly accelerating, sneakers digging into the ground as he surged ahead of Carol without another word. Her voice faded behind him, replaced by the sound of his own breathing and the pounding of his heart as he closed the distance between you.

It took real effort to close the distance, his stride lengthening as he bumped into one girl and muttered a rushed apology, then another but didn’t stop for either.

“Hey !” He called again, louder this time, finally close enough for his voice to carry.

You turned your head and frowned instantly. “What are you doing here ?”

“Jogging,” he replied, breathless but grinning. “Can’t you tell ?”

You rolled your eyes and picked up your pace. Steve sighed but followed you anyway, just as your gym teacher spotted him across the field. 

“Harrington !” The whistle shrieked. “Get off the field right now !”

Steve glanced over his shoulders, then turned around, running backward as he called out, “Two minutes ! I just need to say something !”

He spun around again and nearly ran straight into a metal pole.

“Whoa !” He swerved at the last second, laughing nervously. “You could’ve warned me.”

You shot him a look. “What do you want ?”

“You forgot your book yesterday,” he said finally slowing enough to lift it into view. “Thought you might want it back.”

You reached for it immediately, fingers brushing air as he pulled it out of reach.

“Whoa, whoa. Not so fast.”

“Harrington !” The teacher yelled again. 

“Are you kidding me ?” You snapped. 

“I’ll give it back on one condition,” he said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “You tutor me.”

You stared at him. “Are you stupid ? I said no.”

Steve exhaled sharply, frustration flashing across his face. “Please. You certainly didn’t sign up for that program willingly, we both know that.”

Your glare could’ve burned him alive.

“What I mean is,” he corrected hastily, “It probably wasn’t really your choice. And it’s totally fine, I’ll let you know it wasn’t mine either.”

“Y/N !” The teacher shouted. “If that boy of yours doesn’t leave right now, you’re both getting detention !”  

You turned on him, voice sharp. “Harrington. Give me the damn book and get lost.”

“Not until you agree.”

“Do I look like I want to negotiate with you right now ? 

“Please.” He said, and this time there was no joking, just desperation. “I really need your help. And I’m sure you need mine too,” he glanced sideways before focusing on you again. “…in a way.”

“I’m counting to five !” The teacher yelled. “One !”

“Harrington.” You warned.

“I’m begging you.”

“Two !”

“No means no,” you hissed. “What part of that don’t you understand ?”

Steve grinned suddenly, reckless and infuriating. “Guess you’ll have to stay after school with me, then.”

“Three !”

“You are such a pain in the ass.” You muttered.

“And I’m a lot of other things too,” he shot back. “I can show them to you if you agree.”

You closed your eyes, exasperation washing over you. “Please, Steve. Just go away.”

“Don’t make me say four !”

When it became clear he wasn’t backing down—and that detention was looming—you cracked. “Okay ! Okay ! Fine, I accept ! Now get away from me before I kill you !”

Steve stopped so abruptly it was a miracle he didn’t trip over his own feet. His eyes widened, like he needed a second to proceed what you’d just said, and then his face broke open into the most ridiculous, unfiltered grin you’d ever seen. 

“Yes !” He shouted, throwing both arms into the air like he’d just won something. “Yes ! Oh my God, yes. You won’t regret it, I swear !”

He bounced on his heels once, twice, like his body didn’t know what to do with all that relief, then spun around in a half-circle, nearly colliding with nothing at all. He laughed under his breath, ran a hand through his hair, and took off, movements loose and weightless, like he’d suddenly forgotten gravity applied to him.

You let out a long, exhausted breath, your head dropping forward as your legs kept moving on instinct. From the corner of your eye, you watched him grab his bag on the way out, skipping across the edge of the field, zigzagging like he couldn’t decide which direction to go before finally disappearing for good.

Your gaze fell back to the ground beneath your feet, heartbeat still racing, a slow knot of dread tightening in your stomach.

What a mess you’d just agreed to.

-ˋˏ ༻✮༺ ˎˊ-

masterlist | next chapter

A/N : told you I would post it soon 😝

part.1 here :)

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Gator: you up ?

Tuesday 1:23 am

Gator: ‘m bored

Tuesday 1:26 am

Gator: you good ?

Sunday 3:16 pm

Gator: ?

Wednesday 6:52 pm

Gator: why aren’t you answering ?

Thursday 11:47 pm

Gator: something happen ?

Saturday 12:03 am

Gator: just checking in

Saturday 12:18 am

Gator: text me when you get a minute

Sunday 9:37 am

Gator: answer

Monday 11:08 pm

Gator: please

Monday 11:11 pm

Gator: you home ?

Friday 8:36 pm

You didn’t respond to any of his texts. 

Two weeks had passed since he had last seen you.

At first, he had told himself that you were playing some quiet game he refused to acknowledge. But when you didn’t respond, something darker had begun to creep under his skin. A restless agitation, sharp and constant, the same one that had driven him to be rough with you that night, the same instinct that surfaced whenever something felt like it was slipping out of his control.

Because that was what this was.

Control.

When he had pulled away before, it had been his decision. When he had gone quiet, it had been deliberate. He had been the one setting the distance and deciding when to close it again. Now you were the one creating it and that unsettled him far more than the vulnerability ever had.

As he drove home, he told himself the turn onto your street meant nothing, that it was simply the quicker way back, that he had taken it a hundred times before without attaching any meaning to it, and that the quiet pull in his chest as he approached the corner was coincidence rather than intention. 

That was the version of the truth he held onto as his headlights slid over the familiar row of houses, over dark windows and trimmed lawns, over the shape of your porch he knew too well. 

But then, he saw a truck parked directly in front of your place. Not one he recognized, not even a bit.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel before he realized he was gripping it hard enough to make his knuckles pale, and the steady hum of his engine suddenly felt intrusive in the still street, like he had been caught somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. The sight of that unfamiliar vehicle didn’t hit him sharp enough to name it jealousy, but it settled deep and heavy in his stomach. 

He eased the foot off the gas without meaning to. It could be anyone, he told himself. It didn’t mean anything. Right ? Still, he pulled over. He didn’t let himself sit there long enough to think properly, because if he allowed the thought to fully form, he might have driven away out of pride alone. And driving away would have meant accepting the possibility that you weren’t waiting around for him. 

He cut the engine and stepped out. 

The night air was colder than he expected, sharp against his skin, clearing his head in a way that only made him more aware of the restless energy coiled tight in his shoulders. His hand flexed once at his sideslip, he needed to steady himself before he crossed the street and climbed your porch steps. 

He knocked once. 

Nothing. 

Then again, harder. 

This time he heard movement inside, the faint shuffle of your feet, and something in his chest tightened further as he waited. 

When the door opened, it wasn’t what he had braced himself for. You stood there in pajamas, soft fabric clinging loosely to your frame, the kind meant to comfort rather than impression. You looked small in a way you never did when you were with him, stripped of sharpness, wrapped in something unguarded. 

You blinked when you saw him. “Gator ?”

There was surprise in your voice. He though you would be angrier—there should have been anger on your face actually. But as usual, there was that fucking sympathy instead. His eyes flicked past you without permission, scanning the interior of your house searching for proof of something he wasn’t even sure he wanted to find.

“Whose truck is that ?” He asked, his tone flatter than he intended.

Your brows drew together slightly. “What ?”

He looked down at you, “The truck.”

You stepped just far enough onto the porch to glance toward the street before looking back at him.

“Oh,” you said. “That’s my sister’s fiancé’s. They dropped off some boxes earlier. They left like two hours ago.”

Oh.

You crossed your arms loosely over your chest. “Why ?”

He shrugged, the movement stiff. “Just askin’.”

Silence stretched between you. Two weeks without a word, and now he was standing on your doorstep like nothing had happened, asking about a truck that had nothing to do with him in the middle of the night. You only stood there, not even opening the door a little wider for him to enter, heading it like a boundary instead.

“You okay ?” You asked finally.

He looked past you into the house again.

“Why didn’t you answer ?”

You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe, posture almost defensive in a way he had never seen from you before. “Wasn’t on my phone.”

He shrugged like it didn’t matter at all. “Okay.”

He couldn’t tell if you were lying, and for the first time, he realized he didn’t automatically assume you were telling him the truth anymore. He stepped closer anyway, drawn by instinct, close enough that you could see the tension in him clearly, like something had been stitched too long beneath is skin. 

“You home alone ?”

“Yes, Gator.” There was no fire in your eyes, just irritation tucked neatly behind your calm expression.

He didn’t like that. Nope. He preferred your frustration when it came wrapped in concern. Not this. 

He exhaled through his nose, but the restlessness in his shoulders betrayed him. “You could’ve texted.” He muttered.

You stared at him for a long second like you were trying whether he was serious. Was he really that dumb ?

“Are you hearing yourself right now ?”

He frowned, “What ?”

“You’re the one acting like a dick,” you shot back, irritation finally sharping your voice, “and now you’re interrogating me on my own porch ?”

“I didn’t.” He retorted.

“You did.” You corrected.

His expression hardened instantly, pride snapping into place. “You’re getting it twisted.”

There it was. That refusal to take ownership of anything that required vulnerability. You pushed off the doorframe and stepped fully outside, pulling the door shut behind you so the conversation stayed between the two of you and didn’t echo through the quiet of your house. 

“Then untwist it.” You ordered calmly.

He hated that. Hated when you were calm, didn’t raise your voice, didn’t match his edge. It left him with nothing to fight but himself.

“This ain’t—” He gestured between you, frustrated by the lack of language. “It ain’t something you get to make rules about.”

You shook your head, “I’m not making rules.”

He scoffed, “Sure feels like it.”

The wind cut between you, cold and sharp, but neither of you move, neither broke eye contact. You swallowed and when you opened your mouth again, the anger went away with the breeze, letting something softer threaded through frustration. 

« Did I do something ?” You asked, tired of these words rolling down your tongue. “Because if I did, just tell me.”

“You didn’t.” He answered too fast.

You hesitated before pushing again, more carefully this time. “Did… Did something happened with your dad ?”

At the mention of Roy, his eyes darkened instantly, a shadow sliding over his features like a storm could, and for a second, you thought he might snap at you. Instead, he stopped moving altogether. He dragged a hand through his hair and paced once down the length of the porch before turning back, agitation vibrating off him. 

“You’re reading into stuff.” He said, voice rougher now.

You looked at him more concerned, “Because you won’t say anything.”

He stepped into your space so suddenly it almost felt like impact, his presence crowding you the way it always did when he fet control slipping through his fingers. 

“You want me to say what ?” He asked, voice low, edged with anger.

You didn’t back down, held your head high, not impressed. “I want you to tell me what’s happening in your mind.”

The anger drained out of his face, replaced by something raw. He was a man who lived in his head, who could dissect a feeling until it behaved, but in front of you, thought scattered like scared birds. He should be fucking furious, how dare you mentioning his daddy. You had no right, but his mind refused to fall into the rigid order his father had drilled into him. He reached for resentment and found only the disarming gravity of your presence, the unbearable fact that he cared more than he wanted to.

He looked down, as if the floor might offer him the discipline his thoughts would not. For a moment the certainty slipped, and what remained was hesitation, making him look exactly like the boy in the mud. His lips twitched like he was trying to shape a sentence that wouldn’t betray him.

You watched the spiral take hold. You knew exactly what words would anchor him but you let the silence stretch instead, let him wrestle himself. It was the first honest thing you saw lately about him, and you weren’t ready to interrupt it.

“Everybody leaves.” He said in a whisper.

There was no accusation, just a simple fact.

The wind rattled the siding of your house, a hollow soul that filled the space neither of you seemed ready to occupy. Somewhere down the road, a truck passed, its tires humming against the pavement. 

You softened without meaning to. “Gator,” you said gently, “I’m not everybody.”

“You don’t know that.” He almost snapped.

You studied him carefully, like you were looking at something fragile even though he’d just insisted he wasn’t. 

He frowned at your expression, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what ?”

“Don’t act like you got me figured out.”

“I don’t.” You said shaking your head, and there was no challenge in it now, just honesty.

He looked away briefly, then back at you, frustration flaring. “You keep touchin’ me like I’m somethin’ breakable.”

You looked down.

“I’m not breakable,” he continued, voice rougher, defensive reflex creeping back in. “And I ain’t built for whatever that was.”

Your head snapped up, “That, was me being gentle.”

“Exactly.” The words cracked sharply out of him, like gentleness itself offended him.

He dragged a hand down his face, embarrassed by the direction this had taken.

“You start doin’ that,” he said, calmer now, “and I start thinkin’ things.”

“What things ?”

He hesitated.

You could see the pride bracing itself against something heavier. His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes flickering away and back again like he was measuring how much he could afford to say. 

“That maybe this ain’t just,” he paused, “…late nights.”

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs. “And if it’s not ?”

The question hung between you, fragile and dangerous. He swallowed again, and when he spoke, it was barely over a whisper.

“Then I gotta be different.”

The admission felt like something pulled from him with force.

“And you don’t want to be ?” You asked with quiet curiosity.

His eyes flickered, something defensive sparking again. “It’s not that—”

“Then what ?” You cut him off suddenly.

He looked up at you like you had just asked him to dismantle every piece of himself.

“I don’t know how.”

For the first time since you had known him, truly known him, he looked usure. Lost in a way that didn’t suit him, in a way that made him boyish somehow, stripped of all the sharp edges he made up.

Carefully you stepped closer, like approaching something wild that might bolt if you moved too fast. Your hand lifted, hovering near his face, giving him every opportunity to stop you. Your thumb brushed along his jaw and his breath stuttered, but he didn’t pull away. He closed his eyes for a second, brows furrowed together like your touch actually hurt.

When he opened them again, they were almost afraid. “You make me think I could want more.”

You smiled softly, whispering back. “Is that so bad ?”

His hand found your wrist but there was no attempt to control, his fingers wrapped around you like he needed the contact to steady himself.

“Dunno.” He said.

You didn’t push. You had learned with him, pushing only made him retreat into himself, into silence or anger or distance. So you just looked at him. His eyes dipped to your mouth, then back up, like he was trying to solve something without a blueprint. Like wanting something real came without instructions, and no one had ever taught him how to hold it without breaking it.

The wind swept across the porch again and you shivered before you could stop yourself. He noticed and glanced at your door, then back at you, then at the door again. “You, uh—” He cleared his throat, moving away from your soft touch. “You busy ?”

You blinked, “It’s midnight.”

“Yeah, I know what time it is.” A beat passed. “I just mean. You got plans.”

“With who ?”

His jaw tightened at that, a flicker of that earlier jealousy sparking but he didn’t let it take over this time. “I don’t know. Anybody.”

“No.” You shook your head.

He shifted his weight and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets like he needed somewhere to hide them, as if they might betray him if he let them hang loose. “You want me to—” He stopped and tried again. “You want me to go ?”

You couldn't help the small smile that touched your mouth, not because it was funny, but because it was so painfully him. Asking without asking, offering himself an exit incase you took it.

You tilted your head slightly, “Gator.”

He looked at you with serious eyes, “What.”

“Are you asking to stay ?”

His ears went red instantly, the color climbing up his neck in a way that would’e been almost endearing if it wasn’t so vulnerable.

“I didn’t say that.” He defended himself.

You squinted your eyes, “Mhhh.” 

He nodded slowly like he was processing new information, then exhaled sharply through his nose, frustrated. “I ain’t good at this.”

You chuckled, “I know.”

That made him look at you. You stepped closer, lowering your voice like this was something that required quiet.

“If you want to stay,” you said gently, “you can just say that.”

His throat worked. For someone who had no problem barking orders, taking up space, making threats, filling silence with noise, this is the hardest thing you had ever watched him do.

“I…” He looked away, jaw tight. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” You said softly. 

He clenched his jaw before the words even made it out, like they were fighting him on the way up. It clenched the exact same way it used to when his daddy’s boots hit the porch steps. His father never asked for anything in his life—he took, he barked, he decided. And he’d taught his son that was the only way a man kept from being small. Be harder first, be mean before anyone else gets the chance. For Roy, caring was weakness, and needing so much worse.

Admitting Gator wanted something he couldn’t just take was more difficult than he though. Taking was easier, you didn’t have to look anyone in the eye when you took. Asking meant standing there with your hands empty, waiting to see if they’re be filed or pushed away. 

“Can I stay ?” He dared to ask.

He kept his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, pretending the question didn’t matter, like he couldn’t shrug it off if you said no. But the way his fingers curled into his palms betrayed him. A part of him was ready for you to push him away the same way his father always did. If you looked at him the same way, if you decided he was too much trouble, he wouldn’t even be surprised. He’d deserved it after being cruel to you. He knew that.

And maybe you should push him away. He didn’t really belonged here anyway, stumbling through everything like a loser.

Your heart arched seeing him like that, “Yeah,” you answered immediately. “You can stay.”

Oh.

Oh.

He nodded once, surprised. “Okay.”

He reached for the door before you could, fingers wrapping around the handle like he needed something solid to hold onto, like the simple act of opening it himself might give him back a fraction of the composure he felt slipping.

You followed him and closed the door softly behind you, he paused a few steps in, shrugging out off his jacket slower than usual, movements almost thoughtful. Normally, he would have headed straight for your bedroom like it was instinct. But tonight he didn’t. He stood awkwardly near the couch instead, unsure what came next.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you gestured gently toward the hallway, and this time he followed you, without hesitation, though he stopped just inside the doorway, careful not to take up more space than he needed.

“You don’t gotta.” He said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You turned back to him, arching an eyebrow. “Gotta what ?”

“Act different.” He said almost sheepishly.

“I’m not.” You replied simply.

“You are.” He insisted, voice quiet.

You paused, studying him. “How ?”

He hesitated, as if searching for the right words like it embarrassed him. “You’re… careful.”

You hadn’t even realized you were. “I don’t want to scare you off.” You admitted quietly.

His eyes lifted sharply. “I ain’t scared.”

You gave him a look and he huffed under his breath, the tension draining out of him almost immediately. “Okay,” he muttered, almost reluctantly. “Maybe a little.”

That almost made you laugh, but you didn’t want to break the softness of the moment.

“You don’t have to be.” You said gently, letting the words hang between you like a promise.

He nodded distant, like he heard you and wanted to believe you, but didn’t quite know how to let reassurance settle. 

Normally this was where he would close the distance between you. Pull you against him and kiss you like he needed to prove something. Then, tear off your clothes and fuck you. But tonight he just stood there. Watching you smooth the sheets, pulling back the blankets on both sides, simply making space for him in your own bed. He looked so out of place standing there, like he’d wandered into something too gentle for him. His hands hung useless at his sides, like he was waiting to be told how not to ruin it. 

When you finished and he still hadn’t moved or said another word, you realized he was’t going to. So you crossed the room instead, closing the distance he didn’t know how to. You took his hand gently in yours and guided him into the room, each step easing him into a world he didn’t think he deserved. He followed stiff at first but didn’t resist long, letting himself be led instead of always leading.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing the fabric lightly before tugging it upward. “Still okay ?” You murmured.

He only nodded, couldn’t even look at you properly. 

The shirt slipped over his head, and you set it aside gently, like you were handling something precious rather than something routine. Your hand caressed his bare chest, sliding down to his pants. He held his breath. You looked up in his direction through your eyelashes, but he was already looking at you, his mouth slightly open. You licked your lips and unbuttoned his pants. He stalled hard, but you suddenly stepped back, taking two steps backward with a smirk. 

“Take this off.”

He complied and went toward bed himself, only wearing his underwear now, a little disappointed. He sat down first before stretching out stiffly against the mattress. He lay there on his back, staring up at the ceiling like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his own body. You climbed in beside him, giving him space even as you stayed near.

“You always stare at the ceiling like that ?” You asked softly.

“Helps me think.”

“About ?”

He was quiet for a long time, so long you thought maybe he wouldn’t answer. 

Then, barely above a whisper, “How not to screw this up.”

Your chest tightened and you shifted closer, slowly sliding an arm across his stomach. He tensed immediately but forced himself to relax under your touch. After a second, his hand moved carefully, covering yours where it rested against him. He was afraid to grip too tight, like he thought you might vanish if he didn’t handle you gently enough this time.

You shifted closer under the blankets, tucking yourself into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world, your head resting just beneath his collarbone. Your leg brushed against his, as you were getting comfortable against the warmth of him, when his arm—which had been restrung stiffly at his side—suddenly tightened around you. 

“I’m sorry.” The words came out of nowhere.

You tilted your head slightly against his chest. “For what ?”

“For last time.” His hand shifted on your back, just holding you carefully, always careful tonight. “I shouldn’t have—” He exhaled slowly.

You were quiet for a moment, fingers absentmindedly tracing a slow line along his ribs.

“I didn’t really like it.” You admitted softly and you felt him flinch.

“I know,” he muttered, voice heavy with self-reproach. “I could tell after. I just—” He stopped, like the explanation didn’t matter, he knew there wasn’t one good enough. “I don’t want to do that to you again.”

“I’m not mad Gator.”

That didn’t mean you’d forgotten, but it meant you were choosing this moment instead of that one. You lifted your head slightly and pressed a slow, soft kiss to the side of his neck. His breath caught and you kissed him again, lingering a little longer. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. His hand slid up your back, settling between your shoulder blades, holding you there like he needed to feel that you were real.

“I don’t wanna be like that.” He murmured into your hair. Then, he hesitated, like the rest of it cost him more. “Don’t wanna end up like him.” His voice was unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with anger but everything with fear. “Don’t wanna turn into my dad.”

You already knew who he was talking about before he even finished but the admission still stung. You lifted your head enough to look at him, your fingers brushing gently along his jaw, guiding his face down toward yours. He resisted for half a second out of habit, then let you.

“You’re not him.” You whispered.

His eyes searched yours like he didn’t trust that. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” You answered, and before he could argue, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.

He stilled under it and you kissed him again, this time at the corner of his lips, then along his jaw, the same place you’d touched earlier on the porch. Each kiss gentle, not leading anywhere, just reassurance.

“You’re here,” you murmured against his skin. “You’re apologizing. He never did that, did he ?”

His throat worked, and he shook his head once. “No.”

You brushed your thumb beneath his eye, soft enough that it almost tickled. “You’re nothing like him,” you said. “That’s why you’re here with me.”

When you kissed his neck again, slower this time, you felt the way he melted into it with relief for once. Like he didn’t realize how badly he needed gentleness until you gave it to him. His hand moved up your back, just resting there, warm and steady. His thumb traced small, absent circles against your skin, almost shy. Under your steady gaze he looked like a boy who just wanted to be good.

“You’re a good boy, you know that ?” You said suddenly. 

When you looked at him, the expression on his face stole the air from your lungs. His deep stubborn brown eyes that were usually sharp with defiance looked almost soft in a way that made him stripped of all the weigh he carried. He looked at you like you’d given him something holy instead of something simple.

He searched your face, cautiously at first, trying to figure out whether you were joking. “I ain’t.” He said abruptly without conviction.

You smiled, brushing your fingers on the beauty marks in his neck, your touch featherlight.

“You are.” You insisted softly. 

His lashes lowered, not in shame but in relief. You had always known this side of him was there. He let out a slow breath, pressing his cheek against the top of your head, holding you closer just enough to feel you there. 

“You look at me like that again,” he murmured, voice fragile around the edges., “and I might start believin’ you.”

You let your weight settle fully against him, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palm. His body gradually gave in, the tension draining out of his shoulders inch by inch, like he was setting something heavy down after carrying it for years.

“Maybe you should.”

When his grip softened slightly and his breathing deepened, you realized he had fallen asleep maybe for the first time with the idea that he could believed. Arms around you, forehead resting against your hair, as if allowing himself to want something gentle for once didn’t feel quite as terrifying as it used to.

You stayed awake a moment longer, pressing one last soft kiss to his collarbone. “You’re not him.” You whispered again, even though he couldn’t hear you now.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The first thing Gator registered was the warmth. It was a soft, all-encompassing heat that seeped into his side, a gentle weight anchoring him to the mattress of your bed. Morning light, pale and forgiving, filtered through your gauzy curtains. You were curled into him, one of his arms trapped beneath your neck, the other draped heavily over your waist.

Your breathing was slow, deep tide against his forearm as he could feel the incredible softness of your belly under his palm. Your ass was snug against his groin, and he was already half-hard, the sensation of your cotton sleep shorts a tantalizing friction. But it wasn’t that urgent morning-wood demand that usually propelled him to wake you with a hand between your thighs. 

There was a deep, swelling fullness in his chest, watching the way your hair fanned across his bicep, feeling the absolute trust in your unconscious surrender to his hold. He nuzzled the back of your neck, inhaling you. His hand, the one on your stomach, slid upward, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your thin shirt.

You made a soft, sleepy sound of pure contentment. Your eyes fluttered open as you shifted slightly, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing insistently against your ass. You wriggled back against him, a deliberate press now, and he felt himself stiffen completely against you. 

A familiar heat began to pool low in his gut. But the strange tenderness in his chest didn’t vanish as you turned and faced him properly to take in the sight of his rugged features softened by his sleepy head. 

“Mornin’.” He murmured, voice husky, lips brushing your shoulder. 

He nuzzled closer, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. 

“You’re cute like this.” You whispered back.

He snorted, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass. “Cute ?” I’m a fucking beast. Don’t you forget it.”

You giggled, wriggling against him, feeling his cock harden against your inner thigh. Gator stirred, his free hand trailed down your stomach, fingers dipping between your legs to stroke your pussy, parting your lips to find your clit already swollen and sensitive. He circled it with deliberate pressure, drawing a soft moan from you as wetness gathered on his fingertips.

« You're so wet for me already,” he growled softly, his voice laced with awe, like he couldn't believe this was real. 

He pushed two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that made you gasp, pumping slowly while his thumb continued its rhythm on your clit. You rocked against his hand. “I love feeling you like this. Love how you open up for me.”

You palmed his cock through his underwear, applying light pressure, feeling it twitch in your grip. “I want you inside me, Gator. Please.” You purred.

His eyes darkened with desire, and he rolled you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. "You're playing with fire." He growled, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

You moaned into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair. His body was hard and heavy against yours. You reached down, slipped your hand into his underwear and wrapped your fingers around his length, stroking him slowly.

“Fuck.” He groaned, his hips jerking into your touch. “You're gonna make me come before I even get inside you."

You grinned, biting your lip. « Maybe that’s what I want. »

He shook his head, his breath ragged. “No way. I need to be inside you. I need to feel that tight pussy.”

A small knowing smile touched your lips as his words sent a jolt of heat through you and you gasped as he suddenly pinched one of your nipples, until you let out a cry, desperate for more.

"Please, Gator," you begged, arching your back. "I need you inside me."

"You're so fucking eager," he breathed, catching your wrist. He brought your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “Love it.” He chuckled darkly, his fingers sliding between your legs.

He guided his cock to your entrance, rubbing the head along your slit before pressing in slowly. Inch by inch, he filled you, the stretch intense and perfect, your pussy clenched around his thickness as he bottomed out. You both groaned, bodies locking together. For a moment he just stayed there, buried inside you, feeling your heart hammer against his chest. He dropped his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He groaned, starting a deep, grinding rhythm, each thrust pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in fully, hitting your cervix with a loving pressure that built heat in your core.

You cried out, nails digging into the sheets as you moved your hips in sync to meet his. His hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he drove deeper, the slap of skin on skin echoing softly in the room, mingled with your shared breaths.

“Don’t stop.” The words tumbling out as pleasure coiled tight inside you, his cock dragging against your walls with every plunge.

Gator's response was a deeper thrust, his lips pressing fervent kisses along your neck, teeth grazing your skin just enough to mark without pain. “I love this so fucking much.” He breathed.

His pace intensified slightly, hips snapping forward with controlled force, his cock swelling inside you as emotions fueled the fire. He reached around to rub your clit, fingers slick and insistent rubbing in tight circles as he continued to fuck you relentlessly, pushing you toward the edge.

You could only moan in response, your body trembling with the force of his thrusts. “Your pussy is so tight. So fucking perfect for me.”

Your moans turned into cries as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. “I’m gonna come.” 

"Come for me then." He commanded, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you come all over my dick."

He could feel the orgasm building in you, your inner walls beginning to flutter around him. His own release was a tight, hot coil at the base of his spine. He kept his pace, kept his eyes on yours, making your foreheads touching.

“Come with me,” he whispered against your lips, his thrusts becoming slightly more urgent, but still sweet, still deep. “Look at me.” He pleaded as your nails dug into his shoulders.

You held his gaze and begged for more. His words sent you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you in a wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. You screamed his name, your body convulsing around him, milking his cock as he continued to thrust into you.

"Fuck, yes." He growled, his hips jerking wildly as he found his own release. 

He drove in one last, deep time, groaning your name as his cock spilled deep inside you. He collapsed onto you, careful to keep his weight on his elbows, his face buried in the sweaty crook of your neck. 

A/N : Guyyyysssss I wanted to post something so bad ! I’m working on so many things at the same time that I didn’t even post a single thing, doesn’t mean I didn’t work tho 🧘‍♀️ so here’s a little something ! First time I’m writhing for Gator. A second part will be posted soon (I promise, I juste need to rework some things).

Lots of love, thanks for waiting !!!! I have so much trouble staying constant. Love love love <33333

part.2 here :)

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The first time Gator Tillman saw you, you were small enough that the world still felt bigger than your fears.

You were sitting cross-legged in the dirt outside the Tillman house, fingers cacked with mud, stubbornly trying to fix the broken wheel on your bike. You kept glancing up at the porch like you were waiting for him to notice, as if you needed him to. 

He stood there, watching you fumble with your jaw tight for a long moment, thinking of how embarrassing it was of you to try to impress him. Not even cute, just pathetic, really. How dumb you were, believing that wanting something hard enough could make it yours.

Eventually, he came down the steps and crouched beside you without a word, sleeves rolled up, fingers careful as he helped snap the wheel back into place. His hands were much stronger than yours and he fixed it less than a minute. 

You had looked at him like he’d done something heroic. Even back then he didn’t smile much, but he’d glanced at you like you were something fragile and important. For a split second there was something softer in his eyes, something that might’ve grown into kindness if he’d been raised differently.

But he grew up in a house where softness got carved out of you early. He was already the boy who followed his father’s shadow until it swallowed him whole. So he quickly learned how to be a man according to his father’s beliefs and became pathologically obsessed with attempting to emulate his daddy in a twisted attempt to win his approval. 

In High school, his voice got mean as he wore arrogance like armor, strutted like he always had something to prove. And just like that, Gator Tillman became a dim-witted, violent hothead who pointlessly escalated situations, causing him more problems. But somewhere along the way, you never stopped looking at him like that boy in the dirt. 

For some he was a jerk desperate to impress his daddy, a looser who could only name his most recent achievement as being a good football player in high school. He was, for sure, an over-confident idiot who managed to screw up every assignment people gave him. But you always thought part of him wanted to be a good boy.

Even after he figured out exactly how easy it was to make flustered. 

You knew what he was, knew he could be ugly in ways that went deeper than skin, and yet you still went to him. Still answered when he texted past midnight. Still let him show up unannounced. Still let him lean against your car like he owned it. Still let him look at you with that slow, lazy knowing gaze that said he didn’t have to try very hard with you.

He liked that.

God, he liked that.

He knew he didn’t deserve the way you looked at him, because there was something quietly sweet about you, something unspoiled that should’ve wanted more than him. He just wasn’t going to fight it. If you insisted on crawling back into his arms, who was he to stop you ? 

These days, when he looked at you, he was still seeing that pathetic little girl down the street, doing anything for his attention. And maybe if he gave you the right amont of attention you craved so hard, his own father would stop looking down at him. 

The only thing that had changed, was that now, Gator could fuck you. 

You were on top of him, your hips rolling in a steady rhythm as you rode his thick cock, your breasts bouncing with each movement. His hands were gripping your hips, but his eyes stared at the ceiling, distant, like his mind was miles away. Maybe replaying some work bullshit or whatever had him zoning out lately.

“Feels so good.” You panted, your voice a sultry mix of pleasure and frustration seeing him not even looking at you. You leaned down, your nipples brushing against his chest, trying to regain his focus as your thighs gripped his sides firmly.

You’ve been sliding up and down his length, taking him deep with each roll of your hips for several minutes now. You’d initiated like always, pushing him back onto the mattress after a few half-hearted kisses. His shirt was off, jeans shoved down just enough to free his cock, which you’d stroked to hardness before sinking down onto it. 

You planted your hands on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his shaky breaths, as you straightened up, grounding your clit against his pubic bone one every downward thrust, chasing your own pleasure while trying to pull him into the moment. “Come on, Gator.” You murmured, nails lightly scraping his nipples to spark some reaction. 

You picked up the pace, bouncing harder, your ass slapping against his thighs with loud smacks. You arched your back to give him a better view, hoping it'd snap him out of it. 

“You like that ? Feel how wet I am for you ?” You asked, clenching your inner walls around his shaft on the upstroke, squeezing him tight to coax a groan or a twitch. 

But Gator just lay there. His cock throbbing faintly inside you, a biological response, but his face remained blank.

Frustration bubbled under your arousal as you kept going, determined to make him feel anything. You reached down, rubbing your clit in fast circles while you fucked him deeper, your juices coating his balls and dripping onto the sheets. 

“Fuck, you're so big !” You panted, faking enthusiasm to lure him in, but he didn't bite. 

No grunt, no filthy words back, just that vacant stare, so you shifted, grinding in slow circles now, your pussy lips dragging along his base, trying to build friction that might jolt him. You even leaned down again to suck on his neck, teeth grazing the skin, tongue flicking over his pulse point, but his body stayed passive.

“How good my pussy feels around your cock ?” You asked, your hips never ceasing their delicious grind.

Gator groaned, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily as you bite his ear lobe. "Fuck, you feel good."

You smiled, a wicked glint in your eye. You leaned back, changing the angle of your hips, taking him even deeper. “What are you thinking about ? Maybe I can help."

Gator's hands slid up your body, his thumbs brushing over your hard nipples. "Just work—fuck, yeah like that—just work stuff. You know how it is."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile never faded. You reached behind you, your fingers finding his balls, rolling them gently. "Well, maybe I can help you forget about work. What do you think about that ?"

Gator's breath hitched, his hips moving in sync with yours now. "Fuck."

You laughed, a breathy and sexy sound to his ears. His hands lightened on your hips then, his thrusts becoming more urgent. You moaned, your head falling back, as you rode him harder, your pussy clenching around his cock.

"Fuck, Gator. Just like that. Fill me up, baby."

Your efforts ramped up, but he remained a hard placeholder beneath you. The disconnect gnawed at you, turning the heat between your legs bittersweet. You chased your own release anyway as he was letting his mind wander away again, slamming down one last time as your orgasm crested, pussy fluttering around his unmoving length, waves of pleasure crashing through you without his participation. He didn't follow. 

As you withdrawn, panting, you almost collapsed onto his chest, but your hand slid down his body, fingers wrapping around his still hardening cock. Gator groaned, his eyes rolling back as you began to stroke him. You laughed, your lips trailing kisses down his chest. "That's what I thought." You murmured, your head dipping lower, your tongue swirling around his tip.

Gator's hands tangled in your hair, his hips bucking upwards. You took him deeper, your mouth working its magic. You looked up at him, eyes locked on his, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. You knew you had his full attention now.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Gator was sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight enough for his knuckles to pale. He looked like a man waiting for a verdict. You were still talking, something about your sister getting married next year or whatever happy family crap you always dragged after fucking. He came to your bed after a long day at the station, carrying the kind of anger that never really belonged to the moment. He’d been arguing with his father again, as usual.

This time it wasn’t even about work, but more about how he still didn’t have his life together. How he was behind. Gator hated this conversations, because no matter how he tried to prove he was worth something, that he was’t just wasting himself, his father never listened.  got his life together yet. 

Gator hated those conversations, because no matter how hard he would try to prove something, his father would not listen. Instead, he had called him a pussy this time. You didn’t know that by the time he showed up at your door later that night, didn’t need to actually, you would certainly agree. 

He barely heard the words you were saying, not really wanting to pay attention anymore, if he even did tonight. He turned his head slowly, eyes settling on you instead. 

His gaze traced your face, slower than it should have. Your eyes, some color he’d never been able to pin down, annoyingly bright and soft when they looked at him. His jaw tightened as his eyes looked at your mouth and without meaning to, followed the way your tongue darted out now and then to wet your lips, absentminded. He followed the motion without meaning to. His eyes went down your throat, following the line of your neck, where he’d left some marks. The fabric of his shirt brushing your thighs when you shifted on the bed. 

“Heard me ?” You asked, smiling a little.

He blinked, like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Congrats to her.”

You laughed under your breath and rolled your eyes. “You’re such an ass.”

You were used to him not listening, but normally he would’ve tried, smirked or said something smug, maybe even grabbed you by the waist to pull you down into his lap just to shut you up, the way he always did to keep it simple. But tonight, he didn’t even move. There was something different about the way he was looking at you. 

And that was a new problem for him, one he’d tried to avoid already.

Lately, there was a strange heaviness in his ribs like a bruise he couldn’t press without flinching. When you laughed too loud at one of his joke, like he was actually funny. Also when you mentioned some guy from the bar the night before, even in passing, a sharp flicker of irritation sparked hot and sudden before he could swallow it down. And when you touched him for no reason at all, no teasing, just your hands on him because you wanted to, a low, unwelcome warmth spread through him, settling deep and heavy in his chest.

He didn’t put a word on it yet, but didn’t want one anyway. He just knew he didn’t like it at all.

“You okay ?” You asked, tilting your head, studying him like he was something that needed fixing.

He hated that look. 

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be ?”

You pushed yourself up and moved toward him again, slow and deliberate, like approaching something half-wild. Crawling behind him on the bed, you slid your hands onto his shoulders from the back, fingers curling there as if you belonged. Your thumbs pressed into the tight muscle at the base of his neck, kneading gently. Then you leaned forward until your chest rested against his back like you weren’t afraid of him at all.

“You’re being weird.” You murmured near his ear.

“Am not.”

“You are.”

Your fingers moved to his hair, pushing it back where it had fallen into his eyes. Your palm settled against his cheek, turning his face slightly toward you. It’s nothing, barely anything, he thought. But his entire body went rigid and your thumb traced once along his jaw. He closed his eyes, savoring the strange feeling.

“Gator ?”

He opened them again. You were so close he could see every tiny detail of your face. He didn’t say a single thing, couldn’t. He could only look at you and smell. The scent of your shampoo, something like stupid flowers, and beneath it, the unmistakable, musky-sweet smell of you, of sex and skin. You leaned in and pressed your mouth to his cheek, on one of his mole. Then another. And another. He had so many of them, from his cheek down to his neck. You loved it, and he knew it. 

Usually he’d let you and lean back to it, let you worship what everyone else avoided, but tonight felt so different. It was too close to something he didn’t understand. 

He stood up abruptly, the mattress shifting under you. “Don’t.”

You blinked up at him, “Don’t what ?”

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step away like he needed distance. “Just—” he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Don’t do that.”

You leaned on your elbows, your back against the mattress. “Kiss your face ?”

“Yeah.”

Your brows pulled together, “That’s new.”

He scoffed. “Ain’t new. Just unnecessary.”

Unnecessary. Like the way your touch lingered. Like the way you said his name softer when you thought he was upset. Like the way you looked at him now, trying to understand him. You studied him, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, his eyes fixed on the window like there was something worth seeing out there. 

“You’ve never complained before.” You said quietly.

“Can I have my shirt back ?”

You looked at him confused but when he held out his hand for you to give it back, you passed it over your head and threw it to him. You rolled on the bed and reached for your own shirt from where you’d thrown it earlier. 

You forced a small smile, trying to lighten the mood, knowing Gator was complex and contradictory. “Okay. No face touching. Got it.” 

He sat back down, tying his shoelaces with quick, tight movements. Still not looking at you as he felt it again. That ugly, unfamiliar ache in his chest that flared when you adjusted so easily without fighting him back. Like you were willing to shrink for him, and he hated that feeling more than anything. Hated that it almost made him turn around. 

Coward, he told himself.

He started to think that perhaps he was the one who wasn’t good enough for you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

It had been five days. 

Technically it wasn’t that long. Gator disappeared sometimes, got bored or distracted. You’d learned not to expect consistency from him. Still. Five days. You checked your phone more than you meant to, a small flick of your thumb every hour or so just in case you’d missed something.

You replayed that night more time than you wanted to admit, trying to remember if you’d said something wrong or if you’d crossed some invisible line you hadn’t known existed. You told yourself you must’ve pushed too far. Maybe the face thing was too intimate after all. Maybe he didn’t like you wearing his shirt like that, without asking. Maybe you’d been too clingy. Maybe he thought you were hinting at something with your sister’s wedding. God, maybe he thought you were expecting more.

You weren’t. You knew what this was. Didn’t you ?

You saw him once at the bar three nights ago. He’d been at the far end, leaning against the counter, laughing too loud at something one of his colleague said. You’d caught his eye for half a second and he’d looked at you, but looked away first, as if you were a stranger.

Your stomach had dropped so fast you’d almost felt dizzy. You didn’t went to him, telling yourself you wouldn’t chase this time. If he wanted you, he could walk the ten steps it would take to close the distance. But he didn’t.

The next night, you were sprawled across your couch long past midnight, the TV murmuring low enough to be background noise. Some rerun you weren’t actually watching flickered across the screen. Your phone lay face-up on your stomach like you weren’t checking it every thirty seconds.

You told yourself you wouldn’t text him.

You lasted twelve minutes.

Your thumb hovered over his name while you argued with yourself. He was always the one who reached out first. Always the one who decided when you existed again. And tonight, he hadn’t, you knew he wouldn’t. Before you could overthink it again, you typed:

You: You alive ?

Wednesday 2:03 am

You stared at the message for a full five seconds before hitting send.

Delivered.

You watched the tiny word appear under it like it might change into something else if you looked hard enough.

Five minutes.

You flipped onto your side, pretending to watch the TV.

Ten minutes.

You unlocked your phone. Locked it again.

Fifteen minutes.

Your jaw tightened. You tossed the phone onto the cushion beside you like it had personally offended you.

God. How stupid.

You tried to convince yourself you didn’t care. That if he answered, great. If he didn’t, whatever. You were fine. Completely fine.

Forty-three minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Gator: Yeah

Wednesday 2:46 am

You stared at the screen until it dimmed in your hand. A slow breath left your lungs, something between a laugh and a sigh. You locked your phone and set it back down.

You left him on read for once.

You hated how small this made you feel. Hated how quickly your mind turned on itself, searching for flaws. Maybe you’d sounded needy. Maybe you’d looked at him too long. Maybe he’d finally gotten bored of you and that weird moment was just his way of easing out. That one hurt the most. Because if he was done, he could’ve just said so, unless you weren’t worth the explanation. 

Two days later, there was a knock at your door long after the sun’s gone down. You almost didn’t answer it as you were in the middle of cooking, music low in the background, trying to distract yourself from the quiet. The apartment smelt like garlic and onions, something simple simmering on the stove. 

The knock came again, firmer this time.

When you opened the door, he was standing there like he hasn’t been gone a week., hands in his jacket pockets, the one he always wore at work. 

“Hey.” He said.

You didn’t even pretend to hesitate and step aside immediately.

“Hi.” You breathed, and you hated how relieved you sound.

He walked in without brushing against you, and you closed the door, following him into the kitchen.

“I was just making dinner,” you say lightly. “You, uh… you want some ?”

 “No thanks.”

That’s it. No apology. No explanation.

You turned back to the counter, picking up the knife again, trying to ignore how aware you were of him behind you. 

“I saw you at the bar the other night,” you said, keeping your tone casual. “You looked busy.”

He hums something noncommittal.

You swallowed, “I thought maybe you were—” You stop yourself. Start over. “I didn’t know if you were still mad.”

“Mad ?” He repeated with a low voice.

You nod even though he couldn’t see it. “About the other night.”

You heard his boots against the floor and your grip tightened slightly on the knife as you keep chopping. “I just,” you started again, softer now, “if I did something—”

His steps were closer now. 

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” you add quickly. “I was just—I texted you,”

“And I answered.” 

Forty-three minutes later, but you kept that to yourself, you didn’t want to sound like you were actually counting.

His hands were on your hips before you could finish chopping the vegetables or come back with a punchline, his body pressing against your back. The heat of him seeped through your shirt, his breath rough against the shell of your ear. “Didn’t come here to talk.”

Your pulse kicked up, betraying you. “Then what did you come here for ?”

Gator’s laugh was low, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above your jeans. “You know damn well.” 

His other hand slid up, palming your breast though the fabric, thumb rolling over your nipple until it hardened under his touch. “Been thinkin’ about this pussy all damn day. How tight it gets when I fuck you just right.” His voice dropped, “How you whine when I don’t let you come fast enough.”

You arched into him, your ass grinding against the tick ridge of his cock trapped in his jeans. You tried to keep your composure, even though you weren’t hungry for food anymore, but he didn’t need an invitation. His hand shot down, popping the button of your jeans before yanking them and your panties at the same time down to your thighs in one rough motion. The cool night air hit your wet folds, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his fingers pushing inside you without warning. 

Desperate, he thought. Just what he needed.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He groaned, his lips brushing your neck. “Already so fuckin’ ready for me.”

You gasped letting out the knife, your hands slapping against the counter as he fingered you hard, his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust. “Gator, fuck—”

“Yeah, that’s it.” He murmured adding a third finger, stretching you obscenely. “Gonna fuck this pretty cunt so hard you forget your own name.” He twisted his wrist, hitting that post inside you that made your legs tremble. “Then I’m gonna do it again. And again. Until you’re sore tomorrow just from walkin’.”

You moaned, your head falling back against his shoulder as he worked you, his fingers slick with your arousal. You could feel his cock, heavy and throbbing against your ass, and you reached back, gripping him through his jeans.

“Less talk, more fucking.” You begged.

Gator growled, pulling his fingers free with a wet sound before spinning you around. His mouth crashed onto yours, tongue forcing its way past your lips as he reached his arm behind you and swung everything to the side in a loud, rumbling noise, but you didn’t care at all as he hiked you onto the counter.

His hands were everywhere—under your shirt, squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples until you whimpered into his kiss. He devoured you and you let him do, as always. He bite your lower lip, then was tearing at his belt, his jeans shoved down just enough to free his cock, thick and veiny, the tip already glistening.

You barely had time to wrap your legs around his waist before he was slamming into you, filling you in one brutal stroke. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, fuck—”

“Told you.” Gator grunted, pulling back only to drive into you again, harder this time. The counter cracked under you, utensils rattling as he pounded into you. “Gonna fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”

As much as you were enjoying it, something underneath it all felt wrong. Everything was too fast, like he was trying to outrun something. For a second, when he’d first touched you, it had felt different. You let yourself believe that maybe the distance from the past week had cracked something open in him. But his fingers dug into your hips, not quite painful enough to make your breath hitch, but enough to feel almost desperate.

“Wait—wait—I—I can’t—slower.”

He had one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to hold you open, spreading you wider, changing the angle so every snap of his hips hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. “Nuh-huh. Not until this pussy’s so full of my cum you’re leakin’ it for days.”

You couldn’t even form words, just broken moans and his name, over and over, as he railed into you. You tried to meet his every vicious stroke but you were feeling to dizzy to even try and grind your clit against his pelvis. The kitchen blurred, the only thing in focus the way his cock stretched you. 

You tried to keep your focus to let yourself stay in the moment, but it was starting to feel like heat without warmth. An uneasy sensation coiled low in your stomach, not pleasure exactly but something wrong. It felt less like he wanted you and more like he just needed something that wouldn’t slip away.

“So fuckin’ tight.” He snarled, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise.

“Please, Gator. You’re gonna kill me—s-slow down—» You cried out breathless.

“No, I know you can take it. You’re gonna milk my cock like a good girl.”

« I—I can’t— » You didn’t even finished your sentence as you came with a broken scream, your back arching off the counter, your orgasm rippling through you in waves. But Gator didn’t stop.

He fucked you through it, his hips pistoning, his cock swelling inside you. “That’s it,” he grunted, his voice rough with effort. “Gonna give me another.”

“Hold on—I need—I need a minute—”

He didn’t even listen to your begging, “Gonna take my cum like the greedy slut you are.”

And with that, he didn’t give you the time to recover. He pulled out, your juices dripping down his shaft, lifting you up and swinging you over his shoulder. He crossed the room in three strides, taking you to the living room.

« On your knees, ass up. Now. » He barked, voice rough as gravel, shoving you down onto the couch cushions face-first as your shirt rode up, baring your ass. You complied fast, heart pounding, knees digging into the fabric, back arched to present your pussy to him.

Gator didn’t waste time as he gripped your hips so hard you’d feel it tomorrow, nails digging in, and slammed into you without warning, burying his full length in one brutal thrust. You gasped, the stretch burning as he filled your pussy completely, walls clenching around the invasion. 

“That's it, take my cock like the slut you are.” He snarled, pulling back only to ram forward again, setting a punishing rhythm that shook the couch. His balls slapped against your clit with every drive, the sound wet and obscene.

“Fuck, fuck—” You sobbed, not even pushing back against him, your fingers twisting in the cushions as he pounded you relentlessly. “You’re too much—just—slow down—”

He leaned over you, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head back, the other coming down in a sharp smack on your ass, leaving a red print. “You like that ? My dick splitting you open.” He demanded. 

You whimpered, pleasure not spiking anymore through the roughness. “Please—just l-let me breathe—”

Gator's pace turned savage, withdrawing almost fully before plunging back in, stretching your pussy wide each time, his frustration pouring out in every thrust. Sweat slicked your skin, your juices coating his cock and dripping down your thighs. 

“Knew you needed this. Needed me to come over and use this pretty little cunt to take my shit out.” He grunted, releasing your hair to slap your ass again, harder, the sting making you cry out. “My dirty little hole to use.” His voice was a rough scrape in your ear. “You understand ? Tell me you understand.”

It was depredating in addition to hurting. The crude words, the complete reduction of you to a function, combined with the brutal, physical mastery of your body, made it impossible for your brain to think anymore.

He reached around, fingers finding your clit and pinching it roughly, rubbing in harsh circles that bordered on pain. “Cum for me, then. Squeeze my cock while I fuck you raw.”

You came again with a choked cry, your body locking up as another orgasm tore through you, soaking his balls with your release. This time, Gator followed, his cock jerking deep inside you as he groaned, his release flooding you in thick, hot pulses. He didn’t pull out, driving through your climax with brutal force, prolonging the waves until you were trembling.

He took a final, deep thrust, then pulled out of you abruptly. You whimpered at the sudden hollow emptiness. Before you could collapse, his hands were on you again, dragging you off the couch and onto your knees on the rug. He stood over you, his cock glistening with your release, jutting out proud and angry red. 

“Gator—wait, I’m serious—t-two minutes.” Your eyes were burning, a tear rolling down your cheek.

He framed your face with those rough hands, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks. “Open.” He commanded, his voice guttural. You looked up at him, your lips parting. Your tongue darted out, tentatively tasting yourself on him as he strokes himself slowly.

“All of it.” He growled, guiding himself forward.

You took him into your mouth, the stretch of your lips a fresh challenge. He was still fully hard, throbbing as you worked your tongue along the thick vein underneath, hollowing your cheeks. He groaned, his head falling back as his hands tangled in your hair.

“Yeah.” He breathed, his hands tightened in your hair, his hips moving in time with your mouth. “Just like that. Use that pretty mouth. You like the taste of your pussy on me ?”

You hummed around him, a muffled affirmation. You relaxed your throat, allowing him to slip deeper, until your nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. You could feel him hitting the back of your throat, your gag reflex kicking in. 

“Fuck.” He panted, voice harsh with need. “You take it so good.” His hips gave a shallow thrust. “Always so fucking good for me.”

He began to move in earnest, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had you gagging gently. “Look at you. On your knees just for me.”

You could only moan around him, your hands coming up to grip his big thighs for balance. The world narrowed to the heat in your mouth with the sound of his ragged breathing above you. He was talking non-stop, a filthy, praising torrent that fed the fire in your belly all over again.

“Gonna come down your throat.” He promised, his voice straining.

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks in helpless streams, your breath hitching as you tried to steady it.

He nodded, looking down at you, “You’re gonna swallow every fucking drop.”

You moaned around his cock and with a roar Gator came, his cock pulsing as he shot his load down your throat. You swallowed greedily, your tongue lapping at his cock as you milked him dry. Because fuck, you wanted it. How pathetic. You wanted to taste him, to feel him coming in your mouth.

Gator pulled out, his cock softening as he stepped back. You looked up at him, lips swollen and wet, skin warm, exhaustion heavy behind your eyes. 

“You leaving ?” You asked, pulling in a shaky breath as you tried to process what just happened.

“Yeah.” He replied flatly like it didn’t matter at all.

You stared at him confused. “You just got here.”

He was already dressing up, movements abrupt and careless, like this had been the plan all along. 

“Got stuff to do. »

“At midnight ?”

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. He avoided your eyes again, with that restless energy crawling under his skin like he couldn’t stand to be still another second. You sat up slowly, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with skin. 

“Did I do something ?” It came out colder than you expected.

“No.” He didn’t even think. 

You let out a quiet breath through your nose, “Then why does it feel like I did ?”

“You’re overthinking.” He walked back into the kitchen without giving you a single glance. 

You stared at his back, trying to cover yourself with what you could find. “Am I ?”

Silence stretched, thick and ugly. This wasn’t about overthinking but the way he’d taken and taken until whatever was bothering him burned itself out. And now that he’d gotten what he needed, he was leaving. As if you were a place to unload something heavy. Not a person. He grabbed his jacket and you felt the anger settle properly then.

“Seriously ?”

He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, “Don’t start.”

“Start what ?” You shot back, sharper now, pushing yourself up on your elbows from the couch.

He’d stopped at the entrance of the room, leaning back against the wall like he needed the distance. 

“This.” He gestured vaguely between you, like it was something inconvenient. “Whatever this is.”

You swallowed. “I’m not asking for anything,” you say quietly. “I just—”

“Just what ?” He barked.

You hesitated but he was already halfway gone. You could see the emotional shutdown, the wall sliding into place.

“Forget it.” You said finally, tired of fighting for eye contact. 

He nodded once, “Yeah. Good idea.”

He lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture over his shoulder, like that was enough. He didn’t look back and went for the entrance door. 

-ˋˏ ༻✮༺ ˎˊ-

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

-ˋˏ ༻✮༺ ˎˊ-

✴︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 : What have I done to deserve this ?

✴︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 : Pretty boy

✴︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

✴︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

✴︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

✴︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗

✴︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

✴︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

𝐘/𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐒

❝I don’t care about rivalries. I care about titles.❞

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍

❝You don’t have to like her but damn, you do have to respect her game.❞

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑

❝They think I left the game. I just changed the rules.❞

𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐘

“Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing. That’s the problem.”

𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒

❝You make it really hard to focus on photography… in the best way.❞

𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐄

❝If it distracts you, it doesn’t belong in your game.❞

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒