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lenacosse · 3 months

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False god

pairing; jake peralta x reader

word count; 2,500

cw; smut, arguing

summary; reader gets extremely insecure and jealous, instead of talking it through her and jake argue which leads to fucking.

a/n: im backkkk. so sorry for the lack of posting for the last two months, ive been so preoccupied but i hope to get properly back now. also omg try not to make a post about a ts song mission= failed. can’t resist.

‘and you can’t talk to me when i’m like this

daring you to leave me just so i can try and scare you

you’re the west village

you still do it for me, babe.’

════════════════

Your relationship with Jake wasn’t perfect, although to the eye of many that wasn’t obvious. You seemed utterly head over heels, and whilst that was the truth you, like any other couple had problems. But to the extent was not normal, most couples talk it out, that’s never been your method. The problem was Jake’s friendliness, before you got together you loved that about him, it was after all how you got together. You loved how he would talk to everyone, you loved how he made people laugh, but now that you sit in a crowded restaurant gritting your teeth watching your boyfriend make the waitress laugh, he told a joke, a joke first told to you, your gaze was fixated on him, the crease by his eyes as he laughed, the nod of his head as she spoke, but worst of all the prolonged eye contact they held and how her eyes glistened as they done so.

Swiftly you finished your wine, you cleared your throat and the waitress turned to you. You nodded your head to the empty glass, right away she excused herself with the glass to get you another.

“She’s lovely,” you grinned, the sarcasm seeping through your words.

“It’s the Peralta charm, she couldn’t help laugh at my joke,” Jake teased, resuming his meal. You near scoffed at the audacity of him, deep down you knew he was being harmless- a mere joke, but you couldn’t help the insecurity inside of you get the better of your mind. You and Jake have been together for two years, the longest you’ve both been with someone, your biggest fear is that Jake will get bored of you, so interactions like this had your mind running wild- reaching to the worst possible scenarios.

For the rest of your meal you were barely listening to Jake enthuse about his week at work, he talked about his perps, his drug busts and the banter within the precinct. Instead you were in your head, imagining the end of your relationship, more specifically Jake leaving you for someone much prettier and funnier. He’s never not been loyal, he’s never given you an reason to feel this way, yet you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t turn off your self sabotaging mind and that was a slow undeniable killer.

“Are you okay?” Jake said, snapping you back to reality, concern written over his face, his eyes gentle and comforting.

“I’m fine.” You replied. “Just tired.” You couldn’t shake the coldness of your words. Jake reached over the table to grab your hand, you sighed and moved your hand away, feeling too indifferent to talk about it. You could see the disappointment building in his eyes.

“Let’s go then.” Jake said as he stood up grabbing his jacket and pushing his chair in, you paid the bill and got into his car.

A deafening silence fell over you both for the first few minutes of the car ride, you didn’t know what to say, you were worried that if you started to talk you would end up fighting. The car stopped at the red light, you found your eyes wondering over to Jake, one hand on the wheel the other tapping on the dashboard as he starred out the window, his eyebrows were knitted together in a frustrated manner and his body was tense. He glanced at you and instantly your eyes hardened.

“What did I do to upset you this much?” Jake asked, his voice firm.

“Nothing.” You mumbled looking down at your lap.

“Then why are you acting like this? I don’t understand the night started great now you’re distant. Do you not like me anymore or something?”

The emotion in his voice had you heart aching, you couldn’t understand why your mind done this to you, from a rational perspective the interaction was harmless- maybe enough for you to sulk over, but not to this extent and you knew that. You nervously picked at you nails as you replied.

“Of course I do Jake- you know I love you. But it’s just..” you sighed, “I don’t know.”

He turned to look at you now, “just what?”

“You’re too friendly! That’s the problem.”

“Too friendly? What does that even mean?!” He laughed, you looked at him and instantly filled with rage.

“Don’t be stupid Jake. Don’t do that, you were flirting with that fucking waitress.”

The light went green and Jake drove again, his eyes were focused on the road as he spoke. “Flirting? Seriously. This again.” He sighed, “I’m not flirting with anyone.”

“Oh,” you scoffed, “it’s so fucking obvious! The fuck me eyes she was sending you, you’re not blind Jake anyone could have sensed it.”

“You’re seeing things. Seriously, tell me why would I do that?”

“That’s what I’m asking you!!”

“Maybe for once it’s not me, it’s you. You are the one causing the problem here not me.”

“As I recall you were the one flirting!” You fumed.

“Flirting or simply talking? Should I just stay away from all woman from now on?”

“You’re infuriating right now. Just fucking apologise.”

“For what?!” Jake raised his voice, “I didn’t do anything. I made me waitress laugh, you’re acting as if I asked for her number.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” You muttered.

“Really? You think I’d cheat on you.” Jake said as he parked the car outside his apartment complex.

You got out of the car slamming the door after you and Jake followed behind you. “Well would you?”

He punched in the code to open the complex door, you stood with your arms crossed walking with him. “What kind of question is that? Obviously not.”

You pressed the elevator button and stood beside him, arms crossed again and your body stiff with anger. “That’s not what I picked up on looking at you and that woman.”

“Y/N. I did not flirt with her. Get that idea out of your head.” Jake groaned, clearly becoming increasingly frustrated with you.

“Well maybe I wouldn’t have that idea if you weren’t so fucking friendly!” You practically shouted. Your face flushed red with embarrassment as a couple walked out of the elevator, by the looks of your face you could tell they heard everything. The man gave Jake a sympathetic look which made you roll your eyes, his girlfriend elbowed him in response to that.

Jake walked into the elevator, you followed and pressed the floor number. “I don’t want to have this stupid conversation anymore. I didn’t flirt with her! And I’m not too friendly, there’s no such thing.”

“Oh yes there is. You are a prime example,” you scoffed as the elevator doors closed.

“You want to know what’s exhausting? This. I’m sick of you being so insecure.”

“Then break up with me.”

“What? No. Are you insane?”

“Go on. Do it. I know you want to, do it Jake break up with me.”

“I’d be crazy to break up with you.” Jake moved closer to you.

“I think you want to.” You starred into his eyes, deep down you’d be distraught if he broke up with you. But the thrill of keeping him on his toes outweighed that.

He grabbed your arm pull you closer to him. “Don’t say anything like that again. Ever.”

Your face flushed hearing him being so assertive, when Jake got this way you could swoon. You smirked and looked up at him. “Why? Does it bother you?”

“Everything you’re doing right now is bothering me,” he got even closer to you, your chest was pushed up against his front. “Trying to scare me off?”

“Is it working?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, you could feel Jake’s breath on your face, furthering the heat rising to your face.

“No.” Jake responded. He pushed you against the elevator mirror, your back hitting the rail. His hands firmly gripped your hips, sure enough to leave a bruise, your breath quickened as he lowered his head and smashed his lips to yours.

You got caught up in an intense moment, your hands went to his hair, pulling him closer as your leg rose to wrap around his waist. You were pushed right up against the mirror as you shared a hungry make out, his tongue fought and won dominance as it explored your mouth. One of his hands moved from your waist and hiked up your thigh and skirt. His finger edged to your panties, and started to slowly circle your clit. You gasped at the sudden pleasure, breaking the kiss. Jake kissed your neck however quickly stopped and moved away once the elevator door opened. You tried to fix yourself up and walk normally to his door, you impatiently waited as Jake opened the door, you could’ve swore he was being slow to tempt you. You walked in first, wasting no time you grabbed his tie, a rare thing to see Jake in and pulled him to you.

His hands met your waist, he smirked. “Eager?”

“Shut up.” You replied.

As you kiss Jake backs you into his room, pulling down your top to reveal your bra and down onto his bed. Using his tie again you pull him on top of you, you remove his tie and make a start at unbuttoning his shirt. His lips meet your neck as he marks you, his hand travels down your body resting in between your legs, he moved your underwear aside and shoves two fingers inside of you. You cry out at the abrupt movement but quickly it turns to an override of pleasure, Jake moves from your neck and watches your face as he roughly fucks you with his fingers, curling them to hit that perfect spot, as if that wasn’t enough he circles his thumb on your clit. The pleasure making your legs shake and vision blur, the sounds coming from your mouth were incoherent, your whole body was trembling in pleasure. The pleasure continuing to build you knew you were close, you felt yourself ignite and be overcome with pleasure but just as you were about to finish he pulled his fingers out.

“Jake-” you whined but was quickly stopped by his fingers going into your mouth. You sucked his fingers, you couldn’t help but heat up at the taste of yourself on his finger. Jake removed his fingers and kissed you hungrily, his hand moving to your breast and rolling your nipple in between his finger over your lacy bra. You pull his shirt off and break the kiss, to mark his collarbone.

“Marking territory?” Jake teased as his hand slipped under your and effortlessly undone your bra. As you pulled your head back he removed your top and bra.

“Seems as if I have to.” You scoffed, Jake grabbed your jaw.

“As I’ve said before I’d never cheat on you.”

You rolled your eyes in response, he let go of your jaw and moved to your ear. “We’re not leaving this bed until you realise it.”

His voice was enough to make you squeeze your thighs together but the words spoken had you stifling a moan. Jake kissed down your neck, you arched your back pushing your body up onto him, desperate for pleasure. You grab his hand and bring it in between your thighs, hoping for pleasure from him.

“What do you want?” Jake asks, his eyes bearing into yours.

“You.” You responded, biting your lip. You could see it in his eyes, he was tempted to take you right there but resisted, much to your dismay.

“Be more specific,” he slowly moved his finger to brush against your clit, you hissed at the sensation.

“I want you to make me cum with your fingers. Then,” you moved your hand into his hair, tugging. “I want you to fuck me.”

“So demanding. Not even a please?”

“Are you going to or not?” You raised an eyebrow, Jake smirked and inserted two fingers into you.

You senses once again filled with pleasure from Jake roughly moving his fingers, you moaned his name feeling the pleasure override you. Your legs trembled as using his thumb he rubbed your clit. A continuous thread of moans left your mouth as you came undone, you vision whitened as you released, your body going into a state of utter bliss. Jake removed his fingers and took your skirt off, your hands made quick work of removing his belt and trousers. You watched eagerly as his cock sprung out with the removal of his boxers.

You moved your hand down to slowly stroke him, he softly groaned in response. You then wrapped your legs around his waist and gripped his shoulders as he slid into you, your eyes rolled back in pleasure as you adjusted to him. Right away Jake began to pound into you, one of his hands held your thigh as the other gripped the headboard making him completely tower over you, you watched his face contorted in pleasure. The room filled with the sound of your bodies joining together and your lustful moans, you knew trying to conceal them wouldn’t work, so you let it happen, not that anyone would complain Jake loved the sound of your moans. Jake fucked you like he’s never done before you wouldnt’ve been surprised if your bodies left a permanent dent into the mattress, that was only furthered when he moved your legs to rest over his shoulders allowing him to go deeper. Your mind became numb with pleasure, the only thing you could focus on was the immense pressure between your thighs.

Jake pushed your chin up to look at him, your eyes were pricking with tears as you got closure to release. “Believe me now?”

“Not quite.” You moaned.

This only fuelled Jake more to the point where the bed was slamming against the wall and tears of pleasure were streaming down your face, you felt the pleasure override you.

“So close.” You moaned.

“Cum for me,” Jake said, his voice dripping with pleasure, that itself sent you over edge.

The euphoric sensation washed over you yet again, your vision blurred as your entire body shook, never had you felt this way before. Jake continued, cashing his own release as you slowly came down from that high, however it wasn’t long until you felt it building up again. Jakes movements got strained as he got closer, again you came and white hot pleasure overcame you. Jake came inside you, moaning into your ear. Slowly he pulled out and lay beside you. You both starred at the ceiling, catching your breath. He turned to you and tucked your hair behind your ear, you couldn’t help the smile that creeped onto your face as you turned to face him too.

“Believe me now?” Jake teased, stroking your cheek.

“I always did I was just in my head, totally worth it though,”

“Totally worth it though; title of your sex tape.”

“Jake.” You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him.

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vln-vibes · 1 year

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Amity Park; Clone City ?

It started with a video.

Tim had been scrolling through social media, as one did when procrastinating doing boring paperwork for Wayne Enterprises. He found himself going down the rabbit hole and somehow ended up going down the Unreality/ARG path.

He had to appreciate the dedication to bringing these stories together, some of the stories could actually happen given all the shit he'd seen in his hero career. Anyway this ended in him getting fed back to back Not Real videos. At least that was until he found The Video.

The caption on the screen was the first thing that popped up in front of the face of a latina teen who was trying not to laugh; Imagine getting wrecked by a twink

The camera flipped two buff guys wearing red and white Leatherman jackets, one was on the grass with his head tilted to the side and a basketball next to him, the blonde guy was looking at his friend with tears in his eyes before turning red and turning to the side and yelling out.

"You're dead Weston!"

"I said sorry!"

The camera then did a sharp turn to zoom in on a lanky ginger teen. It looked as though the blonde was about to go beat the shit out of the guy before the ground shook and the sky turned momentarily green.

"Ah shit, must be Skullker"

The audio began to glitch before the cameragirl began to run, the blonde could be seen carrying his companion, the ginger guy running besides them. A sudden cry came from behind as they could hear what seemed to be a girl trip.

"Star!"

The video started to glitch again and the camera fell from the girl's hand. As the girl picked up her phone the video showed that the ground where the blonde fell was now charred. When the girl panned to the side he could see that the ginger guy had tackled her.

"Are you guys okay?" her slightly accented voice could be heard with a weird echo, the ginger guy had his head back to the camera as he helped the girl up.

"Ugh Skullker's the worst, I still can't believe Ember dates him" the girl groaned. She looked up;

Kara?

"At least Phantom's already on it" the ginger guy turned around.

Wally?

The video ended and Tim found himself rewatching it over and over again--- There was no doubt that those two were Kara and Wally. Sure they looked younger but it was them.

There had to be more to this, was this really some sort of ARG? The explosions and the weird glitches, was that just all some part of a gimmick? Also why were there two younger versions of prominent heroes? Were they clones? Was Cadmus involved?

If it was clones then Cadmus was definitely involved.

He clicked on the girl's profile--- PaulinaxPhantom<3

Most of it was blank, not in a 'She doesn't really post much' sort of way, like her photos and video were whited off. He could see a sporadic picture and video here and there but they were divided by blank pictures that never loaded or video that crashed without ever showing anything.

He knew it had nothing to do with his connection so what the hell was going on. Could it be something with the site?

On a recent picture it was a selfie of herself with 'Star'/Kara with a link to 'Star's' profile.

Same thing as Paulina; pictures and videos surrounded by never loading and permanently whited out.

He checked the blonde jock's, Dash, and had the same result. Apparently the guy he’d been carrying was named Kwan—

Was that Garth? Sure he was a lot bulkier but he had an uncanny resemblance to the Atlantean.

Then he found 'Wally' again, or Wes apparently; Wally West and Wes Weston? It wasn't giving him much hope.

Wes was apparently part of Casper High's journalism club given his video about trying to meet the deadline and ranting about how annoying 'Boxie' had been, having trashed their clubroom and making them pick up after him.

"Stop complaining and actually pick up the slack Weston" a female voice spoke up from behind him.

"Yes, yes Chief Editor Manson"

Raven!?

Another video had him in a local food joint where the waitress was taking an order from a black haired customer, scowling as she noted the camera on her and flipped him off as the camera zoomed in on her, which was a dick move on the guy's part (as if service industry workers didn't have to deal with shit customers in the first place). The customer she was helping didn't even look back and also flipped him off.

"Get a life Weston"

Karen?

Oh holy hell bats! Was that Dick!?

Oh crap. Oh motherhecking heck!

This was bad.

Fumbling off of his bed and out of his room with a single drive to get to the Batcave, where he knew Bruce would be at the time and be able to assemble an Emergency Meeting with the League, he only had one thing in mind.

Why the hell would they hide clones in the middle of bumfuck Nowhere Illinois?

#dpxdc #dcxdp #Batpham #dp x dc crossover #Amity park is weird #They suspect secret clones #thats how the JL find out about the GIW #counterparts #danny fenton & dick grayson #Wes weston & wally west #Sam Manson & Raven #Tim is spiraling #Tim is panicking #Is everyone a clone???#Jazz fenton & Barbara gordan

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hottpinkpenguin · 3 months

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Letting Someone Go - Part 2

Benny Cross X Female Reader A/n: part 1 is here! Word Count: 2014 Warnings: cursing, alcohol use Taglist: @real-lana-del-rey @putherup

Fifteen months. That was all it took for you to find Benny, love him, and lose him. The easy version of your story went like this: it was Kathy Bauer’s fault. Simple as pie, like your mama used to say.

The truth was a lot different. The truth was messy and it hurt a hell of a lot more. Because the truth was that you hadn’t lost Benny at all. To lose something, you have to have it in the first place. And when you were being really honest with yourself, you knew that you never had Benny Cross. You had as much of a claim to him as a kite does to the wind. That was to say, none at all.

You didn’t like the truth. But, you weren’t the kind of girl who could live a lie either. So, you did the only thing you could think of: you ran away. Kathy Bauer’s first night in the Vandals bar was early November, Benny broke it off with you in early December. You spent Christmas drunk and stoned. And by New Years, you were gone.

You thought putting Chicago - and Benny - in the rearview mirror would help. You’d banked on it helping. Running was your only plan. There wasn’t any other choice, really. Sure, some of the Vandals had pitched you on sticking around, club president Johnny among them. Your waitressing pal Sheila had asked you to move in with her, given that you were now two months’ behind on rent without Benny’s side-hustle cash around to help pay the bills. Hell, Cal had even offered you a soft place to land on the left side of his queen sized mattress.

None of those offers had tempted you for even an instant. So, while the rest of America was counting down the final seconds of 1965 from their couches, you were sitting on the back of your fully customized Sportster, driving like a bat out of hell on the back roads leading west out of Chicago. Your only destination was the fuck out of here.

It took you fifteen months to figure out what love was and to lose it again. You weren’t sure how long it was going to take you to do something approximating move on, but you figured it would be a lot longer than fifteen months. And you were right.

***********************

Your phone rang at 3:13am in the morning on September 19th, 1969. The first thing you thought was that your daddy must have finally died. Sonofabitch had been fighting a chainsmoker’s strain of lung cancer for almost six months now, and damn had it been a hard fight. Your mama had actually begged you not to come home and see him. Nothin’ you can do here, baby she said in her soft, sad voice each time you called and asked if you should come home. Your daddy, for his part, couldn’t talk anymore, on account of the laryngectomy the doctors gave him a few weeks prior. He’d declined one of those robotic voice boxes. Figured he’d said all he needed to at this point. Nobody wanted to hear the ramblings of an old biker on death’s door at this point. Especially himself.

But it wasn’t your mama’s voice on the other end. It was Johnny Davis.

“Hey, kid.” Not a question, not a hey, how are ya. It had been almost four years since the last time you’d talked to Johnny. Four years since you’d last seen a Vandals cutte. You wished you could say it had been that long since you’d thought about the club, but that would be a damn lie. Your mind drifted back to a certain handsome blonde-haired blue-eyed biker almost every day.

It took you a minute to place the voice on the other end. It was familiar in the way a dream is familiar, but between the fog of leftover whiskey, a deep sleep, and buried memories, it didn’t come to you quickly.

“Who’s this?” you asked, wiping the tired out of your eyes.

“Oh, uh, well. It’s Johnny.”

There it was.

“Johnny? Johnny Davis?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s me, kid. Listen. How you been?”

You couldn’t help but let out a short, sad chuckle. The easy answer to that question was oh, I been alright Johnny, you? But the truth was something more like, well Johnny, let’s see, since I last saw you in Chicago I’ve been on the road pretty much constantly for four years, running for so long I can’t tell if I’m running to or away from something, much less what that thing is. I’ve picked up about a dozen bad habits, like drinking too much and riding too fast and going home with the first guy who’ll buy me a brew at a bar. Oh, and by the way, my daddy’s dying.

But Johnny didn’t deserve your bitterness. Especially not at 3:14 in the morning.

“You know me, Johnny, I’ve been doin’ just fine. Why’re you callin’ so early?”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line. An image of Johnny, taking a deep drag on one of those Pall Malls he loved to smoke, came to you in the darkness. In the quiet of his reply, you heard a dense grief. You braced yourself for what you were sure was bad news and flicked on the bedside lamp on your nightstand. Next to you, the latest biker boy of the week stirred grumpily and waved at you to turn the light off. You ignored him, throwing off the covers and dangling your feet over the side of your mattress.

“Well, kid. It’s Brucie.”

Brucie. It took the air out of your lungs. You could have named a half-dozen Vandals you’d expect to kick the bucket before Brucie. Zipco, Wahoo, Corky. Hell, even Johnny himself. And Benny, of course. You couldn’t help but feel the knot in your chest relax an inch to know that Johnny wasn’t calling to tell you that it was Benny. But damnitall, Brucie? Careful, pragmatic, thoughtful Brucie? What the fuck was Gail gonna do?

“Brucie? What the fuck happened?”

Another jagged inhale on the other end. Johnny was crying, you realized. It gutted you.

“Oh, you know. 1967 Pontiac came outta nowhere, you know, just caught him in a bad way. It’s always the ones you don’t see comin’, y’know? Fuckin’ Pontiac.”

“Jesus, Johnny. Brucie? Shit.”

You lit a cigarette of your own as you let your mind wander back to your time in Chicago. Brucie was solid, Johnny’s right-hand man and a kind, gentle sorta guy. You’d liked him instantly, and Gail too. Real good folk.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been hard, y’know, I mean, club is real beat up over it.”

“Fuck, Johnny, I don’t even know whatta say. I’m so sorry.”

You and Johnny took matching drags and tried to swipe away your tears. The guy in your bed next to you rolled over and fixed you with a bleary-eyed glare. You couldn’t remember his name - Steve, maybe. You covered the receiver with your hand, told him to get the fuck out, and drank down the last swallow of whiskey in the only upright glass on your nightstand.

“Yeah, well, I ‘preciate that, kid, I really do. Listen, we’re havin’ a get together for Brucie. Next weekend. Entire club, all charters gonna be there. Invited a few others, too. Ones that knew Brucie. I know he’d want you there.”

Of all the things Johnny had said to you tonight, this was the one that stole the air from your lungs. Go back to Chicago, to the Vandals? You weren’t sure how you’d do that. Or if you physically could.

“Aw, shit Johnny. I dunno…”

“I know you got history here,” Johnny interrupted quickly. “I know you got… I know you got a lot you’re tryin’ not to come back to. I get it.”

Lots of people might have tried to tell you they understood how you felt. You’d opened up about Benny to a few people since you’d left Chicago. Most people you met on the road were a little bit broken, like you. They were running, just like you, and they weren’t strangers to heartbreak and dead-endings and being fucked over. But, no matter how many times you tried to tell your story, you just never felt like you got it right. So nobody really understood it, because you weren’t sure you did. But Johnny? Johnny didn’t need to hear you tell it. He’d watched it happen. Maybe he really did get it.

Still, was that enough for you to go back? Unsure of what to say, you just stayed silent. Behind you, maybe-Steve was dragging himself out of bed, untangling his clothes from yours, and doing a shitty job of trying to stay quiet.

“You think about it, aight? But I know you’ll come. For Brucie.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Johnny was right. ‘Course you’d go back for Brucie.

“Aight well, I’ll let ya go then. Sorry for wakin’ you up.”

“Johnny, wait.”

He hesitated. “Yeah, kid?”

“How’d you get my number?”

There were about a million questions you wanted to ask Johnny, although you knew yourself enough at this point to know that you wouldn’t want the answers. So you asked the safest one you could think of.

He chuckled softly. “I keep an eye on my friends,” he replied cryptically before he said goodnight again, and the line went dead. You wished you knew what that meant, although just knowing that there was someone out there in the darkness who cared for you enough to go to the trouble of checking in with whatever backwater charters you shacked up with (because realistically that was the only way Johnny would ever be able to keep up with you) made your heart warm.

“Who the fuck was that?” demanded maybe-Steve. He was halfway out the door of the dingy room you’d rented in this roadside motel, hoping you might still ask him to stay.

“Old friend,” you said brusquely as you stood up and threw an old tshirt over your bare chest, heading for the door behind him. “Time for you to hit the road,” you told him by way of invitation, pointing towards his bike in the parking lot.

“It’s fuckin’ 3:30 in the mornin’, you sure I can’t just sleep it off here?”

“Nah, fuck that. Get lost.”

He grimaced and spat thickly on the ground. For an instant you wondered if he was going to give you trouble, but he just shook his head in disgust and left you there to curl up on the rickety plastic chair outside your motel room with plans to chain-smoke until sunrise. You watched him go, his tail light streaking across the long, dark, flat expanse of Iowa farmland until it melted with blackness around it. Your mind was fluttering with all kinds of memories and thoughts that Johnny’s voice had stirred up. Rather than try and fight it, you let yourself sink beneath the surface and zone out, wading through a chapter of your life that you’d deluded yourself into believing was over. The sun had climbed up over the horizon by the time you came back to yourself with a bleak glance around the ramshackle motel. Your Sportster was gleaming like a lighthouse over in the corner of the lot under the only tree around for miles, a huge black walnut that seemed to be holding up its branches and asking the sky to sweep it up and take it away from here. Exactly how you felt.

Unable to fight against yourself anymore, you splashed cold water on your face, tied your hair up, shoved your belongings into the leather saddlebags you’d been living out of for the last four years, and got on the back of your Sportster. As soon as you kickstarted your bike, you knew where you were going. Straight back to Chicago, back to the Vandals, to Benny. Straight back home.

read part 3 here **let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!

#the bikeriders imagine #the bikeriders #benny cross x reader #benny cross x you #benny cross x y/n #benny cross imagine #bikeriders imagine #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine

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chestharrington · 5 months

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Fixation

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, handjob, p in v). Dubious Consent (coercion, power imbalance, failure to pull out), unhealthy/probably illegal power imbalance, stripper!reader, gator is an asshole (like extremely), degradation, misogyny, sexual assault (by a non major character), brief violence, kind of stockholm syndrome if you think about it, unhappy ending

Summary: Gator Tillman’s fixation of the week just so happens to be you, for better or worse.

A/N: If you know me personally please do not read this thank u <3

The foggy clouds of your breath were painted pink by the glow of the neon sign— The Venus Lounge— with a cute little clamshell opening and closing and everything.

You had a velour sweatsuit pulled over the skimpy costume you’d wear for your next dance, hot pink and bedazzled across the ass. It was trendy maybe fifteen years prior, so it cost just about nothing when you bought it at a bin sale.

Sweet, strawberry-scented vapor poured from your lips as you exhaled. You hated this stupid thing— you’d rather smoke a cigarette like a goddamn adult. But the owner insisted, “You ladies gotta stay smelling nice and sweet and respectable for our clientele.” Which was fucking stupid considering they came in smelling like sweat and mud and body odor.

From the alley, you could get a sneak peek of whoever was coming your way for the night— the big spenders, the handsy ones, the cheap ones… and Gator Tillman’s stupid entourage, who you avoided like the plague.

You made the mistake of getting cozy with him. Once. A few well-paid lap dances, then a private dance in one of the dimly lit back rooms. He’d been handsy, and you relished in it, in him. A handsome, powerful guy who looked at you like you were the hottest woman he’d ever seen. You sucked him off in the private room and he gave you a hundred to shut the fuck up about it. Like you were some sort of whore.

Gator. What a stupid fucking name. His dad was a grade-A cocksucker, so it made sense that he’d name his son something so goddamn stupid. The other girls were scared of Roy, with good reason. Their boyfriend get too rough? He’d brush it off— no domestic abuse charges on his watch. The man is the master of the house, and the woman is his property. One girl swore he came onto her, and she got a broken arm when she brushed him off. A lot of people thought that stepping to the Tillman’s meant winding up dead.

Fuck that.

You hadn’t wanted to wind up in this town anyway. You were married, once upon a time. You had the tattoo of his name on your hipbone, a shitty rental house in West Texas, and a wedding band he bought from a pawn shop. He found a job up north, and you followed like an obedient puppy.

It wasn’t your fault he’d racked up gambling debts— that he owed the wrong people money he didn’t have. And it wasn’t your fault that he was fucking a waitress at the local diner— thin, blonde, perky. The divorce was settled quickly— but you were left penniless, in bumfuck North Dakota, in Tillman territory.

Well, it was a good thing you still had your looks.

You saw the police cruiser pull into the lot, heard the slam of the car door and the mindless chatter between the valiant boys in blue. Those assholes did about as much for the city as a tick does for a dog. Your phone buzzed against your hip, warning you that your break was up. You took one more puff from your vape and slipped back in the door to the dressing room.

You warned everyone that Gator and his boys were out there as you slipped out of your jogging suit and adjusted your dancewear beneath— a baby blue bikini set that you’d bedazzled by hand. You slipped a sheer skirt overtop and surveyed yourself in the mirror. There was still a flush on your cheeks from being out in the cold, but it would be fine.

You slipped out onto the floor, passing by crowded tables. It was busy, even for a Saturday, which meant more money to take home. A hand grabbed your ass and squeezed it in a meaty paw. It was some drunk old guy who probably couldn’t even get it up anymore but had maintained his pervy inclinations. You bit your cheek to keep from saying anything and kept making your rounds.

“You want a dance?” You’d ask the safe guys— the ones who looked nervous to be there, whose eyes kept flitting around like they’d get caught any moment. Their button-ups were ironed, their slacks pressed. Usually, they had a nice fountain pen in their pocket. Clerks, CPAs, any of those nerdy desk jobs.

Most of the time they declined, too nervous to go that far, but occasionally you’d get a yes, do a bit of grinding, and walk away with a nice tip.

You’d done a few lap dances by the time you passed by Gator and his crew. Your money was tucked into the band at your hip, concealing your ex-husband’s name.

He called you like a dog– whistling low. You froze, and turned to face him, all smug and pleased with himself.

“You need somethin’, Deputy?” You asked, jaw clenched, raising a brow. “Because if you do, you can ask like a gentleman. I’m a lady, not a dog.”

He laughed, glancing back at his pack of asshole cops to make sure they saw the next part. “Really? ‘Cause it seems to me you’re actin’ like a bitch.” They all laughed, because of course they did. They thought he was so, so clever. Before you could respond, he held up a fifty-dollar bill between two fingers. “C’mere, girl. I want a dance.”

Your eyes flicked between him and the fifty between his fingers. You were broke, but was it worth it? He saw your hesitation and his smug grin grew. “Aw, you need it that bad, huh?” He patted his thigh twice. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Anyone in their right mind would’ve said no, and walked away with their dignity intact, but he was right— you needed it bad.

So you approached and tried to pluck the money from his hand, but he pulled it away, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Nuh-uh, Sweetheart. Gotta earn it first.”

You huffed in disbelief, taking a step back. But meeting his gaze told you how serious he was. You swallowed your pride and straddled his lap, grinding to the beat.

It felt degrading, dancing on him while his friends all leered. Your tits pressed against Gator’s shirt, his hands firm on your hips, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch. If you called him out on it, he’d probably just say it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

It could’ve been one song, or maybe more. Probably more. When he finally removed his hands, he nodded for you to get off. You swallowed uncomfortably and took a few awkward steps back.

“The money,” you said weakly.

His face scrunched slightly, like he was considering it. “Eh… I don’t think you earned it, Sweetheart. I mean, I’m not even hard.”

He got a real kick out of that, and out of the kicked puppy look in your eyes. You swallowed it down like a bitter pill and met his gaze. “It’s not my fault that all the blow you do is killing your dick. Keep your fuckin’ money, Gator. I don’t want it.”

Which was a lie. You wanted it more than anything… but you knew you’d pissed him off. You could see the vein popping at his temple, the way his hand clenched around his beer bottle. Better to pretend you were better off without it and walk off with some dignity left.

It took about three steps to realize that there was a little less pressure on your hip than there used to be. Your hand felt along the band of the bikini and came up blank. He’d taken your fucking money.

You heard him giggling behind you once he knew you realized, but what was the point? Who would you call to get it back? The police?

By the end of the night, you counted your meager earnings and tucked it away in your bag. Without your dancewear and the makeup and the heels, you could pass for the average citizen of Stark County.

You bundled up in a parka before you walked to your car, a shitty, beat-up car nearly older than you were. One of the side mirrors was ripped off, and the bumper was caved in, but she ran.

Tucked into the windshield was a tiny note, in a messy, nearly illegible scrawl— Impress me next time. You crumpled it and tossed it onto the asphalt.

You saw him again on Monday. The club was closed on Sunday, due to an ordinance that Roy Tillman had put in place about businesses of ill repute operating on the holy day. You wondered what he thought about his son bankrolling the lives of half of the strippers who worked at the club.

He was alone, though, which scared and comforted you in equal measure. You watched him from afar, sitting at the bar, drinking a White Claw and puffing on that stupid fucking vape.

There was a girl in his lap, one of the newer dancers who didn’t know better. Whatever. She’d figure him out soon enough.

Mondays were slow. You did a few dances onstage, made the rounds, flirted with some of the regulars. Gator was blissfully elsewhere, which you loved.

The night had been pretty tame until just before last call, when an overserved realtor got loud and handsy.

“C’mon, why don't you take me back to one of those rooms without the cameras?” One asked as you gave him a half-hearted lap dance. His breath was like a punch bowl at a senior prom, and his fingers dug into the plush of your ass.

You winced as he pulled you harder against him, and you felt the uncomfortable prod of his dick against you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was grinding up against you, sweaty at his temples and forehead. He was deceptively strong, holding you down against him so he could rut against you and get off. “Ya know, the private rooms for the big tippers. Better than all this over the clothes stuff.”

“You need to stop,” you said, as firmly as you could, shoving at his chest to really get your point across. He didn’t let up, and gave you a smarmy grin as he began roughly moving your hips of his own accord. “Hey, stop it, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re the one offerin’ me a dance,” he said. “I sold a nice big house today, got a real good commission. I could tip ya real good if you’re nice.”

“Let me go!” You shoved at his chest, slapping at him, but he just grinned. You were just wondering if biting his ear off would do the trick when you felt yourself pulled off him and tossed aside on the floor like a rag doll.

Then there was the soft sound of blows landing against a stomach. Then the crunch of a broken nose. The wheezy rattle of the realtor’s breath once he started spitting up blood and teeth. Each punch made you flinch until finally, it relented.

“Should’ve let her go, asshole.” Gator’s knuckles were bloodied, and you realized he was holding out a hand to help you up. You took it, nervously, and readjusted your costume where the realtor had tugged at them. “You hurt?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine but is— I mean, is he gonna be okay?”

Gator’s brows furrowed as he spared a glance toward the bloodied pile of meat on the floor. He spat in his direction and shrugged. “Who fuckin’ cares? Goddamn lowlife.”

You wondered if he could sense the irony. His face lit up in recognition, then he knelt beside the realtor, patting him down, searching for something. He stood and held up a fancy, monogrammed leather wallet.

He sifted through, retrieving bill after bill. “Here. Y’earned it.” It was more cash than you brought home in a week. More cash than anyone should carry on themselves at once.

“I’m not taking that,” you said weakly. “I can’t.”

He rolled his eyes, tucking the money in your bra. “Such a fuckin’ bitch, you know that? Can’t even say thank you or nothin’.”

He left you standing there over the broken body of the asshole realtor, who may or may not have been dying. Either way, you figured the Tillman’s would handle it. For better or worse.

“I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” you argued, which was a lie. And it’s not like anyone would listen even if it wasn’t. Police are on their way, they said. They’ll deal with thieving filth like you.

Well… they didn’t have to get quite so personal. You sat outside the Manager’s office at the stupid fucking sex shop, picking at your cuticles until you heard the police cruiser roll up outside. You heard the door slam, and muffled chatter until you saw him walk in.

“Well… look who got herself into some trouble. And here of all places too.”

Fuck. Gator Fucking Tillman.

You glanced up at him for a moment before returning to your nails. The shop owner was talking the deputy’s fucking ear off until you heard the question you dreaded.

“What is it she was tryin’ to steal? I mean… there’s a lot to choose from, I’ll tell ya that.”

You watched with a thin sense of dread as the shop owner laid out your would-be haul of lingerie that had been stuffed into your purse. Gator grinned as he glanced over at you, then back at the lingerie.

“Can I have the office? I need some privacy to interrogate the perp.” The manager complied, bending to the will of the law or whatever. Gator grabbed you by the arm and tugged you inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

You watched as he strode towards the nice armchair behind the desk, then sat down, legs spread wide. He unzipped the stupid police vest and shrugged it off, so it landed in a pile on the floor. For a moment, it was quiet as you stared at him dumbly, then he snapped his fingers.

“What? You want me to tell you why did it? Three fucking guesses.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No, I want you to try it on.”

You swallowed, and when you spoke your tongue felt dumb and heavy. “What?”

“You heard me. Try it all on, and tell me if it was worth the trouble.” He looked at you expectantly, and when you didn’t move, he sighed. “It’s this, or I take you to the station, get you booked, and all that. I doubt anyone’s gonna pay your bail, so that’s a few days before arraignment. Then it’s a court case for larceny, and let’s be honest, you’re guilty.”

You stared at him, speechless. He stood up suddenly, grabbing his things before you interrupted— “Wait! Wait. Just… sit back down.”

He grinned. “There’s a good girl. Make it good for me, yeah? You know how.”

You huffed, heart pounding as you grabbed the first set and turned around to change. You had just pulled off your shirt when he cleared his throat behind you. Your hands shook as you turned around, barely covering your tits.

“C’mon, I said to make it good, Sweetheart,” he said with a thinly veiled sense of amusement. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

The fucking asshole. But you took a breath and steadied yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

His gaze was intense, tracing each curve and dip of your body as you moved. You slipped the bra on, clipping it shut with shaking hands.

“Alright, now you can turn around,” he said, nodding towards the panties in your hand. “And do it nice and slow for me.”

Your face burned with embarrassment as you turned around, working the buttons of your skirt so you could slip it down your legs. It fell into a pile around your ankles and fanned out like a flower. You hooked your thumbs into the panties you were wearing, pink with little flowers spotting the fabric. As slowly as you could manage while terrified and pissed, you slipped them down your legs.

When you spared a glance at Gator, he was smirking right back at you. “Give those here,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly.

“What?”

“Geez, you’re fuckin’ dumb. Lemme see ‘em.” He more or less snatched the panties from your grip, smiling like the cat who got the cream as he held them up. “Might have to keep ‘em. Evidence.”

You swallowed down your annoyance and pulled the lacy panties up your legs. When you were finished, you turned, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Shockingly, he was quiet as he looked at you, eyes raking over your tits, and every bare piece of skin he could see. It felt like you stood there under his gaze for hours before he finally spoke up.

“It’s not doin’ much for ya, sweetheart. I mean, you don’t look very fuckable.”

It landed like a blow to your gut. He was an asshole, so it should’ve meant nothing… but he knew exactly where your soft spots were, and just how hard to dig his fingers in. “Fuck you, Gator.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he cooed, patronizing and smug. “So fuckin’ sensitive, huh? Can’t take a joke. C’mere, lemme see you.” He grabbed your wrist in the tightly packed office and tugged you forward, so you practically stumbled on top of him.

You flinched as his hand moved up the back of your thigh, warm and calloused. When he gave your ass a rough squeeze, you closed your eyes and shivered.

“Ya know, I saw your husband the other day.” His finger traced along the name on your hip— Jack. Every loop and whorl of the cursive claimed by his touch. “Looked real happy with that girl of his. Sarah, right? The waitress he was fuckin’ behind your back?”

You swallowed hard and said nothing, but he was more than happy to keep running his mouth. “Well, she’s not special. I’ve fucked Sarah too, and she just laid there like a dead fish the whole time.”

“Maybe you just weren’t that good.” You smirked as you replied, unable to resist being a bit of an asshole right back.

“You gettin’ smart right now?” He gave your ass a quick slap, making you squeak. “I was trying to give you a compliment, but you don’t fuckin’ deserve it. You’re so fuckin’ used up that you don’t even know what good is.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure you think that. It’s easy to blame it on the girl when you can’t make ‘em cum, right?”

His jaw clenched, anger painting his features. “Wouldn’t you fuckin’ like to know, huh?” He caught sight of the smirk on your face and shoved you back. “Put on the next one.”

Fucking dickhead. You rolled your eyes and quickly stripped off the lingerie, throwing it in his general direction once it was off. You weren’t as graceful in dressing in the next set. Why give him a show and let him win? Once it was on, you crossed your arms and looked at him expectantly.

“Well?”

He cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I like it better than the first, but I don’t think your heart’s quite in it. Gimme a twirl.”

You gave a slow turn, then met his gaze again, raising a brow. He ran a hand over his mouth, looking you up and down. You caught the slightest movement as he spread his legs a little wider. It only served to highlight the bulge in the front of his stupid fucking cargos.

“You’re really enjoyin’ yourself, huh?” You snapped, eyes narrowed. He laughed, following your gaze to his lap.

“Well,” he began, lazily moving a hand to cup his growing hard-on. “I could always find a way to enjoy myself more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

You ignored him and began trying on the last set you’d attempted to steal. A bright red set, skimpier than the others, which you were sure he fucking loved. Before he could ask, you gave a slow twirl.

“Atta girl,” he cooed. He was blatantly stroking himself over the fabric, eyes half-lidded. You swallowed hard, watching the sight before you. It was like something out of a bad porno. Or a really good one. Jury was out. He patted his thigh, nodding you over. “C’mere, I won’t bite.”

A moment of hesitation passed through you, wondering if this was really what you wanted. It was like you could hear his voice in your head, asking if you could do any better. You sighed and slowly settled onto his lap. He looked at you with a funny sort of expression— not so much that he was smug, just… a bit pleased.

“You gonna give me a dance?” His hand rested on your thigh, fingers tapping erratically. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. “Is this ‘cause I didn’t pay the other night?” You scowled. “I mean, I think you owe me now. I paid ya back a hundred times over thanks to Mr. Realtor from the other day.”

You stayed silent and still, looking anywhere but his face. He took your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him, so close you could taste the fruit flavor from that goddamn vape on his breath.

“Remember how turned on you got just from havin’ my cock in that pretty mouth of yours?” He said, voice barely above a whisper. He ran a thumb along your bottom lip, tugging at it slightly. “I still remember the way you had to slip a hand between your legs to play with yourself.”

You made a weak sound in the back of your throat as you remembered it— that desperate, all-consuming need. Maybe it’s because he was an asshole, or maybe it was all of the authority. Maybe that’s why you shoplifted anyway. Because you knew he’d be the one to show up.

“You ever been with someone as big as me before?”

You shivered. “No.”

A wide smile spread across his lips. “Since?” You just shook your head. “Betcha been dreamin’ about it too. Stuffin’ that greedy little pussy full of your fingers whenever you think about me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t quite deny it. It wasn’t a frequent fantasy, but it was there. “You’re a real narcissist. You know that?”

He grinned. “That’s not a no, is it?” He leaned in closer, nuzzling against your throat, his breath hot. “Bet if I slipped my hand inside those panties, they’d be fuckin’ soaked.”

And despite your better judgment, you fucking whimpered. All but confirming it.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he cooed. His hand found purchase on the small of your back, and when he applied the smallest bit of pressure, you found yourself giving in. Slowly, your hips ground against his, making a soft sigh escape your lips each time your cunt met his clothed dick.

“Want me to find some music?” He asked with a boyish grin. “I bet I have Pony somewhere on my phone.”

You shook your head before he could even try to grab it. “I’ll kill you if you even try.” He laughed, just a bit. It was rare to hear him laugh and have it not be at your, or anyone else’s expense.

You grabbed his hands, moving them to your waist, just at your ribcage. The tips of his fingers brushed against your tits, and he smiled.

“Takin’ charge now, are ya? You could’ve just put ‘em right here.” He moved his hands up, cupping your breasts in his large hands. You moaned softly as he gave a slight squeeze, arching into his touch. “ See? That’s much better, huh? Just take what you need, baby. I’ll give it right to ya.”

Take what you need? You could do that. You moved your hands along his chest, fighting the urge to just tear off his shirt and reveal the white tank top you knew he always wore beneath. Instead, you slipped your hands to his goddamn cargos and made quick work of the button and zipper.

He sat back and watched as you spit into your palm, his eyes hazy with arousal. You slipped your hand inside his pants and slipped beneath the band of his plaid boxers. A low groan escaped his lips when you wrapped your hand around him and squeezed.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Just like that.” His head fell back, leaving the plane of his neck for the taking. Your lips pressed against the skin there, leaving a mixture of soft kisses and bites as you worked him in your hand.

Gator’s stamina was absolute dogshit. You could tell when he was close from the way he’d pulse in your hand and whimper like a fuckin’ girl. You’d just have to squeeze him at his base to stave it off, give him a few seconds to cool off before you kept going.

“You want me?” You asked, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“So fuckin’ bad.” He was bucking up into your fist, chasing the sweet pleasure of your soft hand around him.

A smile spread across your lips. “Then earn it.” You pulled back, meeting his gaze as you removed your hand from him.

He sat there, panting and staring dumbly as you sat atop the desk and spread your legs invitingly. “C’mon, Gator. You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”

He huffed with annoyance as he stood, towering over you as he pulled off his shirt to reveal that fucking tank top. He leaned down just slightly, so his arms were caging you in. “I’ll fuckin’ earn it, alright. I’m gonna own this pussy by the time I’m through.”

He knelt between your legs, kissing his way up your thighs. You cried out as his teeth dug into the plush skin, leaving an indentation that would probably turn purple the next day.

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” He just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down.

He was quick to drag his fingers through your slit, coating them in your arousal. The wet sounds of him playing with you, spreading you open for him, made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I’m an asshole, but you clearly fuckin’ like it, huh?” He said, holding up his fingers, glistening with your juices, as proof. His smirk made annoyance and arousal bubble up within you, tangling in an utterly infuriating way. “Relax for me, yeah? Gonna stretch you out, make you feel real good.”

You moaned softly as his fingers pressed against your entrance, teasing you with the idea of being full. A gentleman would start off slow, work you up to two fingers gradually. Gator Tillman wasn’t a fucking gentleman, but you didn’t care.

“Shhh… open up for me,” He said, speaking not to you, but to your cunt. “That’s it, atta girl.” A low whimper escaped you as his fingers pressed inside, thick and stretching you just right. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, needing him deeper, more, more.

“Jesus Christ, Gator,” His fingers flexed at just the right spot, making you cry out desperately. He grinned, then pressed a kiss to your thigh as he began fucking you with his fingers, acutely aware that the slightest twitch of his fingers could make you fucking sing for him.

It’s a funny thing he does with his fingers— not quite jackhammering them in and out like most of the other guys you’d been with but not exactly too far away. And you were fucking whining for it, your hips canting against his fingers until he finally had to throw his arm across your pelvis to just, in his words, keep you fuckin’ still.

It felt good, but you were also very aware that he was purposefully, or, worse, unknowingly avoiding your clit. The more you considered it, the more convinced you were that it was the latter. He was homeschooled, apparently, by his religious nut father, which meant his sex ed was probably just porn, and not even the decent kind.

You squirmed slightly. “Gator—”

“’M busy.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. I mean, sure, he was good with his hands, but you would also appreciate that skill applied elsewhere. Whatever, you weren’t helpless.

His eyes narrowed as you moved a hand between your legs, circling your clit in time with his fingers. Your head fell back as a string of moans escaped your lips. That’s what you needed.

“God, you’re desperate,” he muttered, but he didn’t bother to redirect your hands. “I coulda done that.”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t already so close, the pressure and attention to your clit exactly what you needed to fall over the edge.

“I feel you squeezin’ my fingers,” he said, voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Wanna cum that bad, huh? Can’t even take what I give ya? Are you that fuckin’ needy?” When you didn’t think to answer, he leaned over and bit your thigh again. Harder.

“Fuck!” You shouted, annoyed that you’d have a second set of bruises to cover. But your annoyance melted right back into the siren call of pleasure.

Moans tumbled from your lips before you could bring yourself to answer. “Yes, I’m that needy,” You gasped as his fingers moved deeper, harder with every thrust in. Your fingers moved faster on your clit, making your legs twitch on either side of Gator’s shoulders.

He let you teeter there on the precipice for a little longer, until you were sure you were going to tumble straight into sweet ecstasy. So close you could taste it, sweet and heady on the back of your tongue.

And like that, Gator pulled away, slipping his fingers from your cunt and leaving you wanting. You sat there, panting and frustrated as he wiped his fingers off on your thigh. “Too fuckin’ bad. Bend over.”

He slapped the side of your thigh as he stood and looked down at you expectantly. Your legs wobbled as you stood in what little room he provided you, tits brushing against his chest for just a moment as you turned and bent over the desk.

“Isn’t this a pretty sight?” He grabbed your ass, kneading the plush skin roughly before landing a rough smack. You winced at the sting as you spared a glance over your shoulder. He landed another slap on the opposite cheek, then spread you apart with his thumbs. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, you know that?”

He was quick to free his cock from the confines of his cargos and boxers. Over your shoulder, you could see the heap of clothes he’d made on the floor. In the back of your mind, you noted the very careless way he treated the gun in his thigh holster, but said nothing. It was hard to focus on improper gun handling when he had his length in his hand, stroking it slowly as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re gonna pull out, right?” You asked, chewing your lip as you looked at him.

He rolled his eyes, the tip of his cock notched right at your entrance, making you arch against him. “You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. I’m not stupid, I’ll pull out.”

The prettiest groan escaped him as he rocked against your cunt, coating himself in your dripping arousal before the head of his cock nudged at your entrance.

“You want me?” He asked, his breath coming in pants. Your body felt like a fucking live wire, hyperaware of the feeling of him, just barely outside of where you craved him.

You nodded. “Uh-huh. I want you. So bad, Gator.”

He sank into you, nice and slow, so he could relish in the warm, soft feeling of your walls around him. A sappier man would’ve said it felt like heaven. Gator wasn’t sappy.

“Goddamn, you’ve got the tightest fuckin’ pussy,” He managed once he’d bottomed out, every inch of him fully sheathed inside. “Forget what I said about you bein’ used up.”

What a gentleman. You whined softly, pushing back against him to silently beg for more. He put a hand on the small of your back and pushed down so your back arched even more. Then he fucked you in earnest.

The noises you made should’ve been illegal— some form of indecency or something. Loud and whiny, desperate for more. Your nails scratched at the laminate of the desk, seeking something, anything to hold onto for purchase as he fucked you within an inch of your life.

He was so big you could’ve sworn you felt him deep in your stomach, even though you knew physically that was impossible. Each thrust punched out a keening moan from your lips, a swear, a breathy whine, or just his stupid fucking name over and over again.

He reached a hand beneath you, so his rough fingers could play with your clit. “This is what you wanted so bad, yeah?” He asked, voice breathy as he quickly rubbed your clit. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Gator.” You were practically babbling. Thank you thank you thank you.

Over your shoulder, you watched him using your body, chasing his high. Every slap of your ass was for his own gratification, just to see it jiggle. He was only rubbing your clit so he could feel you squeeze him even tighter.

You didn’t care. You fucking loved it. Even as he manhandled you, lifting your thigh and placing it on the desk so he could fuck you deeper, you just laid there and took it like a fucking champ.

“Woulda fucked you sooner if I knew it’d be this good.” His voice wavered slightly with the effort it took to maintain the relentless pace he had set. He slapped your ass hard, making you yelp and clench around him.

What you’d said earlier was right— you were needy. You rocked back against him, meeting him with each thrust. The sounds of his hips hitting your ass with each thrust were nearly as pornographic as both of your moans.

Gator didn’t shut up most of the time, but when he was buried inside of you he could mostly only manage pretty moans.

“F-fuck, sweetheart. You’re… you’re really workin’ for it, huh?” His words were interrupted by low moans and grunts. “C’mon. Give it to me.”

He let you do most of the work, rocking back against him, making you fuck yourself on his cock. And he looked fucking smug about it too.

The switch snapped suddenly when he grabbed your hips and fucked you without abandon, skin slapping against skin as he roughly bullied himself inside of you again and again.

“That’s it. Just lay there and take it, sweetheart.” His voice was breathy and strained. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Fuck! That’s it. Just like that.”

He came suddenly, thrusting deep and hard as he spilled within you. It annoyed you that he looked pretty when he came— his mouth ajar, eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling just slightly.

And then you were annoyed because he fucking lied. He pulled out after he had ridden the aftershocks with a few shallow thrusts and quickly redressed.

“You didn’t pull out,” you said, your voice was strained with annoyance and anger as you looked back at him. He was getting dressed, making sure he looked alright. He didn’t even care to get you off. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugged, trying to appear unbothered by it all. But you saw the annoyed tick in his jaw, the anger beneath it. Like a rattlesnake all coiled up, ready to strike if you made the wrong move. You were never on equal terms. You were no better than prey. And you should have known better, right?

Annoying, hot tears welled on your lashline, and you prayed to any higher power that he wouldn’t notice as you wiped at your eyes. You stood, doing your best to redress in silence, doing your best to remain small. He slapped a fifty on the desk and you flinched. “Buy some Plan B if you’re that fuckin’ worried about it. Jesus Christ.” He paused as he reached the door. “I’ll tell the manager we got it all sorted out. Isn’t that good enough for ya?”

You stood there, unsatisfied and used, with his cum leaking out of you, and stayed silent. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t anything at all.

You walked out with fifty dollars, streaked mascara, three sets of lingerie you’d throw in the trash, and a newfound desire to get the fuck out of Stark County. And, maybe, some misplaced hope that next time might be different.

#it's here it's finally here #gator tillman #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman smut #anyways if you read this pls like and leave a comment idgaf if you reblog truly just wanna know if u enjoyed <3

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