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thesightstoshowyou · 6 months ago

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Into the Cricketverse

- Cinnamon Rolls and Meat Tenderizers and Cigarettes, Oh My -

Introduction: Marena’s POV* Introduction: Cricket’s POV Aftercare Bread Boundaries* Movie Night* Welcome to My Death Talk Mess Audition Tape* Hair Brushing*

*asterisk denote parts written by the amazing @slashhinginghasher

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, it’s always noncon with Asa, a little ptsd, face-fucking, graphic descriptions of vomit and gore, and a little torture

It is rare for Cricket to be up before Asa. She can probably count the occurrences on one hand. Cricket likes sleep and Asa can’t sleep, so rising before him has become something of an achievement. However, several days worth of late night murder and not returning until sunrise has finally taken its toll on the Collector.

The palest pink tinges the twilit sky, heralding the rising sun as Cricket carefully slips from the four poster. Asa doesn’t even twitch. He’s like a corpse, minus the steady rise and fall of his shoulders. Perhaps Cricket should savor this rare moment, but Jesse had requested the gingerbread cinnamon rolls she’d made on their last Christmas together, so she needs to get the dough made early enough for it to properly rise.

Silently, she slips into the bathroom to dress and pile her hair atop her head in as messy a bun as she can allow. The bruising under her eyes has finally transitioned from a vivid purple-blue to a more tolerable yellow-brown and the swelling has all but vanished. She’s glad for it; Asa’s ire can now be mostly covered by makeup.

Being alone in the kitchen is delightfully freeing. Sweet relief leaves her in a sigh as she measures ingredients into a bowl. The building tension among the penthouse inhabitants has risen to near suffocating levels. The unspoken history, the feelings, the threats, the egos…. Cricket would almost rather beg for death than suffer through it another day.

Her only solace is clarity. The morning after Asa had broken her nose, after he’d pinned Marena to the wall and done his best to intimidate her into submission, he had returned to his seat with an unmistakable look glittering in his dark eyes. Understanding had dawned like the morning sun blazing off the Florida coast.

The Collector is interested in Marena. Interested and in complete denial about it. Whether that meant he was interested in exploring her, or exploring her is, unfortunately, impossible to tell with Asa.

However, it is undeniable that the woman is certainly interesting.

Something about the hurt Asa inflicts on Cricket has an effect on Marena. Cricket sees it, Asa sees it. The only one apparently unaware is Jesse, though this may be intentional. Nothing can distract from his precious nighttime prowling and hours-long fuck sessions.

Dough comes together under her palms as guilt creeps into the edges of Cricket’s thoughts. Whatever’s going on behind those icy blues, it is apparent that Marena is holding herself back, is stopping herself from sinking her teeth into Asa for Cricket’s sake. It’s baffling and heartbreaking all at once, but Cricket can do nothing about it. There is no way to apologize or help without breaking Asa’s no-contact rule and inflicting more strife on the both of them. She couldn’t even accept Marena’s kind offer of food.

She covers the dough and leaves it to rise. The next sigh that leaves her lips is one of helpless frustration, but there’s nothing to be done. Cricket will bite her tongue as she always has, and likely always will.

Exiting the kitchen, Cricket makes her way through the penthouse toward the foyer, anticipation gradually beginning to win out over guilt. She had worried this opportunity was never going to present itself, but now—finally—it is time for the second reason she awoke so early, for the thing she’s been waiting for the entirety of this godforsaken trip.

The only things she has missed about Jesse’s Florida home are the smooth marble floors. That, and massive size of every room. Here in the spacious foyer, socks on her feet, she can do as many turns as her little ballerina heart desires.

Delicate fingers grasp the edge of the sturdy entryway table and Cricket warms up as she would on any barre. Music plays in her head as she pliés and tendus and stretches and works sleepy muscles to life. Actual music would be ideal, but the risk of disturbing sleeping predators is too great.

A quick pause to roll out dough, shape, and throw cinnamon rolls in the oven and she’s back to it, this time with turns. She does as many fouettés in a row as she possibly can before she’s out of breath and sweating. It’s so much easier for a grand allegro here than at Asa’s.

Cricket is so caught up in the freedom of movement that she almost doesn’t hear the timer. Fortunately, the beep is insistent enough to draw her from her reverie. God forbid she let Jesse’s cinnamon rolls burn.

Asa slouches in the kitchen when she arrives, cup of coffee in hand, circles under his eyes looking darker than ever. She greets him softly as she retrieves the icing from the fridge she prepared the evening prior. Cricket gives him first pick of the cinnamon rolls which earns her a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

***

She should know better by now.

Water rushing in the sink, soap bubbling on her cheeks, teeth brushed, pajamas folded on the counter and ready to wear, Cricket allows herself to—stupidly—muse that the day had been relatively uneventful.

The jinx is instant.

The television in the guest bedroom buzzes to life and crisp, clear whimpering fills the bedroom. “W-what is this?” A pause, then, “Hey man! What the fuck is going on?!"

Immediately, her stomach plummets. Cricket has heard real begging enough times to know what plays in the next room is authentic. There’s legitimate terror in that voice, something an actor could never truly convey.

Is Asa watching one of Jesse’s tapes? Is it his own video?

There’s a thud, scraping, and an angry, “OW, fuck!” Then, Marena’s accented voice emanates through the speakers.

“If you're going to rape someone, at least have the decency to take them down yourself.”

Startled, Cricket quickly rinses her face, scrubs it with a towel, and creeps from the bathroom. Asa stands before the television, arms crossed, dark eyes trained on the scene unfolding on screen.

“Oh fuck, is that what this is? Some kind of... feminazi intervention?"

From this new vantage point, Cricket now hears the young man’s sniveling voice from three separate locations: the television, Asa’s phone sitting on the nightstand, and—distantly—from the living room. Jesse must be broadcasting this to every TV and cell in the penthouse.

“I don’t know that word.”

On screen, Marena looks ten feet taller than she really is. The cold, fearless expression in her eyes, the wild mane of hair, and the…meat tenderizer (the same one Cricket used on the chicken the night before), gripped in her hand all add to the aura of danger radiating off her. It dawns on Cricket then that it is Marena who in charge of this scene. Jesse is merely a spectator, filming from the sidelines.

Chromeskull is not making her do this, any of it. Marena wants to be there. With shock, Cricket realizes she has completely misinterpreted their dynamic.

And now she understands Jesse’s obsession.

A sickening whack echoes around the penthouse when Marena strikes the man in the face. Cricket yelps, feeling the terrible sound in her gut, and claps her hands over her eyes. She is about to flee back to the bathroom when a warm, scarred hand grips her wrist.

Pleadingly, Cricket looks up at Asa as he pulls her to his chest. He allows her to bury her face against him, apparently content to be the only viewer.

But hearing is more than enough to paint a gruesome picture.

The screaming, the bargaining, the wet, heavy smacking of weighty metal against flesh, the crunching of bone is all clear as day to Cricket, even through the palms covering her ears. However, none of these sounds compare to the shriek of pure, righteous anguish that Marena looses as she viciously pummels that despicable boy into a pulp. Cricket hears the history in it, hears the heart-wrenching sadness that only a life of misery can bring.

Marena, what happened to you?

Tears sting the corners of her closed eyes as Asa slides his hand to the back of her neck to better feel her trembling. He has been eerily silent for the entirety of this feature. Cricket wonders if his feelings about Marena have changed as her own have.

The audible click of the television plunges the two of them into deafening quiet. The movie is over, it seems, but Cricket is far from relieved as Asa grips her shoulders and shoves her to her knees. Fingers prod at her mouth and she obediently opens wide so Asa can push three of them down her throat.

Next is his cock, fed slowly into her mouth until her still-tender nose is buried in curls. Panic makes her tense, the reminder of their first afternoon here fresh in her mind. Asa pauses, keeps his length buried in her throat as he fiddles with something overhead. Breathing shakily through her nose, Cricket hesitantly peels her eyelids apart to glance up.

In his hand, Asa holds the remote. She hears a click. Then—

“W-what is this?” A pause, then, “Hey man! What the fuck is going on?!"

God help her, he’s watching it again. The pathetic, fearful noise that leaves Cricket’s stuffed throat finally draws a satisfied grunt from the man hovering just above. Hand on the top of her head, he holds her in place and thrusts.

It starts with lazy, even strokes that gradually build to Asa’s usual vicious pistoning. She chokes on spit as tears freely dribble down her cheeks and stick her hair to her face. Asa releases a strained breath, eyes glued to the screen.

Cricket hears Marena’s terrible scream just as Asa grips both sides of her head. For one, horrifying second she thinks he’s going to break her nose again, but then he shifts them both in a semi circle. Unintentionally, Cricket catches sight of the pulpy mess of face, bone, and brain being beaten into concrete by the meat tenderizer just as Asa’s cock hits the back of her throat.

Cricket gags, retches, and vomits. Chunky bile fountains up her throat and, having limited space to escape with so much cock in the way, burns its way out her nose and the sides of her mouth. The mess splatters them both, nauseatingly hot and reeking of the night’s dinner.

Horror, mortification, disgust, panic; it’s a myriad of wretched emotions that leave her reeling and rip a garbled plea for mercy from her sore throat. The punishment she’s going to get for this—

Asa laughs. He laughs that genuine, raspy bark so rarely heard by anyone, let alone Cricket, Through tears, she stares up at him in astonishment. Her shock grows exponentially when he grips handfuls of her vomit-caked hair and continues his onslaught.

It’s horrible, having the taste of sick savagely forced back down one’s throat. More nausea roils in her gut when she gags again and, with no way to draw in air through her dripping nose, her lungs starve. Luckily, she doesn’t have long to wait.

Asa snarls and sheaths himself completely, adding his seed to the mess that is her mouth. Then, finally, his grip relents. Cricket resurfaces, hacking sobs spilling from her lips aside saliva and puke and spend.

She frantically wipes her face, desperate to rid herself of the smell and sensation, but Asa bends down, seizes her around the waist and bodily tosses her onto the bed. He pins her by the head, sticky face smashed into the comforter as he all but tears her shorts from her legs.

Cricket expects to be violently, painfully filled the very next second, but the Collector’s pause surprises her. Jars her. She can’t see it with how most of her face is pressed into the bed, but she can hear the familiar click of the television.

“W-what is this?” A pause, then, “Hey man! What the fuck is going on?!"

Cricket hopes with all her heart and soul she can keep her nausea at bay until the Collector is satisfied.

***

Cricket regains consciousness with a croaky, pained groan. Through her eyelids, she sees natural light filling the room. It’s the next day then, though she can’t even begin to guess at the approximate time.

Under the sheets she shifts and sucks in air through her teeth when every muscle protests. She’s achingly sore, both from dancing and from what the Collector did to her last night. She can still hear the man’s whimpering playing on repeat in her skull. Asa must have replayed that video at least ten times.

She’s clean, at least, hair still damp from the shower and slow to dry in Florida’s humidity. Asa is always very meticulous about tidying her up after he ruins her. Cricket suspects he enjoys that part almost as much as the rest. Now, if only she could rid herself of the memory.

The bedroom door whips open and Cricket flinches in alarm. Asa strides in and begins rifling through the closet. Silently, she wonders if she should get up or stay put, but her question is answered before she can even voice it aloud.

“Swimming suit,” Asa orders. “Jesse is demanding a pool day.” Her lime green bikini lands on the bed at her feet as he speaks.

No one but Asa would be annoyed by a pool party, but there is definitely less vitriol in his voice than there has been the last few days. The question is, was it the previous night’s activities that lightened his mood, or the video itself?

“Mel? Mel, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. I didn't mean- Oh, jesus fuck-

Cricket winces at the memory of the audio. Laboriously, she pushes upright and shifts herself out of the bed. Her knees wobble as she reaches for the bathing suit.

Dark eyes take in every new bruise, every angry, red slash across pale skin as Cricket dresses. She’s too used to the feeling of his gaze on her now to even notice. Is that a blessing? She isn’t sure.

Glancing down at herself, she grimaces at how little of her…treatment the bathing suit hides. The bruises on her hips are the worst, dark purple stripes the exact length of Asa’s fingers. She should put on the cover-up she brought—

“No,” the Collector says simply before she’s taken even three steps to the closet. Cricket stops in her tracks and bites her lip, but nods in understanding.

Of course he’d want to parade around his handiwork.

Asa coos in mock sympathy as he takes her face in his hands. The sunlight bathing the room sharply illuminates every nick and scar adorning his face. Cricket’s mismatched eyes trace the thick stripe across the bridge of his nose. He watches her watch him for a moment, then leans in when he’s had enough of her assessment. His kiss is more like a bite, teeth sinking into her lip and tongue hungrily licking up the little gasp she emits. “My poor little Cricket,” he murmurs against her mouth.

The water is somewhat of a relief. A few laps back and forth across Jesse’s lavish infinity pool with its body temperature water and breathtaking view help to loosen Cricket’s tight limbs. It eases the ache, somewhat. Small mercies.

Asa lounges in the shade on a nearby chair. He wears shorts and a t-shirt and takes a long drag from the cigarette perched between his fingers. Smoke obscures his face and Cricket wonders what he would look like in swim trunks. She’s never seen him wear them and assumes she never will. Even his choice of attire today is somewhat of a surprise. He must be in a decent mood.

Of course, the relaxation is short-lived. The slide of the balcony door reaches her ears and Cricket peers over the edge of the pool to see Jesse and Marena saunter out into the sunshine, the former wearing only sunglasses and a Speedo and the latter wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts. Hastily, Cricket glances away, unable to meet Marena’s gaze.

‘Morning, sluts,’ Jesse signs and Asa scoffs in annoyance. Grinning and crouching at the edge of the pool, he playfully pinches Cricket’s cheek and asks, ‘Did little Cricket have a good night?’ Chromeskull’s shoulders shake with silent snickering when Cricket gives him a pleading look that says, ‘Please don’t bring that up.’

Patting the top of her head, Jesse stands. Then without warning, he steps back and hurtles himself into the water with a practiced cannonball.

The resulting splash leaves no survivors. Cricket quickly covers her chuckle with a hand when Asa and Marena both protest in unison, Asa citing Jesse’s lack of respect and Marena cursing him in what Cricket assumes is Russian.

Shaking her head, Cricket leisurely swims to the ladder and pulls herself up and out of the pool. She does her best to ignore the self-consciousness that pricks at her skin when all her scars and bruises, old and new, are revealed and highlighted by the gleaming sun. She hopes Marena isn’t looking, doesn’t wish to hurt her anymore than she already is, but knows deep down those keen eyes see more than they let on.

As Marena curls up with a book in the chair furthest from Asa, Jesse swims to the edge of the pool nearest her and pats the puddle that has formed there to get her attention. She resolutely ignores him until he flicks her with water.

“What?” she hisses, snapping her book shut.

‘Swim with me,’ he orders, signing fingers crooking into a lewd come hither motion.

“No,” is her icy reply as she returns to her book. Cricket doesn’t see what Jesse signs next as she retrieves a towel and seats herself next to Asa. Smoke curls up around her form, the cigarette still resting between his fingers. He must have managed to save it from Jesse’s tsunami.

“Why don’t you go and fuck yourself instead?!” Cricket’s head whips up in alarm with Marena’s barely controlled shout. Her tiny form is pressed back into the chair as though she is trying to put as much distance between herself and the pool as physically possible.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no—

Asa clears his throat. Slowly, he leans forward to rest his palms on his knees. “Your insolence has gone on long enough.” His tone is even, but the measured pace of his words and their undercurrent of finality tells Cricket something terrible is about to happen. Frantically, she glances from Asa to Marena, whose expression has morphed into something akin to pure steel.

Asa turns slightly to address Jesse. “Your lack of control over your toy is embarrassing, frankly, though I suppose you’d have better luck taming a wild animal.” Gently, Asa reaches out, intertwines his fingers with Cricket’s, and brings them to rest in his lap. It’s deceptively sweet and sends her heart rate sky high. Quietly, menacingly, Asa adds, “Fortunately for you, even the wildest of animals can be brought to heel with the proper incentive.”

The Collector looks directly at Marena as he twists Cricket’s arm to expose the soft skin of her forearm. Trepidation chokes a whimper from Cricket’s throat and she fights the nearly overwhelming instinct to thrash. Her fingers curl as much as his will allow, the tendons in her wrist flex, her chest heaves with ineffective gasps.

Pinching the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, Asa sharply presses the lit cherry to Cricket’s flesh. It sizzles and smokes and blistering agony forces a strangled cry from her lips. Cricket writhes with a strange, jerking motion as she battles the urge to rip her arm away in favor of remaining obedient. He simply digs his nails into her palm to keep her arm where wants it as he twists the cigarette back and forth, extinguishing the ember against charred skin.

There’s a clatter across the pool and all attention momentarily turns to Marena, who has leapt from her chair with enough force to knock it to the ground. Frigid rage is her expression as shoulders square and fists clench. She is unchecked, her emotions laid bare, masking no longer her goal.

She wants the Collector’s attention on her. Demands it. With devestating resignation, she utters a single, succinct concession, intent in every syllable:

“ENOUGH.”

#into the cricketverse #cricket oc #asa emory #asa emory x oc #the collector (2009)#the collection #asa emory x cricket #the collector x oc #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #laid to rest #other’s ocs #marena polunochnaya #thesightstoshowyou #spring break from hell

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harringtonstilinski · 7 months ago

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I Wish You Would - Gator Tillman (Smut)

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Gator Tillman x Reader Word Count: 9,975 Warnings: fluff, angst, reader gets slapped, but it's not described and there's no signs of it happening, gator being super soft for his girl, Requested: no | yes; Smut: no | yes; car sex, protected (m+f) A/N: Hi, friends! I know I said I would never write for Gator, but I had an idea in my head and I had to get it out. I hope I did Gator justice! Also, he calls reader Dollface, and Roy(gross) calls her Little Darlin'. I've never written anything like this before, so please check the triggers above. Some of these scenes were hard for me to write. BUT, if you like this, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

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HIGH SCHOOL, SENIORS, FALL 2009

“Surprise, shitbird.”

You couldn’t help but look up from your book to roll your eyes at the boy in front of you. Shaking your head, you went back to look at the words on the pages before your head popped up again at hearing a kid say, “Stop it, Tillman.”

Sighing, you closed your book and stood, approaching the two males. Tapping the instigator on the shoulder, you said, “Hey. Tillman.”

He turned around to face you. “What?”

“Follow me.” You waited for him to nod his head before you wrapped your arm around his, making sure he was going to follow you. Once you two were truly alone, you turned to him, fire in your eyes. “What the heck, Gator?”

“What do you mean? That’s the boy that wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Yeah. In the first grade! We’re freaking Seniors now, Gator! He’s left me alone since I told on him.”

He just looked at you confused, so you sighed and elaborated, “My mom ended up talking to his mom, who’s married to one of your dad’s deputies. Apparently, his dad got onto him and said that if he didn’t stop messing with me that he would put him in handcuffs and bring him to my house to let my dad beat the shit out of him while his stood and watched.”

Still confused, Gator said, “But your dad works for mine, too.”

“Oh, my god,” you breathed. “That’s not the point, G. The point is that he’s left me alone for years, so there’s no need to beat the kid up over it.”

Sighing and looking down, Gator nodded. “I’m sorry.” Looking back up at you, Gator looked into your eyes for a second before pulling you into a hug, which you gladly returned. Pulling back, he rested his hands on either side of your neck, his thumbs gently brushing the underside of your jaw. “You coming to the game tonight?”

“I haven’t missed one yet,” you replied. “I’m ain’t gonna start now.” Smiling at him softly, you leaned into his touch, not wanting the moment to end.

You and Gator had been best friends prior to preschool, your dads working together and your moms best friends since the both of you were about two years old. Throughout the years of playdates and outings your moms had planned, you ended up developing a crush on Gator, and he you, but you two obviously never said anything to each other.

“Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’d kick your ass if you did.”

Laughing, you shook your head, wrapping your arms around his middle for one more hug as the bell for the last class of the day rang. He reciprocated the hug, wrapping his own arms around your neck, gently, before kissing the top of your head.

“Hey, Tillman!” a voice rang out, causing a sigh to sound from you as the person ruined a moment between you and your best friend… one you might not get again after the game.

~~~

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Gator seethed, hobbling around his room on crutches as you laid on his bed on your stomach.

It was a couple of weeks after that game. Gator had gotten tackled pretty badly by another player, a cornerback, and broke parts of his leg. Needless to say, Gator was pissed and still is.

“I’m tellin’ ya, dollface. He’s got it coming.”

“G–”

“He did that shit on purpose,” he said, stopping to face you. “He’s got another thing coming, and–”

“You've got another thing comin',” you sang, giggling at the unamused look on Gator’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“He’s not gonna know what hit him. Literally.”

Rising from his bed, you stood in front of him, looking at him like he’s the only boy left in the world. Whispering, you said, “You can’t get in trouble with Roy again because of you acting on impulse. I know- stop -” Gator sighed heavily, like he didn’t want to hear your words. “I know the guy hurt you and basically shut down your career, but that doesn’t mean that-” He then tried to look away from you, but you put your hand on his chin to guide his eyes back to your own. “Look at me - that doesn’t mean you go and retaliate.”

Gator sighed and brought his forehead down to meet yours. “I know, but I’m so pissed off that I don’t know what else to do other than hurt the one who hurt me.”

“I know, G. I know.”

You both looked at each other, something in the air shifting as you both started leaning towards each other. Just as your lips were about to touch, a knock sounded on his bedroom door. “Gator! Take Little Darlin’ home. It’s getting late.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the nickname that Roy gave you as a child. “I hate it when he calls me that,” you whispered. “It’s creepy.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a creepy motherfucker anyway,” Gator whispered back. Bringing a hand up, he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Come on, dollface. Let me take you home.”

Once the two of you exited his room and got to his truck, you smiled a little as you got comfortable in the passenger seat. “Thank goodness he broke your left leg,” you said, a smile on your face as Gator put his crutches in the backseat. “Or else the Creep would have to take me home.”

Gator chuckled as he slid into the driver’s seat. After starting the truck, he started the journey to your home, the radio playing quietly as background noise. You loved riding with Gator; just the two of you.

When Gator got his driver’s license, the two of you would drive down all the back roads with the windows down, blaring whatever song or band the two of you were into at the time. It was your favorite thing to do before Gator’s football career got a little bit more serious last year.

Now, as you’re riding with the windows down and listening to the music that’s quietly playing, you closed your eyes, reminiscing.

“What’cha thinkin’ about over there?” Gator asked.

With a smile on your face, all you could do was happily sigh before replying. “Just thinkin’ about how we used to do this all the time before you became super popular last year.”

“Hey. What have I told you about all that? I’m still the same Gator–

“Just a little bit tougher and meaner.” You air quoted the word tougher because to you, Gator was nothing more than a big teddy bear with big emotions. To everyone else, he was the hardass, popular quarterback that had dreams of making it big.

“Only to everyone else. Not to you.” He snuck a glance at you before putting his eyes back on the road, his crush growing tenfold. Sighing, he pulled into your driveway, your dad standing outside on the porch, his cellphone up to his ear.

Since you had your window down, you heard him say, “Yup. They just pulled up. Yup. Will do, Roy,” before he hung up and stood near the steps, his arms resting on the railing as he leaned over just a touch. “Let’s go, kid!”

Sighing, you looked over at Gator, who had opened his door to get out of the truck. “Gator, stop. You don’t need to get out. Not with your leg. Stay. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. He and your father didn’t get along that well. Your father expected more out of him, just like Roy did, and when Gator didn’t deliver to Roy’s standards at home, Roy would tell your father, and well… you get the picture.

“Yes, G. I’m sure.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek which caused him to close his eyes and let out a deep breath, your lips lingering for a moment before softly whispering, “Good night, Gator.”

Opening his eyes, he turned his head to look at you, gently resting his forehead on yours. “Good night, dollface. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, you got out of the truck and walked up the five steps to your front porch, your dad’s voice stopping you as he said, “You can do better than that little lizard boy.”

All you could do was close your eyes, trying not to let the tears you could feel building up fall over your lower lash line. “And mom could do better than you.” You walked into the house without a care in the world, knowing what was to come at that comment.

Later that night, you laid in your bed, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, feeling the remnants of your fathers hand.

The next day at school, you avoided Gator, not wanting to talk about what happened after you walked into your house the night before. You knew he was still sitting in your driveway, waiting for you to enter the house before leaving, and seeing the small interaction with you and your dad. You had also heard that he took a tire iron to the kid that broke his leg, after he promised you he wouldn’t.

You successfully avoided Gator the remainder of the week, knowing that you just sealed your fate of your friendship possibly being over.

~~~

FALL 2019, TEN YEARS LATER

A lot happened in the last ten years since you started avoiding Gator, but you kept up with him through rumors and stories at school, as well as news articles and such through college and most of your adult life.

Now, at the age of 27, you find yourself back on the Tillman Ranch with your father and mother in tow. “Why do I have to do this?” you asked, sitting in the backseat of your dad’s truck.

“Because we haven’t seen them in a long time,” your mother said. “You haven’t even asked about Gator since your senior year of high school.” Turning to face you, she asked, “By the way, what happened there? You two were so close. I just don’t–”

“Mother, please drop it. It’s not important.” Sighing, you straightened your back before smoothing down your hair. “Let’s get this over with.”

Exiting the truck, your lip curled up slightly in disgust. Roy was standing on the porch, a beer in hand, smiling at your family of three. “John! It’s about time y’all got here!”

Wrapping an arm around you, your father answered, “Had to convenience this one here to get dressed and in the truck.”

You stiffened, remembering the night that everything changed for you and your friendship with Gator. Giving a tightlipped smile, you looked at Roy, and sarcastically said, “Just so happy to be here.”

“Jess and Maude will be happy to know that you’re here,” Karen said, coming to stand by her husband.

Jessica and Maude Tillman, Gator’s half twin-sisters, were born the year after you stopped talking with Gator. You babysat them while going to the local college in the next town over for a little bit of extra money.

Your smile softened a little at hearing the twin’s names. Before you could go and see them, however, Roy directed you all the back of the house, where a long table was set up. “Seems like y’all still do big Sunday dinners.”

“Well, little darlin’, when you’re a Child of God, you gather the family around and have a nice dinner,” Roy said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You quickly moved away and turned to go into the house to retrieve a glass of the stronger liquor you knew Roy had, but seeing a certain person had you stopping dead in your tracks. You knew what he’d done with his life since you “broke up” with him all those years ago.

He had his hair slicked back with it faded on the sides and the back with two slits on the left side of his head. A black button down donned his chest, a watch on his left wrist and a pair of jeans on his legs, with a pair of boots.

“Damn,” you whispered.

“Hey, dollface,” Gator said softly. “It’s, uhh… it’s good to see you.”

You just stood there, basically gawking at him as he walked down the steps. Snapping out of whatever trance you were in, you said, “Uh, y-yeah.” After the two of you kissed each other's cheeks in greeting, you stood there for a moment, taking in his scent. “Y-you, too, G.”

Letting out a breathy chuckle, he said, “Haven’t heard that single letter in ten years.”

Without missing a beat, you said, “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Gently cupping your jaw, Gator shook his head, brows furrowed. “Don’t apologize for that. I don’t know your reasoning for it, but just know… that I forgive you.”

Leaning into his touch, you smiled softly, replying with that same softness in your voice. “Thanks, G.”

“Anytime, dollface.”

“Gator. Little Darlin’--”

You shivered at the use of those words. “I always hated when he called me that. Still do.”

“Come take your seats so we can say grace and eat.”

~~~

After what seemed like a calm dinner the night before, you and Gator exchanged numbers; you getting a new phone after high school to separate yourself from the town of Lehigh, and Gator because of his multiple run-ins with his coworkers.

You learned that night that Roy made Gator deputy, what with Gator being a nepo baby and all. When your dad offered you a front desk job at the station, you declined and moved out of state to attend college.

Now, as you look out of the passenger side window of your dads truck with your head resting on the window, you find yourself going right back to the Tillman Ranch.

“The girls are at school, so you won’t be able to see them today,” your father said.

“That’s fine,” you softly replied. Picking your head up, you wondered, “I wonder if they still have Aurora.”

Aurora was a beautiful American Quarter Horse that was gifted to you when you were about 7 years old from Roy. Back before you know big of a big creep he was.

You left her behind when you left Lehigh, and you never stopped thinking about her.

“I wonder if she’d remember me,” you whispered, more to yourself.

“Of course she will,” your dad said. “Horses have great memory. Just go–”

“Slow. I know.”

Getting out of the truck after your father parked, you slowly made your way to the barn, seeing a man leaning on the gate, a cigarette in hand. Deciding to ignore him, you leaned against the gate, as well, immediately spotting your beloved horse.

She was being led by Roy’s employee, Bowman, into the barn. “Hey, little miss.”

“Hey, Bowman,” you replied, never taking your eyes off your horse. “How she been?”

“She’s been good.” He stopped in front of you with Aurora. “Been keeping her healthy, been getting her exercise.”

“Still giving her apples and carrots?” you asked, reaching your hand out. Aurora sniffed your hand before nuzzling her nose on your palm. A smile graced your face.

“She remembers you,” Bowman said, a small smile on his own face.

“I was afraid she wouldn’t.” You looked up at him, seeing him looking in the direction behind you.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He leaned forward a little to whisper in your ear, “If you wanna ride, she’s all set for ya. Just hop the gate like old times.” He then turned around and walked off, not giving you a chance to reply.

You ignored the footsteps behind you, hearing Roy’s voice not 10 seconds later. “What happened?” he asked.

“You send a man to do a job without all the information, how can the job be done?” the man next to you said.

Deciding to be nosy, you turned your head over your shoulder, watching as Gator, dressed in a police uniform and black ballcap, stepped forward, asking, “Yeah, what are you?” He hit the man's back before asking, “The Riddler?”

You tucked your lips between your teeth to keep from giggling. The two of you loved the Batman movie growing up; the one with Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson.

“You say the woman is a woman, a…” the man said, slightly turning his head your way, looking you in the eyes. “How do you…?”

Since you don’t know what he’s talking about, you shake your head ever so slightly, letting him know you don’t have a clue.

“Housewife.” Turning to face Roy and Gator, he continues, “Never do you mean she is, for real, a tiger.”

“You saying you couldn’t handle some girl? 100 pounds soaking wet? Huh?” Gator asked, hitting the man in the arm.

“G,” you whispered, not realizing you even spoke at all until he looked at you.

The man took a drag from his cigarette as Gator continued, “It was on the wire this morning. This half-wit shot up a fillin’ station outside Beulah. Murdered the clerk. Killed a state trooper. Put a hole in the leg of another.” He chuckled. “And this retard’s partner with a cracked skull and his face half burned off in the morgue.”

All you could do was stand there and look at Gator, wondering what happened to him for him to end up just like his father.

“You say housewife,” the man replied. “So, I bring one guy. You say tiger… that’s a different guy. Cost you three times.”

“Did they take her?” Roy asked. “The police.”

Before you could think about your words and stop yourself, you asked, “Wait. I thought you were the police. Who the hell are you looking for that’s not right here in Lehigh?”

“Dollface,” Gator whispered, causing your eyes to shift from his father’s to his own hazel ones. He looked at you with a look that said he’d either tell you later or to just drop it.

Answering Roy, the man said, “Fled on foot. Possibly home. Possibly to the wind.”

Gator thought it was funny, the man’s riddles, but Roy wanted to stay on topic. “Could you find her?”

“She could be found.”

“Who’s she?” you asked, more to yourself than anything.

“Where people go, the thoughts they have, these are known to me. Instincts. Who flees, who fights. It’s a question of price. The job it was, not the job you said.”

Looking at the left side of this man’s head, you just now noticed a gash, blood covering the area with some on his temple, going down halfway to his cheek.

“Pain and suffering. A man, missing an appendage, self-sewing his own skin. Scarred for life, he’s told. And then this new ask. Hunting a tiger. And it forces the man to ask: why you want the tiger?”

After a few second pause, Roy answered, “She’s my wife.”

“Don’t tell him shit,” Gator quietly said. Walking up to his father, he whispered, “I already said I can handle this. We know where she lives now. Her alias.”

Looking back at your horse, you sighed, running a hand down the bridge of her nose before walking up to the two Tillman men. “If someone could kindly tell me what the hell is going on, I’d much appreciate it.”

Putting a hand on Gator’s chest, Roy pushed him back a few steps, now seeing what the hell happened with Gator. Looking down at you, Roy said, “She made vows to me. A pledge. In sickness and in health.” He looked back at the man, continuing his words. “Consider it a debt unpaid, leaving me in limbo. Husband yes or husband no. See, she hid from me nine, ten years. Interest accrued. Until the debt could no longer be paid with money. Then, one day, there she is, fingerprints in the system. Now the limbo can end, the debt can be collected. Tell me something, friend. If a man is pure, his actions are only ever good. You believe that?”

You looked over at Gator, seeing the bad standing in front of you, but knowing there’s nothing but pure good sitting deep inside his bones.

“I’m a nihilist,” the man replied.

“What the fuck does that mean?” you and Gator asked at the same time.

“I believe in nothing.”

“You believe in money,” Roy said. “Yeah?” At not receiving an answer from this man, Roy said, “Well, thanks for your help. Go on with Gator. He’ll get you paid.” Looking down at you, he said, “Why don’t you go with him, little darlin’? Catch up after all these years.”

“Dad,” Gator said.

“Original plus pain and suffering,” the man said.

Holding your hand out to him, you asked, “What the fuck is his name?”

Ignoring you, Roy said, “Yeah, of course.” Looking at Gator, he said, “Take it out of the rainy day fund. Fixing place.”

Confused, you looked at Gator, wondering what the fixing place was.

Looking back and forth between his dad and the man, Gator said, “Fixing place. Right.” Landing his eyes on the stranger you still don’t know the name of, he said, “Come on, numbnuts.” He turned his head, looking at you. “Come with me, dollface.”

You walked around Roy, following Gator. “What the fuck, G?” you whisper-shouted. “What the hell happened when I left? What the fuck is the fixing place?”

Grabbing your hand, he laced your fingers together, sighing. “A lot. I’ll tell you everything later.”

Somehow along the way, the man ended up in front of you and Gator. He had released your hand to grab a container from his pocket; that container holding chewing tobacco, also known as dip.

“You dip now?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Shrugging, Gator replied, “It’s better than smoking.”

“They’re both equally bad.”

Gator put the dip container back in his pocket as the man bent over and picked up a cigarette off the ground.

“I’m not saying, but you understand,” Gator said, looking at the man. “I had to rough you up a little back there. You coming up snake eyes and all.”

As the three of you walked, you looked off to the side, seeing a couple men with shotguns through the bushes.

“With her being such a tiny bird, which…” Gator snickered. “Ya’know… they used to be dinosaurs.”

“Oh, my god,” you whispered. You looked at Gator, noticing that he put his hand out toward you, he silently asked you to stop while he and the man took a few more steps forward.

The man turned to face Gator with the cigarette in his mouth, the latter spitting out some of the disgusting dip.

“Hundreds okay?” Putting his hand on the man’s arm, Gator forced the man to turn around before turning to face you to mouth cover your ears.

You did as he asked, watching as he took the gun you didn’t notice he had from the holster, holding it out toward the man. Looking through the bushes again, you now saw that the two men were standing in front of the man, their guns at the ready.

“Surprise, shitbird,” Gator said.

The man turned and flicked his cigarette at Gator, who dodged it while pulling the trigger on the firearm, the sound causing you to jump. You watched as the man grabbed Gator’s right arm, hearing his bones crunch before the guy put his hand on Gator’s junk, squeezing, knowing the pain it’s causing your best friend.

Tears sprung to your eyes as you heard Gator’s muffled screams. You continued watching as the guy retrieved a gun you definitely didn’t know he had while pushing Gator back, pointing it over your best friend’s left shoulder and firing off three rounds, Gator’s shouts ringing out in your ears over the shots.

Everything else seemed to happen in a blur. One moment you’re watching the events unfold. Next, you’re kneeling beside Gator, hand in between his shoulder blades as he vomits from all the pain he’s experienced in the last 5 minutes.

“Little Darlin’,” Roy said.

You chose to ignore him, instead focusing on your best friend. “It’s okay, G. You’re gonna be fine.”

~~~

After you took Gator to the hospital to get cast on his broken arm and then back to his house, you drove back to your parents house, trying to get a little of sleep, but as you watched the sun rise with a cup of coffee in hand, you realized that you didn’t get not a lick of sleep.

You went about your day helping your mom around the house before you decided to go see Aurora again, riding her for about an hour before you spotted Gator watching you, a small smile on his face.

When you got off of her, you stroked her neck, letting her know what a good girl she was before Bowman took her back to the stable for some treats and rest. Without a word, you followed Gator towards a man-made hot tub, seeing that Roy was sitting in it.

Since the two of you were a good ways away from him, you looked at Gator, noticing that he was wobbling. “You walkin’ like that ‘cause of that guy grabbing your balls?”

“Be lucky you don’t have these,” he replied. “Hurts like hell.”

You’ve also noticed that since being back in Lehigh, your filter was off because you said, “I know a way to make them feel better.”

Gator chuckled, and you… well, you were mortified. “Glad to see your sense of humor is still there.”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Me, too.”

Silence followed as the two of you stepped closer to the wooden tub. Gator stepped up on it, groaning. You tried to hide your chuckle behind your hand as you walked beside him on the ground, not wanting to be near Roy.

“You gonna make it there, sunshine?” Roy asked.

Since you had stopped to the side of Gator, you watched as he rubbed near his dick and balls, sighing. “Fucker got the drop on me.”

Looking at Roy, you asked with complete and utter disgust, “When the fuck did you get nipple piercings?”

Ignoring you, he asked Gator, “Tell me her name again?”

“Uh, goes by Dorothy Lyon now,” he replied. “Lives in a suburb outside the Twin Cities.”

“Married, you said?”

“Going on ten years. Husband owns a car dealership, some kind of… uh, Korean model.”

“Koreans make cars?”

“I guess.”

“Oh, dear heavens,” you whispered, looking out at the land to your right. “You two need to get out of this stupid town more.”

“Anyway, she’s got a daughter. Names Scotty. She’s about nine.”

Roy took in a breath, one that sounded angry before a man came over the radio, saying, “Roy, we got FBI here.”

Grabbing the radio with a fat cigar in his mouth, Roy said into it, “Let’s send ‘em up.”

“Wait. The fucking FBI?! What kind of shit have you two gotten into?” you asked. Noticing Gator has his hand out a little towards you, you stopped talking to see what was about to take place.

“What do you want me to…?” Gator asked.

“Ahhh, don’t worry about it,” Roy answered, just as two FBI agents walked up the wooden tubs deck.

Gator walked backwards, gently grabbing your arm and pulling you up on the deck with him, his arm going around your stomach as he pressed your back to his front. “Just go with it, okay?” he asked. His voice was quiet enough to where only you could hear as you softly nodded your head.

“Hard day at the office?” the male agent asked.

“Like the sign says, he’s a hard man for hard times,” Roy answered. “And by he, I mean me.”

Watching as the agent handed a card to Roy, you took in a breath, feeling Gator’s fingertips lightly rub against your stomach as his father read the card aloud. “Agent ‘Ja-Queen’.” Roy handed the card to Gator, your eyes catching it.

“It’s Joaquin,” the agent said. Gesturing to his partner, he added, “This is Agent Meyer. We’re new in the Fargo office. We thought we’d come by, see why you weren’t enforcing any of our laws.”

“What laws?”

“Oh, you know,” Joaquin replied. “Gun laws, drug laws. Any of the half-dozen other American laws passed and ratified by the US Government that you don’t seem to recognize.”

“Well, Agent Ja-Queen, I think you’ll find that there is no one on God’s green earth who is a greater enforcer of the laws of this land than Roy Tillman.”

You inwardly groaned, tilting your head back to rest on Gator’s shoulder, feeling his lips meet your temple. That kiss that was doing things to the pit of your stomach.

“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ here?” Meyer asked.

“But…” Roy said. You could hear the smile in his words. “...what you need to know is that I am the law of the land. Elected by the residents of his county to interpret and enforce the Constitution given to us by Almighty God.

All Agent Joaquin did was hum his answer, which prompted Gator to add, “Freedom.”

Being a smartass, you raised your hand in the air, saying, “Amen and amen. Thank you, God!”

“You know, I hear that word a lot around here,” Agent Meyer said.

“You’re just so nonchalant,” you said, picking your head up. “I wish I could be that nonchalant.”

“I’m curious,” she said, not acknowledging what you just said. “What you think that word means.”

“Agent, if you don’t know what freedom is,” Roy said. “I don’t think me saying the words out loud is gonna teach you.” You watched him from the corner of your eye turn his head towards you and Gator. “Why don’t you two go and do your chores?”

Tapping your side, you and Gator stepped forward, seeing the white card being flung from Gator by your head. Grabbing your hand again, he said, “Let’s go, dollface. Come help me with my chores.”

~~~

“Come help me with my chores, he said. What he failed to fucking mention is us actually getting into his fucking cop car to drive to the fucking hospital.”

“Dollface–,”

“Don’t you fucking dollface me, Gator Tillman,” you said, pointing at him. “I’m not the one keeping fucking secrets here. You told me you’d tell me what was going on and you fucking haven’t.”

Taking a deep breath, he twisted in the passenger seat of the truck another officer was driving, turning to face you. “You wanna know what’s going on? I’ll tell ya. When you left, I was torn apart. I wanted to follow you, but Roy wouldn’t let me; told me I had to stay here and help run the Ranch. You know how tough it was for me growing up. My mom dying when I was young, Dot coming in and then leaving, and now Karen and the twins. I got into some messed up shit over the years. All I wanted was to know that you were safe. All I wanted was–”

He stopped himself as you felt tears build on your waterline. “All you wanted was love and validation from your father,” you whispered. “That’s all I ever wanted from you, and all I ever wanted from mine as well. G, we both had shitty lives, but that doesn’t mean we follow in our father’s footsteps.”

“At least you got out.”

“But I also came back and stayed,” you whispered. “I was supposed to leave after dinner last night, but all I could think about was my best friend and how much he might need me to stick around.”

“I’m glad you did,” Gator whispered back.

It was silent for a moment before you heard him take a breath. “We were looking for Dot, and we found her. Dad’s on this hellbent… whatever you wanna call it… to get her back at the house.”

“Why’d she leave?”

“The abuse, dollface. She knew if she stayed–”

“She’d die by the hands of Roy.” You sighed, deeply, not knowing what else to say. “What about you? Did you go through the ranks at the station or did your dad just appoint you Deputy ‘cause of you being his nepo baby?”

That made Gator chuckle. “Uhm, I guess a little of both?”

“Well,” you said, knowing your filter is forever gone. “The uniform and baseball cap is a good fucking look on you.”

“Let’s go, babe,” he said. “We gotta ask a patient a few questions.”

~~~

As the two of you walked down the hallway in the hospital, you could hear a male’s voice and female’s voice grow louder as you drew closer. With your hand in Gator’s, you suddenly felt nervous.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Gator said, his voice soft. Stopping his steps, he turned to look at you, and you him. “I’m gonna have to be hardass, so… just…”

Sighing, you said, “Let you do your job.”

Nodding, Gator released a breath. He kissed your forehead before turning back to take a step forward, but stopped himself and looked back at you with his head tilted a little. “I need that filter back on, though. Can’t have you fucking up my job.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips. “Okay,” you whispered, letting him lead you into the hospital where a man sits up in the hospital bed, a woman standing at the end in a police uniform.

“What do you know?” Gator said, stopping for a second before looking down at you. “It’s a party.”

You quietly giggled before he walked the two of you to the end of the bed right before the female officer started speaking.

“Indira Olmstead, Scandia Police Department,” she introduced, shaking Gator’s hand.

“Ah,” he said. Looking back at you, he said, “Look, baby. A city girl.”

“Well, we prefer women these days.”

“He’s old school,” you said, wrapping your hand around his upper arm to look over at her. With a smile on your face, you added, “There’s no getting him out of that mindset.”

“Well, the rest is accurate.”

“How can we help you, stranger?” the man asked.

You couldn’t help but feel extremely bad for him, seeing him laying in that bed. A thought ran through your mind; is the persona Gator brought up the day before? The one with the hole in his leg?

“Sheriff’s Deputy,” Gator said. “Stark County.”

Because you felt bad for this man, you quietly said, “He just needs to ask you a few questions.”

“Sounds like you had a mix-up in my neck of the woods last night, which–”

“They run a pretty tight ship, so…” you interrupted. Feeling Gator squeeze your hand, you squeezed back while rubbing your hand up and down his arm, trying to let him know that it’s okay. “He takes it personal when bad people show up.”

“This job will grind you down if you take it too personal,” the man said.

“What can I say?” Gator said. “I like being on the right side of a gunfight. Especially for my girl here.” You two looked at each other before he took a breath and looked at Officer Olmstead. “Heard you say you had a picture of the perps?”

“Uh, victim,” she said. “Female.”

“Right. Saw something about, uhh, a woman got taken. Or escaped or something?”

You inwardly groaned, realizing that he was bad at playing dumb.

“We think these fellas grabbed her up in Minnesota,” Indira stated. “Taking her to points west when the trooper pulled them over.”

So, now some more pieces were falling into place. Dorothy, who you now know is Dot, was taken by who you think is the man that was in the barn speaking in riddles. He and his partner, whoever that is, stopped a gas station where all hell broke loose. This man in the bed in front of you was caught in the crossfire and now has a hole in his leg, most likely from being shot.

“She killed one, the recidivist Donald Ireland, I think they said,” the man said. “The other one got away.”

“Sounds like a real Comanche, this female you’re hunting,” Gator inquired.

“Like I said, I got a photo,” Indira said. Gator reached over and took her phone from her hand. “Excuse me.”

“G,” you whispered to only where he could hear. You watched him as he scrolled through her photos.

“So, what, she some kind of criminal, also?” he asked.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still in that same super quiet tone.

He clicked on a photo, their voices dying out as you looked at a photo of Dot, holding a mugshot sign at a police station. You watched as he deleted the photo, Indira not even looking in your direction.

“Oops,” Gator said, bringing you out of your own moment. “What’d I do? Babe, what’d I do?”

Shrugging, you said, “I don’t know. I zoned out.” Which wasn’t a total lie.

“What’d’ya…” she asked, taking her phone back.

“I must’a, I don’t know, I pressed something,” Gator responded.

“Darn it,” she quietly exclaimed. “You deleted the victim, her photo.”

“Yeah, this man here and technology never saw eye to eye,” you said. “I used to sit beside him in computer class, teaching him how to open up a writing document.” You chuckled. You did have to do that once, so, again, it wasn’t a total lie.

“Especially now,” he added. Bringing up his hand, he said, “This wrist-breaker,” while shaking his hand, a small groan passing his lips.

Dumbass.

“No, no, it’s my fault,” Officer Olmstead said. “I’m not sure what I was thinking bringing the one.”

“Mistakes happen,” you said. “Happens to all of us.”

“Well,” the man said. “I hope you find her. “If it was her, saved my life, I think.”

“Oh, no, she’s home,” Indira said. “A little worse for wear but intact.”

Looking at Gator, you saw him quickly move his eyes towards her, his hand squeezing yours like he got the answer he wanted.

“Strangest thing, though,” she continued. “Despite all evidence, she’s claimin’ it never happened.”

“Never… what now?” the male asked.

“Says nobody broke in, says she wasn’t taken. Just went for a wander for ten hours and then came home and cooked breakfast.”

“Cry for attention, sounds like,” Gator muttered. “Drama queen trying to make her husband sick.”

“Who said she has a husband?”

Again, you squeezed his hand, a little harder than before.

Chuckling, you said, “He’s just assuming, ya’know.”

“Description said 30s in the police report, so…”

“Well, all I know is, the woman I met broke loose like somebody who knows how small the cage can get,” the man said. “Wish you had that picture. Like to meet that woman again, thank her.”

“For what?” you asked.

“Far as I can tell she’s the one got you shot in the first place,” Gator said.

“Oh, the job got me shot,” he said. “She was just… trying to get free. But you know what they say; protect and serve.”

Gator chuckled before he said, “Yeah, I’m down with protect, but…” He looked down for a moment before looking back and saying, “I ain’t in the service industry. I’m in the kicking ass and taking names business.”

He pulled out a vape that you didn’t know he had, inhaling the chemicals and blowing the smoke out, the scent of the vape filling your nostrils.

“You two have a nice day,” he added, tipping his ball cap at Officer Olmstead before looking at you and saying, “Come on, dollface.”

You followed him willingly back down the hallway. Deciding not to question where he was leading you, you found yourself in the alleyway, another one of Roy’s officers standing against the wall. Gator helped up into the backseat of the truck before getting into the passenger side. He looked at the officer, a smirk on his face as he said, “Consider that bitch flummoxed,” as the truck started moving in reverse.

Oh, Gator, you thought to yourself. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

~~~

You hadn’t realized you’d fallen asleep until the sounds of This is Halloween from The Nightmare Before Christmas met your ears, not to mention it being dark outside. You moaned, the ache in your neck causing you some uncomfort.

“G,” you groaned. “I’m hella thirsty, and I want a snack.”

“Okay, dollface. Hey,” he said. “Pull in here. She’s wanting something inside, and I gotta take a piss.”

You heard the inhale of breath before smelling that flavor of the vape. Something has shifted between you and Gator since those agents showed up. He’s held your hand, called you baby or babe, your arm wrapped around his as you two stand in silence. It’s something you can’t quite pin, but you know something has definitely shifted.

The officer driving the truck pulled up to the door as Gator turned in his seat to face you. “Stay here, okay? Don’t move.”

Not wanting to take that chance, you nod your head and lean back against the seat, observing Gator as he asked the officer if he wanted a pop, to which he said no and got out. Your eyes shifted out of the window, watching as Gator gets out and walks to the door just as a guy walks backwards out of the store, hands full of items he’d just bought.

You tapped on the window, yelling out “G!” before he could do something irrational, watching as he disappeared into the store. Not five minutes later, you jumped at hearing a thud on the window on the driver’s side of the truck, seeing a body before hearing gurgling noises.

“Oh, my god,” you whispered. “Gator, please hurry.” Tears sprung to your eyes as you watched the officer’s body slide to the left of the truck right before you heard Gator’s voice say, “I got us some jerky, dollface,” before ripping the top off with his teeth. “Well, me. It’s the spicy kind.”

Getting into the car, he added, “Better keep these windows down. You know what spicy foods do to me.” You could hear munching coming from the front seat, silent tears falling down your face.

“Oh, here,” he said, reaching back to hand you your $3 water and bag of chips. You tentatively took it from his hand, setting it down in the seat beside you as you heard Gator say, “Fuck, that’s hot,” and the tale tell signs of a soda bottle opening.

As he took a swig from the bottle, you saw him from the corner of your eye looking back at you. After swallowing the liquid, he asked, “Dollface, you okay?” before turning back to the front, asking himself, “Where is this guy?”

“G-Gator,” you said, voice shaky and quiet.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Outside.”

“Wh–”

You guessed he looked out the window at the side mirror because he quickly ducked down in the seat, saying, “Baby, get down.” You did as he said, not wanting to get yourself killed like that officer that was driving the two of you.

Gator kept repeating, “Oh, my god,” as he got out of the truck, but not before saying, “Stay in the truck.”

“Gator,” you cried, not listening for even a second.

The two of you walked to the back of the truck, your hands covering your mouth as you squealed, seeing the guy laying dead on the ground, a cardboard sign stabbed into his chest that read YOU OWE ME.

Gator, with his gun drawn, looked around, breathing heavily before saying, “Oh, shit,” before looking down at the guy and repeating his words.

“Gator, call your dad,” you said. When he didn’t make a move, you shouted, “Gator, call your dad!”

Hearing the desperation in your voice, he holstered his gun to grab his phone, calling his father and asking him to get your location as quickly as he could.

Gator ushered you into the truck before dragging the man into the bed. When he got into the driver’s side, he drove off to a dark spot of the lot, not wanting to be seen by any passersby.

Roy pulled up about 15 minutes later, the two of you getting out of the truck.

“Called you directly,” Gator said, walking toward the back of the truck. “Didn’t want this going out on the wire.”

“Little Darlin’,” Roy said in surprise. “Why are you here? Why is she here?” The last question was directed at his son.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you gestured toward the bed of the truck. “G didn’t know what to do with him, so he stuck him back there.”

Roy looked at the dead man before exhaling. “Then where were you?” Looking at you, he asked the same question.

“I was draining the snake,” Gator replied. “Two minutes in and out.”

“I-I was in the backseat. I saw it happen. Just… too shocked to call anyone.”

“Did you get a look at the tape?” Roy asked, looking dead at Gator.

Gator sighed before saying, “State cops took the whole system last night on account of the other thing.” Scoffing, he looked over at you, disappointed with himself at bringing you along in the first place. Looking back at his dad, he said, “Can you believe this guy? Coming back to the scene of the crime? Like that?” He gestured to the dead man. “Talk about big balls.”

“Yeah, well, I bet yours shriveled up a little bit on account of him getting the jump on you,” Roy said. Looking at his son, he said, “Again.”

Letting his anger get the better of him, Gator took off his cap and threw it to the ground, exclaiming, “Son of a bitch!” before yelling out into the air, leaning back a little.

“Alright, are you done?”

Scoffing, you couldn’t believe that Roy was treating his son this way.

“Tell me again where you found this Munch guy?”

“I-is that really his name? Munch?” you asked, voice still shaky.

“He says it,” Gator said. “Ohh-lah, and I-I, I didn’t find him. I found his partner.”

“What, the guy with his head in the toilet?” Roy wondered.

Sniffling, you looked at each Tillman man. “W-Wait. There’s a guy with his head in the toilet?”

“Dead,” Gator said, quickly turning his body towards you for a moment before looking back at his father, who he nodded his head at.

“Alright, well, first order of business,” Roy said, sighing. “Little Darlin’ needs to go home. Second order of business, we need information, find out who this guy is. Priors, known accomplices, known hangouts. Then we smoke ‘em loose.”

“If he comes for us again?” Gator asked.

“Oh, believe me, he’s coming,” Roy snapped. “Sleep with your hammer cocked is my opinion, if you sleep at all.” He looked away from his son, muttering, “Jesus.” He picked up the sign and looked at it for a moment before placing it back on the tailgate of the truck. “Alright, the truck goes in the ditch. Alvie behind the wheel. Tell Bruno to report the cause of death as accidental. Then… go to his fiancee’s and break the news.”

“What are you gonna do?” Gator wondered.

“Don’t worry about what I’m gonna do, alright?”

Incredulously, you looked up at your best friend’s father, releasing a quick breath to show your emotion. “Excuse Gator for being a little worried about his fucking father!”

“Doll, it’s okay,” Gator whispered.

Completely disregarding you, Roy spoke to his son. “You’re oh for two here, kid. How do I teach you how to be a winner, you keep losing all the time?”

Your anger started to bubble to the surface, all the adrenaline you were feeling from seeing a murder starting to take shape.

Gator, wanting to impress you still after all those years, says, “I swear to God, him versus me, man-to-man, I’d wipe the floor with him.”

“Yeah, right. Like High Noon? Only happens in the movies, son. Real life, they’ll slit your throat while waiting for the light to change.” He walks away back to his truck, starts it and takes off while Gator walks up to the tailgate and lifts it to close.

“I’d like to slit his fucking throat,” you muttered.

~~~

When Gator finished the tasks that his father had set for him, he started to drive you home in complete silence. Once you noticed that you two were almost at your never-ending driveway, you looked at Gator, and said, “I don’t want to go home. I don’t think I can be alone after what happened tonight.”

He didn’t say anything; just kept on driving. You had wished he played the radio so that he couldn’t hear your soft cries, but you felt his hand on your thigh, you knew had heard you.

Sighing, he squeezed your leg softly. “Doll, I’m–”

“No,” you said, sniffling. “Please don’t. Not right now.”

“Okay,” he whispered. He never moved his hand from your thigh; the placement feeling like… home to him. It felt like home to you, as well. You never wanted him to move it.

“Hey, G?”

“Yeah, dollface?”

“Back in high school–”

“Oh, shit. Here we go.”

Chuckling at his reaction, you looked over at him before your quiet laughter died out. “Uhm… did you hurt that one kid with the tire iron after you told me you wouldn’t?”

Gator went dead quiet, not wanting to say a word. Of course he did, but he didn’t tell you because you had stopped talking to him and hanging out with him. “Why you askin’?” “Because I heard a rumor that you did, and I want you to be straight with me and tell me the truth.”

Sighing, he lightly squeezed your thigh before parking the vehicle in his designated spot. It was quiet for a moment before he nodded his head and said, “Yeah. I did.”

“Gator–” you sighed.

“Listen, I wanted revenge on the little fucker. I coulda gone all the way if he hadn’t broken my leg. Woulda had–”

“A better life?” you asked.

Gator nodded, turning his head to look at you. “I felt like I didn’t have a choice.”

You turned in your seat to face him, cupping his face. “You listen to me, Gator. You always have a choice. Even now, you have a choice. Just because you’re 27 doesn’t mean your choices stop. Your whole fucking life is full of choices. You just have to make the right ones.”

“Can I make one now?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said, brows furrowed.

Without so much as another word, he leaned forward and pressed his lips on yours, giving you the kiss he’d been wanting to give you since you both were sophomores in high school. A kiss that you reveled in, and returned with great passion.

You hadn’t even realized that you climbed over the middle console to straddle his lap. Breaking the kiss for a moment for some much needed air, you breathlessly asked, “Are Karen and the girls home?”

Looking around you, Gator roamed his eyes across the yard, not seeing her car. “I don’t see her car, but she could’ve parked somewhere else.”

“Feel like moving this one somewhere else? Don’t want anyone seeing us, right?”

“Seeing us make out?”

Leaning your head down on his shoulder, you sighed out his name, feeling his shoulder shake from laughter.

“I don’t care if they see,” he said, lifting your head. “I’ve been waiting for this fucking moment since I saw you the other day. Ya’know, other than the times when we were teenagers.”

“You wanted to fuck me then?” you asked, his answer coming out as a nod. Lightly hitting him in the shoulder, you smiled and said, “Why didn’t you ever say anything? I would have!”

“Well, we can now,” he said. “Get your beautiful ass in the back.”

Giggling, you awkwardly made your way to the back seat, watching as Gator also made his way into the back with you, hitting his head on the vehicle’s ceiling a couple of times. Looking up at it, he muttered, “Motherfucker,” before wrapping his arm around your back to guide you to lay down as he kissed you.

You grabbed as his vest, doing your best to take it off before growling in frustration. “Get this fucking thing off, G. It’s pissing me off.”

He chuckled, sitting up the best he could without hitting his head… again. You watched him expertly take off his vest and accessories, biting your bottom lip. Reaching forward, you grabbed the bottom of his shirt not tucked into his pants and pulled up, removing the shirt off his torso.

Leaning back over you, Gator kissed you with more heat than before, his cock starting to strain in his pants. Pulling back, he kissed your cheek and jaw, working his way down to your neck. “I can’t wait to fuck this pussy. I’ve been dreaming of it for years, dollface.”

“Fuck, Gator,” you whispered. Closing your eyes, you let your senses heighten at the feel of his lips on your neck, whimpering when you felt him suck on your sweet spot, his tongue licking over the mark he just made.

“That’s to let everyone know that you’re mine, doll. No one else’s. Am I clear?”

Nodding, you opened your eyes, looking him dead in his. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Growling, he lifted you up to remove your shirt and bra, his eyes going straight to your breasts before going back to your own eyes. Laying you back down, he caged your head between his forearms, gently brushing your hair back.

“What?” you whispered, gently brushing your hands up and down his sides.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered back.

Looking down at the patch of hair on his chest, your reply of, “You’re only saying that because I’m topless and you saw my breasts.”

Gator put his finger under your chin and raised your head the slightest bit to look into your eyes. “Yes, your breasts are beautiful, but you, dollface, are more beautiful.”

Tears filled your eyes as you took in Gator’s words. You valued being called beautiful more than any other adjective people use to describe someone’s looks. “So are you.” At the look Gator gave you, it made you laugh.

“You’re, like… handsomely beautiful,” you added.

“Okay then,” Gator said, softly. Placing his lips on yours, he decided then and there that he was going to make you his, no matter what. Pulling back just a little, he whispered, “Just so you know, dollface, I won’t go slow. I will risk tipping this fucking truck over as I pound that pussy of yours.”

“O-Ooooohhhhh, shit,” you stuttered, watching as Gator unbuttoned and unzipped your pants.

He guided the material down your legs along with your panties, taking off each shoe to make it easier. Once you were completely naked underneath him, Gator did his best to finish undressing himself before reaching into the front of the truck to retrieve a condom from… wherever he was reaching, you couldn’t see.

As your eyes met his, you watched from your periphery as he rolled the condom onto his hard cock before leaned back over you, placing his lips on yours as he slowly, but not so gently entered you.

“O-o-o-o-oh, ffffffffffffffuuuuuuuckkkkkkkkkkkkk,” you moaned, reaching up to grab the back of his head. True to his word, Gator started to pound your pussy with just force that the truck, indeed, started to shake. “Just like that, G. Oh, my god, don’t stop!”

To better balance himself above you to look into your eyes, Gator placed his palm on the window, adding to the shakes of the truck. “God, you’re incredible!” he moaned, cupping your face.

You’d dreamt of this moment since your senior year of high school, just months before you stopped talking to Gator. You had thought about breaking your own silence with him by asking him to have sex with you, but you refrained, sticking to your guns, especially after he broke his promise to you.

Gator leaned down and kissed your lips with such fervor, you almost forgot how to breathe. “Yeah, yeah,” he moaned. “Almost there? Almost there?”

You couldn’t speak, this moment with him feeling in-fucking-credible. “I’m almost there, Gator. Don’t stop! If you do-” Moan. “I’ll cut your fucking dick off and feed to you.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again. His chuckle turned into a full on laugh when he heard pounding on the window above your head.

The both of you looked up, seeing none other than Roy Tillman standing there with your father, a look of shock on your face that quickly turned into one of pleasure as you felt Gator’s finger touch your clit.

“Fuck, Gator,” you moaned, not caring that your father was watching you get fucked.

“Gonna fuckin’ come for me, dollface?” Gator asked. “Gonna fuckin’ come all over this cock?”

“Yes,” you groaned. “I’m gonna come all over your cock. Oh, my god, I’m coming. Gator, I’m coming. I’m-” Your words were cut off with the loudest moan you’d ever done, loudly whimpering as your climax washed over you, your core turning sensitive. “Gator, I’m getting sens-”

“I’m almost there, dollface,” he groaned, dipping his head into your neck. Letting out a loud moan of his own after a few more thrusts, Gator was spilling into the condom, the both of you wishing it was you he was spilling into instead of the condom.

Gator decided to voice his thought, saying, “Fuck, that was amazing, dollface.” Looking up at you, he added, “But I wish I had come inside of your pussy rather this fuckin’ condom.”

Laughing, your hands cupped his cheeks, bringing him down towards your lips in a sweet kiss.

Before the two of you could sit in the post-sex bliss, the knocking on the window sounded again, this time Roy’s voice coming through the window as he asked, “You two done?”

Looking from Gator to Roy, you replied, “I wouldn’t mind round two.”

“Get the hell out of the truck,” your father said, walking off.

After your father and Roy walked off, you looked at Gator for a brief moment before the two started laughing, almost hysterically. “Come on, doll,” Gator said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed.”

About ten minutes later, the two of you were dressed and walking into the house, ignoring both of your father’s stares as you walked through the kitchen and to the stairs, where Gator had stopped you just to kiss you.

Pulling back, he looked at you, a slight smile on his face. “I’ve always loved you, dollface. Did you know that?” With a smile on your face, you leaned up just the slightest, a smile on your face as you replied. “Yes, and I you, Gator Tillman.”

Pushing a piece of hair behind your ear, Gator said, “Now, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna take you into my bedroom, eat this pussy until you’re coming all over my face, and then I’m gonna make the sweetest love to you before I pound that pussy once again until us and my sheets are covered in cum and sweat. What do you say?”

“I say…” You stepped up a couple of steps, now standing a little higher than Gator with a playful smirk on your face. “What are you waiting for, G?” Turning your back to him, you started walking up the stairs before looking back at him, squealing as you watched him run after you before you, too, bolted up the steps and into his room, ready for round two.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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A/N 2: hi, friends! this is probably the longest standalone fic i've ever written, lol. let me know what you thought! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: as i stated above with the triggers, i've never written anything like this before. some of these scenes were hard to write. if you did read and you were triggered by it, please do not send me any hate comments or messages in my inbox for something of mine you read knowing what the triggers were. i just let my imagination run and this is what it came up with it.

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Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak

Gator Tillman Taglist: @ali-r3n

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski.

All characters, story lines and plot, aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of Noah Hawley.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on January 4, 2025

#gator tillman x reader #gator tillman #joe keery x reader

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