#Big brother!Gator Tillman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dckweed · 8 months

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NEXT THING YOU KNOW, gator tillman

in which gator tillman and his arranged bride figure out life and each other and what a real relationship means to them.

warnings: mentions and depictions of abuse, mentions of bruises, arranged marriages, romance, humor, dead parents, slow burn relationship (not completely but not not), basically we know the tillman men are asswipes so i 100% see Roy forcing gator into this kind of situation for money for his militia, eventual smut with kinks such as thigh riding, gun play, choking, spanking, lots of marking and possible spit play.

p.s. if y'all ever wanted to send in little rambles or drabble ideas for pearlie and gator to my ask box feel free to my babes, i love interaction with my readers! or even if you wanted to just ask me questions to get to know me!

song in the last scene is somebody's heartbreak - hunter hayes

series masterlist here, series playlist here.

PART FOUR: the weekend, pt 2

Friday.

Your first night in the Tillman house was quiet to say the least. After picking up Jessica and Maude from their school, both of them clambering into Gator’s truck (he had insisted on taking his own so that he could be the sole driver) with slight grumbles, they were used to their mom picking them up, and even Roy on special occasions, they perked up when they realized that their older brothers wife to be was in the passenger seat.

“Are you really going to marry him?” Maude, or maybe it was Jessica you weren’t sure how to tell them apart just yet, asked with wide, curious eyes that glanced between you and her big brother. Gator turns half cocked in his seat to give a dirty look to the offending twin. “What? You’re gross.” She muttered, resigning to buckling her seatbelt.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in your throat or the grin that spread across your lips. “She’s not wrong,” You giggle when he gives you an equally offended look. “I’ve seen your bedroom!”

Gator rolls his eyes at you but smiles anyway, asking the girls what they wanted for supper.

He had made supper while you helped the girls with their homework, it was an oddly domestic experience that you basked in, as was holding his hand while he said grace before everyone dug into the sloppy mess of what you quickly gathered was about the only thing he was capable of cooking, pasta.

He had left for work not too long after that, leaving with a hurried and wet kiss to your cheek and a stern look at his sisters to behave themselves, a reminder to lock the doors after he was gone, and to text him if he needed anything, to which you had called out to him that he would have to actually respond too. He simply flips you off as he walks down the steps of the porch.

The girls were an absolute joy, much like your own little sisters. You could tell that they were sweet but that they absolutely enjoyed getting under their older siblings skin whenever they could and you couldn’t say you blamed them, he seemed like he could be a hard ass from time to time.

When they were off to bed you were left alone to your own devices, exploring what bit of the house you felt comfortable enough to while you were alone, cleaning up after you and the girls’ evening and even cleaning up some of Gator’s room, at least cleaning the mess off of the floor.

Eventually, it was late enough that your eyes felt heavy and you could barely hold your head up, you had busied yourself with wedding planning and looking at the photos that littered your fiance’s room, questions racing through your mind about who the women were in them as you explored. You hadn’t been paying attention to the time and were surprised to find that it was after three am, and that Gator had texted you around midnight.

GATOR: how’s everything?

The girls go to bed okay?

Are you asleep?

Something about the string of messages, sent only a few minutes apart made you smile. And then you laughed when you realized that you were the one not responding now. Although in your defense, the messages had been sent when you had been downstairs putting a load of his laundry in the machine, having found a container of detergent on his closet floor, different from the kind that you noticed was downstairs. You hadn’t though to check the phone when you had come back up.

Now that you were in his bed, under his comforter and breathing in his scent that was all over the pillows and sheets, you felt oddly relaxed. Smirking, you open your phone and pull up your camera, giving a slightly sultry face as you snapped a clear pick of you in his bed, one of your pert nipples hardened and showing through the thing fabric of your sorry excuse for a tank top.

You attach the photo to a message and send it to him.

YOU: nice and cozy

You see him open the message, the little bubbles start moving like he’s typing something to you, and then they stop and you laugh, tossing the phone onto the pillow next to you and rolling onto your side. You close your eyes and you’re close to falling asleep when you hear it ping with a new message.

GATOR: the hell are you doin’ up so late?

You pout. You expected a reaction to the photo you sent, at the very least an acknowledgement to it and you have to admit you're a little upset that he didn't. Were you over reading things? Did he not like you like that? You had thought that you were friendly enough to send flirty messages back and forth, especially given the way he had stared at your tits before he had even spoken to you, why wouldn't he give a response to the photo?

Deciding to brush it off, you roll your eyes and snap a picture of the floor off the side of his bed, it gave a clear shot of the rug in front of it that was previously messy.

YOU: keeping myself busy Deputy, your room was calling to me

You send it and you don't bother to wait and see if he opens it, closing your eyes to try and get some kind of sleep.

A couple hours later you wake to a God awful screeching in your ears, scaring you so badly you bit your head on the wall as you jump into a sitting position. It's coming from the nightstand next to the bed, closest to the pillow that smells the most like Gator. His fucking alarm clock bleating in your ears at goddamn six in the morning.

“Two fucking hours of sleep.” You grumble, kicking your legs angrily as you try to get the comforter off of your body. “Jesus Gator, why's it so fucking cold in here?!” You whine outloud, arms folded over your chest as stomp your way to his closet, pulling his thick robe out and tying it around your waist. He's much bigger than you, it hangs to your feet and the cuffs fall over hands. You probably looked stupid but you didn't care, it was the warmest thing you could find.

You remember that it's Friday, and the girls have school so you open the door of his bedroom and shuffle across the hallway to the girls’. You peek your head in and one of them is just starting to stirr in their bed.

“Hey girls,” You say, soft but loud as you walk between their beds. The one on the left is the one already stirring, Maude you think. She rubs her eyes as you sit down on the edge of Jessica's bed, giving the girl a soft shake. “time to get up and get ready for school okay? Don't want your mama and daddy getting upset with me because you're late..”

You would probably never hear the end of it from Karen. And you certainly wouldn't feel the end of it from Boyd if she ran her mouth to him about it.

Jessica comes to with a little more persistence on your end and you make sure they're actually up and shuffling to the bathroom to brush their hair and teeth before you leave them alone, headed downstairs to make breakfast.

You whip up a quick eggs and toast situation, and pour them some orange juice and wonder how the hell they're so perky when they come down the stairs and sit in their chairs.

“Where's Gator?” Jessica asks, taking a big gulp of her juice. “He's usually home by now, I wonder if he got to arrest someone..I wonder if he'll have a cool story for us!”

You shrug, sipping on your own juice. “I'm sure he's on his way, sweetie..” You say, keeping an eye on the time. You have just enough time to do the dishes and leave a plate out for Gator before you have to take them to school.

You drive in his robe, planning to go back to the house and sleep for a little longer, the sleepless nights at Boyd's finally catching up to you. You promise to pick them up in your Jeep this afternoon, and to make them something other than spaghetti for supper too and make the drive back to the ranch.

Gator's squad car is in the drive when you park, his plate of eggs eaten and sat neatly in the sink. You don't stop to wash it, too tired as you drag your feet up the staircase and into the upstairs hallway. His bedroom door is closed, and when you open it you find him sprawled on his stomach on the bed, nothing on but his boxer shorts. He's snoring lightly, and you know he must be exhausted to already be asleep as he couldn't have been home long.

“Ugh, boys.” You grumble, tripping over his work boots that were laid in the middle of the floor, one stood up right and the other tossed unceremoniously on its side. His tactical vest is at least on the back of his desk chair, his thigh holster with the gun still inside of it placed on the desktop. You crouch and pick up his camouflage pants and his skin tight black shirt, tossing them in the empty laundry hamper in the closet before hanging the robe back up.

Without much more thought you crawl into the bed next to Gator, getting comfortable next to his warm body and falling asleep again within minutes.

Gator wakes a couple of hours later to warm breath in his face and weight across his chest. He's groggy and it takes him a moment to realize that it's you. Sometime between him coming home and going to bed, you had also come home and had crawled into bed with him, somehow winding up laying partially on top of him.

You look so peaceful when you sleep, your lips parted and your face so uncaring. You were laying on your back, one arm thrown over his chest. He can't help but to guiltily look down, eyes roaming over your chest. He kept it pretty cool in his room, and it was clear your body was reacting to it by the way your hardened nipples poked through your flimsy tank top that obviously barely covered your tits to begin with. He stifled a groan when he felt himself getting hard, same as he had last night when you'd sent him that goddamn photo. God, he had practically cum in his pants when he'd seen it, but he didn't think you could have possibly meant it in any other way than just to be playful in response to his text.

He had had to jerk off to it only a few hours ago, and now that he had you in his bed with him and he got to look at the real thing? Fuck, he couldn't get to the bathroom fast enough.

Gently moving out from under your arm, he sits up, his elbow brushing the fabric of your tank top as he stands. He glances back at you once he's on his feet, one hand clutched on the comforter as you squirm around, his eyes locking onto discolored flesh on the upper part of your rib cage peeking out from the bit of your shirt he had accidentally moved. It was a violent shade of green with a little tinge of purple.

Hard on long forgotten he reaches a steady hand out and gently pushes the top up father, exposing the bottom of your tit to his eyes, and the rest of a large, angry bruise that looked like it wrapped around your entire front.

“Jesus fuck..” His first thought was that his father had done something to you, hit you with his horse whip maybe when you were alone yesterday, but he knew he wouldn't. Not yet, not until your last name was legally Tillman and he felt entitled to you. The bruise was too old for that anyway, his next thought was maybe some sonofabitch from school. Anger welled up inside of him. He was angry that some dickhead had marked up his fiance, angry that his bride was walking around with these bruises and he had no idea who put them there. Angry that he wasn't there to stop it, to put that fucker in the back of his squad car, or better yet, twenty feet in the fucking ground out in some forgotten field on the fucking ranch.

With shaking, but gentle hands he shakes your shoulders. “Pearl,” He whispers, you groan in response, kicking your feet as if trying to push him away. “Pearlie, hon, wake up..need'ta ask you somethin’”

You're groggy, eyesight swimming as you slowly open your eyes. “Mmm was'uh matter?” You ask, barely registering the shaking hands gripping your shoulders. You see a funny look on Gator's face, something between pain and sadness and rage and that's what wakes you up, wondering what had happened. “Gator? What's wrong?” You try to sit up but his strong hands keep you pinned down. “Ga-”

“Who hurt you?” His voice is strained, and you feel his fingers grip your shoulders tightly as he looks down at your..oh. He must have seen the bruises left over from Boyd's lashing. “Pearlie, honey, who fuckin’ did this to you?” His voice is a whisper but it holds so many emotions in it, sadness and pain, and anger that for once in your life isn't directed at you. Maybe it's because you're groggy still, or maybe because he's just so damn gentle in the way he asks it, the way he's holding your shoulders but you feel your lip start to quiver and before you know it, a sob is breaking from your chest.

Gator doesn’t particularly know what to do when your entire body shakes with the force of your crying, his hands moving from your shoulders to let your sit up, your shirt riding down over the godforsaken bruise. It was your own fault, for wearing something so short, you realized. But it was also Boyd’s fault for hitting you in the first place. Sobs wracked your body as your mind started working, were you relieved? Scared? You had never had to tell anyone about what was going on at home before, you had always hidden it so well from everyone, including your own mother and now? You had to tell him, Gator wasn’t going to take ‘don’t worry about it’ as an answer, you may have only known him and been engaged for a week but you knew him enough to know that that wasn’t his style. You were as much a Tillman now as you were an Augastine, you were his to protect, to keep safe.

For how long you cry, you’re not sure, but at some point it gets bad enough that Gator sits down with you, strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling your head into his bare chest. You tears left a wet mess in the smattering of hair that lay between his pecs, his fingers rubbing small circles in your hair as he whispered soothing words into the top of your head. “It’s okay, hon..” He would say, over and over again. “It won’t ever happen again, Pearlie girl..” Occasionally thrown in, and from the way he spoke it, the way his body felt underneath of you when the words left his mouth, you knew he was telling the truth. “I promise you’re safe with me..won’t ever hurt you..” He had whispered a few times, and you swore he was crying too.

The tears stop after a while, and your heart stops racing, your body no longer shaking. He doesn’t let you go though, and in all honesty, you don’t want him to. “Boyd..” You say finally, giving a small sniffle after the word. Your voice was so small, cracked with emotion that you weren’t sure he had heard it at first until you felt the way his arms tightened around you, almost to the point of being uncomfortable.

He breathes out of his nose, trying to calm the rage boiling inside of him at your words. He tries to focus on you in his arms, keeping you safe and comfortable while you tell him this. Your voice sounded pained and he couldn’t say he blamed you. “For how long?” He asks, eyes squeezing closed as images of the man hitting you filled his mind. “How long has he been doing this to you?”

You sniffle again, bringing one of your hands up to squeeze his forearm, trying to comfort your comforter. “Ten years..” You say, breath catching as he lets out a pained sound. “Minus the four years i was at boarding school..except for when i would come home on breaks..”

Gator doesn’t want to keep pushing you, pushing himself. He was really testing his own limits right now, everything in his body was telling him to go hunt that man down, give him a taste of his own medicine, but his mind was telling him not to. That you needed him. He breathes out a low sigh, breath shaky as he kisses the top of your head, breathing in the smell of your expensive ass shampoo. “Okay..why don’t you go take a hot shower,” He says, feeling you nod against his chest. “We can talk more about this later, if you want..” He could tell you were thankful for his words as when you finally sit up from his embrace, you give him a long kiss on the cheek, both hands cupping his face as you climb over him, whispering a soft thank you.

The one bathroom in the Tillman house isn’t luxurious like the one attached to your bedroom at Boyd’s, but it has a beautiful clawfoot tub, and it feels nice and cozy, comfortable. The water is hot too, reddening your skin as it washes down your shoulders and chest, trailing down the bruise below your breasts. The contact made you flinch, the image of Boyd giving it to you flashing before your eyes before the pain turned into something more soothing, the sting reminding you that you’re at Gator’s house and for the time being, you’re safe from him.

You take way longer than is probably polite when you’re a guest in someone’s home, and you’re glad that Karen isn’t here because you get the feeling that she would bitch about it, and it would somehow turn into you getting Gator in trouble without meaning to. You had forgotten to bring your shower gel from your bag in Gator’s room, so you use what you deduce is his from the smell, lathering yourself in it for a while before letting it run off of you under the fall of the water from the showerhead.

When you feel like yourself again, and you’ve let cool water run down your face to where you’re sure its no longer puffy, you make your way out of the bathroom and back across the hall to his room. He’s nowhere to be found, but the bed is messily made and the closet door is open, you notice a pair of jeans missing off the first hanger, and the smell of coffee finally hits your nose.

You put your pajamas under the pillow on the left side of the bed, you had only packed one pair, before making your way down the stairs, the sound of something scraping against a pan and hushed cursing meeting your ears before you reach the last step. You peek into the kitchen and a smile spreads on your face at the sight of Gator running a hand through his hair, smoke rising in front of his face as he turns every which way, talking to himself as he tries to fix whatever he had messed up. “I think you’re burning something, hon.” You quip, chuckling when he jumps about a foot in the air at the sound of your voice.

“Jesus Christ, need’ta put a damn bell around your neck,” He sighs, fighting back his own laugh. “I was trying to make a fuckin’ grilled cheese..” He shows you the contents of the pan thats in front of him, and you laugh at the pathetic lump of burnt bread and cheese.

“Did you butter it?” You ask, and he mutters another curse before groaning. “Who taught you how to cook, Gator?”

“Literally no one.” He says, tossing the burnt sandwich into the trash before moving out of your way.

You busy yourself making a sandwich for each of you, feeling hungry now that you’re actually in the action. You hear him rustling around behind you, the fridge opening and glasses clinking. You’re flipping both of the sandwiches in the large skillet when a full coffee mug is set next to you on the counter, clearly mixed with creamer.

“I stopped on my way home and bought some of that creamer stuff..” He says, you pretend not to notice how his cheeks flush as he says it. “I know it’s not an iced coffee, but at least its flavored.”

You’re not sure why you’re so goddamned emotional but you swear your eyes water at the notion. “That’s so sweet, you didn’t have to,” You say, going to give him another kiss on the cheek. You have to stand onto your tip toes this time, and he hums as you do. “Thank you, Gator.”

“Want you to have the things you like.” He shrugs, taking a big drink of his own mug of black coffee. He crinkles his nose, chasing after you with a small sniff that makes your cheeks flush. “Are you wearin’ my body wash?”

You shrug and move back to the stove, suddenly remembering the conversation you had had with his sisters when you were dropping them off at school this morning. “I promised your sister’s that i would make something for supper tonight,” You begin plating the sandwiches, switching the gas to the stove off. “Not that your spaghetti wasn’t good or anything, but i get the sense that cooking just isn’t your thing.”

You hand him his plate, he’s looking at you with an unfamiliar emotion in those damn brown eyes. “Can you make cheeseburgers?” He asks, an almost childlike lilt to his voice. You nodded in agreement and you swear he would have done a happy dance if he hadn’t spilled some of his hot coffee out of the mug and onto his hand. “Ah shit!”

It’s one thirty when by the time you guys finish with lunch and coffee and you set your plates in the sink with the notion of washing them later, you notice that Gator had already washed the plate you left for him this morning. “I think we’ll probably have to go to the supermarket on the way back from getting the girls..” You say, you had noticed earlier that there wasn’t any fresh meat for burgers in the fridge, and if that was what he wanted then it needed to be bought.

“Okay.” He says, checking his watch. You hear him sigh. “I got a few chores to do before we go to the school.” He gets up and starts heading for the door, you start pouting as you watch his retreating back. You didn’t want to be left alone in the house, it was boring without someone to annoy. “You comin’?”

You hum as you carry a bucket of feed to the chicken pen off yonder of the barn, it was heavier than you had told Gator, wanting him to think that you could do it on your own. He had already poked fun at you for never having done any real ranch chores outside of caring for your own horse before, you didn’t want him teasing you for having to carry a bucket of slightly heavy feed because you were too soft for it.

He had stayed behind in the barn, a large shovel in hand as he had decided that you were much too pretty to do the easier although definitely stinkier job of shoveling horse shit from the stalls. He sent you off with a teasing jilt about how you grew up on that fancy ranch and never done farm chores, before he put his stark county sheriff deputy hat on your head (the sun was awfully bright, ‘don’t need you goin’ blind’ he had said).

You rolled your eyes at him once you had turned away, muttering under your breath in mocking tones the word he had teased you with, though you regretted it almost as soon as you were out of sight of the barn. The feed was heavy, your arms were sore and your hands burned from where the wire handle was digging into your palms and you didn’t think it could have possibly gotten any worse, you didn’t think that you could have wished any harder that you had stayed back in the house to clean up from breakfast and lunch, until you walked into the chicken pen and sat the bucket of chicken feed down by your feet so you could turn around and close the door behind you, not wanting any of the birds to get loose.

You heard the fluttering of all their wings first, and then the little noises they made as if greeting you. “Hey little dudes,” You say, starting to turn around. “Who’s hungr- OH MY GOD!” You flew back against the door, not expecting ten birds to be right behind you, one already sat in the bucket of feed. How did they move that fast? You were pretty sure that they weren’t supposed to sit in the feed though, so gingerly and a little fearfully you tiptoed just the littlest bit closer to the feed bucket, your hands outstretched. “Hey little lady..let’s just-HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” The bird had fluttered it’s wings and snapped it’s beak at you as you tried to move it away from the food that the other birds needed too, it’s beady black eyes locked on yours. You swore it was looking into your soul and that was all you needed to get the fuck out of there with what was left of your life.

“GATOR, GATOR, GATOR!” His head snapped up in the direction that he heard your voice from, eyebrows furrowed. You sounded terrified. He stepped out of the horse stall he had started in, closest to the back exit just as you came barrelling into the barn, straight into him and his arms and damn near knocking him over in the process. You babbled as he steadied the two of you, his hands on your biceps as you looked up at him with big, watery eyes looking up at him and your lips puckered so deep in a frown that he just couldn’t help but to smile at how fuckin’ adorable it was.

“Slow down, Pearlie, can’ understand what you’re sayin’ when you’re babblin’ like that..” He says, rubbing his hands up and down your biceps gently, trying his best to soothe you. He was new to this whole thing, but he had learned fairly quickly earlier that soothing words and touches and a calm tone seemed to be best with you. He watched you take a big, deep breath in and let it out, a small sniffle and your lips puckered just a little bit less.. “Start again, hon..what happened? What’s got you so spooked, hm?”

“The birds, Gator!” You say, voice wavering. “They attacked me!” He immediately check’s every inch of available skin for talon marks, anything that resembled an attack, but aside from the emotions on your face you were otherwise unscathed..his eyebrows furrow again. “Gator..they..they were waiting for me when i turned around and it..it was sitting in the feed bucket and i..i just..i went to move it and it yelled at me..it yelled at me, Gator and it fucking like..fluttered it’s wings at me and it had friends!”

Here you were telling your fiance about the horror movie level ordeal you had been through, and what does he do? He laughs. Laughs! Head thrown back, shoulders shaking and gut hurting laughing at you. You smack his chest. “Stop laughing!” You say and you swear he only laughs harder at you, which pisses you off. “Gator Tillman you fuck head stop laughing at me!”

“Oh, Pearlie girl..” He sighs, wiping a tear from his eyes with the back of his hand as he finally stops laughing, hand rubbing his side as he shakes his head. “You afraid of the fuckin’ chickens?” You pout and he starts laughing again until you start hitting his chest with the hat he had put on your head, which makes him hold his hands up in surrender before taking it gently from your hand. “They’re just fuckin’ birds, hon, just kick ‘em they ain’t gonna hurt you none..”

“Bullshit, Gator,” You stomp your foot, arms crossing over your chest as you glare at him. “You didn’t see the way they all looked at me!” He shakes his head at you, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. “They were talking! They probably planning how they were gonna kill me and eat my body and feed my bones to the hogs!”

“Pearl, we don’t even have hogs!” He exclaims, completely done with your buffoonery at this point, though he knows it’s not buffoonery. He knows how real it is, can tell by the fear in your face and he knows that he shouldn’t make fun of you for it but it just seems like something a husband would do to his wife. “Oh my god I know the Augastine ranch is ritzy but i figured he would’ve had you working with the ranch hands like my daddy did..this is fuckin’ hilarious..”

“Gator!” You pout, stomping your foot once more and he only starts laughing once more, cackling once you push him in the chest on your way past him. “You go feed the damned demons then! I’ll shovel horse shit, can’t be any scarier!”

And shovel the shit you did until it was time to go and pick up his sisters from school, a car trip of which was filled with him poking more fun at you from the drivers seat of your own car! You were downright tempted to salt his macaroni and burn his burger tonight for supper, but you could never stand to mess up on purpose when it came to the kitchen.

The girls clambering into the Jeep at the school pick up took the attention off of your harrowing ordeal this afternoon, their chatterbox selves keeping Gator entertained as he drove through town on the way to the supermarket. Roy had enlisted the girls into he local christian academy, a private school and you made a mental note to ask Gator later tonight if he went to the same school too, if the highschool is where he got the trophies in his room from.

The supermarket was an ordeal in its self. The girls constantly asking Gator for something that he would exasperatedly say to put back where they found it, and it you swore that the amount of people you guys stopped to talk to, who were shocked that the rumor of Gator being engaged was true, caused what should have been a thirty-minute trip to turn into an almost two hour one. Each time a random couple or person whom you didn’t know (but he clearly did) stopped the pair of you, his arm would be immediately around your shoulder or your waist, tucking you into his side tightly. You would find your own arm or hand across his broad back with such ease it was as if you had been doing it for years, as if you guys had had a conventional engagement rather than having signed on a dotted line for your parents. It was safe to say that by the time Gator had pulled up next to his police cruiser, you were both exhausted.

You spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, listening as Gator helped his sisters with their homework so that they wouldn’t have to do it over the weekend. “Look, i thought it was stupid too, but i promise you, you my step-mama always told me it’s better to do weekend homework on friday so that you have the whole weekend to play and do fun things..” He had said, trying to convince them to sit down and pay attention. You thought it was rather sweet to hear him with them, he always seemed so cold and distant when his father was around but hearing when he wasn’t was another thin. You loved how warm and happy he was, how hands on he was. You knew that you were supposed to have a child of your own with him, it was part of the agreement, and you were a little more comfortable with that fact knowing that he was gentle.

By the time the sun had gone down and the four of you had sat down to eat, Gator praising and moaning into his plate the whole time, it was a meal filled with laughter and stories of how everyone’s days had went, which was all fine and dandy until your fiance had decided to tell his younger twin sisters the story of your harrowing encounter with the murderous devil chickens just before coming to pick them up from school, to which they had laughed and laughed and in all fairness, you couldn’t help but laugh a little too because now that you thought about it, it was a little silly the way that you had reacted.

Not more than an hour or so after that you were stood at the kitchen sink, the water running and your phone on the counter beside you just barely drowning out the noise of the piano being playing in the living room as you cleaned up the mess that had been made throughout the day. You hummed along to one of the songs, realizing that you needed to start working on a playlist for the wedding, as you scrubbed the dishes.

You didn’t hear his footsteps approaching, but you felt his presence, felt his bicep brushing against your shoulder as he stepped up to the sink right next to you. You looked up at him with a small smile on your face when you noticed the dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, and the other in his hands as he picks up a dish from the clean side of the sink to start drying it.

“Supper was good,” He says quietly, arm brushing against your own as you both worked. It made your skin buzz, that tingly feeling, you didn’t mind it though, there was something quite soothing about it. “Thank you for cooking..and for putting up with the girls..and me too i suppose.”

You chuckle, handing him a dish you had just finished washing when the song on your playlist changes, you pause it quickly recognizing the opening notes of it and turn to him. “Hey Gator?” You ask, and he hums, looking down at you as you turn off the faucet. “Dance with me?”

He was going to say no, to argue about how it wasn’t very manly, but you already had your mouth open. “We’re gonna have to have to dance at the wedding, and i want to make sure you’re not gonna be stepping on my foot the whole night!”

Now he wouldn’t come out straight and tell it to you, but he had taken a class or two during prom season back in highschool, for that girl he swore he was in love with. “Fine.” He concedes, tossing the towel down onto the counter as you bounce with happiness.

You click your playlist back on as you feel one of his large hands on your hip, turning you against his chest as he takes one of your hands with his free one, your other hand going up to his shoulder, just below the nape of his neck. It was an oddly comfortable embrace, nothing awkward about it as he started moving the two of you gently around the kitchen.

‘I'd love to know just what you're thinkin'

Every little river, runnin' through your mind

You give and you take

You come and you go

You leave me here wonderin' if I'll ever know

How much you care or how much you don't

Whatever you need, whatever you want’

“You’re not so bad at this,” You say, looking up into those damn brown eyes, those giant glassy eyes that hold so many emotions that you wish he would let you get to know. And maybe he will, somewhere down the line, but you know it won’t be any time soon.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” He teases, a smirk crossing his lips as he looks down at you, humming along to the song as he leads you around the room. It wasn’t any particular kind of dance, but it was a formal one none the less. “This what we gonna dance to at the weddin’?” He asks softly, a pink tinge to his cheeks as he thinks about dancing with you for the first time as his wife. You shrug in response, body pressing against him as he continues to lead you.

“Maybe..” You tease and he chuckles, his head tipping back just a bit before he plants his eyes right back on yours. “Haven’t decided yet..i’m makin’ a playlist..”

‘I guess that all I'm tryin' to tell ya

Is a minute with you is better than two without

Oh, I won't be a fool but I can't play it cool

So I'm playin' safe and I'm breakin' the rules

I'm wishin' I had what I know that you got

So if you're comin' my way then please don't stop’

“And do i get a say about this playlist?” He asks and you throw your head back laughing. “The one part of the wedding planning that i might actually know what the hell i’m doing.” You’re both full on laughing now, still locked in the dancing embrace though you’ve stood still. It takes a minute for you guys to calm down as you keep teasing him about the ivory and white situation, but when you finally do he gives a gentle kiss to your forehead, chuckling as he tells you to help him finish the dishes.

The two of you continue to make each other laugh as you guys do the dishes together, Gator singing off key to the music he recognizes on whatever playlist you have going, you teasing him for it, both of you blissfully unaware that his two sisters had seen your whole dancing exchange and had run off to the living room to talk excitedly about how much they already adored having you in the family..

taglist:

@ruth-barnes @justherebecausesafarisucks @daisy-is-a-writer @xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @girlwiththerubyslippers @keerygal @lilllbabyyy @boa-hemian @sweetdazequeen @emilyj444 @whisperingwillowxox @babyqnn @lou-la-lou @aestheticaltcow @finalmoondragon @boxofsmittens @pollyspocketdimension @kassy-munson @frostandflamesfanfic @mysticalstar30 @totally-bogus-timelady @nerdypinupcrystal @emmiecrush5-blog @witchcovenboys @starksbabie @marrowfrog00 @boop369 @lelenikki @xmalfoyweasleyx @girlwiththerubyslippers @keerysfolklore @gothicwidowsworld @palmtreesx3 @sacr1ficial-lamb @kingdomkitten32 @littlelovebug98 @cillsnostalgia

#joe keery #gator tillman #gator tillman smut #gator tillman fic #gator tillman x you #gator tillman x reader #gator and pearlie #gator and pearl #gator tillman fanfic #gator tillman fanfiction #fargo season 5 #fargo s5 #gator fargo #gator x reader

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queenslimeball · 8 months

Text

Bedtime Story

Dad!Gator Tillman x fem!reader

Requested by; @keerygal

Contents; Fluff, pregnant!mother!reader

Summary; Gator thinks back to the journey of his girlfriend's pregnancy.

Gator stands in the doorframe, staring into the dimly lit room. Y/n isn't home, so he is left to his own thoughts. He slowly enters the room, drifting inside as if by a kind of magnetic pull that he can't break free from. Not that he wants to.

Gator sits in the rocking chair in the centre with a little too much force as he swings further back than expected. He yells slightly, leaning forward to stabilise himself.

He hears a slight noise to his left, and his head instantly darts in the direction. His daughter. He's startled her awake.

"Shit." Gator mumbles. He quickly gets up, but it's too late as she starts crying.

Gator's face drops, and he gently reaches inside the crib to get her out. He does his best to be as gentle as possible without actually dropping the poor girl, which proves to be rather difficult. He leans her against his chest and sits back down in the rocking chair carefully this time.

"Sorry, baby girl. All good. It was jus' me, okay?" Gator whispers, brushing his thumb against her tiny hand. "Please don' wake up your brother or Y/n will kill me, okay, sweet'eart?" He says, in a gentle chirpy tone, despite the words he says. He looks to the crib on his right, where his son is sleeping peacefully.

"Go to sleep, and you'll be my favourite." Gator adds, grinning as he says it. He knows he doesn't mean it. He says it to each of them. He couldn't possibly pick a favourite.

"Please?" He says, as if making an imaginary deal with her. But she doesn't seem to agree to those terms.

Gator hears crying on his right. Damn it.

He stands and picks up his son, too. He leans him against his chest and sits back down with an impatient huff and a pout.

"C'mon. Your mom's gonna be home soon. She gon' think I'm bad at this." Gator pouts, rocking back and forth in the chair gently. He hushes them, giving them each a gentle rub on the back with his thumb.

After what seems like forever, but was merely three minutes, the babies gradually start to calm down. Gator lets out a breath of relief. He leans his head back, allowing himself to relax. But he can't get too excited because they aren't asleep yet.

"D'you guys wan' a bedtime story? I'm good at those." Gator says, going quiet as if waiting for them to answer. He blinks at them and realises they won't be giving him a nod and chuckles to himself.

"Uh– no, I'm not. Ya got me." Gator murmurs, looking around the room to try and spark an idea. He spots a picture on the wall, one from the hospital when the twins were born. Their first picture as a family. Gator smiles to himself, thinking back to that moment. A moment he'd never forget.

He realises he's gone quiet and isn't exactly helping them get back to sleep, so he thinks of the only story he can actually recall. They don't really know what they're listening to anyway, right?

"It was a saturd'y, I think. Or the day before. But I know it was dark outside. Really dark. I was at my dad's. Your grandpa. You don't wanna meet him, guys. He's in jail now, so don' worry. Where was I? Right. I heard a knock at the door and I had no idea who it was. I had to grab it, 'cause my dad was in bed. Glad I did, though.

I opened it, and there was your mom. I let her in and she was real nervous, so I was too, y'know? I had no idea what she was about to say. I expected anythin' 'n everythin' else.

I remember exactly what she said t'me. "Gator, we've got a big problem."

He laughs at his own impression of Y/n. "She don't sound like that. If she did, i'd be worried... Oops. Carryin' on with the story."

"I just said "What is it?" 'cause I di'n't really think there was somethin' as bad as she made it sound. But then, she showed me the pregnancy test.

I stared at her blankly for a while. She pro'ly thought there was somethin' wrong with me. I just cou'n't believe it. I di'n't really know if I wanted kids. But... it changed. 'Cause I was with the right girl. Your mom, she's just... I can't even put it into words. She's the reason I di'n't turn out like my daddy. You gon' understand when you're older.

That was a real turnin' point f'me. I had to sort myself out if I wan'ed your mom to keep me around. I had to... prove myself. It came naturally, really. When I knew you two were comin', somethin' changed in me.

I made sure to always be there for your mom. The whole of the way. I even moved out of my dad's so I could jus' be with her. It was nice... I–"

Gator cuts himself off, staring into the distance at a different photo on the wall of him and Y/n during her pregnancy. He's beginning to get choked up, but he doesn't want to upset the twins, so he quickly wipes his eyes.

"I remember it all so clearly. You two were growin'. Quite big, quite early, heh. We had no idea there were two lil' gremlins in there, so we thought you'd jus' be a really big baby. No offence. But we went to a doctor and found out, like– You should'a seen the look on your mom's face. I found it funny, but she di'n't. Well, obviously. She was the one dealin' with ya both.

Y'know, I hope you heard all the times I talked to you guys while you were in there. I read you a story once, but I weren't very good at it. I did tell you I love you both for the firs' time, so you should'a been listenin'.

When you guys decided you wanted to come out, it was a nightmare. F'me. at leas'. Your mom was more calm than I were, and she were the one givin' birth! I was just worried about her safety and yours. But excessively.

Your mom don't look it, but she got a tight grip."

He whistles with a chuckle.

"So strong, I had no clue. She held my hand so damn tight I thought it'd drop off. It was so worth it. I di'n't check how long it took, but it seemed like forever. I knew 'cause my hand was numb by the time she fin'ly let go.

This next part is somethin' I'll keep with me for the res' of my life. Son, you did not stop cryin'. The doctor told me to do "skin to skin" with you, but I di'n't know what that was. What it's s'posed to do is calm you down 'cause you listen to my heartbeat or somethin'. I got to hold you against my chest and you jus' seemed so... peaceful. I wan'ed to keep ya there forever. I cou'n't, though.

When I jus' sat on the edge of the hospital bed and looked over my new fam'ly, I instantly knew I loved you all more than I love myself. I have to admit, even I started cryin'. Your mom gave me a hug, so it was all good.

I di'n't leave your mom's side once after that. They advised me to go 'ome, but I jus' slept in a chair. I was okay, but my neck really 'urt after, which ain't surprisin'.

We got to bring ya both 'ome. Once you were both in tucked in, I was tied between stayin' with ya or goin' straight to bed. I was tired, but I jus' wanted to stay with ya both for a little while. So did your mom.

That's another time I remember exactly what she said t'me. "You sure as hell know how to make a pair of pretty babies."

He avoids trying to do a voice for Y/n, this time. He smiles for a moment to himself.

"I tried not to laugh, 'cause I di'n't wanna wake either of ya up. But it got t'me. In a way, she was callin' me pretty, so... I can't possibly forget that moment.

's the simple things, right? Like right now. God, I have so many stories to tell you both 'n not enough time. I–"

He stops himself when he notices that both of the twins are asleep. It's a relief, yet a disappointment. Gator found it enjoyable to have a moment to think over the best moments of his life so far. Maybe, he can tell them this exact story when they're older. It's not a bad idea. If he remembers to do it.

Gator puts them both in their cribs and makes sure they're okay, putting a teddy in there with each of them and making sure their blankets are covering them fully. Feeling satisfied that he's done enough, he slowly backs away to the door. He doesn't really want to, but he needs to let them sleep. And not wake them up this time.

Gator shuts the door as gently as possible. He lets out a breath and his shoulders untense. He turns to the side and–

Gator gasps heavily, startled. He presses a hand to his chest and stares at Y/n.

"A hello would'a been nice. You scared the shit outta me!" Gator whisper yells. He chuckles and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

"Sorry, baby. Didn't mean to scare you." Y/n replies, pecking Gator's lips. "Kids asleep?"

"Yup. All thanks to me." Gator replies, semi-cockily. His tone suggests he's after some kind of reward for doing fatherhood correctly. Y/n just chuckles.

"What do you want? A medal?" She replies, walking by him into the bedroom. Gator huffs playfully and follows after her like a lost puppy.

"Not a medal. Somethin' better." He says, pressing the door shut behind himself. "I jus' want my girlfriend, if that's okay." He wraps his arms around her waist from behind, resting his head on her shoulder. She tries to get changed into something comfortable, but she's struggling with Gator holding on so tightly.

"Let me get changed, then we can cuddle." Y/n assures, gently pushing him towards the bed. "Y'know, I don't get awards for good parenting, and I do it all the time."

"So do I." Gator replies with a teasing shrug, getting under the covers of the bed. "But I can arrange that, baby. All you gotta do is ask."

#gator tillman #joe keery #gator tillman x reader #steve harrington x male reader

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floredaqueen · 3 months

Text

A Bud In The Gun(2)

Gator Tillman X Fem!OriginalCharacter

Enemies To Lovers

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Writer(?)'s Note: This chapter was actually super hard for me to write, but I hope people actually like it. Took me forever to gain the courage to even continue it because it felt so late. I just hope that people like a different type of love story. Please enjoy.

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⚠️WARNING⚠️

MINORS DNI 18+, Cursing, Threats, Insults, Chrys being a little private investigator, Gator still spying on Chrys, description of fighting, description of sexual content, description of past SA (Trigger), description of assault, mentions of self harm.

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Pinapples (3), Grapefruit (3), Bananas (6), Strawberries (2 1LBs), Raspberries (3 1LBs), Blackberries (3 1LBs), Green Apples (5), Grapes (2lbs), Kiwis (6), Grapefruit Juice (2 5.9 oz), Lemonade (2 5.9 oz), Orange Juice (2 6 oz), Apple Juice (2 6 oz), Cranberry Juice (2 5.9 oz)..

... This was the kind of food Chrysanthemum was used to throwing into her cart at this point. When she began her job as an exotic dancer, more than a few of the girls told her that her new bread and butter were fruits and salads. The nutrience would be her best friend. They were right. Now, it's all she would eat. Chrys could still eat other foods, but at this point, it didn't go down her stomach the right way.. in fact, she often coughed it back up.

As she stocked up on her nutritious must haves, she contemplated her plan of action. Her beloved father and brother. She was sure about how she would go about it, but she knew damn sure that all bets were off. Especially when it came to law enforcement in this Godforsaken town. She could've sworn she overheard Sheriff- Gag- Roy Tillman justify a man raising his hand to his wife. It was fucking 2019. If a man had ever threatened or committed violence against her she would kill him. If she allowed to happen even once, Chrys would kill herself. She was just getting more and more reasons to set this town a blaze.

It wasn't long when she finished up, counting her spending and then heading to the checkout bag. Although, no matter how goregous and sharp her eyes were at any other time in the day, there was no getting past the fact that she was as blind as a bat in the early morning. That was her inner dialogue for why she was always bumping someone. The someone she inconveniently bumped into this breezy morning had to be the slick back haired douche seemed to follow her everywhere.. otherwise known as Gator Tillman.

"Careful, darlin'. I could've knocked you over," He'd say in that slightly southern accent, which didn't make much sense considering they were in North Dakota. Chrys rolled her eyes, rolling her shopping car full of sweet and acidic goodies. Gator took a gander as the pretty woman swiped and checked and swiped and checked. Even while doing something so mundane, she looked good, the deputies eyes trailing downward to that juicy peach she called her backside.

"So this is how you keep yourself.. petite.. you need help, lil' lady?" Tillman questioned while he gawked at her smooth and lithe frame. It only got a quick laugh out of her. She looked back when she finished the juice and moved on to the salad.

"Tillman, the only thing this is keeping me from getting is arrested because I kicked your ass." Chrys sneered, getting a chuckle out of him. Soon, he was leaning over, his big hands hovering over her worked, tiny waist appreciatively as if he wasn't about to say something to set her off.

"I'd love to see you try darlin'.. the only thing you could probably do is dodge–" His eyes widened when her gaze met his. They were still piercing right through him as if she were looking at a mirror. He felt like he could feel her lips on his even though her nose almost touched his.

"I assure you.. you don't wanna find out what I can do." Those were fighting words, Gator all the more riled up to start something with his more than eager opponent who couldn't stop poking at him with her long, black painted fingernail. Even if she was dead serious, he couldn't wait for the chance to really demonstrate how they were two completely different levels.

"What if I do..?" Gator would question, only to find himself more and more smug as while her irritation sat like chili on the stove.. at a low boil.

"Go fuck yourself," Chrys decided that was enough indulging Gator for one day, finishing up the scanning of her items before paying and leaving.

"Or you could fuck me yourself," He continued, strolling after her as she pushed the cart now full of bagged fruits and whatever else she decided to stock up on.

"That's not clever.." She added, walking faster until she got to her car while he just stood there. He silently observed Chrys bend over just to put her eatables in the trunk of her Lexus. His head lowered itself, slightly tilting to get a better view of the way her ass curved as while she busied herself.

"Says who?" The agent of "justice" raised an eyebrow playfully, only to get scrutinized by the auburn haired woman. She even scoffed as she pusted a group of others she eyed while she walked to her car.

"Says me. Now instead of following me, go do your fucking job-" She'd say abruptly before hopping into Corey and driving off. She'd barely made out the words Gator decided to speak before she took off.

"Be seein' you, darlin," ..

Yeah.. he definitely would be.

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It wasn't only a few hours before Chrys had driven back out, finding herself subconsciously eyeing the scenery. She kept thinking to herself about how it was a different time. It's not simpler but different. When she had reached a familiar looking ranch, her mind flashed, and all she saw was her father and much younger self. She remembered that day.

The day her dad finally caved in and taught her how to ride a horse. He himself was a horse wrangler, but even then, he taught his children that there was way more to life, partially because of the way he was treated. He wasn't the only horse wrangler, but he was the only black horse wrangler. And with that fact known, he had to seek out issues with his ranch, his horses, and money in 'different' ways.. more difficult ways, as if it wasn't difficult enough.

That day was wonderful, though. It was hard, fun work, picking a pony small enough for her young, petite stature. The riding process was terrifying, Chrys remembering how scared she was to even have the horse move and not hold onto it for dear life. She got over her fear, though, following her father to the ranch every Sunday after church to go ride that damn horse.

On the third day of practice, she named her. Like an idiot, she named her. Her name was Posey. Her mane and coat of fur all black. She was feisty and sassy. But not to Chrys. Chrys was the only one who could tame her. But she wasn't too stubborn to call a quits. Before Chrysanthemum went off to college, Posey passed, having to be put down because her joints were weak. After a while, they were weak enough to break.

Chrys was there when her right back leg broke. She was riding Poesy one last time, not even aware of the pain her horse was going through. A loud crack was heard, both Posey and her younger version screeching in horror as they both fell.

Chrys tumbled off of the black beauty bestowed upon her at a young age, shaking off her twisted ankle and wrist to see what happened. And then the real screeching happened. The one where she called out to her father as blood poured across the ground from the very messed up bone. But when he got there, it was too late.

...There was something significant about that day. About the day she watched the animal, she stupidly named implode on itself. She found it symbolic. And she vowed never to let herself get that far.

Easier said than done when she was planning a massacre.

To be quite frank, she didn't know what she was doing, the vengeful woman ending up tramping in the trailer that was her home all those years ago; a taser in her back pocket and a thigh holster, keeping her 9 millimeter close. The place was abandoned, not even given up as collateral or sold to a new home owner. The furniture and electronics were gone.. probably stolen. Food? Rotten, Chrys finding a particularly rancid smell from whatever mushy and rotten substance that barely held its shape in the fridge.

As her hazel, dull green orbs slowed around the double-wide, something distinct was absent. The pictures. Where were they? She rummaged around through the cabinets, messy drawers along with the rest of the vandalized furniture. She only found 2 photos by the end of her salvage. One of them all together, stained by a little bit of mold, and the other of her when she was younger, when she didn't look so exhausted by the wear of college, work, and whatever she called this.. grieving..? For her, it was.

There used to be substance here. This used to be a decent home, filled with the overbearing love of a 3-person family. It used to be filled with laughter, longing hugs, friendly competition, reassurance.. love. Real, gut-wrenching, admirable love. Something Chrys has been longing for ever since she got here. Now.. the place was just an empty, moldy depiction of what laughter, board games, and lessons her family endured together. Together, they were no more.

Her yearning was shortly interrupted by the small sound of leaves being crushed under a boot. Immediately, her head spun around around see what -or who - made the noise, only to find nothing but the wind and what was previously still behind her to be present. What made it worse was that she still felt the eerie present behind her.

The feeling persisted all week. At her apartment, at the grocery store, at the familiarity of a strip club, when she went back to the abandoned trailer. It just wouldn't go away. That is until she decided to figure out what was making her feel such a way.

Later that night, Chrys found herself in her closet, her pupils small and sharp in focus despite the heavy bags under her eyes. She wasn't going to sleep, not until her intuition got to the bottom of what was unsettling her. Not 20 minutes later, she heard a creak at her bedroom door. She would've assumed it was the air conditioning if she didn't see a grown ass man stomp his way into her space. She stilled, her bulbs following his every move.

His gloved hand placed itself upon every surface it could before he realized she wasn't soundly sleeping on her comfy mattress. She wished that she was, but the intruder made the simple action quite difficult to achieve. When he headed to her bathroom, she stepped out of her small storage unit, it now visible that her hand was gripping a metal baseball bat.

Her smaller frame snuck behind the bathroom door, and then behind him when he returned to the bed. The first time she swung, he dodged it just in time to see her. The second time, he wasn't so lucky, the sound of the hallow pang ringing in his ears as he felt the harsh connection against his right temple. His body fell against the flush of her silk covered mattress, yet he was still conscious. He considered enough to grab the bat before she couldn't hit him again with it, only for her to use the hard edge of her elbow as her next weapon. She still didn't know who it was, the perpetrator hiding his face with a stupid Halloween mask. She would've broken his face in if it wasn't for the disguise. Still, though, it was lights out for him, Chrys not taking any chances or giving mercy. Her funny bone was on fire as the weary girl nonstop plowed against his nearest pressure point.

When he was finally subdued, Chrys pulled off the mask, throwing it in annoyance as she realized who was stalking her. With his hair grossly slicked back and his nose protruding a little too high, she already knew it was the son of a bitch, Gator Tillman.

'Kill him,' was her very first thought. 'Kill him and send his severed head without the skull to his no good father as a warning.' She could easily find the tools, and she was sure he wouldn't be looking for him.. but then a better idea came to mind.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Ringing. During the time he sturred back awake, Gator could still hear the ringing in his ears from the harsh hit to the temple he endured. Cautiously, his eyes found the smooth of slim, chestnut color legs standing in patience for his consciousness to return. When her raging expression met his line of vision, he rolled his eyes with a straining groan.

"Fancy, seein' you here, sugar," He smiled wickedly, the young woman crossing her arms in obvious annoyance.

"Why are you stalking me?" She questioned , only getting a snort out of the dirty cop. Her eye twitched as she watched his range of emotions. His anger that he got caught, his annoyance that it was by some chicken, his aloof thought process on how to escape. It was all clear to Chrys.. that is until he turned his attention back to her.

A smoldering expression took form on his face, one that confused her for a moment. She almost slapped the expression off of his face, that is, until he gave it up. Did he think this was fucking Tangled?

"Just wanted to know why you came back," He finally answered, Chrys biting the inside of her cheek to stop her from injuring him further.

"You know why I came back.."

There was a quick silence between them both after that. It was enough time for Whitlock to remember as well. She allowed her anger and grief to fill her once more with determination. Her hands reached for her 9 millimeter, cocking it back before almost capping one in his head. It just grazed his left ear. It was enough to take a portion of the shell of.

By then, she had the deputy yelling profanities, the very small wound just a warning for he could really experience.

"You bitch," He growled in exhaustion, only getting a small chuckle out the mentally wounded girl.

"Probably," She answered with an eerily warm grin. She watched him suffer just a little more, allowing him to fully curse her out just a little longer. A few "Fucking cunt,"s and "stupid slut,"s later, she finally began to bargain for what she really wanted.

"Listen, as much as I'd love to hear you call me every name under the sun, there's a reason I haven't killed you yet."

She sat her piece back down on the kitchen counter, pushing her to be up by her arms to plop her ass on the counter as well.

"I know your dad knows something about what happened to my family.. and I can't just go up and ask him. He'll blow my head off.." Chrys trailed off for a moment, her eyes fluttering to his in a motion that was all too familiar to him. When she hopped off the corner and onto his lap, it was clear. Gator only tensed up when she settled fully,

"I need to infiltrate from the inside.. and you'll be my perfect cover.." A soft smile came to her face, Gator face contorting into a heavy bit of confusion..

"The hell are you on about..?" The deputy asked until he was shushed by the carress of her stiletto painted fingers tips.

...

Sunday seemed to come quick, Chrys finding herself being greeted into the Tillman household by a taller woman. A brown Bob framing her face with eyes desperate to rain happy.

"Hi! I'm Karen. You must be Gator's fiancé!'' She exclaimed, seeming to be happy there was another woman in the house. A warm smile came to her face the, but the sound of girlish giggles followed along by the feel of tiny hands and arms wrapping around her frilly clothed waist. When her eyes peered down, they found two blonde twins, around 7 or 8.

"Oh.. And who might you two be, hm?" She asked with a slightly teasing voice. When they giggled once more, Karen huffed slightly.

"Girls, where are your manners?" The pale woman snapped, shooing the girls away before turning back to the exotic-looking woman.

"I'm sorry about them! You know how it is," Chrys didn't hear the explanation tangent Karen had gone on, too busy looking at all the furnished wood and marble that made up the walls and furniture a like.. until her peridot colored irises landed on the scorn of the Earth, standing there with his burly arms crossed and his greying hair freshly cut.

This.. was gonna be harder than she ever anticipated.. especially with Roy breathing down her neck every second he got.

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courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

Shared Inflicted Pain

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader (this is new for me)

A/N: This is a baseless one shot. We know nothing about this character outside of that one photo and the name. So this is all conjecture and I wanted him to be a Freak for Freak type, so reader is also a weirdo. Sorry not sorry. Also, wrist don’t break like that but they’re fragile and I don’t care.

Warnings: Sex, blow job imagery, shared inflicted pain and injuries, language. These aren’t two people fit for public consumption. They aren’t good people. Be aware of that. This is just like, some fucked up shit you know?

18+ NSFW No Minors

Knocked his ass out and kissed him on the cheek

“Your boys’ here.” One of the shop guys, Ty, calls up to your hiding spot. All he can see is your dangling work boot from the crawl space over the car lift.

“My boy?”

“Gator.” He watches your head poke up, that half lidded expression barely visible from your tucked away position.

“He ain’t my boy.” You grin and he walks away, raising his hand up at you as if to swat your words down before shouting back over his shoulder.

“He’s here with Roy. Might wanna come down.”

Roy talks with your brothers and father and you just grin like an idiot over everyone’s heads. Sat atop the truck cab, legs dangling heavy over the back window, you look a sight. Unwashed hair pulled back loose and metal grime under your nails; coveralls a little too worn and letting in that bullshit cold burn of a deep December afternoon. You’ve got your hands shoved in the front bib of those overalls, crossed over your chest to keep the shivering at bay.

You haven’t caught his eye yet, or maybe he doesn’t care today. Either way you’re pleased to see his big shoulders shift under his heavy jacket when he moves to grab something your father hands over. You catch sight of the antenna in his grip and speak up without thinking, cutting off something one of your brothers was saying.

“I made that.”

All eyes on you for second before said brother throws a rouge socket wrench at you. It clatters and skids off the roof of the truck, fully missing you and making you laugh. Roy doesn’t react and neither does your father but Gator looks amused.

He finds you after the huddle, before he’s off to do whatever it is Roy employs him to do. It involves the holster strapped to his thigh and what a treat that is, never fails to make you smile. Your little corner of the shop is filled with wires and knobs; engineering problems. Detritus of all the things everyone else in the building can’t figure out.

“Should you be smoking in here?”

You don’t turn to look at him, instead focused on the tiny little screw that’s outwitting you on this bracket.

“What are you gonna do, arrest me?” The joint tucked in the corner of your mouth makes you mumble but he laughs dryly. “I peeked that shiny new sheriffs jacket.”

His boots are heavy and he kicks something your way. It bounces off your own boot and wobbles on the floor for a moment, ringing in the relative quiet. “Roy get you that too?”

“Why y’sayin’ it like that?” He’s immediately on defense.

“Like what?” You do turn then, giving him your patented half lidded gaze. “Like daddy got you somethin’ new and shiny?” A taunt to get him mean. He’s a lot more fun when he’s mean. He’s quick to get his good hand on your face, squeezing your jaw between his long fingers.

“He ain’t my-“ Your loud laugh cuts him off. Of course you know that isn’t his father. You tell him as much and he just gives you a good shake and pushes your head back, your workbench digging hard into your lower back. You’ve managed to keep the joint steady in the crook of your lips until he snatches it with his casted hand.

“Hey!” The last drag on it you desperately pulled stings your lungs where you hold the smoke. Watching him drop it between his own lips ticks his first strike for you and you blow the hit in his face.

A light wince, a slow close of his eyes, and a huff through his nose. The terrible mean is there in a shift of his demeanor but before he can do any real, lasting damage you’ve been wishing for you hear the loud crack of Roy’s voice.

“Tillman! Quit playin’ with your fuckin’ girlfriend!”

Another bark of laughter from you when he pushes your face out of his hand. You know that pissed him off more than the daddy comment. He doesn’t turn to look at you grinning at him, just grumbles the whole way out into the bright afternoon about ‘not his girl’. You watch Roy give Gator a confused look before he snatches the joint out of his mouth and kills it under his boot.

“Well don’t fuckin’ waste it man!” You shout at their retreating forms. No one turns to look at you chuckling alone in your corner amongst your trash.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s a family meeting so watching Roy’s big figure meander up the walkway in the spotty darkness gives you slight pause.

“Uh, father.” The blinds flick back when you let go and turn to look at your dad over your shoulder. “Roy’s here. Got the whole tombstone gang with ‘im.”

There’s no reaction like there never is from him but your brothers are all up immediately, infighting and pointing pointless fingers. You know you have all the family brain cells so you silently stand and slide over to the front door. Undoing four heavy locks must sound funny from the outside, the genuine smile on Roy’s face oddly warm.

“Got a wolf to keep out, Red?” He steps over the entry way with no invitation, his posse of bedecked sheriffs officers pooling in behind him.

“You, normally.” He gives you a look, a quirked eyebrow under his cowboy hat. You know that Roy thinks you and your ilk are strange. You’ve overheard him a few times, knows what he says about your brothers and you and while you’d agree with him about the spares, you know you’re different. You unsettle him with your hooded eyes, that half look you give everything. Your work projects, your demolition trinkets, the bloodshed and the gore.

Uninterested and unaffected is what he tells Gator that one time he thought you weren’t around. Up in your hiding spot, this time no dangling steel toe to give you away.

“The whole god damn family is weird.”

“Where’re they from?”

“Nebraska, maybe Missouri. Some shithole. You meet the daughter yet?”

From behind the short stack of lumber that you blend into you watch the two men. You know about Gator, sought him out on account of his name off rip. He’s broad, looks like he can take hit, a solid wall of stupid meat for you to sink your fists into.

Gator shakes his head and Roy huffs around his cigarette. “You like ‘em strange, you’ll enjoy that one.” They mill around for a moment longer and when they turn to leave you scrape your boot heel across the corrugated metal under you. That slicked back hair shines under the workshop lights when he swivels his head back to look up. He stares until he catches the wiggle of your fingertips over the top of the lumber.

They’re here in the dead of night to pick up the vans your father has outfitted for Roy and whatever his Big Plan is. You didn’t care if it didn’t involve your particular assets, and after your part had been played you’re just along for the ride, hoping you get to watch them blow up something big.

Your father and Roy talk in the cavernous garage while all the little worker bees shuffle gear into the open back of the transit van, all except one. Your breath smokes out of you in big clouds, the cold biting through your layers of canvas and flannel while you glance around looking for him. More than once tonight your father has told you to ‘quit moonin’ over that moron’ but that moron is about the only thing that keeps you entertained around here anymore.

Rooted in place and daydreaming about him snatching your hands behind your back again, the loud sound of your brothers yelling yet again interrupts you, makes you snap.

“Donny shut the fuck up for once in your life!” You can be loud too. The youngest one you’re yelling at rounds on you and before he can get his small hand in your face you palm his head away and aim a punch at his stomach. There’s a deep laugh behind you and when you turn to look, he’s obscured by the fog seeping through the gaiter snug on his face.

“Good hit.”

“Oh, I wipe the floor with them every day.” You give him your grin and you can tell, even obscured, he doesn’t return it. “You gonna help out or just stand there?”

“Like you?”

“I just like blowing things up, I don’t handle gear.” His stare gets a weight to it, a shift down of his head so he looks at you from under heavy brows. “Just yours.”

It’s easy to just walk out of the garage, too many bodies doing too many things and no one to keep an eye on two terrible individuals. Both sets of boots crunch on the packed in snow between buildings, cushioned silence broken by the huff of labored breathing in the negative temperature. You lead the way back to the house with Gator dragging behind until you reach for the storm door and his gloved hand appears. He holds it open while you unlock the heavy door and he rushes in behind. Pulls off the bulky glove with his teeth and grabs your arm to maneuver you around, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Where were we yesterday?” His voice is deep as he crowds you into the corner between the door hinges and the long line of coat hooks on the wall.

“You stole my weed.” The arm he’s gripping shoots up and yanks down the fabric on his face. It catches on his long nose before showing you what you want to see. The shade around his throat left by your hands last week, finally fading into that yellowing green.

“Does it hurt still?” You press your index finger into the bruise to watch the skin pale under pressure.

“No.”

“Do you want it to?” Your eyes go wide. Finally shaking that indifference that haunts your look daily. Something about him feels like watching a bottle rocket go off wrong. Something about him and the shared inflicted pain. Your gaze drops to his right hand hanging heavy next to his hip.

“Does that?”

“What d’you think?” He squints at you and finally lets your arm go so he can rip the zipper down on your coat and push it off your shoulders. The blue cast keeps your attention while he pulls at your layers roughly.

You didn’t mean to actually break his wrist, it’d been a heat of the moment thing. Bearing down on joints bent wrong, chasing your own high and ignoring his bucking and protest under you. He’d tried to push you up and you weren’t done with him and the feel of the break under your tight fingers had actually made you stop. A deep yelp and a quick release.

“Gator I’m-“

“Well don’t fuckin’ stop.” His face pinched in pain, there’s even a trickle of a tear in the corner of his eye. You can see it balanced on his lashes while he stares at you, cradling his limp wrist to his chest that rises and falls with stuttered breaths. When you don’t move, too stunned to continue the roll of your hips, he plants his feet and bounces you up once.

“Your wrist.” You say, lamely.

“You can drop me off at the ER when we’re done.”

He’s managed to get your outside layers off before he gets huffy with you. “Take your shirt off.”

“Oh gush. The mud room, Gator?” He grabs your face again the way you like, cheeks pinched tight in his big hand. Your laugh always sets him off.

“Smart ass mouth.”

“You want me quiet? Why don’t y’just go jerk off about it?”

“What d’you think you’re here for, huh?” He never kisses you in a real sense. It’s mostly teeth biting down on your lip till he taste blood, his tongue running over the split till you pull your head back and it knocks into the wall. It’s a challenge aimed at him to follow your mean grin, tinted red at the seam of your lips.

It’s a lot of close, rough pulling of clothes. You run your hands up his chest, under his white undershirt and get stuck on how solid he is, the flat plane of stomach gives you a swirling feeling in the pit of your own.

“You goin’ soft?” He’s in your ear, hot breath fanning across cold skin. His teeth sink in wherever he can find spare skin to mark up, not a care in his mind to hide them. He wants to see the marks when he’s done with you.

“No, are you?” Your hands drift down to the thick belt, fingers nimble on the buckle and button under it, nails catching on the zipper when you pull it down too quick. He’s very obviously not going soft, your hands still roaming downward to rub firm over his cock growing hard under your touch. He leans all his weight into you to pin you in the corner. Pushes your chin up to get at the underside of your jaw, a new swath of skin to mark up while you rub him over his boxers. His teeth click between sighs, tongue laving up to taste your skin. Clean for once but that ever present smell of hot metal hangs in your hair.

It draws him in with memories of illegal things; hot wiring and recently fired guns. You’re the tang of gunpowder that lingers on his clothes and he wonders if that makes you as wet as it makes him hard. You’ve got your face buried deep in his collar, trying to re-bruise the base of his neck and he thinks about cornering you in the shop last week.

“Turn around.” He manhandles you to flip you around and lean into your back. Scrabbling fingers try to find the band of your jeans under your long t-shirt. He gets them hooked and yanks them and your underwear down your hips roughly. You laugh into the drywall at his eagerness; he thinks about you laughing when he pushed you down on your knees.

“Oh come on Gator,” You shove your ass back at him to grind on him, “gonna make me beg?”

“I should.” He breathes. Still stuck on the heavy memory of you blowing him in a frigid garage, gripping his thigh and your pocket knife sandwiched under your hand, open and forgotten as soon as he’d gotten his pants open. Your hands blindly feel around behind you to try and grab at any loose piece of him but he snatches your thumb and yanks up hard. He holds it against your spine and it pushes your face further into the wall, a smudge of red smearing when you try to turn your head. He fumbles trying to get his dick out, broken wrist making it a chore but as soon as he frees himself he slides the thick head along the cleft of your ass. A low groan from him and he’s fumbling again trying to pull your hips back in search of a better angle. Clumsy movement until he’s accidentally sliding against your drooling hole, cock prodding for just a moment.

You suck in a breath and ask in a hushed tone, “Make it hurt?”

“You’re gonna feel this for days.” He pulls your hips back in one swift move, punching the air out of you. The hand he has trapped against your back spasms. He can feel your cunt fluttering around him, adjusting to the stretch. He’s big and he knows you like the way it burns when he doesn’t go easy with you. His eyes catch the red on the wall and he wants to taste the salty copper that stains your smile.

“You g-gonna m-move or what?” Your legs already feel like jelly and he hasn’t even really started yet. He doesn’t respond but he does let your hand go to run a finger over your lip. Brings it up to his mouth to taste and you open your mouth to say something smart but the rasp of his cast pushes into the sensitive skin of your neck. He pins you in place before he drags his hips back slow and then snaps them back hard into you. You moan and the swift snap of his hips makes you stutter, your laugh bouncing with every thrust.

He’s already hitting that deep spot inside, too soon and too hard but you’ve been waiting for him get you alone for a few days. Always at Roy’s right hand or always a brother or father around to make Gator keep his rough palms off of you. The calluses on his fingers drag over the thin skin of your tits when he shoves his hand up your shirt. Braless in the hopes that this exact thing would happen, giving him easy access to pinch and twist at your nipples. It makes you want to cry. To let the fat tears roll down your cheeks while you laugh at the whole thing.

His grunts. The pain. The mud room. The blood.

It’s all funny to you in a strange way but it all makes your eyes roll in your skull. Gator and his big dick splitting you open and roughly pulling on your tits before running his hand down your stomach. His big hand splayed over your cunt, fingers running through the hair there to seek out your clit. He doesn’t exactly care about you cumming, but he does like the way you clench down around him. He’ll even admit the way you moan his name out gets him just right too, the way you whine the end of it long and high makes the hair on his arms stand up.

He doesn’t slow down, the fast circles he draws around your clit in time with his thrust making you feel overstimulated. This is the definition of a quick fuck and you can feel him already twitching inside you.

“C’mon.” He rasps and mouths at your ear, leans in to lick a fat stripe up your cheek. Your collarbone digs into the plaster, a bruise surely forming in the wake of his weight pushing into you. “I wanna hear you scream it, c’mon.” He drops his right hand, dips it under your shirt to grab a nipple again. His fingertips cold and the cast scratches at you, a sensory explosion that goes right to your cunt. “I know you’re close, I can feel you-fuckin’…” He looses his train of thought when you clench down. Fluttering walls sucking him in and reminding him of your mouth all over again. “Give it up and I’ll let you shoot my gun.”

Another burst of laughter from you but he feels you tense under his hands. Watches your face slide down the wall, elongating that smear of red when you start to curl in on yourself. His teeth find the soft give of your neck and sink in when he hears that telltale whine. It turns garbled when he stops snapping his hips and instead ruts up into you, chest pressed into your back.

“Don’t-fuck-don’t stop please don’t!” Your hand finds his hair and fists in disturbing those slicked back locks and keeping his face buried down in your neck. The pain of you pulling his hair sends him over the edge with a long groan huffed around the mouthful of your skin.

The feeling of him painting your insides finally makes you fall over that ledge, his lame arm holding you up when you buckle and shake. It takes a minute for you to unwind your hand from his hair. Takes him another to unclench his jaw and shift you up so you can lean your weight on the wall. You lazily lean down to grab at your jeans around your knees when you feel his finger swipe quick through your swollen folds.

“What the fuck?” You straighten up and pull up your pants, watching him stare at his fingers coated in his cum. He hasn’t straightened his clothes out yet, cock still heavy but softening against his zipper. You flick your eyes between that and his hand, wondering what he’s thinking before he comes out and tells you, “Open.”

Holds his finger up against your lip that’s still bleeding slowly and you part them, letting him lay his finger on your tongue. You barely close your mouth around him and he’s chasing his own hand. Lips crushing yours in a hard kiss. He never kisses you in a real sense but this, this feels like a real one. His tongue bullies its way into your mouth and he grunts at the taste of him and blood and you. Tang of metal and gunpowder. Heavy breaths between you two when he finally pulls back and you’ve already done up his pants for him, readjusting his belt so it’s centered.

“Can we go shoot tonight?” A simple ask. You can feel all the bites along your neck throbbing in time with your lip. You know what you look like. There’s a big purple hickey on top of the yellow-green bruise along his neck. He can’t get his hair to lay flat again no matter how many times he runs his hands over it.

He gives you a shrug and snatches your coat off the floor to hand to you. “Sure. Range?”

“No, I wanna go outside.”

“It’s in the negatives.”

“Do you need a thicker coat?” You raise an eyebrow at him and it’s his turn to laugh. He looks out between the blinds to watch the garage. Roy and his other sheriffs are still shuffling around, in and out of the light of the shop. He checks his phone and then shoves it back in pocket.

“C’mon.” He doesn’t wait for your to finish adjusting your layers. Doesn’t hold out a hand or even hold the door for you. Just stomps out into the cold dark and heads off to the clearing out behind the shop.

If Roy needs him he can try and call. No one’s gonna be looking for you, easier if you aren’t hanging around and antagonizing everyone. It’s in the negatives but maybe Gator’ll let you do some more dangerous and stupid things with him in the woods. A few more bites and a few more drops of blood and maybe he’ll give you another one of those maybe real kisses.

💘I’m tagging y’all because you liked the post💘

@wroteclassicaly @loveshotzz @newlips @fracturedarkness @bettyfrommars @blueywrites @dr-aculaaa @violetindiana @jo-harrington

#My Work #My Fic #Gator Tillman smut #lmao #look at me go

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chaithetics · 5 months

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Bear nonnie here! how are you? how has your health been? it's been a while (forgot my tumblr password lel)

here to report that I re-read porce and the shark, iconic really. I also saw the most recent season of Fargo, which was very good, Juno temple was stellar, I reccommend (rip it tho because the coen brother's are zionists), that also send me back into my strangers thing phase #throwback, (also rip it tho because of the nasty zionist cast). I remember why Joe Keery was a crush of mine, Steve Harrington and Gator Tillman are attractive in veryyyyyy different ways.

but Arian you remain #1 in my heart

what have media have you been liking recently?

Omg hello Bear Nonnie!!! How are you? I've missed you! So great to chat with you again haha!

My health hasn't been the greatest lately, I've been having a pretty miserable lupus flare up. I've had some of the rashes as well which don't make me feel super hot honestly. I hope you've been well?! So easy to happen!

Thank you!!! I'm so glad it's holding up haha, I need to finish some more pieces for that series. I have so many ideas and characters I want to write for atm, it's tough trying to balance it all with the rest of adulting.

Juno Temple has great comedic timing, I've only seen the Fargo film but I saw a clip of her accent and I was so surprised at how good it was. I didn't know that about the Coen brothers, that's so disappointing, I know Joel Coen signed the open letter supporting Jonathan Glazer's speech at the oscars. So hopefully that means he's re-evaluated, reflected on earlier comments and taken time to educate himself more on what's happening and has been been happening since the Nakba. Ethan Coen didn't sign that letter though. I'm not really a Coen brothers stan, I've only seen a couple of projects of theirs but it's still always disappointing to know that there's other human beings with awful, zionist beliefs. Especially when they're people with platforms most of us don't have. Joe Keery's character in Fargo does seem verrrryyy different for him!

Arian is our number one man! That's not a phone in his pocket, it's my heart!

I recently finished Fallout! I really enjoyed it! I love Ella Purnell and it was so cool to see Moisés Arias in a big project like this after watching Hannah Montana as a kid. I really enjoyed the story, all the social commentary, and the characters. I really want to write some fics for Lucy, Norm, and Maximus! ALSO MAX'S ACTOR IS GIVING YOUNG DENZEL WASHINGTON?!?!?!?! Somebody PLEASE beg me to write some fallout fics so I feel like I can procrastinate with that!

Other than that I've mainly been watching films! I watched Ava DuVernay's latest film 'Origin' last week. It had your fav Jon Bernthal in it! He played a very sweet wholesome guy! I enjoyed the film, I think there were a few holes in it/the thesis but it was an ambitious experiment. I really loved Monkey Man with Dev Patel! Seeing all the hype and love he's getting is making me very happy. I saw Skins way too young... I saw Past Lives and American Fiction for the first time recently and really enjoyed them as well. My friend and I are trying to see Challengers and Abigail at the cinemas but the times aren't lining up. I've been doing a bit of an Oscar Isaac marathon as well. I've been trying to get my book reading up and more 'international' cinema! What media have you been consuming since you sent this in? I'm so stoked for The Bear S3! I think we're getting it next month sometime?

Absolutely adore you Bear Nonnie! Hope you're having the best day! I always enjoy replying to your asks. Send another one in when you get a chance and I'm always happy to message about films! ❤️❤️❤️

(Someone please tell me to write Fallout fanfic now pls)

#chaitheticsasks #porcelain and the shark #lupus #fallout #fallout tv series #fallout tv show #i wanna write fallout fanfic #lucy maclean x reader #norm maclean x reader #maximus fallout #media #chaithetics #the bear #oscar isaac #someone tell me to write fallout fic

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krinsbez · 6 years

Text

GI Joe: Remixed, Semi-Random Trivia, About Semi-Random Joes

An incomplete list of Joes who are members of minority groups; please make suggestions for additions, as there are many, many Joes with whom I am unfamiliar:

(some of these placements will be elaborated on below)

AFRICAN-AMERICAN:

Stalker

Roadblock

Doc

Doc II

Alpine

Stretcher

Hardball

Iceberg

Heavy Duty

Big Lob

Freight

Quick Stryke

Grill

Cool Breeze

Ripcord

ASIAN-AMERICAN:

Jinx

Quick Kick

Budo

Tunnel Rat

Ronin

Rico

Firewall

Black Dragon (?)

DESI:

Hashtag

LATINO:

Shipwreck

Law

Lady Jaye

Alpine

Dynamite

Hot Sauce

ARAB-AMERICAN:

Breaker

Sgt. Slaughter

NATIVE AMERICAN:

Spirit

Airborne

PACIFIC ISLANDER:

Torpedo

Red Dog

SIKH:

Hashtag

JEWISH:

Clutch

Bazooka

Budo

ISLAMIC:

Breaker

Sgt. Slaughter

QUAKER:

Lifeline

NEURO-ATYPICAL:

Helix

-Sgt. Slaughter is NOT the professional wrestler born Robert Remus, but received his codename due to a coincidental resemblance to said pro wrestler. That said, he did wrestle in college, where he majored in Classics. Note that he is still serious about his classics studies; he is fluent in both Ancient Greek and Latin, and is knowledgeable about not only Classical literature, but also the history, mythology, culture, etc. of Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome.

-Alpine is mixed-race, having African-American, Caucasian, and Latin ancestry; people's efforts to pin him down to one or the other and inability to do so is a constant source of amusement to him.

-Lady Jaye is biracial; her father is as WASP as one can be without being a Boston Brahmin (although they're adjacent), while her mother is from Latin America; note that her mother's family is also filthy rich and aristocratic. Also, she's a distant cousin of Destro and Darklon.

-Rico is a character of our own creation, a Fillipina-American who's primary MOS is powered armor, specifically the Accelerator suit from Rise of Cobra

-Firewall is a young, Asian woman ala DDP rather than an older, Caucasian woman ala IDW.

-Riffing on Rise of Cobra, Breaker's parents are from Morocco.

-Budo periodically notes that both sets of grandparents spent WWII in camps; his paternal grandparents in an internment camp, his maternal grandparents in a concentration camp.

-Ripcord and Cover Girl have more-or-less their IDW backstories.

-Lifeline's aikido skills are such that he's one of the top ten best hand-to-hand combatants in GI Joe. Granted, his pacifist beliefs mean he rarely showcases them; "getting Lifeline in the ring" is a Joe colloquialism for a task that is very difficult and unlikely to end well for you.

-As with many other military regulations, the rules against fraternization are not strictly enforced for Joes, so Flint/Lady Jaye, Scarlett/Snake Eyes, and Jinx/Falcon are things.

-Dial-Tone and Hard Drive are A: female, and B: hot.

-Dial-Tone is the nerdiest nerd to ever nerd, or at least, as much as possibly whilst being an attractive woman. She also barely qualified to be a Joe physically. That said, she did, in fact, qualify, and is thus eminently capable of kicking your ass.

-Clockspring is kinda a creeper. He hasn't done anything explicitly against the regs, but he's come veeery close. As a result, Hard Drive, Firewall, Dial-Tone, and Hashtag frequently receive sympathy from other female Joes about having to work with him, which leaves them confused, because while Clockspring is aware of their gender, he slots them into his head as fellow nerds and doesn't creep on them at all.

-Clockspring also posts on a number of Incel/MRA/RedPill sites, although he keeps getting banned for telling other posters to take it down a few notches.

-Quick Kick has always been a movie guy; he got into martial arts because he realized that Hollywood is kinda racist and expects Asian-American performers to know chop socky stuff. That said, he turned out to be better at it than at acting, so ended up becoming a stunt double. Then the Cobra War happened, he joined the Army and eventually ended up in GI Joe.

-Freight, somewhat similarly, was a star linebacker, who walked away from a multi-million dollar contract to enlist when the Cobra War began. He greatly dislikes being compared to Pat Tillman.

-Contrary to what you'd expect, Freight and Red Dog (who could've been a star if he hadn't been tossed out of the NFL for frequent unnecessary roughness) get along really well.

-GI Joe's first fighter ace, somewhat ironically, was not Ace (who's codename comes form being a card shark), but Slipstream. However, Ace was the first Joe to become Ace In A Day.

-No one can remember Ghostrider The Stealth Pilot's codename, which he is surprisingly OK with, as long as they don't call him by someone else's codename...whereupon he will start calling that person by someone else's codename.

-All the Joe pilots are qualified to fly all Joe aircraft, with the possible exceptions of the Defiant and SHARCs, so Wild Bill can fly a Skystriker and Ace can fly a Tomahawk and Lift-Ticket can fly a Phantom and Ghostrider The Stealth Pilot can fly a Mudfighter and Dogfight can fly a Vector and Maverick can fly a C-130 or Dragonfly, etc.

-Quick Kick holds regular movie nights; Sgt. Slaughter is banned due to his habit of pointing out all the inaccuracies whenever QK puts on a sword-and-sandal flick.

-Roadblock and Heavy Duty are cousins. In addition to their size (which is not just "big" but freakishly its-a-miracle-they-don't-have-health-problems HUGE) and fondness for MOAR DAKKA, they also share a passion for cooking. Roadblock is a master chef, specializing in Soul Food and French haute cuisine (both nouvelle and classique), though he's also excellent at classic Italian and most American regional specialties. In general, Heavy Duty is almost as good and in some cases better (he is an internationally ranked sushi chef, for example), but rather than rely on a standard repertoire, he prefers to experiment, either with exotic foreign or newly-invented dishes he's just heard of or bizarre creations of his own; his success is...mixed.

-Quick Kick has a habit of reciting quotes from Little Caesar every time he runs into Rico in a hallway or whatever. She does not know that's what he's doing and is generally puzzled by the whole thing.

-Mainframe has a thing going on with Zarana.

-When Jinx and Falcon started dating, they got shovel speeches from Duke and Snake Eyes, respectively (yes, despite Snake Eyes being unable to talk). In addition, Storm Shadow kidnapped Falcon...then took him out to dinner, cuz he wanted to get to know his cousin's boyfriend. And because Falcon is Falcon, they ended up bar/club-hopping. Meanwhile, Duke, who only knew his baby brother was abducted by Cobra Commander's personal assassin, was ready to start World War III.

-Cross-Country believes he has a duty to reclaim the family honor he believes was lost when his ancestors took up arms to fight for slavery. His choice of outfit is bait, to trick racists and CSA apologists to make themselves known to him so he can punch them in the face.

-Quick Kick has a Japanese father and a Korean mother. As a result, when he fights the Red Ninjas, they call him a half-breed and talk shit about his mom. He deals with it by kicking their asses.

-Clutch and Rock'n'Roll are best buds. Ditto Bazooka and Alpine. Also Leatherneck and Wetsuit, albeit of the vitriolic kind where they fight constantly.

-Shipwreck is a SEAL.

-Clutch and Budo once went out together to get tattoos of their grandparent's numbers.

-Quick Kick took it upon himself to put together a crash course in cinema since the '70s for Sgt. Savage, and had to be reminded that showing him movies about Vietnam maybe wasn't the best idea.

-Grand Slam, Sci-Fi, and Red Spot are SF/F nerds. Flash is not, and gets annoyed when people assume he is.

-Spirit does not look particularly stereotypical.

-Among GI Joe's many secret mini-bases is one located in a Las Vegas casino; Ace regularly requests a transfer there, as it is the only way he will ever be allowed into a Las Vegas Casino.

-Airborne is genuinely psychic. That said, he's not very powerful; he just has "hunches" that are always right.

-Clutch has an unfortunate habit of running into secret Cobra activity whenever he goes on leave. Seriously, Every. Single. Time.

-Order is much, much more obedient than Junkyard, partially due to natural temperament but largely because Law trained him that way; Law's...kinda contemptuous of the fact that Mutt has not similarly trained Junkyard, and the two of them don't really get along because of it.

-Falcon used to hate Shipwreck, because every strategy he came up with to try and smuggle hookers into the Pit failed because 'Wreck had already tried it. Though, he's mellowed out about it since he started dating Jinx.

-Snake Eyes is under orders to have regular therapy sessions with Psyche-Out (because for obvious reason he's kind of a mess, psychologically); that Etch-a-Sketch is real handy.

-GI Joe has official social media, run by Hashtag, of course. However, the Joes take turns running the official GI Joe twitter account which leads to WMG from the people following trying to figure out who is doing it at any given time, which leads to the Joes deliberately trying to do it in other Joe's style. So, say, Shipwreck will fill it up with rhymes about cooking so people will think it's Roadblock, and Roadblock will do it in French and keep mentioning gumbo and gators so people think it's Gung Ho, and Gung-Ho keeps throwing in Star Wars references so people think it's Sci-Fi, etc. Duke hates doing it, so is very terse, so everyone always assumes he's Snake Eyes (which is hilarious to people who know Snake, who was an inveterate chatterbox before he became mute).

-Note that they also are allowed to have their own social media.

-Cover Girl's social media is a battleground, between her fans from her modeling/reality-show days and her fans since joining GI Joe.

-Heavy Duty has a youtube show where he discusses his cooking experiments. The episodes where Roadblock guest-stars are the most popular, since you now have a 100% chance of the result being edible instead of 50/50.

-Snake Eyes has a Twitter account under his real name, which is really, really active, and really, really inane, because he needs some outlet for his natural chatterbox tendencies.

-As stated, Duke does not believe in social media. As a result, there is a bit of a competition amongst the Joes to trick him into appearing on theirs.

-Cross-Country has a blog where he calls out Confederate apologists. He's been banned from multiple Civil War forums and subreddits and such for flaming same.

-Barbecue mostly goes on about Boston sports

#Headcanon #Headcanons #Fanfic #Collaboration #GI Joe #GI Joe Headcanon #GI Joe Headcanons #GI Joe Fanfic #GI Joe Collaboration #GI Joe: Remixed #GI Joe: Remixed Semi-Random Trivia About Semi-Random Joes #I ought to put in the names of all the Joes mentioned here #but I haven't got that kinda time.

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buckysgrace · 4 months

Text

Gator Tillman Masterlist

All of my Gator works below <3

Headcanons SFW Big Brother!Gator

Blurbs Picking Gator up from jail Gator has a nightmare Sweet Dreams

One - shots The Lonely PT2 Think About Me PT2 Better Man Freckles Toys The Cure Ticket Masks Animals Good Graces

Series Every Little Thing Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

#Gator Tillman #Gator Tillman Masterlist #Gator Tillman fluff #Gator Tillman smut #Gator Tillman x reader #Gator Tillman x you

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buckysgrace · 5 months

Text

Gator Tillman Headcanons

Just some random thoughts I had about baby boy tonight <3

I for sure think he was born premature? A teeny tiny little baby with big brown eyes lol.

Definitely got doted on because of his huge eyes and messy hair. Very hyper kid too, always needed to be doing something. Probably a biter tbh (spanked a lot sadly smh)

Threw an absolute fit when he was itty bitty and they were weening him off of the pacifier. That was his paci damn it!

Grew to love snakes because his mom hated them and he was quick to remove them from her garden. He thought it was funny to chase her while holding them

Roy use to make Linda keep it in a buzz cut because he hated how long it was on Gator. Thus, leaving Gator to find his own style when he was old enough.

He definitely showed cattle when he was younger. His favorite cow was named Rosie and he won several ribbons for how well kept she was <3

Knows how to ride a horse but doesn't have a desire to do so. Plus his lower back and hips are always so sore after

Prefers dogs over cats, but you best believe any time a cat is around him they're all up in his business

I also think he struggled with asthma when he was little too?? He hasn't had an attack in years but still carries an inhaler around

(don't bring up him vaping while having asthma, he gets very defensive and irritated lol)

Never been out of his hometown unless he needed to travel for competitions or for work. Probably never been on a real vacation before either.

I think he was always tall and lanky but stopped growing his sophomore year of high school?? He always wanted to be taller tho

Was in the FFA obviously.

Being an all-state quarter back I'm sure he had a ton of college offers? I imagine he was fairly average in school, probably enjoyed science more than anything else

Had a really hard time after his mom "left". I think he had a lot of anger issues at this time

His leg injury blew away any chances of him really believing that he could do better for himself, so he followed in Roys footsteps

He gets cold easy, so he always bundles up into layers and layers.

Sucks at cooking. Could not boil water to save his life. I think that he'd take cooking lessons later in life (or learn from someone hehe)

Has a surprisingly good green thumb if he'd keep up with it

Enjoys drawing in his free time and is actually really good at it.

Cannot survive anywhere where it gets too hot. He burns easily

He's in church every Sunday (sometimes Wednesday nights too, depending on his shifts) but it doesn't stop his potty mouth

Car lover of course. Likes to work on vehicles too. Occasionally welds I believe.

Loves going to car shows, or to tractor pulls lol

Most of his tattoos were random, little afterthoughts or done while he was drunk. I think he bought his own tattoo kit but opted out of it.

Flirts like a middle school boy. Will poke and prod at you, lots and lots of teasing. If you meet at a bar you best believe he's gonna be showing you all of his cool drinking tricks lol

A surprisingly good big brother, although Karen thinks he's a bad influence so he doesn't get to spend much time with them

Big fan of Game of Thrones but also loves Golden Girls lmao. And Westerns.

Does that thing where he acts like he's not interested in what's on TV but then he stands there with his hands on his hips watching the whole time lol

Do not ask him to pick you up something for the store, he will not find it

When he's high on weed he's very giggly; thinks everything is hilarious. Will absolutely lay underneath the stars and try to explain the way the universe works. Very snuggly and has the worst munchies (devours a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in one sitting smh)

Will drink coffee (usually with a protein shake mixed in) but he 100% prefers energy drinks

Jack Daniels and PBR are obviously his drinks of choice hehe. Although he does love a good margarita occasionally

Absolutely devours some Taco Bell after he gets off the night shift. He always gets a box with a chalupa, beefy 5-layer burrito, and the fiesta potatoes but he's also getting a cheesy gordita crunch and the Cinnabon delights. And a Baja Blast. Mans has worked hard and he's hungry lmao

Hates ankle socks

For a late night snack he is breaking open something sweet. I imagine he prefers Heath bars and 100 Grand Bars.

He also loves carrot cake

#Gator Tillman #Gator Tillman headcannons #Gator Tillman headcannon #Gator Tillman HC

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courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

7:29

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

Sister piece to Shared Inflicted Pain and Vulnerable

Warnings: Gun Play. Read that again, gun play. Sex, threats of bodily harm, descriptions of violence, boy howdy I went wild in this one.

A/N: I had some prime time headcannoning happening with @dr-aculaaa and @trashmouth-richie and a lot of it bled into this and THIS ISN’T EVEN THE WIP WE WERE GOING ON ABOUT.

Cars rumble up the driveway slowly. The snow falls silently across the open garage door. You’ve been standing there watching long enough that a small drift has started forming around the soles of your boots. The cold burns your face like normal but your eyes especially today. A late night staring at your phone and waiting for a text that didn’t come until sunrise.

Out. Sent and read at 7:29 AM.

You aren’t checking up on him and he doesn’t feel obligated to tell you shit but there it stands.

Out. 7:29 AM.

The only person who’s given you any kind of space or grace is Ty and that’s only because he’s actually seen you this morning. Normally either squirreled away in the crawl space or huddled up in your tight corner, the fact that you’ve stood watch for three hours makes him worry. No quips and no sarcasm. No half lidded stare or unsettled long looks. Just that concentration creasing your brows and turning down your mouth, wide eyes staring into the frozen white yard. Ty had tried to give you a coffee, steaming in the cold, with about half the pint of cream in there like you normally do but you’d just shaken your head once. Didn’t even turn to look at him when you said no thank you. An actual ‘no, thank you Ty’, which is why he’s in your fathers office telling him about you being a gargoyle this morning.

“She has’t yelled at Donny or anyone. At all.” He tells him earnestly.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Normally I’d say yes but…somethin’ feels off about her.”

“Everything’s off about her.”

You don’t move when the trucks stop and the men pile out. Three elder brothers looking worse for wear and ten sheriffs officers pulling out three big gunnysacks. You watch them passively, eyes flicking between doors opening and closing. Someone snaps a tailgate shut and you shake your hand out of your coat pocket to check your watch.

9:47 AM.

Out. 7:29 AM.

Finally you see Roy’s big figure fold out of a driver seat. He leans in and pulls out his hat, gives it a dusting before settling it on his head just right. He’s making measured moves, delaying the walk inside to talk to your father and brothers. You watch him debate on a cigarette, tapping the carton once and then pausing before pushing the single smoke back in. Tosses the box back into the cab of the truck and gently closes the door. He locks it over his shoulder when he starts his slow walk up to the garage.

“Where is he?” You ask.

“Working.�� He replies.

You don’t meet eyes. He doesn’t stop. You keep standing watch and Roy goes in to talk to your family about the things he misjudged.

It’s after 11 AM now and your fathers office is too full. You and four dipshits and Roy and two sheriffs. Neither are Gator, and Roy seems unfazed by that. You stand off to the side, always out of the way just in case, and you listen to Roy get loud. It’s your fathers turn and then your brothers kick off and very suddenly there’s a vice grip on your bicep. It yanks you forward and makes you lurch off balance. The big spade of a hand wraps tighter when it drags you in front of your fathers desk and everyone stops moving.

“You see this?” Roy shakes you once. “This is fuckin’ collateral. The only thing that works around here is about to get taken away if you don’t explain just what in the blue fuck happened out there.”

You can’t help the genuine surprise that crosses your face. You won’t shake and you won’t whine but you do flash your wide eyes up at Roy. He towers over you and your family now. He’s lowered his voice, no longer yelling just making his point clear. His hand tightens further around your arm and the small gasp you let out goes unnoticed by the men in the room.

“Now the rest of the boys are gonna be up here in about five minutes. You’ve got that long to walk your ass out to your garage so you can explain to me why I wasn’t able to get in.” Roy continues to stare your father down and starts counting out loud after a few seconds when no one seems to understand his threat. It kicks everyone into movement and the office clears before Roy or you make a sound.

“This is just business sweetheart.” He still pulls you along but at least you have your footing again.

One of the clocks in the shop reads 11:30 AM so you’ve only been collateral for less than an hour. Roy keeps you close and you wonder if he’s just waiting for Gator to show up before he pulls a firearm. You think Roy’s the type to make him do that kind of thing, mean son of a bitch that he is. He knows you two circle each other like predators fighting for territory and maybe he wants to see his boy win. You hold no ideas that Roy would know anything about Gator and his midnight promises.

“Now you know something Mr. Williams, I do believe we’re both being taken for a ride.”

“You don’t say.” Your father mutters, both men bent over the hood of a car examining a stack of blueprints. The yelling hadn’t continued past the office but Roy did keep you in his grip. It’s loosened enough that you can turn to watch the final truck make its way up the long drive.

All four doors open and the last of his crew crawl out. You can see those brunette locks bobbing around behind the bed of the truck, all mussed up from him running his hands through it probably. It isn’t until he finally makes the corner, heading for the garage that you see his face clearly.

Squinting in the morning light, his right eye is turning purple. There’s a smear of dried blood on his cheek from his nose. Lip split and swollen and there’s a weird tightening of your chest. He’s obviously fine, still walking on two feet and still breathing but you can’t stop staring.

Roy noticed your turned head and glances over his shoulder to take in Gators appearance. “Tillman, good of you to join us.” He lets your arm go finally. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on this one?”

The turn of Gator’s head to look at you seems like a lot of effort. There’s a wince under the guise of calmness and you wonder what the rest of his body looks like under his heavy coat. You don’t want to catch his eye out here, don’t want to share a look or a sneer in case it gets weaponized.

“Why?” He asks bluntly and stares at the side of his bosses head.

“Well son, I got a point and a call to make and she’s the lynchpin keepin’ this garage on track today.” Roy gives the two of you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods down at Gator’s right thigh. “Do what you’re good at.”

The pause in Gator’s movement is palpable. You notice it, your father and Roy notice it. A slight jerk of his head while he stares his boss down and Roy just raises his eyebrows, asking for confrontation with that same dead smile.

Gator sighs heavy before unclipping the gun and racking the slide, an unnecessary movement so you know he’s buying time. He shifts it into his left hand and presses the muzzle slowly against the back of your head.

Everything goes quiet. It’s a familiar feeling but not welcome, not like the other night. The clearing hadn’t felt this way, not with the cold in your lungs and your neck hot from his mouth.

He wordlessly hands it to you, cold metal heavy in your palm as he points off into the distance at a thick trunk of pine.

You know how to shoot but this is special. It’s his gun that he uses for all the shit Roy asks him to do. It might just be a Glock, but it’s his Glock and that means something in the grand scheme of you two.

“Have you ever had a gun pointed at you?” You shift your shoulders around while you find a comfortable stance.

“‘Course I have.” He scoffs behind you.

“What’d it feel like?” You relax your shoulders and take a deep breath, finger flexing on the trigger. On your exhale you fire and he’s walking up behind you to slide his good hand down your arm. He works that gloved hand into your grip and pulls back slowly. His face on your right side, breathing hot against your ear while he draws the muzzle up on your left. He keeps your hand trapped under his as he gently prods your temple. Even through your beanie you can feel the heat of the gun and you swallow. Even through all your layers he can see your breathing get shallow, his own speeding to keep up. The big clouds puffing out of the two of you dissipate slowly but he can still see you lick your bottom lip before you worry at it.

“Kinda like this.” He whispers against your ear.

Roy makes his phone call and comes back all smiles, genuine this time. He claps your father on the shoulder and the man still seems unfazed. When he turns to Gator and cuts his hand across his neck, clicking at him to put the gun down, there is no pause that time. It’s holstered and safetied without a second glance and your ears ring. You almost feel like you’ve been watching the last eight minutes from outside the garage, not fully inhabiting your body or space.

The danger with Gator is something you normally look forward to. A pressure release that helped clear your head. This was nothing like that, a moment between you two brought on by external forces. You’re starting to understand that feeling you had earlier, the one that’d squeezed your ribcage tight.

“Dad.” You feel like you might be back in your body now even though your voice sounds a mile away. Quiet and shaky you need to get your fathers attention to ask if you can leave. You need him to nod at you and tell you to get the hell out of dodge.

There’s a heavy heat at your back but you won’t turn around and acknowledge Gator. Not right now.

“Father.” Said a little more firmly, the wobble gone from your voice after you take a deep breath. It gets his attention and the look he gives you has a hint of worry around the edges. “Can I leave?”

Your father nods at you and before he can open his mouth to tell you yes you turn on your heel and make for the house.

You thought you’d heard someone walk upstairs while you were busy steaming yourself in the shower. Laid out across your bed is Gator, legs bent over the footboard. He’s obviously awake, heels of his palms digging into his eye sockets and it makes his arms flex in his tight undershirt.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” You stand in the doorway toweling your hair. His coat and button up are tossed over his boots in the corner with his holster hung off the back of your desk chair.

“Too much noise.” His lips barely move. Still pressing his hands into his eyes, you can see the pressure on his forming bruise.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.” You say, throwing the towel in the pile of laundry by the door. He just grunts. “Thought that was my job.”

He drops his hands and looks down his nose at you. You watch him breathe heavy for a minute before he stares back up at the ceiling on a big exhale. “You doin’ okay?” He’s asks quietly.

“You goin’ soft?” You’re quick to call him out on his bullshit.

That makes him growl while he hefts himself up to sitting. His knuckles, bruised and split, grip the edge of your mattress. “I ain’t soft god damnit. You spun outta there after that fuckin’ asshole-“ He cuts himself off. Looks to the side and stares holes into your bookshelf while you stare holes into the side of his head.

“Oh don’t tell me you care Gator.” You scoff, trying to ignore that tight feeling in your chest again.

“I said I wouldn’t.” He rolls his tongue over his bottom lip a few times before he stands slow. “I told you he couldn’t make me.”

You shrug and tuck your hands under your arms. “Well you didn’t, so let it go.” Neither of you had brought up the ride again. You fully expected him to ignore it or pretend it never happened. Now though he stares heavy at you from your bed, his eyes roaming over the arm that Roy had grasped so lovingly.

“I was wondering if he left a mark on you.” He points a finger, bouncing it toward your arm. The bruise peaks out from under your t-shirt sleeve.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You ask lowly, jutting your chin forward. You slide your hands from your middle into your sweats pockets so he can’t see you picking at the side of your thumbs, your nervous habit brought on by his judgement. He finally looks you in the eye when he starts his walk across the small bedroom. You don’t move until his chest is pressed against yours and makes you step back. He grabs the door over your shoulder and throws it shut so he can crowd you against it.

“Only I get to do that.” He stares down at you.

“So you just get to make up rules about me?” You stare right back at him from under hooded eyes. This is the kind of thing that makes your heart race in a good way. He could pull his gun on you right now and you’d be all smiles. Probably even laugh when he’d press it up under your chin. He wouldn’t shoot you though, that’s the whole point. What everyone seems to miss.

“Yes. You told me so.” He says simply and drags his hand over your shoulder and down your arm till his grip covers the bruise. His fingers dig into the sensitive skin while he flicks his eyes between yours.

“Then what about this?” You grab the right side of his face, thumb resting on the bruised cheekbone. You press down and watch his face scrunch up.

“That’s business.”

“So’s this.” You shake your arm under his hand. “Roy said so.”

When he leans in you expect him to bite, to give you a matching lip to his but it’s a firm press. Dry lips that you’re becoming too familiar with. He still hangs onto your arm, uses it to pull you as close as he can, his breath huffed out across your cheek. He kisses you hard while your hands find their way up his undershirt, fingers skating over hot skin until he flinches away from you.

“That business too?” You lay your hand flat on that tender spot and he lets you go. Pulls his shirt over his head collar first and walks the three steps back to the edge of your bed. He sits heavy and jerks his head to beckon you over.

You don’t follow immediately, instead watching him unbutton his pants while you step out of your sweats. You’ve never seen him fully undressed so the dog tags clinking around on his chest catch you off guard.

“What branch?” You ask, pointing at his chest when he gives you a confused look. Instead of responding, he leans forward and hooks your knee to pull you so you stagger and stand in front of him. He doesn’t give you soft touches or light fingertips, his rough palm rubbing up your unshaved thigh, splayed wide so his fingers inch under the elastic of your underwear on your hip. While he explores, you grab the clutch of metal around his neck and scan it quick before he can snatch it out of your grip.

Tillman, Gator A.

9246106545

O Neg

Roman Catholic

“Catholic?” You raise your eyebrows, jingling the metal around when you catch a small oval between the two tags. He just hums disapprovingly and pulls the chain till the tags clink out of your grip. Instead of looking him in the eyes again you push a finger into a bruise forming on top of his shoulder, silently asking your question again.

“It doesn’t count if it’s business.” He looks up at you, frowning.

“Then you can’t be mad about Roy.” You don’t think you two have ever had a conversation this quiet before, even in the truck. Normally you’re too busy laughing gleefully at him while he pins you against something heavy.

“I’m mad ‘cause he used me.”

“He always uses you.”

“Not like that.” He slides his hand further up to grab your ass and pull you down to straddle his lap. “He knew what he was asking.”

He gets you out of your shirt and keeps you on him. Mouths at your chest and pulls skin between his teeth and makes you hum when he sucks a trail of muddled red down to the tops of your tits. You’ve got your fingers dug into his hair to hold him in place while you roll your hips, hoping he’ll take the hint and throw you off and onto your bed. Instead he grabs your chin, pinches it between his thumb and index finger and holds your attention.

“Just me.” He doesn’t ask. He gives you an open look like he’s waiting for you to nod your head. Instead, “What about you? M’supposed to just let that happen?” You throw your hand at his ribs and that tender spot. “We didn’t talk about you last time.” His small grip on your chin pinches harder. Gator pulls your face down so his lips brush against yours when he talks.

“I don’t let just anyone break my wrist.”

Your first laugh of the day skips across his cheek where it peters off into a breathy kind of whimper when you really think about that. The tears slowly leaking down his temples, hand cradled to his chest and the groan of pain that turned into a long groan of pleasure when he came.

“Say it then.” You challenge him with a harder press of your hand against those bruising ribs. “I’ll get the fuck up right now and leave I swear.”

“Just you.”

He heaves you off of his lap and onto your back. He yanks your underwear off and tosses them before ripping the rest of his clothes off to join them.

Just you.

Your hands dig in at his bruises, looking for a crack you can needle at. He leans into you to mouth at your shoulder before inching down to the ringed bruise and sinking his teeth in. The sensitive skin on the inside of your bicep imprints easily, his teeth sharp enough to make you gasp loudly. You try to jerk away reflexively but he hangs on, grabs your wrist to hold it down to the bed. He sucks on the thin skin once before letting go and running his tongue over the deep mark. Licks at you to sooth the sting and moves down your arm, nipping along until he hits your wrist where he runs his nose along and takes a deep breath. He catches your wide eyed stare before opening his mouth again, wedging your wrist between his teeth. It’s a slow build of pressure but you know if he bites you again like he just did, he’ll draw blood.

“Gator.”

His grip on your arm just tightens along with his teeth, a grin spreading out from behind your wrist. You want to tell him to be careful, for once in his life. The idea of a bleeding mark on your wrist giving you the first pause of your relationship until you notice a softness in his gaze. His cock is heavy against your thigh but neither of you move for friction, just waiting the other out for blood.

“Why did you text me this morning?” It slips out. He just bites down harder. “Were you trying to make me worry?”

He breaks skin and you yell, his teeth tinged pink behind his grin when he lets you go. There’s a role reversal happening when he keeps laughing at you and you keep scowling at him. His tongue sneaks out to run over the bite. He chases a small bead of red down your arm.

“I stayed up all night.”

“You’re up anyway.”

He’s not listening, or he’s being willfully ignorant. “I don’t let anyone else touch me, Gator.”

He drops his arm to his thigh but keeps yours in his grip. His jaw works back and forth like he’s chewing on his thoughts, your red still staining the inside of his lips.

“Not even the shop guys?”

You shake your head. His gaze drops to your wrist held limply in his fist and his face goes blank.

“I don’t care if you’re fucking anyone else, I just wanted…” You trail off quietly, unsure if you want to finish that thought.

“I’m not.” He sounds far away. “I don’t…really care much.”

“I find that hard to believe.” You laugh and he just scowls down at your arm. “I mean, every time you sniff me out you’ve got your hand down my fuckin’ pants.”

He’s tired and in pain. He doesn’t want to get into it. It’s easier to just lay you over a table than to explain his reasoning. It used to just be him and his anger up in his head but you’ve crept into the cracks somehow and he’s starting to think you might be able to read his thoughts. Too similar personalities skirting the borders of anger and dangling feet off the edge of sanity.

He can feel your eyes roaming, looking for a spot to dig in at and he snaps out of his deep thoughts. He crawls over you, leaving your bleeding wrist on the sheets, and hovers for a moment before dipping his head into the crook of your neck. It’s his favorite part of you, if he’s being honest and stupid. Even fresh out of a shower you still smell like you, that tang of metal and something earthy like you’ve been digging in the frozen dirt. He bites you once, a good chunk of flesh between his teeth before he lets go to move down your chest. He leaves a trail of pink tinted marks down your stomach as he makes his way between your thighs, strong fingers pushing and pulling your legs until he settles, one leg draped over his shoulders and the other one tucked up along his ribs. He keeps your hips pinned when he loops his arms around them. He lays a hand flat to help spread your lips, his tongue broad and flat when he licks a long line from your center to your clit.

You whimper, a sound he doesn’t think you’ve made around him before. He’s only ever tasted you off of his fingers and this first dip into you is rich and heady. He grunts into your parted flesh and your hands wind in his hair and pull him in closer. He takes his time because he can. In the quiet of your room he can barely make out the trucks slamming closed outside or the deep yell of Roy echoing off the trees. His phone vibrates from somewhere in the middle of the floor and it just drives him on more. Buries his nose deep in your cunt and digs his fingers into your soft thighs when you roll your hips against his face.

You make quiet sounds above him and pull on his hair and he doesn’t feel like coming up for air even when his nose starts to ache from being pressed into your skin. He won’t tell you any of this because that’d be against these silent rules you two have made up and enforced. Instead he focuses the tip of his tongue on your clit and when he uses his teeth for a moment you seize up, his name sighed out long to your ceiling.

He doesn’t give you time to refocus, just untangles himself from your legs to hitch them up on his hips before flipping you both. He rolls you on top of him, one hand flat on your lower back and the other guiding his cock through your folds. “Sit.”

No hesitation from you, just a shared groan when he stretches you and hits deep. It takes you a moment to to move again but the stuttered movement of your hips makes his eyes roll back.

“Does that feel good?”

“Fuck”

“Use your words, Gator. Does that feel good?”

He hears you fucking around with something but he can’t focus on much outside the wet heat of you. Not until he feels the cold press under his chin. “Answer me.”

His eyes snap open to find you staring down at him. You haven’t stopped moving, your tongue traces your lips and you grin. He should have known better than to leave his fucking gun within arms reach.

“Come on baby, tell me.” The tip of the gun digs into his chin and he’d be a liar for saying no. You don’t even have your finger on the trigger, laid flat along the body of it and he’s sure the safety is on. “Do you like this?”

“Yes.” That comes out a lot lighter than he meant.

“Just you and me.” Your eyes shine in the light filtering in, pupils blown wide while you ride him. You look crazy and you look tangled, your hair a wild halo around your head. He wants to look down and watch himself sink into you but you push his chin up roughly when he tries. With his head shoved back into the pillow, you lean on his chest and speed up and he’s violently reminded of the last time you did this, his newly healed wrist flinching away from you momentarily.

“Afraid I’m gonna break it again?”

“You’ve got a f-fuckin’ gun to mmm fuuuck-to my head, you tell me.” Saying it out loud makes his stomach clench, the fast pool of heat rushing when you grind down hard on him. The press against his chin falters for just a moment and he takes that second roll you over, back where he should have left you. Somewhere in the background noise his gun clatters on the hardwood and he pins you to the mattress. Drives into you fast and hard, his hand finding itself around your throat. The unhinged laugh you let out makes him feel crazy and the tether of his orgasm snaps taut.

Through the white noise he can hear you talking, can feel your hands sliding down his arm to hold his hand still against you while he fills you.

“Good boy.”

He shudders and shakes his head, releasing you when he hears your breathing get thin.

“Just me, yeah?”

He’s tired and in pain and he nods. Hazy thoughts swirl, brought on by your quiet praise and more than 24 hours of being awake.

“Stay here, okay?”

He feels heavy and tired and stupid. He keeps it to himself but the chaos of the outside is different from the chaos between you two and in that contained dissonance there’s a red drop of quiet. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he drifts all the same when you run a cool finger up and down his spine and he taste the remnants of that frozen earth still behind his teeth.

It’s dark when you wake up, Gator’s big frame heavy and languid, draped over your middle, head laying in the valley between your breast. Cuddled is the word you’d use but not out loud. He’s awake too, you can feel him blinking against your skin. His head shifting minutely when your fingers run along the edge of his scalp. Even in the dark of your bedroom you can see the bruises forming on his back under the red lines your blunt nails made. You won’t ask him about it but whatever Roy got him into today beat the shit out him. Gator takes a deep breath and you can feel his dog tags dig into your stomach, pressed between the two of you. “You getting up?”

“No.” He mumbles.

You’re hesitant to lay your hands on him in fear of him shrugging you off but when you let your palm slide down from his hair to the back of his neck he doesn’t move. When you walk your fingertips over his bicep he just tucks his hand under your shoulder. “Where’s my gun?”

“On the floor.” You roll your head to spot it next to your bed where you’d dropped it earlier.

“Is the safety on?”

“What are you, a cop?” You laugh and feel him huff out what could be a laugh. “Of course it’s on. I’m not stupid.”

“What time is it?” He isn’t moving at all, fully expecting you to have all these answers. You blindly feel around for your phone on your nightstand and wince when the light is too bright for the dark blanketing you two.

“It’s 8…PM. You got somewhere to be?” As if on cue you hear his phone vibrating from the pile of clothes on the floor. You wait to see if he’ll get up but he doesn’t react, just tells you no and rolls his head the opposite direction. When you drop your phone again he grabs your hand and plants it on the back of his head wordlessly.

The only window in here is level with your bed and you can stare out it directly to the massive garage out back. The flurries started up again sometime while you two were asleep and they whip by the glass, blurring the figures moving around outside. You can make out the lone figure standing tall by his truck, cowboy hat tilted up at the house and smudge of blue light by his head.

Fingers wound in Gator’s hair you laugh lightly, “Too bad, Butch Cassidy.” You whisper at the window. You can feel Gator’s jaw working like he wants to say something but he keeps quiet and stays put. Stays in your room. Stays in your bed. Stays between your chest and keeps his fingers twisted in your sheets.

Just you, he’d said. Just you.

#Gator Tillman x Reader #Gator Tillman Smut #Gator Tillman Fic #My Work #My Fic

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