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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 5 months

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Badge Bunny Part V

Masterlist Here!

Summary: It all comes to a head with Roy. Will Gator let the sins off his past dictate his future or will he be the better man that he knows you deserve?

18+ Only! Minors DNI!

CW: Reader is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun". Minimal use of Y/N. Canon type violence. Gun use. Gator is wounded - no graphic detail. Mild angst. Smut! Unprotected P in V. Creampie.

WC: 8.7K

“Something's going down at the ranch. I think Roy's finally lost his goddamn mind. Feds are headed over there.” Andy rushed out, breathless as if he'd run all the way here, face a little bloodied and bruised. He was still in uniform, though it was dirty and disheveled, sans his duty belt.

“Gator?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded, gaze falling to the floor.

“He's been there all morning.”

“What's going on? And don't lie to me Andy.” Pushing your finger roughly into his chest.

“I want the full story. Not some half-truth bullshit.” Tired of sitting in the dark, you needed some answers.

You took him to the back so you could talk in private without the whole bar hearing about the sorted affair. They would all know soon enough. Small town gossip spreads like wildfire, especially if it involves the Tillman family in any way.

Roy had the entire ranch on lockdown. He'd somehow gotten wind of a traitor in his midst that was feeding information to the FBI.

Andy was an immediate suspect. After the entire incident with your kidnapping and sending those blood samples off despite Roy telling him not to, it had earned him a spot at the top of the man's shit list.

“They had me tied up in one of the sheds. If it weren't for Gator, I…” he swallowed thickly, as if he were reliving it all once again. “I don't know what Roy would have done. He showed me some tunnel on the back of the property. Helped me escape. I flagged down a car once I made it to the main road and had them bring me here.”

“Oh my God, Andy! Why didn't he come with you? What the fuck is he doing?” You groaned, swearing then and there if he made it out of this shit alive you were going to kill him.

“He told me to place a call to the feds and made me promise to make sure you stayed put. There's nothing else we can do.”

You stopped pacing back and forth looking at him with a dumbstruck expression.

“What? So, you are working with them?” Trying to wrap your head around everything that he was trying to tell you.

“No, Y/N. Gator is!”

Not even Roy could have seen it coming. Everyone pegged Gator as the Sheriff's idiot son. A fuck up so blinded by getting his father's approval that no one thought for a second he could have been the informant.

If Roy asked him to jump, he'd ask him how high but that all started to change a little over a year prior.

There was only one thing that would make him flip on the old man in a heartbeat.

You.

He'd asked you to trust him. Told you whatever happened it was for the best. Now you truly saw why. He was taking Roy down. It was his way out.

“Andy, how am I supposed to stay put when you know what Roy is capable of? If he even thinks for a second that it's Gator…” You trailed off. Taking a seat at the edge of Henry's desk to let the weight of it all sink in.

“I think he's got this. There's nothing else for Roy to do but surrender.” He tried to reassure you with a half-smile but you saw right through it.

You sighed, standing back up.

“Let me clean that cut up for you. It's the least I can do. You're a good friend to me and Gator.” You grabbed the first aid kit and went to work. It was deeper than you thought, probably needed a stitch or two but he was dead set on keeping the both of you here.

After Gator helped Andy find the underground passage, he made his way back to the main house where he knew Roy would be waiting.

He took a deep breath before entering. Knowing his part, he has to play it cool just until the feds get there. He gave Andy strict instructions to let them know what they were going to be up against.

The kitchen was left in shambles. Roy told Karen and the girls to leave before they finished breakfast. At least he seemed to care enough to spare them from some of what he had planned that day.

From that point on it had been madness. He'd called in what was essentially his calvary. A lot of armed idiots that had no business holding a gun.

Somehow, he'd gotten word the FBI was coming to raid him. Gator was still unsure of where it actually came from, but he knew Roy had friends in high places.

He wandered down the small hall that led to the back of the house where Roy's office was, the door sitting ajar.

He didn't bother knocking, pushing it further open and taking a step forward. Roy's eyes shot up as soon as the door opened.

“Gator, what are you doing here? I told you to watch the goddamn shed with Bowman.” He hissed out.

“Yeah, uh… Andy and Bowman are both gone. Shed's empty.” His gaze fell to the floor briefly before looking back to Roy.

“Gone? Both of them?” His face flashing confusion.

“Yup. Suppose Bowman moved him? Ya’ give him the order to execute or somethin’?” He asked, trying to draw his suspicion.

“Fuck.” He gritted out between clenched teeth getting up and coming around his desk. “I didn't give any kind of order. Get your ass out there. Tell everyone to start looking for them.”

“Yeah, course.” Gator turned, making his way back down the hall and out to the porch telling the rest of the guys to start looking.

He was sure it had given Andy enough time to get to the highway. No one knew about that escape hatch except himself, Roy and the other being Bowman, who was currently unconscious and tied up in said escape tunnel.

He set about pretending to help look for the two missing men hearing the sirens in the distance, breathing a small sigh of relief. It would all be over soon.

As Roy stepped out onto the porch, pulling his hat down tight upon his head the caravan of black SUVs made their way down the highway stopping at the front gate.

He had the entrance blocked by his armed cohorts.

“Well, here we go.” He said, looking over to Gator with a sinister smirk.

“Dad,” he said, sounding more like a frightened boy than the man he was trying to be, as Roy turned back to look at him. “No one has to get hurt. Ya’ could just… just give yourself up.”

“Give myself up? You do realize you're going to prison too, right? It's not just me going down at the end of all this.” He fixed him with a glare before turning and mounting his mare. “Shut the hell up and find those two idiots.”

He nodded, biting his lip as he watched him mosey toward them, taking a leisurely pace as if he was unbothered by the entire scene. Roy seemed to see it as more of a nuisance than any kind of real threat.

He couldn't tell what was being said, so he made himself scarce trying to bide his time.

The feds already had a plan in motion. Gator told them about the hatch and tunnels that would lead them to the back of the property. It would be easy access and they could take everyone from behind while they were still occupied with the front gates. They knew once they had Roy the rest would give up without their so-called fearless leader.

Gator made his way to the back of the property, meeting about 10 men dressed in SWAT gear along with FBI Agent Joaquin.

“He's in his office, but ugh… y’guys mind if I have a word with him before ya’ barge in there?” He asked.

“I think we can spare a few minutes. I can give you head start but if bullets start flying, hit the deck.” He waved Gator off turning back toward his team ready to give their orders.

He made his way back to the house, hitting his vape trying to steel his nerves.

This time the door was shut, so he quickly rapped his knuckles against the smooth wood.

“Yeah?” Roy grunted, as Gator popped into view.

“Son, what the hell is it this time?” He was exasperated dealing with him for the day.

“I need to talk to you. Man to man.” He stated, coming to stand in front of his desk. Roy finally looked from the window to face him.

“Well, spit it out.” He hissed.

“The feds are on their way, already on the ranch. Thought it would be better to hear it from me.” Roy watched him intently but stayed silent letting him continue.

“If you had just left her alone.” He looked him dead in the eye as he spoke. “You tried to take away the one thing that matters most to me.”

Roy had gravely miscalculated just how much you'd meant to his son. He saw you as nothing more than a bump in the road assuming that Gator would eventually get bored of his new, shiny plaything.

He was losing that grip on him little by little thinking his only way to get it back was to get rid of you.

The kidnapping had gone according to plan, just like Roy intended, until it didn't. Those idiots he'd hired had gotten greedy. Threatened to let you go if they didn't get more money but before he could take matters into his own hands Gator had found you.

The FBI had reached out months prior, it was only after that stunt that he finally placed the call that set everything into motion.

“So, that's it then? Turn your own father in over what? Some fuckin' whore. I should have fuckin’ killed you a long time ago. You're nothing but a sniveling worm. I'm ashamed to even call you my son.” He was seeing red, reaching for his gun.

Gator grabbed his own, before Roy had the chance to flinch. His words had no effect on him. He'd all but given up hope of ever winning his father's affections and praise. He didn't care anymore. He had you.

“Don't.” He aimed right at Roy's chest, finger on the trigger. He never wanted it to end this way.

Shouting down the hall pulled Gator's attention for a split second, as his eyes drifted from their target giving Roy enough time to get his hand around his own pistol.

Two shots rang out as the swat team swarmed the house.

“So, what should we do? How much longer do we just sit and wait?” You'd finally asked after thirty more agonizing minutes. You'd both made it back out to the bar, taking a booth in the corner.

Your knee was bouncing, unable to keep from chewing your nails and looking out the window every few seconds.

“He wants you to stay put. So, we'll stay put.” Taking another sip of his soda, watching you over the glass. “Don't even think about it.”

“What? I wasn't thinking about anything.” The way you glanced at your keys sitting next to you told him otherwise.

“Y/N.” He warned, with a glare.

“Fuck, fine.” You crossed your arms, continuing to look out the window with a huff. “I'm going to get a drink. You want a refill?” Asking as you got up.

You had your back toward the door when an SUV peeled into the parking lot. A woman with short, dark hair got out and made her way into the door.

“I'm looking for a Miss Y/L/N.” She announced, looking around the near desolate place as she removed her sunglasses.

You whipped around.

“Um, that's me.” Voice coming out meek. You knew she had to be FBI. You suddenly felt sick, preparing for the worst.

“I'm Agent Meyers. We need you to come with us please.” Her curt tone left no room for arguing as your eyes cut over to Andy. He got up and met you both.

“I'm Deputy Andy Tate. I'm the one that called you guys. You mind if I tag along?” He didn't want to let you out of his sight, even if they were supposed to be the good guys.

She looked him up and down before nodding.

“Sure, follow me.”

Agent Meyers wasn't much for small talk. She had explained you were needed but didn't go into detail. Apparently, it was a need-to-know basis, and you didn't need to know.

Your stomach was in knots as you watched the world pass by outside. Andy tried to soothe you, telling you it would all be okay, but every doubt was swirling within you.

As you pulled up to that familiar gate and picture-perfect farmhouse that was anything but, you saw they had people lined up and handcuffed on their knees against the fence.

They'd managed to round up and arrest everyone. As predicted, when they found out Roy was done, they all gave up without a fight.

There were two ambulances, one pulling off as you all pulled in the other parked directly in front of the house.

“Where is he?” You anxiously asked.

“He'll be over there.” You opened the door and shot out running before they had the chance to come to a stop.

“Hey!” Meyers yelled, but you didn't hesitate. You needed to see him. Needed to make sure he was okay, and your worst thoughts had not come to fruition; make it all tangible.

He finally came into view, sitting on a gurney at the back of the vehicle. His shirt was removed. They were bandaging up his shoulder as you shouted his name.

He turned, standing up as you slammed into his chest wrapping your arms around him as the tears began to flow.

He groaned with the impact, pain shooting through his shoulder and back, but he didn't care, wrapping his arm tight around you pulling you into him.

Roy had managed to shoot him in the left shoulder, while Gator's aim had been much more accurate. A shot straight into the gut. He'd been taken by the other ambulance for emergency surgery and then he'll be swept off straight to a federal prison halfway across the country.

“Gator… I …” You sniffed, looking up at him. “I thought…” Your hands roamed his chest, easing over his bandaged shoulder taking it all in. Cupping his cheeks, your thumb running under a slight bruise that was blooming under his eye.

He pressed your head back to his chest, kissing your temple.

“It's okay baby. I'm okay. We're okay.” His words soothing as they washed over you.

You just held each other for a few more minutes before someone cleared their throat from behind you.

“Sorry to break this little moment up but it's time to go.” Agent Meyers spoke.

Gator nodded, as you looked between the two of them.

“Bunny, look at me.” His eyes pierced yours as he spoke calmly.

“We’re going to be okay. But I have to go with them. There's a lot of shit I did, that I'm not proud of I still need to answer for.”

You knew what he meant. For all the good he did, there were still things he would have to pay for which still meant prison time.

“I'm proud of you.” You looked right into those soft, hazel eyes as you spoke. He looked so downtrodden, but you lifted his chin.

“I'm so proud of you baby!” You stood on the tips of your toes, smashing your lips to his. They were a little chapped but warm as you melted into him.

It suddenly crossed your mind this may be the last time you get to feel him for a while as his tongue grazes your bottom lip. Allowing him entry, you glide against one another so effortlessly it was easy to get lost in the moment.

You broke apart only to catch your breath. Whispered “I love yous” were spoken before he was handcuffed in front of you.

“Okay, Mr. Tillman.” Agent Meyers guided him to an SUV, sitting him in the back.

His eyes were filled with worry as they shut the door, mirroring your own. Andy sidled up beside you as they drove out of sight.

5 Months Later

“You don't have to keep coming every week.” The way it came out let you know he was tired but so were you. Tired of him acting like you were just going to give up and leave him to rot in a prison cell.

Since he'd helped the feds, they had given him a nice plea deal with a reduced sentence of 18 months. With good behavior, he might be out in 12.

It was the best he could have hoped for with all the involvement in Roy's dealings, but Gator had given them enough to send him away for the rest of his life.

It was still going to be agonizing but you wanted to be there for him every step of the way.

“Yes, I do. Who else is going to bring you these nasty cookies you love?” You teased. Packing another overnight bag for your 8-hour trek.

“Y’gonna make me fat, if ya keep bringin’ those.” He chuckles on the other end. “But seriously, if the drives gettin' to be too much, ya’ don't have to.”

“I don't have anything else to do. I know that sounds pathetic but it's true. All I do is work, and then come home. The only thing that's getting to be too much is how quiet the house is. I miss you.” You said it earnestly, sighing into the phone sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I'm sorry Bunny, if there had been another way…” he trailed off, sighing on his end as well.

“No. Don't start that. I am so damn proud of you, Gator Tillman!”

Of course, it was all over the front pages, but they left out the part where he had been an informant. Everyone assumed the very worst about him, just like Roy. But he was your hero.

If only you could see the grin that split his face any time you told him that. The way his eyes lit up. He had sought Roy's approval for so long, it felt refreshing to hear that he'd done something right from the one person who truly loves him for him. All the fuck ups, all the short comings he saw in himself that you never judged him for. You loved him. You were proud of him.

“I love you, be safe. I'll see ya’ tomorrow.” He had his one-minute warning come through the line.

“Ok baby. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you more!”

“Not possible.” He grinned again, as the line clicked dead.

He'd been sent to FCI Sandstone, a low security facility in Minnesota. It was a little over 8 hours from Lehigh. Thankfully Roy was sent halfway across the country to a maximum security facility so neither of you would ever have to cross his path again.

In the few months that he's been away, it's been a struggle. You were left on your own again, but you could breathe a sigh of relief. The entire town felt like a weight had been lifted. No one was looking over their shoulder fearing they might be on the bad side of Roy Tillman.

Andy was appointed interim Sheriff, since half the department went down with the raid. Andy and just a few others were left to pick up the pieces and start from scratch.

He was a good man. Gator made sure that he was never implemented in anything to do with Roy or himself. He was doing a great job, weeding out the few left behind and hiring new, upstanding deputies to help run things. There was no doubt he'd be running and win the upcoming election.

You had your routine down, leaving out every Tuesday afternoon after your shift. Hitting up the same motel halfway there. Waking up before dawn to go the rest of the way. Spending Wednesdays with him at the prison.

They'd give you one-hour allotments of visiting time. You'd been his only visitor.

You drive through the gates, flashing your smile and waving at the guards. They knew you by name at this point.

“Hey Bill!” You greeted the guard at the entrance.

“Hey, Y/N. Must be Wednesday.” He chuckled, waving you through the X-ray. You knew the routine. Tossing everything into the bin to go through, then yourself. Pat down examination and you were off to the designated visiting area.

You'd always sit at the table closest to the window, furthest away from the guards. It was quiet. No one bothered the two of you.

You sat the cookies in front of you. The one thing you had actually taken the time to learn how to make and you'd gotten good at it. He loved them.

You were staring out the window, when the buzzer went off alerting you to the door being opened.

He walked out, hands cuffed in front of him wearing that prison issued bright orange jumpsuit you were now so accustomed to seeing. His hair was never slicked back anymore, but he kept the cut the same. Soft brown locks hung down against his forehead.

He donned that crooked smile that made your heart melt as he made his way over to you.

“Hi baby.” He sat across from you extending his hands as the guard unlatched the cuffs. He rubbed his wrists before placing his hands to the table.

“Brought your favorite.” Shaking the Tupperware in front of you, then sliding it over.

They allowed some touching in the visitor's area but not enough. You longed to push the hair from his face and kiss those lips you've missed.

He took the lid off and immediately dove in, taking a cookie and humming around the sugary taste.

“I think these get better every time, Bun.” Finishing it before looking back at you, a crumb at the edge of his lip. You reached up, and brushed it away with your thumb, lingering just a moment.

“God, I miss you.” You whispered, dropping your hand as he reached across the table intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I'm right here, and hey, if I stay off the naughty list I get conjugal visits next month.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively making you laugh and roll your eyes fondly.

“As much as I would love for you to fuck me senseless, you know that's not what I mean.”

“I know, baby.” The grip on your hand becoming a little tighter.

You fell into an easy conversation. You always told him about what was happening since he left.

“Spoke with Andy. They're expecting and he's absolutely over the moon. They're still planning on getting married, but they're going to wait until after the baby.”

You were still talking but he was hung up on that first part. He felt like a failure all over again. That could be you and him. Happy. Engaged, maybe even married. But no. He was stuck here because of all the stupid choices he had made long before he'd met you. He knew he didn't deserve you.

You stopped talking when you noticed his crestfallen appearance. Eyes glossy, and pouty lips.

“Hey, what's wrong?” You shook his hand lightly. “I know that look. Don't.”

“It's just…” he began but you cut him off. He got like this from time to time.

“I know what you're thinking. Stop, ok. We'll get our happy ending once you get out of this place.” You smiled.

A happy ending. What you truly wouldn't give. You'd both been through too much to not see this through.

“Plus, I'm moving closer. I can get another job, another place to live. We don't have to go back to Lehigh. Nothing ties us to that place.”

“Bunny,” his gaze softened. He truly didn't deserve you.

“Nope. I know what you're going to say. I've already made up my mind.”

“Fine, just make sure to clean out the house good before you do. Attic too.” You looked at him with confusion, knowing you had never stored anything up there.

He simply smirked and winked at you.

“Um… ok weirdo. If you say so.” You eyed him warily. “I…”

“Tillman, times up!” The guard shouted, interrupting you.

“I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you got in, sweet thing.” He said, winking before his hands were cuffed once more.

You watched as the guard led him away. It was always inevitable, but it didn't hurt any less each time.

It scratched at the back of your mind on the drive home. He was so adamant about checking the attic. It was going to bug you the entire way.

This time you wouldn't stop halfway to rest. Making the drive back to Lehigh in one go, making a few gas station runs but nothing more.

You got in late that night, feeling dead on your feet as you walked into the house throwing your bag on the couch making a beeline for the hall where the access to the attic through the ceiling lay.

You reached up, straining, barely grabbing the thin string but you were able to pull it down as it fell open with a creak.

You took the rickety steps one at a time, grabbing your phone to use as a flashlight. Your head popped up looking around but not immediately seeing anything. To your right, there was a duffle bag you didn't recognize but this must be what he was alluding to.

Your hand gripped the handle, it was fairly heavy, as you brought it back down slowly, placing it on the kitchen table.

Taking a deep breath, you tugged the zipper, gasping when the contents were finally revealed.

The bag was full of cash. More than you'd ever seen at one time in your life.

What you hadn't known is that Gator found that bag when he had rescued you, immediately recognizing it because it was the same one, he had seen at Roy's a few days before it all went down.

That was his turning point. The final nail in the coffin. If Roy could do this to you, there was really nothing he wasn't capable of.

The feds had been whispering in his ear for a few months. After you had broken it off that morning, that was his first call. Even if the future with you was uncertain, he had to keep you safe and taking Roy down was his only choice.

As the initial shock wore off you noticed an envelope sitting to the side.

You tore it open immediately to find a handwritten note.

Bunny,

I figured sooner or later you'd find this before I got out. Knowing you, you're ready to high tail it out of Lehigh and I don't blame you.

Get out of Lehigh, you deserve better than this. Better than me. I never understood why you stuck around, you're too good for me.

On the off chance you still love me, there's enough to get you by until I get out, if you want to wait for me. I understand if you don't. I'm writing this knowing what lays ahead of me.

I know you're going to be pissed, but I did it for us. For our future, if you'll have me. I know I should have done it sooner, and I'm kicking myself for writing it in a letter instead.

There's a velvet box hidden in my sock drawer, if you haven't found it already. I promise I'll ask you proper once I get out. I love you Y/N, more than anything.

Love, Gator

PS- Got your necklace fixed. Missed seeing it around your neck.

Tears began to stream down your face as you clutched the letter reading it over once more before your feet started carrying you toward the bedroom you once shared with him.

You hadn't touched any of his things since he'd been gone. So, you'd never happened upon the small velvet box he was referring to.

You shoved his socks out of he way until your fingertips brushed up against it. You hesitantly pulled it into view, holding it in your hand until you sat on the bed.

You were still crying as you lifted the edges. Your necklace slipped out, catching it before it hit your lap. It had been broken during the kidnapping but with everything that had gone on since you hadn't thought about it but were now grateful to see it again.

Your eyes roved over the ring that was held within. It was simple, modest by most standards, but it was perfect. You'd never expected this from him.

It was a thin, gold band with three diamonds. A center cut with two smaller ones flanking each side. You hesitantly lifted it from the box, sliding it down your ring finger and holding it up to examine it more closely, as it caught the light and sparkled with your movement.

Finally, you clasped the thin gold chain back around your neck, holding the delicate “G” between your fingertips once more.

You knew he'd be calling around noon the next day, expecting you to have stayed at the hotel overnight. You had an idea, not letting on that you'd found everything laid out for you, instead surprising him on your next visit.

It was bittersweet, packing up your things and getting ready to leave Lehigh. The first home you shared with someone you truly loved.

Since you'd let him know you were moving to Minnesota to be closer to him, it had been a whirlwind of emotions and planning. Your next weekly visit was tomorrow.

In a week's time you had already found a small apartment for rent not far from the prison that would be perfect until he was released so you started the packing process.

During your calls, you'd never let on about the duffle bag. He couldn't say anything, so there was no way he'd mention it over the phone which played to your advantage. Keep him waiting and wondering.

Today when you walked through the gates you were positively giddy. Not only were you surprising him, but this would be your first conjugal visit.

Unlike before, they led you to a small room in the back of the prison. It provided privacy with a small bed and seating area, a counter dividing the room in two.

You were instructed to sit. They'd bring him in.

Your knee was bouncing with anticipation at the thought of finally being able to touch him after 6 long months of waiting.

The feel of running your fingers through his hair, his arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace, vibrating at the thought.

You moved the container of cookies to the small table in front of you as the door swung open.

Gator stepped in, a wide grin splitting his face, as he walked further into the room. His eyes never left you, licking his lips as he turned his body toward the guard so they could unshackle him.

“Alright Tillman, you've got an hour. Just be dressed by the time I get back.” He nodded, “ma’am” leaving the two of you alone.

“Hey, sweet thing!” He rubbed his wrists, watching you ease up from your seat crossing the room, quickly advancing toward him, barely giving him enough time to move his hands out of the way before you pummeled into his chest throwing your arms around his waist pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

“Damn Bun! Miss me that bad?” Letting a small chuckle escape, circling his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

“You know I miss you!” Melting further into his chest. The fabric of his worn, orange jumpsuit scratched at your face, but you just buried it deeper, breathing him.

You held each other for a few moments before finally lifting your head. As your eyes met, he moved his warm, calloused palm to your cheek before he moved in letting his lips crash to yours, nose pressing into your cheek as he tilted his head pulling you further into him.

He immediately deepened it, hungry for more. His tongue darts out, licking at your lower lip as you part your mouth for him. You hummed at the taste of him, almost making you weak in the knees and rushing a spark to your core.

You finally broke apart, panting as your foreheads came to rest together.

“It would have been a yes, you know.” You whispered. “You should have just asked a long time ago.”

His brows knit with confusion as he pulled away to look down at you, his eye catching the glint of gold around your neck immediately cluing him in to what you meant as his gaze softened, and a lopsided grin returned to his face.

“Yeah? That so?” He reached for your left hand, pulling it into view. The ring was situated on your hand perfectly. “So, you still want to be with me?”

“Of course I want to be with you! I love you, you idiot! And you absolutely are asking me properly once you get out of here!” You giggled as he lifted you excitedly, peppering kisses all over your face as you tried to squirm away from the sudden onslaught of affection.

“So, does that mean I'm fuckin' my fiancé today?” Setting your feet back on the ground.

“God, is that all you're worried about?” Rolling your eyes, slapping at his chest.

“No. But Bun, I'm dyin’ here. It's been six fuckin' months.” He suddenly pressed his hips into you, his already hard length pushing into your lower stomach.

“Sure you haven't fallen for your burly bunkmate? I know it can get really lonely in here.” You laughed, as he groaned.

“Real cute, Bunny.” He was walking you back as he spoke, suddenly lifting you up on the small counter stepping between your legs and crashing his lips to yours once more.

The kiss turned more heated as you both tilted your heads, melting into each other as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him further into you by the collar.

He began to trail lower, kisses to your jaw to that little spot below your ear that has you releasing a breathy moan that instantly has his cock twitching between you.

“Oh fuck, I've missed those sounds.” He hissed out, helping you shed your jacket letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor reattaching his lips to you, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.

Your fingers trailed up his chest finding the zipper on the orange jumpsuit you've come to loath, slipping it down as he let you pull it from his shoulders, letting it fall open to his waist. He wore a plain white shirt underneath, fisting the material in your hands as he pulled your hips closer to the edge of the counter.

His hands drifted under the fabric of your top, sending goosebumps across your flesh, as they roamed higher. Raising your arms to let him discard it alongside your jacket.

He's quick to drift to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with ease, letting the fabric fall away from your chest as his large palms engulf your soft flesh, kneading it a little roughly only spurring that now prominent ache between your legs when his thumbs graze over your nipples causing your back to arch further into his touch.

“Oh fuck, baby!” You moan out, gripping the bottom of his shirt trying to pull it up. You were needy. It felt like a lifetime since you'd been able to give him so much affection. Feel his warmth, skin to skin, lips skimming over your soft flesh. Reacquainting with each other's bodies.

Once his shirt was discarded, his hands traced your curves sending a shiver through you.

Your eyes caught the scar on his shoulder that hadn't been there before. A harsh reminder of what he's had to go through.

He follows your eyes, as your fingertips trace over the bit of gnarled, dark flesh.

“I would take a million more as long as I knew you were safe.” Whispering between you.

“I know you would. I just wish you didn't have to. I love you.” Whispering back, moving forward to place a kiss there before placing another to his lips that quickly turned heated once again.

You pushed at the jumpsuit, he helped you discard it and toe off his shoes as you worked quickly on your jeans.

Once his attention came back to you, he helped you lift your hips and slide them down your legs. His hands were immediately back to you, roaming any of your exposed flesh he could reach.

He took a moment, pressing his lips to your forehead, hand to your jaw.

“I've missed you so fuckin’ much Bunny. I love you.” Leaning his forehead to yours, closing your eyes, feeling the warmth of his palm to your cheek.

“I've missed you too.” Whispering as he captured your lips once more, less rushed. His lips glide across yours, tongue ghosting along your bottom lip begging for entry as you parted them. Tongues moving against one another in a slow, passionate dance.

He closed the small gap, as you wrapped your legs back around him. His clothed length pressing into your core as your hips seemed to move on their own accord grinding down against him, catching your clit on the downward movement eliciting breathy moans from both of you.

His hand slips between you, finding the damp spot on your panties, pressing the pad of his thumb into the soaked fabric.

“Bunny, you're so wet. All this f’me? Fuck, I'm a lucky bastard.” He hissed out, finding the edge of your underwear pulling them to the side and letting his fingertip trace your slit before pushing at your aching entrance only breaching slightly, making your hips chase his hand for friction. He trailed up, finding your swollen clit as the pad of his thumb swiped deftly before pulling away. The band of your panties snapping back into place.

“You wanna move… this over t’the… bed?” He rushed out between pants and feverish kisses.

“Please.” You manage to get out before he's gripping your ass, hauling you up and over across the small room without his mouth ever leaving yours.

His knees find the small bed and tosses you down. The springs are a little hard and unforgiving squeaking under your weight with a small bounce that makes you giggle all the same as you lean back to stare up at him.

He's long and lean, looking a little more toned than you remember. Boxers doing nothing to hide his raging erection. His hard cock straining against the fabric, now eye level with you.

You reach up, tracing a finger down the length of him, leaving him gaping and throwing his head back.

“Fuck, I need you.” He hisses out, as you gingerly reach up pulling his boxers down his toned legs, finally releasing him. His length bobs against his abdomen, standing at full attention. Your cunt clinches at the thought of getting him inside of you. Never satiated properly for the last six months you were aching.

He didn't miss the way your thighs rubbed together as he looked down at you, as you took him in your hand, bringing your lips to his soft, ruddy tip, placing a soft kiss there before shifting your head as you ran your tongue up his entire length.

“Oh fuck, baby.” He pulled your chin up to look at him, as you smirked. “Hey sweet thing, as much as I would love to have your mouth, I need your pussy.” The end came out as almost a growl as he began to ease you back onto the bed, his fingertips grabbing at your panties as he practically ripped them from your legs as you heard an audible rip but you didn't mind as he tossed them somewhere across the room.

Crawling between your thighs, parting to accommodate him eagerly. His thick chest hair rough against your nipples, as he presses himself to you taking his length at the base, suddenly running it up your soaked folds making you moan out and arch further closing any gap between you.

“That's it baby. Need it as much as I do, huh?” He hummed, bumping your clit on the way up that made you whine as he captured your lips once more, lining himself up as his head catches your dripping hole.

Your hands grip at his back, running your fingers through the short locks at the nape of his neck pulling the strands when he pushes himself in an inch more.

The toys at home could never fill you the way he could with his thick, long cock. It began to sting as he pushed further. A moan caught in your throat, as your head hit the back of the bed, mouth going slack at the feeling.

“Goddamn, Bunny. You're so… mmmph…. Fuckin' tight.” He grits out, face turning soft once he looks up to notice your brows pinched tight.

“Hey, Bunny. Relax f'me, baby.” He coos, cradling your jaw, thumb rubbing soothingly under your bottom lip.

“I'm relaxed, you're just a lot, baby.” You finally say, opening your eyes gazing into his lust blown irises, nearly black save for the thin mossy ring around the outer edge.

“Yeah?” Lopsided grin returning. “Too much for that tight little cunt?” Not letting you answer before finally burying himself completely as your nails dig into his back with a near pornographic moan escaping your lips only spurring him on.

He slowly pulls out, feeling your walls stretch and flutter around him before quickly plunging back in, feeling impossibly deeper before rocking his hips into yours at a brutal pace.

The stretch and sting slowly subsides giving way to pleasure as he pushes in and out, a fresh wave of arousal soaking you both. You can't suppress the filthy moans falling past your lips.

“That's it baby, let them know how good I'm fuckin' MY pussy. Ya’ don't have to be quiet in here.” He continues roughly pushing his hips into yours as you gasp and writhe beneath him. The sounds of your slick as he drives into with each thrust would have you blushing, but you were too wrapped up in the feel of him to care.

The way your walls were sucking him in and pulsing around his cock, like you were made just for him, was enough to make him cum right then and there.

“Mmmph, Gator you feel so… g-good.” Managing to squeak out, the head of his cock continually massages that spot on your frontal wall with ease.

“Missed this pussy so fuckin' much. Been dreamin’ about the day I could… fuck… cum in her again.” His thrusts get more urgent, as your pussy flutters around him once more.

“Yeah, Bunny? Want my cum? Stuff you full until you can't take anymore?” You whimper at his words, that coil within you winding tighter with each in and out motion working you both toward your high.

He nips at the soft skin at your bared throat, gaining your attention.

“Huh, bunny?”

Barely able to think or speak at this point, you nod at his question knowing he wants an answer. He moves his mouth higher, taking your bottom lip between his, sucking lightly before letting it go with a slight pop. He loved you like this. Too cock drunk to speak and about to fall apart only for him.

He moves his hand between you, expertly finding your clit, as he begins rubbing circles against you working in tandem with his thrusts bringing you closer to the edge. Your back arched off the bed, crying out.

“Fuck! Don't stop!” You huffed out.

“Wouldn't dream of it, sweet thing. Need you t’cum f’me. Gonna leave you so full I'll be leaking out of ya’ for days.” Another whimper slipped out, just as that coil began to snap.

You didn't have time to warn him before your pussy clamped down around him.

“Oh fuck! There she is.” He hissed out, taking his hand from you so he could pound you into oblivion, chasing his own release while working you through yours.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, sure they were drawing blood at this point from the grip you had on him. Your orgasm hit so hard that your toes curled as sparks flew behind your eyelids.

A few more thrusts and he follows behind you, his dick throbbing and kicking up inside of your tight channel as his balls tightened, painting your walls with his spend. He continued to fuck it into you, cursing and panting before collapsing onto your chest.

“Oh fuck Bunny. Goddamn, I missed you.” It came a little muffled, his lips pressed up against you where his head lay in the crook of your neck.

“I missed you too, baby.” You hummed, as he finally pulled his softening cock from you, laying on his side, so you could be face to face kissing the tip of your nose and pulling you close.

“You're an idiot, if you thought I was going to run. We've come too far to give up now.” You whispered, with warm affection and brushing his hair softly from his forehead before leaning in for a kiss before you were so rudely interrupted with a loud knock.

“10 minutes Tillman!” The guard shouted through the door.

“Fuck.” He hissed, leaning his forehead to yours. “That went by too fast.”

“Yeah, it did.” You giggled, kissing his cheek, sitting up.

“Hey,” grasping your hand, once more looking at the ring on your hand. “I’m sorry ya’ fell in love with such a fuck up.”

“I'm not. You're a good man, Gator Tillman. You just needed a push in the right direction. No one ever thought you were a fuck up except Roy and look where he is.” You placed your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

You finally pulled away to get up and get dressed, as he followed suit knowing your time was dwindling.

“You better grab a cookie, while you still can.” Pulling your shirt back over your head.

“Bun, I got my sugar fix.” Grabbing you from behind, pulling you back into his chest, kissing your cheek as you melted into his touch. “Just needed my sweet thing.”

The door swung open, jarring you both from a few moments of bliss.

“Thank God your dressed.” The guard sighed and laughed as you both rolled your eyes.

You faced him quickly, stealing away one more kiss.

“I'll be back next week.” Smiling softly.

“I know, baby.”

You watched him go, winking at you before he walked out the door.

The next few weeks were a blur, seemingly going by in the blink of an eye.

You had said your goodbyes in Lehigh. Henry throwing you a small going away party for the hell of it. There were a few tears and lots of well wishes. Of course, Maggie made you promise to keep in touch.

You could have easily used the money that Gator had supplied for the next couple of months, but you didn't see a reason to waste it all. Using it more for a nest egg for the both of you.

Finding a job wasn't difficult. Every bar or diner usually had a high turnover, easily securing a waitressing job at a diner not far from your apartment.

Life went on for the next few months. Seeing Gator weekly, phone calls every other day to get you by.

As it drew closer to his incarceration hitting the one-year mark, you became anxious. The parole board would be looking at a possible early release and you had hoped the feds would put a good word in for him, but it wasn't a given.

“So, by this time next week we'll know if you're finally a free man?” Phone pressed to your ear, sitting on a wooden crate by the dumpster out behind the diner.

“Yup. Warden told me yesterday that the parlor board was already reviewing the case.” He sounded hopeful but you weren't convinced.

“That’s great baby.” Voice coming out a little weak, ready for all of this to just be over and done with.

“Cheer up, Bunny. I have a feelin’ it'll all work out.”

You hoped he was right. Never failing to believe what came out of his mouth. He had a way of sounding so sure of everything.

The day of the hearing, you sat by the phone practically chewing your nails down to the quick. Busying yourself with whatever would distract you, but it wasn't working, as you found yourself glancing at the nearby clock every few minutes the closer it drew to noon when the hearing would begin.

You knew it may be a while before you would hear from him, but anticipation and anxiety were getting the better of you.

12:15, 12:30, 12:45

Still no word. It felt like torture, every agonizing second drawn out.

Suddenly that familiar number popped up, quickly pressing that green button with frenzied energy.

“This is a call from Sandstone Correctional Institute. To accept this call from Gator Tillman please press 1.”

You held your breath as it connected him over.

“Bunny?” His almost breathless voice came through the line.

“Hey, baby. I'm here.” You rushed out, heart pounding in your chest.

“I'm coming home.”

Home. Such a funny notion to him now.

He didn't think of the house on the ranch or even Lehigh. He only pictured you. Your kind smile that captivated him the first time he laid eyes on you. That unruly mouth that could knock him down a peg but was heaven all the same. He loved everything about you.

The only person that had ever made him feel truly loved.

He was coming home to you.

Processing was completed and 48 hours later you were sitting outside the prison gate, leaning against your car.

The loud buzz signaling the gate opening grabbed your attention as he strolled out. That cocky demeanor was still intact, dick first, head held high; smirking when he spotted you across the lot already running toward him.

You jumped straight into his open arms, being fully enveloped by him burying your head into his chest. It was like you could finally breathe for the first time in months.

“It's finally over?” You spoke timidly, holding tight as if he might be wrenched from your grasp.

“It's over.” A simple but all-encompassing answer; both free to live the lives you want.

“So, where to handsome?” Starting the car and looking over to him.

“Well, I thought we could make a stopover in Scandia.”

You quirked an eyebrow his way.

“Uh… My sister, Nadine, well Dot reached out to me a couple of days ago. Thought we might swing by.” He smiled and shrugged.

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah. Well, she was also my stepmom. Long story.” He chuckled.

“Gator, what the hell?” Rushing out with a look of abject horror on your face.

“Bunny, it's not what you think. I can tell you all about it on the way. She's expecting us for supper.” He leaned over, kissing your cheek.

“God, your family is more fucked up than I thought.” Pulling out of your spot and getting onto the highway.

He grasped your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Yeah, but you still agreed to marry me.” He grinned.

“I haven't agreed to shit. You still have to ask.” Giving him a smirk in return but admiring the ring proudly situated on your left hand. You wouldn't trade him for the world.

You'd gone through literal hell, and you weren't about to let him go now. It didn't matter where the two of you ended up as long as you were together.

#gator tillman #gator tillman smut #gator tillman fluff #🐊#badge bunny series #gator tillman x female reader #gator tillman x badge bunny #gator tillman x you #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman fanfiction #gator x bunny #badge bunny au

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mrprettywhenhecries · 2 months

Text

don’t waste your time (on me) [g.t]

08. | Like Jack and Sally

Gator Tillman ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 6.4k words ⇾ tags/warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, misogynistic themes, alcohol use, p in v, choking, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), canon typical violence/blood, accusations of cheating, Gator’s kind of a dick ⇾ a/n. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💚

When Roy throws a wrench in Win’s Halloween plans, needing Gator to do a job for him, her temper gets the better of her and a misunderstanding nearly tears them apart.

[ masterlist • win bio ]

Gator had just stepped out of the Spirit Halloween at the old K-mart building when his phone went off. Thinking it was Win calling to ask if he’d gotten his costume for the party yet, he pulled his phone from his pocket to answer, his grin faltering when he saw his father’s name flash across the screen instead.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked, bracing himself, a bad feeling churning in his stomach.

“Got a job for you. Meet me at Hammurabi’s in twenty minutes for the details.”

Before Gator could protest, Roy had already hung up, leaving Gator standing in the parking lot twisting in the wind.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, pocketing his phone with more force than necessary and striding stiffly to his cruiser. If Roy wouldn’t tell him the job over the phone, it had to be something serious.

Roy’s truck was already parked out front when Gator arrived, and he followed suit when his father climbed out and ambled over, meeting Gator halfway.

“So I was thinkin’ about what to do with Nadine,” Roy said, stepping in close and pitching his voice low, and Gator frowned in confusion for a moment.

“I told ya, she goes by, uh, Dorothy now,” he said, but Roy brushed the detail aside.

“Yeah. At first I was thinkin’ we’d leave her alone until after the election.”

“But…?” Gator prompted, sensing there was more his father wasn’t saying.

“Is what I was thinkin’—” Roy reiterated, cutting Gator off, “—what with all the heat from the feds sniffin’ around, but then last night I had a dream. What’s today?” he asked, and Gator’s brows pinched, trying to catch up with his father’s somewhat erratic train of thought.

“Uh, Halloween–” he answered, but Roy was already one step ahead of him.

“Exactly. All Hallow’s Eve, in which the world of the Gods is made visible to humanity and the dead come back to life. That’s what Nadine is, can’t you see? She was dead, but now she’s back.”

“So…?” Gator asked, shaking his head slightly, not following.

“So, we get her tonight.”

“Tonight?” Gator asked, his stomach knotting at his father’s words.

“Yes, tonight,” Roy snapped, sensing Gator’s reluctance. “What, you got other plans?” he scoffed, watching Gator wince.

“Well… yeah, kinda.”

“Too fuckin’ bad,” Roy interrupted, his bluff face turning hard. “Tell that whore of yours you can’t see her tonight.”

“But–”

Gator’s halfhearted protest had Roy’s eyes narrowing sharply. “This is the best chance we have to get this done. You tell me which is more important,” he said, voice dangerously low, and Gator swallowed, giving himself a shake.

“This is,” he murmured, ducking his head obediently and Roy nodded, pleased with his answer.

“Good. Now, everyone’ll be in costume, the streets’ll be busy. So, ding-dong, trick-or-treat, we send two around the back, breach ‘em from both sides, tie ‘em up, put their masks on,” Roy explained, leaving Gator squinting in confusion.

“Their, uh, masks?”

“Their Halloween masks,” Roy clarified, an edge of irritation to his voice.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah,” Gator exclaimed, nodding quickly.

“Victor and villain, in-cognito, then boom, you’re out the door, you’re in the van, and no one’s the wiser,” Roy continued.

Gator nodded vacantly as he listened to the plan, trying to fix every detail to memory, though his thoughts kept returning to what he was gunna tell Win.

“Now remember, only guys we can trust. Got it?” Roy finished and Gator nodded.

“Say it.”

“Only guys we can trust,” Gator repeated.

“Good,” Roy grunted, nodding back toward Gator’s cruiser. “Now get goin’, you’ve got a long drive ahead of ya. You got this,” he added, patting Gator’s shoulder in encouragement. “I believe in you.”

Gator watched as his father climbed back into his truck, a dazed grin still stretching his lips as Roy’s words echoed in his ears.

I believe in you.

This was it. This was his chance to prove himself.

As soon as he was back behind the wheel, heading back toward the costume store to grab a few more masks, Gator quickly dialed the number of a guy he knew to put a crew together, stalling as long as he could before having to break the news to his girlfriend.

Reluctantly pulling up Win’s number, a message notification popped up on his screen—a photo of her in her Sally costume, her face painted to look just like the animated doll—and Gator allowed himself a wistful look before pressing the call button and bringing the phone to his ear, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously as the phone rang.

“Hey, you get your mask yet? Are you on your way over?”

Win didn’t give Gator a chance to even say hello, buffeting him with questions as soon as she answered, her excitement only making him feel even more guilty about what he needed to tell her.

“Uhm… actually, I got some bad news…”

The line went ominously silent and Gator grimaced, pushing on. “Somethin’s come up and dad needs my help with something tonight.”

“Tonight?” Win echoed incredulously. “You can’t do it tomorrow?”

“It’s kinda time sensitive,” Gator explained, sensing Win’s mounting frustration, and he couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Okay, well… could you come after you’ve finished?”

“I wish I could, but… I kinda hafta… drive to Minneapolis,” Gator mumbled, bracing himself for Win’s reaction.

“Minneapolis?! But that’s like a six and a half hour drive one way!” she exclaimed, the disappointment in her voice cutting right through him.

“I know,” Gator sighed. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“Did you tell him you had plans?” she asked, though he knew no matter how he answered she wouldn’t like it.

“Course I did, but this is important. He’s counting on me,” Gator insisted, a little more heated than he intended.

“So was I,” Win murmured.

Gator scoffed before he could help it. “It’s just a party, Win. There’ll be others.”

There was a beat of silence and Gator knew he’d fucked up.

“I know it’s just a party,” Win snapped, a hard edge leaching into her voice. “But I wanted you there. I wanted to play for you,” she murmured, a soft sniff punctuating her words. “I wanted you to meet my friends. That’s–that’s kind of a big deal for me.”

“Win–”

“No,” she exclaimed, interrupting him, not wanting to hear any more. “Go on. Go do daddy’s dirty work. See if I fucking care.”

“You don’t get it, Win,” Gator replied, begging her to understand. “I have to make him proud.”

Win snorted. “No, you don’t get it. No matter what you do for him. He will never be proud of you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Gator’s jaw flexed, his teeth gritting together as anger seared through him.

“The fuck do you know about loyalty?” he demanded, knowing it was a low blow.

“Jesus, you’re a fucking dick. You know what? I’m glad you’re not coming tonight,” Win spat, hanging up on him and Gator briefly wondered if he’d made her cry, quickly burying the pang of guilt beneath his anger.

———

Crouching to plug her guitar into her amp, Win took a swig from the bottle at her feet before discreetly checking her phone.

No new messages.

She scowled, unsure which she was more angry about—that Gator hadn’t texted since their fight, or the fact she wanted him to.

“Hey, you okay?” Beau asked, noticing the look on her face as he slung his bass over his shoulder and adjusted the strap.

“Peachy,” Win muttered, taking another drink and Beau shared a look with Lydia.

“I’m gunna hazard Tillman bailed?” Lyds asked carefully and Win’s scowl deepened.

She knew her friends still didn’t understand why she was even dating him, and right then, she didn’t blame them.

“I don’t really wanna think about it,” she muttered, straightening.

“Clearly,” Beau mumbled under his breath. “I just hope you’re not too blitzed for our set–”

He cut off with a glare from Win and grimaced.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, but Lydia looked doubtful.

Before either could say anything else, the music playing over the speakers cut out and the party’s host jumped on the small makeshift stage to introduce them. Win stepped up to the mic and began the intro to their first song without preamble, trying not to focus on the crowd in front of her too closely, lest she find herself searching for the one face she knew she wouldn’t see.

Once the first song came to an end, the last chord echoing through the speakers, she grabbed the mic stand and pulled it closer to address the audience, most of whom were also dressed in costumes.

“Happy fuckin’ Halloween you ghouls and goblins! Don’t you all look spooky tonight?” she drawled into the microphone, pointing out over the crowd before tugging lightly at her skirt. “Do you like my costume?”

A small cheer rose from the crowd while several wolf whistles pierced the clamour and Win huffed a humourless laugh.

“My boyfriend was supposed to come tonight as the Jack to my Sally, but he bailed on me, can you believe that?” she scoffed and someone in the audience called out: “I’ll be your Jack!”

Win rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched in amusement. “Find me after our set and we’ll see.”

By the time their small set ended, Win stumbled off the stage to pack up their equipment, her vision spinning slightly, though that didn’t stop her from grabbing a bottle of beer from a nearby cooler.

“Hey, you okay? For real?” Lydia asked, joining her, and Win shrugged a shoulder, snapping her guitar case shut.

“I will be. Nothin’ a little party can’t fix.”

“Where is he, anyway?”

Win let out a heavy sigh. “Driving to Minnesota.”

“Minnesota? Why?” Lydia exclaimed, her mouth dropping.

“Dunno, some errand for his dad. He didn’t go into detail,” Win explained, taking a long swig of beer.

“I don’t wanna say ‘I told you so’...” Lydia said, holding her hands up and Win snorted, taking her friend’s arm and pulling her toward the makeshift dance floor.

“Then don’t!”

It wasn’t long before dancing ceased to hold her attention and Win’s thoughts returned to Gator. Heading outside, away from the noise for a cigarette, she pulled her phone out to check for new messages, hurt to find none, not even a simple ‘I miss you’.

Before she could second guess herself, she dialed his number and brought the phone to her ear. With each ring her heart sank a little further, hoping he was just busy. Hoping he was alright. He’d never said exactly what this “errand” for Roy entailed and it only just occurred to her that it might be something dangerous.

When the call went to his voicemail, Win took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes.

“Hey, I wanted to see if you were okay,” she said, fiddling with the cigarette between her fingers. “I miss you…” she murmured, letting her eyes slip shut before a fresh wave of anger washed over her and her lips twisted sourly. “Actually, you know what, no. I’m glad you’re not here!” she exclaimed stubbornly, repeating what she’d told him earlier, though she didn’t really mean it. She just wanted to make him hurt like she was hurting.

“But y’know what, it’s your fuckin’ loss. I’m gunna go back in there and get fuckin’ wasted and have a great fuckin’ time without you and you’re gunna be sorry you missed it—“

Before she could finish her drunken thought, a couple of guys stumbled outside, the music from inside blaring for a moment before the door swung shut behind them.

“Hey! Hey, it’s sexy Sally,” the one guy said, his words slurring slightly as he recognized Win from earlier.

“What’re you doin’ out here all alone? You want some company? You did say to come see you after your set,” the other guy exclaimed, his voice loud over the phone before Win ended the call and spun to face them.

“Not if you’re gunna be creeps,” she snapped, taking a step backward and flicking her cigarette away.

“Aw c’mon, we’ll help ya forget all about your jerk boyfriend,” one of them drawled, an almost predatory grin stretching across his face.

“Fuck off,” Win huffed, pushing past them to head back inside and find her friends before they could get any ideas.

———

“Drive! Just fuckin’ drive,” Gator barked as he jumped into the van after hauling their unconscious teammate into the back and slamming the door. He craned his head to watch the flames dance higher across the roof of the house as they drove in the opposite direction, the tires struggling to find traction in the hard packed snow, and he silently kicked himself.

Roy was gunna be so pissed.

Though, Gator wasn’t sure which would be worse, his father’s anger, or his disappointment. Roy’s last words before they parted ways earlier ran through his head, only making his stomach hurt more.

You got this. I believe in you.

Gator wanted to scream, to beat his hand against the dash.

Nadine had been ready for them, but he’d gotten so close. Even though she’d banged up his crew pretty bad, he’d had her cornered, desperate, but then somehow the fire had started, quickly spreading out of control and he’d been forced to retreat—the fire department already en route, sirens hot on his heels.

One of the guys in the back let out a pained groan as the van hit a pothole and Gator scowled, pulling his phone from his pocket to distract himself. There were no messages from Roy and he didn’t dare send a status update, knowing full well not to leave an evidence trail. When he noticed Win’s voicemail however, his heart leapt, just the thought of hearing her voice reminding him just how much he missed her. That is, until he began to listen to the message.

The vitriol in her words felt like a punch to the gut, but when Gator heard unfamiliar masculine voices in the background—you said to come find you after your set—his jaw clenched, clamping his mouth shut against the wave of nausea that threatened to carry him away.

Win wouldn’t do that to him, right? She wouldn’t fuck someone else just to get back at him. Would she?

A voice in his head that sounded a lot like Roy reminded him she had a reputation for getting around, but Gator stubbornly squashed the thought, hastily dialing her number, though his insides squirmed uncomfortably.

With each hollow ring, the pit in his stomach opened wider, until the call went to voicemail and he felt like he might be swallowed whole. Chewing his chapped lip, he deliberated whether or not to leave a voicemail himself, finally making up his mind when the recorded greeting ended, punctuated by a shrill tone that only grated further on his nerves.

“Hey. I’m on my way home, but uh, what the fuck was that message about, huh? Who the hell was that guy?” he hissed, forgetting for a moment about the others in the van with him. “Call me back,” he added, fighting the urge to throw his phone and let his anger boil over.

Following up his message with a strongly worded text, he reached for his vape, needing to take the edge off his frayed nerves while he waited for Win to respond. As the minutes ticked by, however, and no call came, he brought the phone to his ear again, but this time it went straight to voicemail.

Now on the verge of panic, Gator tried again and again, the outcome unchanged in each few minutes between attempts.

Starting to spiral, his thoughts veering toward the worst, he stubbornly kept calling until the guy in the back let out an annoyed sigh.

“Dude, give it a rest already. She obviously doesn’t wanna talk to you.”

Gator whipped around in his seat to glare at him, the other, finally conscious again, flinching away from his gaze.

“How about you shut the fuck up before I shoot ya, huh?” he snapped, half reaching for his pistol strapped to his thigh.

The guy held his hands up in surrender and kept his mouth shut, heaving a breath when Gator turned back around to grumble at the driver. “Can’t you drive any fuckin’ faster?”

By the time the van pulled into the ranch’s drive, the sun had already crested the horizon, lighting the sky with its weak rays and Gator rubbed at his eyes—they felt grainy and his limbs felt heavy, stiffness having set in from the long drive and the bruises he was starting to definitely feel.

When the van parked, he snatched his mask from the dash and slid out, wearily making his way up the walk to the farm house. On the front porch a small group of ranch hands were working to cover several bodies in a tarp and Gator frowned.

“What happened?” he asked Bowman, who seemed to be standing guard in front of the house, supervising the clean up.

“Boogeyman came in the night,” he grunted, turning to eye Gator. “Left a warning in the kids’ room.”

“Who, Munch?”

“I don’t know the guy’s name,” Bowman huffed. “Full on wild man, though. Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

Gator let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, a heavy sigh whistling through his lips. More than anything, he wanted to climb the stairs to his room, collapse into bed, and forget the entire night ever happened, but he knew he wasn’t done yet and this news only made things more complicated.

“Where’s Roy?”

“Had to take care of something,” Bowman said, his breath steaming in the cold morning air.

Getting the address, Gator headed to his cruiser, needing to speak with his father.

———

Gator’s boots crunched on the gravel walk as he slowly approached the lone house trailer, Roy’s favourite horse hitched outside confirming it was the right place. He didn’t have long to wonder what Roy was doing there when the crack of a gunshot from inside made him jump and he quickened his steps, his heart in his throat as he pushed through the door and rushed into the trailer, his pistol already cocked and at the ready as he performed an initial sweep of the room, surveying the carnage.

Roy was unharmed, but the man across from him clutched at his throat as he sank into the couch behind him, blood spurting from between his fingers and frothing on his lips as he gasped for breath, his body spasming in the throws of death.

“Fucking hell,” Gator breathed, lowering his firearm as his stomach churned, and he finally tore his gaze from the dying man, shifting it to Roy. “You okay?” he asked, though Roy Tillman looked completely unruffled.

Roy didn’t answer, merely standing to ask the dying man’s wife for a glass of water. As she hurried to obey, Gator’s eyes unwittingly returned to the man still gasping and gurgling on the couch and he holstered his gun, not needing it any longer.

“Uh dad, what’re we doing?” he asked uncertainly and Roy once more ignored his question.

“So, did you get her?” he asked instead and Gator’s gaze instantly fell.

“Uhm–” he hesitated, trying to find the words to explain.

Roy let out a sigh, simply holding his hand up to stop Gator right there. “Don’t bother, I can see it all over your face. Worked you over pretty good, did she?” he asked, noting the fresh bruises already darkening Gator’s eye socket.

“It’s like he said, some kind of tiger,” Gator muttered, sighing. “The husband got hurt. House caught on fire–”

“Not now,” Roy warned, cutting him off as he glanced over at the wife, hovering uncertainly at the edge of the kitchen, her back pressed tight to the counter behind her.

“Oh, we got Munch,” Roy exclaimed instead, and Gator’s eyes widened. “You did?” he asked, relief surging through him, only to freeze in his veins at his father’s next words.

“Yeah, got him right there on the couch,” Roy replied, nodding to the dying man across the room. “It’s the guy from the filling station, the cop killer. Tip came in over the hotline. Lenore here called it in herself, didn’t you, Lenore?” he asked, turning to the trembling woman.

“Husband came home bragging he killed a state trooper, wounded another, I responded, shots fired, you were my backup.”

Gator frowned, a mere pinching of the brow as he struggled to put it all together, his sleep deprived brain making it harder than usual. “So…”

“Loop’s closed, I’m sayin’,” Roy said, giving him a pointed look. “State can call off their dogs, and we’re free to settle our differences in private.”

Gator nodded, finally getting the picture, and he watched silently as Roy turned to deal with the widow, discreetly bribing her to corroborate their story before she shakily agreed and he followed Roy outside, their business inside concluded.

“Somethin’ else’s botherin’ ya. What is it?” Roy asked as he untied his horse’s reins, his piercing gaze swinging toward Gator, who tried to wave his concern away, shaking his head with a stutter.

“Come on, out with it,” Roy insisted and Gator let out a reluctant sigh, looking down at his boots.

“Win went out without me last night. I got a weird message from her, some-some guys in the background–” he cut off, shaking his head. “Now she won’t answer my calls. I-I’m getting worried.”

Roy grunted. “I think you already know what she was up to. Stop kidding yourself.”

“What? No!” Gator exclaimed, his head snapping up, a look of horror on his face, but Roy could see it in his eyes and he shook his head as he climbed into his saddle. “Once a whore, always a whore,” he mused solemnly. “Best you cut that one loose. Save yourself the headache and the humiliation. Sooner or later, she’s gunna show you her true colours, and I’m not gunna say I told you so.”

Roy booted his horse, and took off, riding off into the rising sun without another word, leaving Gator standing there, once more twisting in the wind.

———

Gator barely waited til his cruiser was in park to cut the engine and jump out, practically stomping up the walk to pound at the door, past caring about the early hour and who might hear. After stewing all night and half the morning, his blood was boiling and he wanted answers.

When Win didn’t answer, he peered through the window, scowling when he saw her sitting at the kitchen counter, ignoring him.

“I know you’re fuckin’ in there!” he called, pounding the side of his fist against the door hard enough to rattle the window. “Lemme in, Win!”

When Win still didn’t get up, Gator’s scowl deepened and he began searching for a hidden key, hoping she had one. If not, he’d be forced to move onto plan C and just kick the door in.

“Ha!” he exclaimed as he flipped over one of the rocks in the empty flower bed, revealing a little silver key.

It wasn’t until she heard the click of the bolt opening that Win finally jumped to her feet. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she cried, standing her ground against Gator. “That’s breaking and entering!”

“Not if I have a key,” he countered, holding it up for her to see before slipping it in his pocket.

“What was your backup plan? Bust my door down?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing daggers.

“Yeah, actually it was.”

Win let out an incredulous huff. “I’d love to see you try.”

Gator took a step closer, his jaw flexing with the effort of trying to keep his anger in check. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart, after the night I’ve had, I wouldn’t fuckin’ tempt me,” he muttered, his voice growing low, holding an edge of menace that did little to intimidate Win.

“Oh? After the night you’ve had? Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?” she spat, not backing down. “Piss off, Gator.”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Gator demanded, ignoring her jab and Win turned away, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“Because I didn’t want to talk to you. I was mad–I am mad!”

“You sure it wasn’t cause you were busy fucking someone else?” Gator hissed, his good hand clenching into a fist at his side as he fought not to lose control–everything Roy had ever taught him about discipline racing through his head.

“What?” Win asked, spinning to face him, Gator’s accusation ripping through her like a bullet. “Is that what you really think?”

Gator let out a derisive snort. “What else am I s’posed to think? I heard that guy on your voicemail message! He said you told him to come find you later,” he exclaimed, his fist trembling with rage.

Win winced; she hadn’t realized that’d picked up on the recording. “I-I said that during our set, but I wasn’t actually serious,” she tried to explain. “After I hung up, I told him off and went to find my friends. Nothing happened!” she insisted, but Gator rolled his eyes, his chapped lips pulling into a sneer.

“Maybe my dad was right. Once a whore, always a whore.”

Win’s mouth fell open and she stepped back as if struck. “You don’t believe that,” she said, voice small, the hurt in her eyes making Gator flinch, shame instantly seeping into him though he quickly squashed it down.

“I dunno, maybe I do,” he spat, avoiding her gaze. “Maybe you wanted to get back at me–”

Win shook her head.

“I wanted you there! All I could think about was how much I fucking missed you. I didn’t know what you were doing—if it was legal, if it was dangerous, if you’d come back hurt, if you came back at all. I cried myself to sleep and when I got your message it just made me mad all over again. That’s why I turned my phone off, not because I was fucking some guy,” she cried, her voice growing hoarse.

“For once in my fucking life there’s only one person I want and that’s you! So why the fuck would I ruin that?” she exclaimed, her gaze desperately pleading with him to believe her. “I would never do that to you, no matter how fucking mad I am!”

Gator deflated, exhaustion sucking all the fight from him. He knew in his heart she was right—since they’d begun dating she hadn’t so much as looked at another man—but his mouth opened and closed wordlessly, unable to form the words to tell her before his eyes fell to the floor and he tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. Silence fell over the room and he swallowed, working up the courage to admit he was wrong.

“I believe you…” he murmured, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I just–my dad said that shit and I got scared. I should’ve trusted you,” he breathed, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Yes, you should’ve, you dick,” Win huffed, giving him a frustrated shove, her admonishment not to believe a word Roy said about her—knowing the man’d take any opportunity he could to break them up—died on her tongue when she saw the way Gator winced and she grabbed his jacket, tugging him closer to get a better look at his face, finally noticing the dark bruise forming under his eye.

“What the fuck happened?” she breathed, carefully taking his face between her hands, tilting it this way and that to search for more injuries, wondering just how bad it was beneath his clothes.

“Fell down some stairs,” Gator muttered, pulling her hands gently from his face.

“Gator–”

“It’s the truth!” he insisted, thankful that at least he could be truthful about something, even if he couldn’t tell her how it’d happened.

Though Win looked skeptical, she didn’t press the issue, merely pursing her lips. “Yeah well, I don’t like that you keep getting hurt because of Roy,” she muttered, pulling her sweater tighter around herself.

“That’s not what’s happening,” Gator argued, pulling her closer to wrap his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Isn’t it?” she countered, closing her eyes and pressing her face to his chest. “Everytime he needs you to do something for him, you come back with a broken arm, or a black eye and bruised ribs,” she pointed out. “And I don’t like the way he treats you afterward, like you’re some fuck up. You deserve better.”

“It’s not that easy,” Gator murmured, his brows pinching. “I want to make him proud. I have to do better,” he insisted and Win’s heart broke a little at his words.

If only he could see his father as clearly as she did.

“What if it’s never enough?” she asked, and Gator’s frown deepened. He didn’t want to think about that. If he didn’t acknowledge it, it couldn’t be true.

“I’m proud of you. Can’t that be enough?” Win whispered, her voice breaking.

Gator squeezed her tighter, guilt burning in his chest. He wished it could be enough, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there tonight,” he murmured, changing the subject. “If it makes any difference, I really wanted to be…”

“I know,” Win sighed. “There’ll be other parties, other gigs,” she said.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t there that’d bothered her, so much as why he wasn’t there, but she was tired of fighting, just glad to have him back.

God, but she was a fool in love.

Win stiffened as the thought caught her off guard. She couldn’t be in love. She’d never used that word before, not with any of her relationships anyway.

“Yeah, I know,” Gator said, not noticing Win waging an internal emotional battle over her sudden epiphany. “But I had the perfect mask for last night too,” he lamented, pulling the round Jack Skellington mask from his back pocket to hold in front of his face, and Win looked up at him, her chest aching with affection.

“The Jack to my Sally,” she murmured, raising up on her toes to press a kiss to the mask where his mouth would be.

Gator tilted the mask back, letting it rest atop his head as he met Win’s gaze. “Can I make it up to you?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her and Win thought for a moment, letting him sweat.

“I dunno, can you?” she asked, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips despite her cool tone.

As answer, Gator hoisted her into his arms to carry her to the bedroom, dropping her to the bed before tugging her by the ankles to the edge.

“I sure can try,” he drawled, and Win’s hips lifted as he eased her shorts down, finding her bare beneath them. “No panties?” he asked, his lips curling in amusement as he admired her.

“I need to do laundry, don’t judge me,” Win huffed, pouting up at him.

“I don’t think you should wear them ever, if you ask me,” Gator chuckled and her breath hitched as he knelt before her, hooking his arms around her thighs to hold her still as his mouth found her core, his tongue slipping eagerly between her folds to taste her.

A soft moan left her lips and her head fell back as his nose bumped against her clit, sending a jolt through her. Pleased with her reaction, Gator moved higher to tease her sensitive bud, tracing sloppy circles around it with his tongue, and Win’s hands balled in the mess of sheets beneath her.

“Oh fuck, Gator–” she groaned, rolling her hips against his mouth and he switched tactics, lapping at her with broad unrelenting strokes, proud of the way he made her squirm, the sound of his name amid her breathy moans making him dizzy. Drawing the hood of her clit between his lips to suck, he flicked the tip of his tongue against her aching bud rapidly and she let out a cry, her legs trying to tighten around the sides of his face.

Growling into her cunt, he pried her legs apart, pinning her down despite her writhing, and his movements grew sloppier in his desperation to make her cum, drool and her juices running down his chin and coating his cheeks.

“Gator—Gator!”

Win’s voice cracked as she let out a keening whine, her body going rigid as her climax washed over her in waves, her hips lifting from the bed, cunt fluttering, clenching around nothing, but Gator didn’t stop til she was an overstimulated twitching mess, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath.

When he finally lifted his face, panting just as hard, he turned to kiss her inner thigh, wiping the slick mess from his face against her feverish skin.

“Gator,” Win whined, shifting beneath him and he opened his eyes, looking up at her from between her legs.

“Fuck me with the mask on.”

A grin tugged at his lips, the idea turning him on more than he would’ve expected. He’d only been planning on giving without asking for anything in return—something he’d never thought he’d do, to be honest—but how could he deny her if that was what she wanted?

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he got to his feet, stripping hastily and pulling the mask down over his face. For a moment he stood over her, tilting his head as he took in the sight of her—her arms stretched over her head, body on display for him.

“Jack—“ she purred with a quirk of her lips, reaching for him, and he couldn’t help the groan that caught in his throat as he crawled atop her, grasping his cock to give it several slow strokes before tapping it against her messy cunt.

“This what you want?” he drawled, his voice muffled by the mask, rubbing his throbbing head between her folds, coating it with her slick. “Want me to stretch this tight little pussy, split you open on my cock?”

Win merely nodded, her lips parting in a silent plea.

“Uh uh, gotta hear you say it, Princess,” he taunted, giving her sensitive clit another smack with his head, making her twitch.

“Yes, please, Gator,” she begged.

“That’s more like it,” he grunted, finally pressing into her slowly, his breath hitching at the way her walls hugged him so perfectly, clenching around him, sucking him deeper.

“C’mon, you can take it,” he growled, stretching her further, breathing evenly through his nose to keep from cumming too soon, his breath condensing against the inside of the mask.

Pausing once he’d sheathed her, he gave her a moment to adjust before pulling nearly all the way out and thrusting back into her languidly, fucking her deep and slow, letting her feel every vein and ridge. It was only when Win wrapped her hand around his wrist, guiding his hand to her throat that he nearly faltered.

“Choke me,” she breathed, and Gator marveled at the way his hand easily encircled her neck, his cock twitching deep inside her at the sight. Careful not to go too far, he began to squeeze, applying just enough pressure for Win’s mouth to fall open silently and her body to tense, but for her chest to still rise and fall.

With each snap of his hips to hers, he grew rougher, his thrusts growing faster, harder, slamming into her as he choked her, fucking her into the mattress like in his filthiest wet dreams.

The way she looked up at him, devotion glazing over her unwavering gaze, made Gator light headed and he suddenly needed to be closer, needed to feel her. Releasing her throat, he tore the mask off his head, letting it clatter to the ground as he surged forward to claim her lips in a searing kiss, his thrusts growing sloppy in his desperation.

He swallowed her cries in a frenzied clash of lips and teeth, groaning into her mouth as her nails bit into his shoulder blades, raking down his back to grab desperately at his ass, urging him deeper until he couldn’t hold back any longer, his balls tightening and spilling his load deep inside her with a broken moan, her name on his lips as came apart.

When he collapsed atop her, still twitching inside her, Win’s arms snaked around his back, holding him tightly against her chest.

“I forgive you,” she whispered into his shoulder and Gator smiled sleepily, his eyes fluttering shut in her embrace, a weight leaving his chest at her words. Exhaustion finally overtook him, and Win wasn’t far behind, a deep comforting sleep dragging her under.

Gator wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours later when he woke, needing to take a piss, Win still passed out beneath him, a peaceful look on her face that tugged at his heartstrings. Carefully disentangling himself so as not to wake her, he pressed a featherlight kiss to her forehead, pushing her sweat-dampened bangs out of the way before pushing off the bed to amble to the bathroom.

Not bothering to shut the door behind him, Gator let out a sigh as he relieved himself, taking a moment to splash some water on his face and run his fingers through his hair before heading back to the bedroom.

Something made him pause, however, and he turned to frown at the front door, having forgotten if he’d locked it behind him or not. Finding it unlocked, he quickly yanked it open to peer outside, only to freeze at the sight of a bloodied note stuck to the door with a serrated hunting knife.

I’m Always Watching.

Hissing a panicked breath, Gator hastily peered up and down the street once more before yanking the knife free and locking the door behind him. Pressing his back to the door, he crumpled the note in his fist, his heart hammering in his chest.

The door had been unlocked the whole time, Munch could’ve easily walked right in, attacking them while they were… distracted. The thought sent his blood running cold—he couldn’t afford to be so careless, not when Win was involved.

Stowing the knife in the side of one of his boots, he scrubbed his hands clean and grabbed his gun before returning to the bedroom, finding Win still asleep, completely blissfully unaware of what had happened.

Sleep with your hammer cocked, that is, if you sleep at all.

Roy’s words ran through his head and he slipped his pistol under the pillow before crawling back into bed and pulling Win close, his pulse still thundering in his ears.

If Munch had wanted them dead, he could’ve already done it, which meant they were probably safe for the time being, Gator reminded himself, willing his nerves to calm, forcing himself to match Win’s slow even breaths. Burying his face in her hair, he yearned for that deep unassuming sleep he’d woken from not long ago, but one thought still nagged at him—if Munch had the opportunity to do more than leave a warning, why hadn’t he?

⇾ taglist. @sailorskunk, @heartbreak-sandwich, @super-unpredictable98, @tangerinesteve, @girlwiththerubyslippers

@cycat4077 , @thecreelhouse

#gator tillman #fargo #fargo fx #gator tillman x oc #oc: win lewis #otp: wingator #joz.fic #fic: don’t waste your time on me #i just realized when i was going back to look up the place roy and gator meet to talk is a reference to the hammurabi’s code #eye for an eye #i’d totally missed that foreshadowing watching the first time thru

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astronautforhalloween · 8 months

Text

Charon's Obol

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Gator Tillman x Reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You really didn't want to cover a shift at your new job. But when an old familiar face walks through the door, the night yields some unexpected results. Some more welcome than others.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Gator. Some hints to his misogyny, blood, canonical death. Not proofread, not written with the reader's gender specifically expressed but it is implied to be female (Gator refers to them as 'princess'). Gator does refer to reader as 'little bird', but it isn't a reference to height or body type. It's more so condescending.

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: 7.9k words. Might do a pt. 2? (If so, there will be some changes to Gator's character) The story takes place during the end of episode 2 but diverges at the end. Banner by @saradika

It had been a bit of a surprise when you watched him walk in through the taped up front door, glaring at Andy - someone whom you've learned to be a frequent regular - like the man had personally affronted him with his mere existence; his lip was curled in a sneer and there was a scoff waiting to be released from his chest while he stared the older customer down with an incredulous scowl. The same scowl that he's had since high school - looks like all that much hasn't changed. And you expected some sort of conflict, a quick shove to Andy's chest or a smart quip, though thankfully the interaction ended with Gator slipping past the regular. But not without roving a scathing glance across his body from head to toe as the man dipped out of the doorway.

He didn't even notice you behind the counter as he immediately set off in the direction of the restrooms, and a part of you was relieved for it. Sure, when you had been making plans to move back down here to assist your mother, you had briefly entertained that Gator was still living in Lehigh, even though your old childhood town was about a seventy-eight-mile drive from where she was living now. Before the move she used to give you all the local gossip during your daily phone call, and Gator had been a frequent focal point in the scoop of the day, with his bad behavior and quick temper. It seems that being on the police force has done nothing to teach him manners. If anything, from what you've heard, it's only amplified his complete lack of boundaries.

He had been passionate about football for a time, but then there had been that accident in mid-August back in senior year which left him favoring his right leg with a slight limp. From what you had heard through the grape vine way back when, he had also wanted to be a sheriff. To follow in his father's footsteps and protect Stark County like the previous men of his heritage had.

And if the big, white bold letters printed on his vest was any indication, it looked like he was working his way up to doing just that.

You had been taking shifts here at the gas station for about a week now. Had moved boxes packed full of your belongings from a U-Haul and into your room inside of your mother's new trailer home a week before that. But for some reason seeing him again seemed to solidify that you were actually back here in North Dakota after you had worked so hard to get out. It was like being shoved into a time machine and forced to a point in your life that you didn't want to return to. There isn't necessarily wrong with this state or the people who live here. It's just quiet, tight-knit, and everyone knows everyone. Secrets are difficult to keep here and evading bored, curious eyes can be difficult, if not impossible at times.

There wasn't anything here for someone your age, who had dreams and longed for something more than church potlucks and being barefoot and pregnant.

But now here you were. Reaching for the broom propped in the corner to sweep up a cluster of glass shards peeking out from underneath the bottom of the counter into a small pile. They seemed to be everywhere, no matter how hard you scanned the floor while you cleaned, more and more glass just seemed to pop up as soon as you thought you had gotten it all. You had even found a piece in the cash register when you were counting out a customer's change, and you nearly sliced your thumb on the damned thing. How it had it had managed to find its way in the till, you aren't sure. Though as frustrating as those little slivers are, you actually find yourself being thankful for them. It gives you an excuse to at least look busy instead of just awkwardly standing around, uncomfortably hyperaware that Gator Tillman is in the store.

You aren't even sure why you're so nervous about the thing. Yes, you and Gator had never been particularly close, and the interactions that you had were few and far between, mostly due to forced proximity because of your position on the cheer squad. But apart from the after-school activity that both of you participated in, you mostly had your own circles that you kept to, the two of them hardly ever merging. Based off of what you'd seen of him back then, he wasn't all that impressive. He was abrasive and cocky. A bully, to put it lightly, that liked to slam other kids against locker doors as he passed.

You didn't think much of him then. Just a guy who like to flaunt underneath his father's shadow and abuse the privileges of being the sheriff's son to taunt others. And you don't think much of him now, so you aren't sure why your gut is sinking like a nervous pit.

It isn't odd that he's here. Sure, the gas station is a short drive outside of Beulah which happens to be about an hour's drive from Lehigh. You suppose that it isn't completely wild to see him outside of his county, but for some reason it still catches you off guard, even if it was just a matter of time before you crossed paths. Whether that had been while you were out having dinner at one of the local restaurants or him walking in on one of your shifts. Though the kicker is, is that this isn't technically your shift. It was meant for Derreck, but he was unable to show up because he's no longer one of the living. You don't want to speak ill of the dead, especially one so recently passed, but you can't exactly say that you're all that surprised. Even with just your short interactions to base off of, he didn't seem exactly like he was the sharpest.

And when Miles called you just the night before, fretful over the state that the gas station was left in after a particularly horrendous break-in, explaining that Derreck was gone, that he had tried to scare an armed perpetrator with an airhorn of all things and got a chest full of bullets in response, you were horrified and regretful but not exactly shocked.

He had also mentioned something about an attempted kidnapping in between his worried rambling before he zigzagged back to the point of the call, which was trying to cover some of Derreck's shifts that had been left vacant due to his murder. Apparently, no one else was willing or able to cover them and that had left you as his last resort. You nearly said no. You weren't usually one to work the graveyard shift. You liked the peace that came with it, but your mother, despite her wanning health found old habits hard to break and was typically an early riser. Doing chores as early as 7 am; vacuuming and doing laundry or poking around in the garden behind the house. Which is roughly around the time that the nightshift ends. You knew that it would make falling asleep a task with how thin the walls are, but you couldn't find it in yourself to say no. Not even with your own fears of being shot while standing behind the register gripping you like a chill. And not with money so tight.

You could just picture him in your head, pacing around in his office underneath the oily glow of his desk lamp and you could hear that click-click of his teeth gnawing on his nails through the other end of the call. An anxious tick of his. And then there was the medical bills and the torn open envelopes declaring that bills were past due splayed out over the kitchen table. You had just been able to put some good money aside for those but there was still an intimidating amount that was owed and every bit of cash counts. Even with the pressures of debt and financial insecurity hanging down over you with an unbearable pressure, you hadn't been exactly psyched about accepting a solo nightshift at a recently burglarized (and that's putting it lightly) gas station. But you couldn't refuse. You hadn't told your mother about the tragedy that had taken place here. She never would have allowed you to leave the house for work this evening if she had. But it's just a matter of time before all the gossip finally reaches her ears; nothing ever remains a secret or quiet for long in small, sleepy towns. But fortunately, by the time she becomes to date the crime, you'll already be on your way home to take a shower and fall asleep in your bed.

The sound of one of the freezer doors slamming shut has you pausing to look up from the pile of glass and dirt on the linoleum and over to the back of the shared chip and candy aisle where Gator now shuffles around. You can just hardly make him out from behind the other shelves full of microwavable mac and cheese and Campbell's soup, but he appears to be idly scanning the rack of junk food with a bottle of pop in his good hand. The other, you've just noticed, seems to be fixed inside a cast and blue gauze bandaging. You wonder how he managed to get that injury.

Your curious little inspection doesn't stop there. You let your eyes sweep over him from his cap to his knees (which is about as far as you can see of him from the angle), and on their way down you take notice of the holster secured to his thigh. And for whatever reason your focus seems to settle there and just stay for a good breath or two. It looks good, those black straps wrapped and pulled tight around his thigh. In fact, he wears the entire uniform in way that you shouldn't find appealing. The weight of his vest seems to pronounce the slimness of his waist and the fatigues that mold around his hips are doing him nothing but favors. It's almost stupid. It's jarring. You have to tighten your grip on the broom handle, forcing yourself to look away to pin your gaze down on one of those solar powered bobble heads placed between the register and a mini shelf stocked full of Bic cigarette lighters.

But it's facing the wrong way. Instead, it's turned towards you. It's supposed to be cheery. A Christmas themed orange cat peeking out of a stocking with its head still steadily wobbling despite the fact that it's been sundown for more than a few hours now. Its cartoon smile feels judgmental. Like its criticizing your shameful ogling.

Seriously, since when have you ever checked out Gator Tillman?

Sure, a part of you had found him cute in the past. A surface level sort of attraction, with his pretty, round brown eyes. But it was never really enough to compensate for how crude he was. All packed full of harsh comments, inflamed bravado and plastic charisma; always searching for an excuse to fight. If anything, it garnered nothing pity from you. An awful aching sorrow. Especially whenever you could see something soft peeking out from underneath that boastful, sarcastic exterior of his. The potential to be kind. Sweet even, if it had been nurtured enough in him. But Roy Tillman was anything but nurturing.

The entire town had known how harsh the Tillman patriarch was on Gator, even though they all kept their mouths shut tight, in fear that he might raise his hand down against them instead. All of the split lips, black eyes and pulled muscles that were all conveniently filed away as mishaps caused by a wayward cow during a roundup on branding season.

Of course, your only excuse for not outright speaking out had been that you were hardly more than a child, busy saving up for your first car and writing out college admission essays. And the harsh, whispered warnings of your mother telling you to keep your nose out of things that aren't your business never helped. Not that you have ever been particularly well at heeding her advice. You had tried once, to reach out to him and let him know that he wasn't alone, one evening near the bleachers before graduation. Maybe you should have kept to yourself like everyone else had warned you to. To not get involved. But it was hard when Gator showed up to school one day with his right cheek swollen red and purple, the molted shades of plum and a nasty vermillion dotting up around the corner of his eye like a crescent. Seeing Gator banged up with a new cut or scrape wasn't a new development by any means. But all the excuses were getting old; wore you down even though they shouldn't have impacted you personally.

His cover for the swollen cheek was that he had gotten it during practice the evening before. But that was bullshit. He hadn't left the field swearing like he usually did whenever he got hurt during training. When Gator got hurt it was something that everyone would become uncomfortably aware of; usually by a string of loudly exclaimed expletives that could be heard reaching across the expanse of the field. There had been none of that. He didn't leave campus with an icepack clutched against his cheek the day before. He got that bruise when he went home that night. And you would have put good money on it that the one that did the damage was his father.

And despite all the warnings you told yourself that you would speak to him about it. That you'd try to at least. Your friends must have noticed the moment you decided to go and talk to Gator. Maybe they'd seen the glint of it in your eyes. And they had all told you not to. That it wasn't your place. That you'd best stay out of it. But you couldn't listen.

It took you the entire school day to build up the courage to approach him. To calm your nerves. You remember vividly how awkward the air around you had felt when you asked him to meet you behind the bleachers. It didn't escape you how flirtatious the invitation could have been construed as and you're sure that he was expecting some sort of sloppy make out underneath the grandstands and not an intervention. You're sure you had completely blindsided him when you had opened up the conversation with words of sympathy and not some flirty spiel. You had tried to be delicate about the whole thing. After all, for the most part the both of you were hardly more than acquaintances. You did your best to be gentle when you had offered to be someone that he could talk to if he ever felt like he didn't have anyone at home to confide in. But he had turned you down then with clear irritation in his eyes when he told you that he didn't need your help. That he didn't want it, and that was that.

Your eyes flicker back up to him from the bobbing fake cat, and he's moving down the aisle now, still browsing but apparently uninterested in the available chips and assorted junk foods. But he does reach for a bag of jerky from the cardboard display on the end of one of the shelves and his eyebrows perk up when he inspects the packaging, and he nods his head to himself like he's intrigued or pleased with what he's seeing.

You wonder if he'll even recognize you at all after all of the years. You suppose that it wouldn't be all that bad or unexpected if he didn't. It has been a while. The last time you've crossed paths since now had been a little after graduation, before you scrounged all of the money that you had saved by serving at Patty's Diner over the summer together and piled all of your stuff into your shitbox of a car and set off for the state line.

You finally allow yourself to let go of the broom, reluctant to release your little lifeline in preparation to scan his items, propping it against the wall behind you. But what you hadn't expected for him to do was to quite literally toss his bag of beef jerky at the counter. The throw seemed lazy, but regardless of that, the jerky almost goes flying off the countertop entirely and rushes towards the edge. You have to scramble to catch it, mostly out of reflex, grabbing at the packaging with clumsy hands before it could land on the pale, dirty tiles and next your feet.

Even with unease prickling at the nape of your neck you can't curb the displeased scowl from making an appearance. And the look that you pin him with is entirely unimpressed. He, on the other hand, doesn't look apologetic in the slightest. In fact, there's a smile curling at the edges of his mouth and his eyes are sparkling underneath the fluorescents with unrestrained mirth. "Oh, sorry there, " he says with the hint of a laugh on his words. "I forget my strength sometimes, ya know."

You should have let it fall.

You don't bother entertaining his joke. You just flip the package of Jack Links over so that you can scan the bar code while he sets his drink down on the counter. You've interacted for less than five seconds and you're already remembering why you didn't care for him all that much in high school. But luckily for you, he hasn't seemed to recognize you and all you have to do is cash him out and he'll be on his merry little way.

You can smell his cologne once he's up against the counter. It's woody, a sort of musk and there's hints of something warm with a few notes of vanilla. It seems he's graduated from layering his body with Axe body spray, thank God for small favors. He used to wear that cologne like it was a repellant. "You can smell him before you see him," your mother had noted once, after he had walked past the both of you one afternoon during a communal chili festival. And she hadn't been wrong. But now you can also pick up something artificial and sweet coming from him too. Like berries or some other kind of fruit. Watermelon, maybe?

"Eight dollars and thirty-eight cents." You supply after ringing in his bottle of pop, leaning your weight on your hands. And thankfully, he already has his wallet out and is thumbing through the bills, but his attention keeps jumping from between his cash and back up to you like he's trying to piece something together. And you're hoping that he isn't trying to place you. That the memories are too vague, that he didn't care enough to remember you. That this interaction won't have to be any longer than necessarily.

His eyes brows are pinched, and he almost looks studious when he hands you a ten. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't think so, " you respond quickly, punching the given amount into the register and counting out his change as soon as the till pops open.

But he doesn't seem to be deterred. He even shakes his head just a bit, unconvinced and squints at you like it might help him take in your features better. "Nah, I know ya from somewhere."

"I'm not so sure, " you say and hold your hand out, offering his money, but he doesn't take it and just continues to stare at you silently. It's awkward. Tense for no reason. Suddenly, the music playing over the speakers is too loud. Some old country song with warbling vocals and a gentle guitar but it does nothing to ease the weird energy that's dipped over the room. You can hear the fluorescents too. Buzzing above you in a steady, pulsing thrum.

"I'm sure. " He replies, voice low with concentration and his eyes dance over your face. The shape of your chin, tracing the curve of your lips, roving over the swell of your cheeks before settling on your own gaze. You can see the exact moment that he recognizes you. Something seems to spark in his stare. The elation that comes with recalling something that's been on the forefront of your mind but eludes you at every turn, and he exclaims your name with a sort of surprise and maybe even wonder. "I never forget a face! C'mon, don't tell me you don't recognize me."

He settles down against the counter, crossing his arms to lean his weight against its surface like moving in closer might help you recall him better, toeing the line of almost closing in too close to your personal space. You briefly entertain the idea of continuing on with your ruse. Of playing dumb, even if it's just to frustrate him. But really, you'd rather this little impromptu meeting only be as long as it has to be, and you find yourself nodding. Feigning a sort of awe, pretending to a put a name to a long-buried memory.

"Oh, yeah. " You nearly gasp in faux surprise. "Gator! Gator Tillman."

He smiles in a pleased way, rapping his knuckles against the counter. "What the hell are you doin' here? I heard you ran off to uh . . . which was it?" He snaps his fingers together like it'll help him recall the information better, or tries to, but his fingertips sort of just slip against each other uselessly from around the obstruction of the cast. " Arkansas?"

"Arizona, " you correct. And you give up, placing his change on the counter in front of him for him to pick up whenever he decides to take it.

'That's the one. " He agrees. "So, what brings you back? Got tired of all the dirt and heat, huh?"

"Uh, no, I'm just here to help my mom." You say and reach for a stack of sticky notes to absentmindedly flick through. "Do you need a bag?"

"Oh, yeah, how is she doin'?" He asks, completely ignoring or unhearing your question. You'll take that as a no then. "I haven't seen her in a bit. Not since she moved."

"She's . . . doing okay." You shrug, glancing off in a random direction, hopeful that training your focus on something else other than him might make you feel less exposed. Less examined. It doesn't. "Could be better, could be worse."

He hums in agreement and for a moment falls silent. And you think that maybe the conversation has fallen out. Run its course and he's grown bored past the temporary marvel of reconnecting with a familiar face from the past. But that'd be too easy. "It's been about, what? Nine years, give or take since we've last seen each other."

Dammit.

"Yeah, that sounds about right." It's a simple response. And you let it settle at that, just wishing that he'll take the hint and leave. He has to be somewhere to be, right? Patrolling or whatever. He's probably on his way back to his county, surely, he doesn't plan on standing here all night, chatting you up. But to be fair, he's never been particularly adept at reading basic social cues.

"To be honest, I'm surprised they got you workin' this shift. " He nods his head towards the front doors; covered up with cardboard and a plastic sheet as a temporary means to keep it sealed until it could get properly repaired. "Ya know, with the break-in an' all."

"Yeah, well no one else volunteered, so I agreed to come in."

"A little bird like yourself, here all alone." He says it casually. Probably doesn't really mean anything behind it, but knowing Gator, maybe he does. But regardless of his intent, the comment does make you bristle. The sentiment wasn't necessarily harmful. Feeling worried for someone being on their own to work a shift at a business in the middle of nowhere is normal. Understandable. Especially considering that the said business had just been the scene of gruesome crime, but the air with how it was said rubbed you the wrong way. Granted he's never been one to have tact.

It seems that he really hasn't changed all that much since you've left. Except for maybe growing an inch or so taller, but that could be due to the boots. And the planes of his face have slimmed a bit more, having officially lost what little bit of baby fat was clinging to his cheeks. Still, that condescending air that he used to carry himself with has seemed to survive his younger years, not like you were expecting it not to.

"You must be pretty scared being here all on your own. " He wasn't wrong, per se. There was something intimidating about being here with the horror of what had taken place still fresh in the back of your mind. You hadn't seen the aftermath and all of the smeared blood and shattered glass; you hadn't been here with Miles to meet the cleanup crew. In a twisted sort of way, it almost seems worse that you didn't walk in on this place when it was still stained with viscera and signs of struggle. Seeing the store all taped up with shotty repairs to try and regain normalcy left too much to the imagination. Everywhere you looked your brain tried to fill in the pieces. You couldn't bear to clean up the restroom. Not without thinking about how a man had died in there. Slipped and split his head open on the toilet. There was still a sense of paranoia that latched its claws down your back and has yet to let go. It even has you looking at some of your customers funny - even the regulars, the people who you talk to almost daily. It was even worse when you reminded yourself that Derreck had died in the very spot where you're currently standing.

"No, not really. " You lie easily.

Gator laughs. Almost scoffs, really. Dipping his head low and for a moment the brim of his baseball hat blocks half of his face from your view before he tips his head back up to look at you. He rocks back on the heels of his shoes. "Well, I just gotta say, it doesn't sit right with me."

What?

He's worried? Why would he even care?

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

He doesn't seem to be persuaded or assured, and he sits up from his leaned over position, straightening to his full height. He doesn't break eye contact once, and for some reason you feel like you couldn't look away from him, even if you gave it some real effort. The dark brown of his eyes is a rich shade, even from underneath the blunt glow of the fluorescents, and you swear you can see delicate flecks of a honeyed amber.

" That may be, but I'm not a man to take chances." And he reaches into one of his front pockets to retrieve a lime green vape for him to lift to his lips. When he nonchalantly exhales the smoke in the middle of the store, the scent of something syrupy and sweet reaches your nose. That explains that bit of watermelon that you had smelt on him earlier. "I mean, anyone could be a threat. Even that fella that was just in here."

Your eyebrows raise at the comment and for a moment you just stare at him while you wrack your brain. "Do you mean, Andy?" You ask, thinking back on the outright rude way that Gator had glared at the regular. "No, he's fine. Possibly in need of an AA meeting, but he's always nice. Sometimes he brings his girls in for a drink . . . a fountain drink. Not . . . alcohol. "

"Those are the ones you gotta watch out for the most." He presses, taking one more drag from his vape before stuffing back into his front pocket. "It's always the one's ya know."

You aren't sure how to respond to this. How to reciprocate the conversation now that this is the direction that it's taken. You aren't sure where this apparent desire to keep you safe has come from. It's certainly something that you've never experienced before. Or fully witnessed. Even the protectiveness that he had shown his teammates back in high school seemed to come from a place of ego. It always came off that he had some sort of point to prove; that he could take a hit or get even if need be. That he saw his friends as an extension of himself, and by taunting or harming one of them was as good as personally offending him. And he couldn't stand for that. But you'd like to believe that it came from somewhere genuine at least.

"You should take my number. "

He says it so casually that it throws you off more than the previous statement did, except this time your outright gawking at him. There's only one reason why Gator Tillman would want your number, but you can't for the life of you figure out why he would be trying to flirt with you. You aren't even sure how to feel about the situation. You never would have assumed that he, of all people would have an interest in you. Yes, in the past you had caught him giving you intrigued glances when he thought you weren't paying attention. Especially whenever you had been in your cheerleading uniform, but you had never put much stock in it; usually equating his wandering eyes on him just being an obnoxious teenage boy. "Is this your way of asking me out?"

He shrugs lightly at that and raises a hand to grip onto the shoulder of his tactical vest. "I just want to make sure you have someone to call in case anyone gives you a hard time, that's all."

Sure, bud. That might be one of the lamest excuses you've heard in a while. And that's saying a lot considering the last time a man tried to flirt with you he had unironically used one of the worst pickup lines you may have ever heard, something along the lines of; "kiss me if I'm wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?" And Gator's apparent inability to upfront about his intentions makes you want to mess with him a bit.

"Wait . . . don't I already have your number?"

He looks confused, face twisting up dumbly and the pinched, clueless furrow between his brows is almost adorable. You can see his fingers already twitching, reaching for the vape stashed in his pocket out of habit. Like the nicotine might help him think better and you can see the gears in his mind turning, but you can tell that he's coming up empty.

You tilt your head, propping your chin up in the cradle of your hand. "It's 911, right?"

The realization that you're playing with him finally clicks into place, and he glances away from you with a small scoff. His clear frustration just amuses you further and he takes notice of your obvious enjoyment if the way that his frown deepens is anything to go by.

"Besides, aren't I a little out of your jurisdiction?" You ask and start to fiddle around with the bottle of unattended Mtn Dew, rotating the carbonated drink around within the cradle of your palm with the push of your fingertips.

"Jurisdiction, " he echos the word with a sort of repulsion, before he fixes you with an oddly intense look that feels like its burrowing into you. "I am the law; I do whatever the fuck I want."

Like most things during this little conversation of yours, you aren't entirely sure how take that remark. The passion and utter belief that he said it with was more than a little concerning. The way that he truly seemed to think that he was above the laws that he was meant to enforce. It was a dangerous mindset to have. Especially in his profession, with all the power that he held as an officer, even while he was within the confines of such a small county. Well, not small in terms of size or milage, but it's not like he's a cop in some big city. But who knows, maybe that just makes him even more dangerous. Everything about him was the clear-cut definition of a walking red flag, so you don't even understand why you're sitting here entertaining his bullshit.

At least you're getting paid for it.

"What do you really want with my number, Gator?" You know why, of course, as odd and confusing as it all is, but you want to hear it from him.

And just as you expected, he falls silent. Having some sort of internal debate and struggle. And you wait for him to get annoyed and leave, throwing some sort of scathing remark over his shoulder as he goes, but he doesn't do that. Something in the way he holds himself relaxes, and it seems like some half-assed way to come off as unaffected. Probably a way for him to psyche himself out mentally and project self-assuredness. He steps closer to the counter until his hips are brushing against the edge and there's an impish kind of gleam in his eyes. Something about the dynamic seems to shift; you can feel it move and click into place and it makes you feel untethered. Like you're walking on rocky, unexplored terrain. And you aren't sure if you like it.

"Surely you know, " he says with the hint of playful but if not cocky smile on his lips. And now it's your turn to look up at him in confusion. "I'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, but I've always harbored a bit of a crush for ya."

Well, that's something that you wouldn't have guessed. You never would have successfully gathered that on your own, that's for certain. And it threw you off even more, considering that for the last leg of senior year, he was a part of an on-again-off-again relationship with Rebecca Mallory. Granted their relationship had always seemed to be in a constant state of a crisis with the way that they had always butted heads. Mostly because Rebecca was a rigid, set-in-her-ways Christian who was often displeased with Gator's penchant for violence and swearing. Not that she was necessarily wrong for her frustrations. Even with his own father being a preacher with an iron fist, Gator never been the most forgiving or restrained person and you figured that being around him for more than an hour would probably be quick to grate on your nerves, too.

"I, uh, no, I didn't know that." You manage, unsure how to navigate this newfound revelation. In all honesty, you had figured that his previous request for your number had just been an attempt to ease his boredom. A way to enjoy the excitement of meeting up with an old acquaintance - and knowing him - assuming that he might get lucky in the process.

"It always bugged me that I never grew the balls to make a move in the past." He confesses, and he leans over the counter again. And with the way that you're also propped up on your elbows it leaves only a few inches separating the two of you. You swear you could feel the heat radiating off of his body brushing against your own skin. The sudden proximity seems to vacuum all of the air out of the room, and your mind scrambles to catch up. He can see the way that you're floundering underneath his stare. You can see the amusement twinkling in the dark brown of his eyes from underneath the bright, pale splash of the long florescent bulbs. "And then you went and moved out after graduation. Up in a hurry to leave this little shithole - not that I blame ya, mind you; but it always left me wondering how you would have responded if I had asked you out on a date."

The quiet that follows is stifling. For a moment it's just the both of you alone, in a grimy busted up gas station in the middle of nowhere with an upbeat Beach Boys song playing over the sound system. It feels laughably too energetic for the still but charged atmosphere that surrounds you and stalls your lungs. That keeps your focus pinned to his with the pleasant musk of his cologne wafting over you; sweetened by the sugary notes of vape smoke.

"I think I would have said no, " you say truthfully. You can see the way his shoulders go slack. The movement is so minute that you probably wouldn't have noticed if you weren't so close to him. His head tilts back like he means to pull away and for some reason your stomach flips with disappointment at the thought, but you don't bother trying to unpack that feeling right now. "But . . . "

He pauses, attention zeroing in on you and you swear you might actually see something akin to hope somewhere in his expression. "But, what?" He asks when you don't immediately respond.

"Convince me."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

He stares at you like he doesn't know what to think. His mouth is hanging open just a bit and he laughs, though it comes out as more as a disbelieving puff of air. And you can see him going through the motions of it in his head, like he's trying to solve something. But he seems to come to some sort of conclusion. His shoulders square up like he's accepting it as a sort of challenge. " Alright, " he agrees, and settles back against the counter. "I'll treat ya real good; take you out the dinner. You ever been to Twister's?"

"No, " you answer, and the look he gives you is pitying, but one that's lively and not mean-spirited. It throws you for a loop to see him so carefree and relaxed. Typically, the jokes that come from him are underhanded barbs, meant to make someone uncomfortable or angry rather than a means to actually get a laugh. But you like it. It's as pleasant as it is unexpected and all of that initial unease and irritation that you had previously felt towards his presence begins to thaw.

"The best food in North Dakota." He praises and you hum in interest and nod, quietly ushering him to continue, even though the gesture is a little condescending it's also playful.

"One of the guys at the station said they got a new drive-thru theater over in Bismarck. They show old classics mostly- shitty B movies and low budget horror flicks, but I think they're plann' on playin' one of those old stop motion films; Nightmare Before Christmas, I think. For Halloween, probably."

Admittedly, it doesn't sound like a bad date. And as cliche as the idea of a theater may have been, it has your interest piqued. Especially the drive-thru part. It's been on your bucket list for a while now, and the prospect of going is more than a little enticing. Especially with how stagnant and stressful life has been as of late. It would be nice to go out again and get away from the monotony of life at home and work. And truthfully, a part of you is a little intrigued to get to know Gator again after all the time away. To see if maybe he has changed and matured a bit as a person. But you also don't want to give in too soon. Admittedly, you do like to string him along, as wrong as it may be.

"Then afterwards, we could maybe go ice skating, " he offers. "It's been a few years since I've worn a pair of skates, so I might be a little rusty. But I figure it's gotta be like riding a bike."

"Sounds tempting, " you say with a smile that you couldn't help. "And after that?"

It takes him a second, but he quickly seems to catch on to what you're implying. His gaze seems to darken, that honeyed brown turning russet and warm. He tips in closer to you; you nearly feel the bill of his cap brush against your forehead. "Well, that depends on you, princess. "

You don't say anything, letting him stew in the potential of rejection. And you reach over to your left, plucking a Sharpie from an old, chipped mug that's used to store miscellaneous pens and highlighters; there was even an old cherry flavored lollipop that's been in there since you've started working here, and you've got the feeling that it's probably been in there for more than a few years. He tracts the movement with open curiosity but raises his focus to you when you reach for his injured arm with your free hand, though he doesn't fight or question you when you pull it over across the counter towards your chest, careful not to accidentally put any strain on it.

And when you pop the cap off with your thumb and raise the point of the marker to his cast it suddenly feels like you're being put under a microscope again. You can feel his attention searing into with an intensity that should be uncomfortable. But you find that you don't completely mind it. Not even with that bobble headed plastic cat awkwardly bouncing in the corner while you write out your phone number on the inside of his wrist.

"I'm free on Saturday. " You say, capping the marker and plopping it back inside the mug.

He's outright smiling now. It's a little smug, pleased, but there's also something content about it. "Sounds like a plan, " he replies, and reaches for his jerky and drink, stepping away from the counter without turning away from you. Walking backwards towards the exit. "How's five o'clock sound?"

"Works for me." You return his smile, unable to fight it off. And there's a sappy, fuzzy feeling inside of your chest that's going to mean nothing but trouble for you in the future.

"I guess I'll see ya then." He's nudging the door open with his back and pauses almost like he's reluctant to leave but then he's slipping out the door with a quick, "g'night!" tossed over his shoulder. You barely get to return your own before the door swings shut behind him, blocking you from seeing him with the cardboard plastered over in place of glass. And now that he's left, the store feels all too quiet with only the old, tired speakers to keep you company and the ragged hum of the wall freezers in the back of the store.

You glance around the room boredly, stepping back from the counter while you mentally go down the to-do list. Finding that you've already done most of your tasks. The delivery truck wasn't due for a few more days, and you finished up all of the necessary stocking a few hours ago. And you've already squeegeed the remaining windows clean and organized the shelves. But you hadn't cleaned the restroom yet.

You suck in a ragged breath. You were less than enthused to clean the toilet on a regular day, but now that it had been the scene of a crime and a literal death you were more than unhappy with prospect. But unfortunately, it was a part of the job description. And it's an absentminded glance downward that you notice the change that Gator had left discarded on the counter. A crumpled dollar and some change. Just a measly dollar and thirty-two cents. He probably forgot about it, and even if he hadn't it was such a small amount that it wouldn't be missed. But you figured that there isn't any harm and giving it back to him. If you go now, he might still be parked outside.

And that was enough for you to scoop up the change in your palm and run around the length of the front desk, crossing the expanse of the floor quickly and shoving the door open to cross outside. The cold night air that rushes across your skin surprises you for a moment after spending the last few hours underneath the heat of the store, but it doesn't deter you. And a quick glance to the passenger side lets you know that the cab of police cruiser is empty, and you stare at it dumbly for a second before you notice Gator standing off to the left, near the rear end of the truck.

And you don't even notice the fact that his gun is drawn, that his body is pulled taut; clearly on edge while he stares down at the ground with wide eyes.

"Hey, Gator!" You call, stepping forward with a smile on your face. His head snaps up when he hears you, and there's a wild sort of glint in his eyes that jerks something deep in your chest, jostles free a heavy, chilling sort of concern and worry.

"No, no - don't come over here!" He shouts with a horrific sense of panic that you feel in your bones. But it's already too late. You've come too close, and when you walk past the rear end of the truck to step towards him you notice some strange lump lying on the ground from out of your peripheral vision. And in a kneejerk reaction it seizes your attention, pulls your focus to it like it's being tugged by a string. It's the blood you notice first. Pooled across the dirt and glittering a rich red from oily shine of lights on the ceiling of the gas pump canopy. It's pouring from a slice in the body's neck. But what's more is a piece of cardboard pinned to his chest, notched in place by a thick hunting knife. Your mind sort of just goes quiet. Unable to grapple with what it's actually seeing even while you can't look away.

You can smell the blood. It's a thick, nauseating scent, like sucking on pennies and rust and you want to gag. You want to vomit. Or scream. Or anything.

But you can't manage to make yourself move. You're stuck frozen; forced to stare. The change in your hand feels damp with sweat and you're clutching it so tightly that you can feel that coins burrowing painfully into the palm of your hand. Even from where you stand you can make out the messy writing written on the cardboard in an ominous, messy scrawl:

You owe me

And finally. Blessedly, you're able to tear your gaze away from the body. Stiffly turning your head from the carnage and over towards Gator who looks just as shaken as you. His gun is still drawn, clasped with both hands but his attention is on you. He just looks confused. Unsure and worried. For a while neither of you say a single word. You just sit still in the chilly night air, with the scent of blood choking you and fear in your eyes. And then Gator seems to be able to collect himself, holstering his gun and fixes you with a look that you can't discern. That you aren't able to. And then he utters one word with complete defeat and a little exhaustion too:

"Shit."

#Gator Tillman x reader #gator tillman x you #gator tillman #fargo season 5 #fargo s5 #joe keery x reader #joe keery fargo #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator x reader #gator fargo

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stardroptasteslikesocialism · 10 months

Text

Say it Ain't So Part One

Gator has to face the music when his girlfriend turns his world upside down.

manchild!gator tillman x teacher!reader TW: Pregnancy, canon-appropriate violence, possible Fargo S5 spoilers.

Liberty Elementary School saw a lot more police presence after your first date with Deputy Tillman.

It was strange at first to the rest of the squad when Mr. Kick-Ass-Take-Names volunteered to cover school drop-off and pick-up times; a cupcake duty usually reserved for cops nearing retirement. And Gator wasn't exactly known for his concern for the wellbeing of children. But after seeing him make googly eyes over the new kindergarten teacher in charge of the car line, it made a lot more sense.

Things started to get serious between the two of you after a few months of back and forth during car line duty. He'd stop by your classroom during lunchtime, where you'd have an identical lunch packed for him. He'd rattle off stories about his morning that were most likely embellished to make himself sound cool. Still, you'd listen intently, trying not to get lost in those brown baby cow eyes of his. He'd feign interest in your morning with the "ankle-biters" as he dubbed them before heading back to his patrol.

You were keenly aware of the Tillmans' reputation. Sitting next to Gator in the front pew every Sunday Service led to many confused glances and jealous glares. Why on Earth would a teacher - arguably more educated than all of the Tillmans combined - seemingly settle for the high school has-been, nepotism man-child that was Gator Tillman?

But they didn't notice his look of adoration as you listened to every Sunday Service when the church's natural light hit the highlights of your face just right. They didn't see the Gator that made you laugh with his childish jokes and interests. They didn't hear the sweet nothings he muttered into your hair late at night, tangled in your sheets as you passed his vape between hits.

He made you feel beautiful; wanted, hell even needed.

The thought of possibly losing all of that terrified you. This was why the color drained from your face one particular afternoon when you heard a familiar knock on your classroom door.

"Mister Gator!" your students yelled in unison. They were enamored with the deputy.

"Mister Gator, is your gun real?"

"Have you ever killed anyone with it?"

"Can we see it?!"

The kids were relentless in their questioning of your boyfriend, who looked at you with panic in his eyes as the kids swarmed his legs. You rolled your eyes as he mouthed 'help me' before placing two fingers in your mouth and blowing your best Midwestern dad whistle.

"Hey! One, two, three. Eyes on me, kindergarten!" you shouted over the babble of 18 five-year-olds. You stifled a groan as all eyes fell on you, including Gator's, "Quit asking about Deputy Tillman's gun. It is for emergencies only and can only be used by him. Got it?"

The kids (and Gator) nodded.

"Good. Now, line up for lunch. You'll sit with Miss Julie's class today."

Gator heaved a sigh of relief as the kids lined up for lunch, chattering away. You felt his casted arm grace the small of your back.

"We need to talk," you whispered, ducking from his attempt to peck your cheek. You waited until the last kid was out the door before you locked it, leaving you and a confused Gator alone.

If a man could short-circuit, you'd probably witnessed it as you watched Gator freeze rigid, leaning against your Halloween-themed bulletin board.

An agonizing silence loomed over the classroom before Gator finally cleared his throat.

"H-how, uh, how long have you known?" he stammered, his fingers fidgeting with his vape. You could tell he was fighting every urge to give it a massive inhale in front of you.

You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, "I took like four tests this morning; all positive."

Gator mimicked your hand through his own hair, muttering fuck under his breath.

"Look, Gator I'm sorry," you shifted against the desk you were leaning on, "I definitely didn't plan on this, and I know this isn't exactly what you wanted, but-"

You kept rambling, but your voice was warped to Gator's ears like he was underwater; he was drowning. Drowning in the realization that he had fucked up; he royally fucked up again. Your tear-drenched pleading snapped him back to reality.

"Gator, please say something! I feel like I'm losing it, here."

Gator opened and shut his mouth multiple times before uttering a strangled "I - I don't know what I should say," God, his chest felt tight, "I don't know how to be a dad, Y/N. I'm already a colossal fuck-up in my dad's eyes. I don't want to fuck this up, too."

For the first time in his life, he was speechless; and it was happening at the worst possible time.

"Well, you're not off to the best start, asshole," you sniffled and wiped your nose on your bright cardigan's sleeve before glancing at your watch, "Kids'll be back in five minutes," you rubbed at your eyes, attempting to erase any evidence of your tears, "Look, my first appointment's on Monday. Come by if you want to. Or don't if that's what you want."

You turned your attention to the construction paper at your desk. As Gator turned toward the door, you called his name one more time.

You took a deep breath as he turned your way.

"There's no half-assing this; I can't have you half in and half out of this kid's life. It's all or nothing with me, Tillman. Don't come around unless you're ready for that."

Gator quietly nodded before entering the hallway and inhaling the largest gust of strawberry kiwi nicotine he could muster on the way to the patrol truck.

Gator spent the rest of his patrol mindlessly staring out the passenger window in an attempt to clear his head. But the longer he stared at the empty North Dakotan plains, the more his thoughts spiraled.

You were having his kid.

He was a boy in a man's skin; twenty-six, still in his childhood bedroom; still doing chores for his daddy. Before you blew into his life he was destined to live life under Roy Tillman's thumb, sniveling in the sheriff's shadow with nowhere to hide from the town's judgment.

You were having his kid.

And he dragged you into this, too.

Once Roy caught wind of his son knocking up a schoolteacher any semblance of freedom for you two would be gone. Roy would either use his connections and bribe you into agreeing to a back-alley abortion; or, he'd strong-arm you both into a shotgun wedding and life on the ranch forever under Tillman's watchful eye. No option sounded good.

Gator nodded at his partner, Alvie, as they neared a familiar gas station.

"Pull over here. I gotta take a piss."

Alvie obeyed, agreeing to fill up as Gator went inside. After taking a much-needed leak, he scoped the gas station for some much-needed snacks. After finding his goods he paused for a second before grabbing another pack for you. He wasn't sure if you'd even like them, but he figured the thought would count.

An eerie silence permeated the air as Gator climbed back into his passenger seat, tearing open his jerky packet with his teeth.

"Fuck, that's hot," he muttered as he struggled to open his Mountain Dew bottle with his casted arm. The heat rising in his lips made him regret his choice of snacks for you. He sat for a second in silence before glancing at his rearview mirror.

It was the image in the side view mirror that made him slide down in his seat in a panic before clambering out of the truck, service revolver in hand. Gator crept to the bed of the truck where Alvie lay dead on the pavement, a knife through his chest. Gator's pulse sped up and his breaths became ragged as he read the message attached to Alvie's bloody corpse.

You owe me. _______________________________

Thanks for reading! This is my first Tumblr fic and first Fargo fic, so any input is welcome. Stay tuned for part two!

#gator tillman #fargo season 5 #fargo

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cycat-carisi · 9 months

Text

Lonesome Superhero Part 3

Pairing: Gator Tillman x f!reader (not romantic)

Summary: The events from the parking lot have forced you into a drastic decision but it forces Gator to come to terms with the fallout of his actions.

Warnings: Fear from previous trauma, NOT a romance fic, the Tillmans are disturbed individuals...

Length: 400+

A/N: Part 3 has finally arrived! Sorry it's so short. The idea I had for this one best fits into this short little snippet. There is a part 4 in the works though and it will be much longer! This is definitely an AU fic now. I'm not following the events of the show, but I'm keeping canon facts in mind while trying to write for Gator. :) Hope you enjoy!

(Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3)

Your arm muscles protest under the weight of a full cardboard box. With careful footsteps, you make your way down your front porch and towards your humble little sedan. Thank goodness this is the last box.

Unnoticed at the intersection of your street is the low rumble of a muffler. Black paint glints in the sunlight as a modern squad car turns cautiously down towards your house. Its driver leans over the steering wheel, squinting his eyes to get a better glimpse at the scene unfolding before him.

A few addresses away, the car pulls over, and its engine silences. The driver steps out. His sleek leather jacket squeaks softly as he silently shuts his door and begins making his way towards you. His pace quickens once he notices the moving boxes.

"Are you leaving?!" he shouts out, thick boots now pounding asphalt.

That voice.

You turn your head instantly, your breath faltering as panic sets in. It's a scramble to throw the box into your car, yet somehow you manage to also climb into the driver’s seat, slam the door, and lock it just as Gator appears at the window.

"Hey!" he calls frantically through the glass. Translucent puffs of breath beat against the car window in the cold air. Confusion is etched deeply across his face.

Though his voice is muffled through the window, Gator's questions ring out clearly in rapid succession. "What’s happening? Where are you going? Are you moving away?"

You feel dizzy. Fear pounds against your chest. "Please, just leave me alone!" you plead.

"But...but..." Gator narrows his hazel eyes, attempting to process the situation. "Are you really leaving?"

"Please, go!" you call out again.

"Why—like, leaving for a while or leaving for good?"

Your tone elevates as you poise a hand over the car horn. "For good! Now just go!"

Gator's brow furrows as he peers at you through the glass. "Is it because of..."

That's the moment when your eyes meet. What Gator finds in your gaze provides him with his answer. He stares, his mouth slightly agape, as he watches the tears begin to slowly roll down your cheeks.

"Leave, Gator!" you yell out desperately. "Just leave!"

Gator stumbles backwards a couple steps before slowly reversing away.

The feeling in Gator’s chest is so foreign—a tight squeeze that seems to cut off all air to his lungs. Why is seeing you so upset, so fearful, having such an effect on him? You are running away from Stark County, and he will never see you again. Running away…just like—and it is all his fault.

Thanks for reading! Feedback is loved ❤

#gator tillman #my fanfic #fargo #fargo fx #fargo season 5 #gator tillman x reader #joe keery #lonesome superhero series

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atinylittlepain · 9 months

Text

Part One | The Hero

gator tillman x f!oc

series masterlist || series playlist

I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth. - Anne Carson, An Oresteia

wordcount | 5.2K

content warnings | 18+ this is a work of fiction exploring dark themes related to domestic abuse, corrupt government, physical/religious/psychological trauma, murder, canon-typical violence | dark smut, violent smut, verbal degradation, brief mention of sex work | gator is gross and toxic and what goes on in this fic is a depiction of a toxic, unhealthy dynamic | THESE ARE BAD PEOPLE DOING WRETCHED THINGS

a/n | been having fun working on this one. I can't emphasize enough that this is outside of canon, this is my construction of gator and what I think you'd find in a deeper exploration of him. This is, in part, a work of domestic and psychological horror which will become clearer as the story continues. special thanks to @pr0ximamidnight who is basically the only reason this idea didn't get scrapped.

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

Towns like these aren’t hard to come by. Throw a dart in any direction in the midwest and you’ll hit a town like this one. She didn’t bother with the name, something home-baked and wholesome, without a doubt. No, when she was given this assignment, the only name she bothered with was Tillman.

“So you’re his favorite dancer, huh?”

“That depends on who’s asking, hon.”

“Someone who can offer you a little more than he can.”

“That’s a tall order, offering me more than he can.”

“Oh yeah? Can I ask how much he’s paying you?”

“Hmm, lemme paint a picture for you. I’m naked, and Roy Tillman is rubbing bundles of hundreds on my tits. Does that answer your question?”

“You ever wonder where he gets all that money?”

“So long as he keeps throwing it my way, I don’t really care. I know you’re new in town, sweetie, but a word of advice? It’s best not to question Roy Tillman. Now, do you want a dance? You’re so pretty I might just give you a deal on it.” Cherry red nails flickering like neon gods, but not touching, just grazing the side of her jaw as she tries for a polite curl to her lips when all she’d like to do is scream a few choice curses into the dim, dank smoke of the club. This isn’t the first time she’s been given that advice since she came to Stark County.

“That’s alright, thank you for your time.” The quick recoil of cherry red nails, and her friendly little companion is already flouncing away with a slumped sigh, sequins and skin shimmering beneath the fish-scale flicker of a depressing disco ball. She takes a sharp gulp of her drink, resigning herself to crossing another potential in off her list.

The problem with men like Roy Tillman is they have a way of rallying a town into troops around them. He brings money, and brawn, and revived religion into the withered veins of a community, and the community in turn suckles on the gleaming mouth of his gun, fed and full and content to allow him to do whatever he wants. And so he does. And so someone like her has to come in and put a stop to it, though that is particularly difficult when no one seems too concerned with letting their bloated king continue his salacious sate.

“Hi, ladies, you got some for me tonight, huh?” And for every king there is, of course, a prince. A painfully, stupid, inept and inane prince, drunk on power that isn’t even his, and probably will never be his. As far as she knows, Gator Tillman is something of a dress-up doll for his father to move and manipulate around the county, about as harmless as a fly without wings, fondling that gun he keeps in his thigh holster like a second dick and working a fine cloud of smoke around his head wherever he goes, something juvenile about that bright green vape of his. Prince, court jester, whatever way you slice it, the only attention she has paid to him since she got to town has been without a choice when he blusters into a place, so loud you can’t help but turn head and stare.

“Hey there, Miss Lanie. Surprised to see a fine woman of the law such as yourself at an establishment like this. You lost?” Gator, she has found, has taken a particular shine to making his personal space her personal space. Ever since that first week she was out here and took a trip out to the Tillman compound, father and son in fine figure on the porch, son tucked into the long shadow of his father, telling her in no uncertain terms that her presence was unwelcomed, unneeded, and Gator had made a point of walking toe to her heel back to her car, ducking his head down to wish her a mighty fine day, ma’am, before she drove off. She thinks that he’s trying to fluster her, make her sway in some meaningful way with his schoolboy teasing. At best, it’s amusing. At worst, it’s another something, somebody, getting in her way.

“I could say the same to you, deputy Tillman. And you know that’s not my name now, be a little smarter than that, else I might get bored.” He has the common sense to blow that sickly sweet vape cloud out of the side of his mouth where he has sidled up next to her at the bar, his face cast in mottled shadows from the thick throb of lights in the club, grin turned red.

“Mel, that’s what your partner calls you, isn’t it? I’d say we’re on a first name basis by now. Or would you prefer agent Harris? Dad says the only fitting title for a woman is missus, but I have to say, I think I’m a little more open-minded about such things.” At the very least, a laugh over the rim of her glass, concealed by another bitter sip because she knows a boy like Gator collects his wins where he can, and isn’t soon to let go of them.

“Uh-huh, how progressive of you.” It would be about now in this familiar routine that she would usually leave, an elbow placed pointedly in some soft part of him as she breezed by. She finds people like Gator to not even be worth repugnant, let alone evil. People like Gator are small, used air, sound and motion somewhere in the periphery of what really matters. But tonight, she’s tired, and frankly, she’s failing, and he’s a harmless pantomime of a tyrant. So she lets him play his part, head propped in hand propped on elbow propped on bar.

“You have a man back in DC, huh? I bet he’s wondering where you’ve been for so long.” Blink, blink, she gives him no answer, just squints a little and keeps her lips pressed in a thin line, waiting to see how else he can flail when given the chance. And he doesn’t disappoint, a little bit of frenetic flair to it, takes another drag on his vape and turns cheek over his shoulder, bolstering morale with a glance at his pack who have all set their sights on the present display of skin and sequins on stage. When he faces her again, she thinks he might try to reach for her, something grasping in his face the dip and bob of his throat. But he knows better. He had put a hand on her back one day at the station, hadn’t even gotten out a Miss Lainie before she was turning heel and jamming her forearm into his windpipe. Yes, he knows better than to touch, but he does lean in, trying for meanness that just makes him look younger with the way it rounds his eyes.

“Tell me this then, where is your partner? Been a while since I’ve seen him sticking his nose where it don’t belong. He didn’t abandon ship, did he?” Still fresh, still sore, he wins that one, and she knows that he knows he wins because she can’t hide her grimace at the mention of her partner. Well, the mention of the man who was her partner. The man who was called back to DC last week, a sure sign that the powers that be are coming to the end of their rope with this project. They had been out here, grasping at scraps of a paper trail going nowhere, trying to pin down the ghost of the ghost of Roy Tillman for two months, and nothing. She wouldn’t be surprised if she gets a phone call next week calling her back, tail between her legs and an I told you so waiting for her on her desk.

She offers him no response, taking a deeper drink from her glass so she can have an excuse to pinch her face bitter. He laughs, clicks his tongue, a slick strand of hair bobbing loose with the shake of his head.

“Well, that’s just not right, leaving you out here all by yourself. Some folks would take advantage of that, you know.”

“Hmm, and here I am wondering where all that midwestern nice everyone talks about is. I guess the time’s are changing.” She makes her grin match his, all fang, all sharps and brights. And she’s had enough, a headache starting to creep in around the edges and make everything a little fuzzy. The cool reality that she will most likely leave this place as she found it, with a man playing God, and the people letting him. She presses a palm into Gator’s chest, enough of a shove to make him stumble a bit as she gets up from her stool, a clipped command to get away, don’t you have tits to look at? But he still follows her out through the sparse crowd and into the quick snap of cold air that fall in North Dakota seems made up of. Soon, snow, but for now, everything dying and freezing up in anticipation.

She makes it to her car without paying much mind to his hemming and hawing, though he catches her door before she can close it. For a brief moment, she considers how hard she’d have to slam it to snap his dip-stained fingers clean off.

“Now, Miss Lainey, just wait a minute. Sadly, I’m not just looking to flirt, I’ve been sent with some business to discuss with you.” The prince sent by the king, glowing and boldening under his father’s trust, she can see the little puff of pride in the way he wedges himself between her car door and where she’s sitting in the driver’s seat, taking up all the space, all the air, that pungent sweet sting of whatever vape flavor he’s sucking on this evening. He plays it up, enjoys that little smack of false power, close-lipped grin and leaning down with his forearm resting on the hood of her car. She remains still, unblinking, unphased, looking up at an overgrown boy.

“You see, me and mine haven’t been too pleased with how you’ve been bothering folks around here. Asking all kinds of questions and such. It ain’t very polite, and we don’t care much for, uh, not politeness.” Curling her lips back into a snarl of a smile, tilt of her head, she settles the sole of her shoe on top of the toe of his boot, small warning, small something that makes him swallow thick when she presses down a little.

“You and yours?” Little more pressure, little pinch, the muscle in her leg tensing and tightening with the force of it.

“That’s right.” Wavering prince, weakening prince, a little whimpering prince and she swears she can feel his toes squirming beneath the ball of her foot, pressing down hard now. What she’d like to do is change the angle so the thin point of her heel is what’s digging in sharp. But this will have to do, her smile spreading to show the whites of her teeth.

“Oh honey, the last time I checked, they weren’t yours at all. You were theirs.” She digs down a little more, small twist of the ball of her foot to get that grimace, that grunt of pain she was hoping for. In the cool wash of neon from the bar, his face has gone blotchy, burning up to the mottling tips of his ears. Not difficult now, he’s already stumbling back when she lets up the pressure of her foot, a simple point of her finger in the middle of his chest enough to get him out of her orbit. Slam of her car door and roll of her shoulders because, not that she’d admit it, but that felt a little good, little lick of pleasure in causing a bit of childish pain.

She hates that it startles her, a little jump in her ribcage. But really, she should have expected nothing less from him. A fine streak of spit on her window, darkened and clouded by dip and punctuated by a slap of his palm on the hood of her car. She catches his grin, distorted by the dribbling splatter, bright white sliver tinged red in neon. A herculean effort, not to run over his foot when she drives away.

They, the proverbial they, have her set up in a new development of condos twenty minutes away from the heart of Tillman’s domain. It’s white, and square, and sterile, and three stories up. She leans her forehead against the wall of windows and lets it feel like falling while she listens to a voicemail from her boss. Her boss, back in DC, and wondering what the fuck he did sending her out here, no doubt. He tells her as much. Tells her that she has until the end of November to get some real evidence in her hands, or else he’s pulling the plug. That or else looks like going back to DC with her tail between her legs. It looks like a cubicle, looks like clerical work, drowning in the archives until her boss decides that she’s learned her lesson, to keep her mouth shut, and her head down, to not get creative, to not get bold.

Until the end of November, two weeks to get something, anything, on Roy Tillman, or else. Or else looks like a man playing god, being allowed to continue his game, allowed to keep a whole town on its knees. And his son, his ridiculous, willful, repugnant dog of a son settled at his father’s feet, fed scraps of power and happy for it.

Bad people, turned sideways people. She knows what they are. And her badge and her gun and even her cubicle back in DC make her good, one of the good ones, the ones that are supposed to get the bad people, turned sideways people. And she intends to. She needs to, really. Needs something she can hang onto like a trophy. Young blood, fresh in the department, fresh out of school, and trying to make something for herself, something she can point to when the rest of the suits raise their brows at her presence. She needs a win, and she’s going to get it, and it’s going to be Roy Tillman’s head framed in a mugshot.

…

“Are these the records from 2019?”

“That should be all of them, yes ma’am.” Desperate times and all, she’s resorted to drastic measures, nodding a thank you to the officer who dredged up these boxes of arrest records for her. Roy has been known to arrest his own to teach them lessons when they’re starting to shake ranks, and she’s hoping to find old wounds, potential traitors turned informants.

She hasn’t slept much in the last week. A week since her boss gave her that ultimatum. A week of scrambling for whatever loose ends she could find, threads fraying to film wherever she turned. She hasn’t found a thing. No trail to follow, no willing witness to speak, no evidence of anything. And the most frustrating part of all, the need for evidence seems foolish given how obvious it is. It is campaign season, after all, and Roy Tillman has been out with his crew in fine flare lately.

Here is what makes up a king and his kingdom. In the past week, five bodies found between here and Fargo. Accidents, they ruled them. So many accidents making up a king and his kingdom. In the past week, six traffic jams caused by Tillman and his thronging brigade of DIY armored cars, the mouths of guns winking out of the windows, American flag bleeding blue and red in a blaze behind them. So much artifice, so much brute force making up a king and his kingdom. One wife, Roy’s wife, sent to the hospital with a popped eye socket. She had tried to go speak to her, and his wife, gruesome blue and black sneer, had kept her busted lips pressed in a thin line. So much brute force indeed. A king and his kingdom. And she is scrambling to find any crack, any slippage to stick her fingers into and make bleed. And now, she only has two weeks left.

The local station hasn’t exactly been welcoming to her, most of the officers knit tight and quiet in Tillman’s ranks, weary glances and outright snarls when she first came in. Most have become tiredly used to her presence in that empty office space, broom closet more like it. Only a few, however, have been cooperative, let alone friendly. Officer Peters happens to be one of those few.

“You really don’t have to help, you know. I’m probably going to be here all day looking through these.” He hikes the two boxes of records he’s hefting up a little higher in his arms, shrug and smile, and it’s a relief everytime he does that for her.

“No, no, I’m happy to help. Not much to do around here with, well, you know.” Well, you know. The police in Stark county are something of an empty promise. All the power lies with Roy’s quasi-militia anyways.

“Well thank you, Dave, I appreciate it, really.” A little bit of kindness, of decency, she is finding, goes a long way for her in a town where she is clearly not welcomed, though that feeling is short-lived, their progress toward that office space halted when another set of hands grab a hold of the box of records she’s carrying.

“Where you going with all this, Miss Lainey? A lady like yourself shouldn't be doing such heavy lifting. Pussy Peters, you really couldn’t manage hauling one more box there? C’mon now.” She smells him before she gets a good look at him, synthetic strawberry haze that churns her stomach.

On a good day, she would shove the box forward hard enough to make him stumble out of her way, not sparing him another look. This is not a good day. This is a tired day, a failing day, an at the end of a frayed rope day. She stops long enough for him to take it as an invitation to continue running his mouth, all garish grins as his eyes shift between her and Officer Peters, still holding onto the box of records, enough for it to be a tug on her own arms.

“Say, Dave, saw your wife at church last Sunday. She sure looks pretty on her knees. Oh wait, that was after church.” It’s plainly embarrassing for everyone, an awful, stupid and shameless thing to say. Dave scoffs, a quiet alright, Gator before he shoulders past them while at the same time, something is beginning to snap inside of her, a silent snarl. Gator’s smile falters when all she does is stare at him, lips pressed in a thin line. Tough boy turned a fool under her gaze, he shrinks and smalls, clearing his throat and loosening his grip on the box of records enough that she can wrench them away from him. The only sound is the hard click of her heels as she shoulders past him to join Officer Peters in their makeshift office.

That something snapped starts to shimmer into anger. Sick with it, with all of it. With this town, and these people that speak like this, act like this, carry on like this. As if watching herself from over her shoulder, she’s excusing herself from the office just as soon as she sets the box down, a strange look on Dave’s face, though she’s already turned heel and made her way out into the hall.

He’s leaning up against the wall, smoking that vile thing, and he shouldn’t be, and it just makes her angrier, shoulders squared as she comes to stand in front of him. Silent for a moment, a puzzled pull to his brows, the quick dip and rise of his eyes, and though he opens his mouth to speak, the only sound that comes out is a high-pitched yelp when she uses the sharp point of her heel this time to drive her foot down over his until she hears something crunch, a little dig back and forth and it makes him keen.

Perfect posture of pain, he keels over with a groan, easy enough to grab him by the nape of his neck and haul him in his hunch down the hallway to the office. Dave looks up, stricken and shocked from where he had already started to sort through the records and she brings Gator right to his feet. She gets a better grip in the back of Gators’ slicked hair to pull him upright. His eyes are scrunched shut, still grimacing in the shock of pain, little whimpers puffing out on each of his exhales. And she likes it, feels good about it. The first thing she’s felt good about in a while, if she’s being honest, a smile threatening as she leans in to speak into his ear.

“You’re going to apologize to Officer Peters, do you understand?” Little tug, little sharp pull of his neck when he doesn’t answer, and then Gator’s breathing out a yes, yes, ma’am and she likes that too, drinks that down and lets it simmer somewhere sickening inside her.

“Now.”

“I’m sorry.” Not good enough, said with a whine. She tugs a little harder at his hair, pulling his spine into a strung, snapping line while he winces.

“Mean it.”

“Fucking– I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please!” She likes please, didn’t even know she was looking for please, but it almost feels better than the apology she was originally looking for. She would like more please from him. But for now it’s catch and release, he’s limping out of the office the instant she lets go of his hair, and she’s left simpering under Dave’s bewildered stare, fear of god widened eyes and jaw dropped in wonder, or horror, or both.

Quick shake of her shoulders, shaking something sick and simmering out, and quick heat between her palms with a clap, away from whatever that was and back into these interminable boxes of records. Ready to get to work? Yes. Yes.

By the time they’re finished it’s already mottling blue outside and her eyes are starting to blur and sting. Nothing, no one that hadn’t turned up dead in the last two years, at least. Stiff joints that stay curled into themselves, she hobbles with Dave down into the basement to put the boxes back, blinking hard in the fluorescent light. Not a clue where to go or what to do next and she’s too tired to care much about it, thanking Dave and shrugging into her coat and pressing her fingers into her eyes to rub out the blur before she steps out into the fading light.

“Hey.”

“No.”

“Hey.”

“No. Go home, Gator. Get some new marching orders from daddy, why don’t you?” She’s satisfied to see that he’s still limping a little, though that squelches and squirms into frustration when he continues to limp toward her. It’s a little slapdash routine she has no interest in being a part of, she opens her car door an inch only for him to slap his palm against it to slam it shut again, back and forth once, twice, three times before she starts to really consider pulling her gun on him, settling instead for another planned assault on his foot. Maybe she’ll break something this time, if she’s lucky. But before she can make contact he’s jerking back, palms up in a shrinking surrender.

“You’re not gonna find anything, you know, not in there. He keeps things clean.” It’s perhaps the most earnest she’s ever seen him, words said quick on a single exhale like he’s getting away with something by saying them. It makes her pause, makes something slacken, watching the nervous pinch between his brows deepen.

“Uh-huh, and you’re telling me this why exactly?” Whatever that was, it’s already gone, he’s already settling back into the muzzle his father stitched for him, shift of his eyes and shrug, working his jaw like he has to chew on his words.

“Just trying to save you some time, Miss Lainey. Not as pretty when you’re tired.” That slick grin, slimed grin of his, and something is pulling sharp and snarling inside her again, a quick flood of anger that she tries to tamp down with a thin smile of her own. He’s not worth all the paperwork it would cause.

“Right, you have a good night, Gator.”

“Now just wait a minute–” And that simmering thing, snarling thing, finally bursts. Two months of shoveling through cow shit and coming up with nothing. Two months of people like this, men like this, who won’t even look her in the eye, who have been waiting for the day she leaves just as soon as she showed up. Some foolish part of her thought she’d arrive and play the hero. She knows better now.

She’s just tired enough, failing enough, that she lets that anger curdle and break inside her. When he reaches for her car door this time, she doesn’t stop herself from grabbing his wrist, using an unsuspecting amount of strength to twist him around until he’s pressed up against the side of her car and she’s pulling on his arm behind his back enough to make his breath pitch and fail.

“I’ve had enough of you, and your father, and this fucking town that’s too stupid to see that they’re getting fucked every which way you bastards can think of.” He squirms in her grip and she just bears down more, pressing the line of her body up against the back of his to keep him still, twisting his arm a little further, waiting for the pop and squelch of his loosening shoulder socket should he try anything else. His breath comes out as opaque puffs in the cold air, broken whines, eyes pinched shut from what she can see. And she likes it. This, something she can control, cause and effect, pain made real in her palms. Somewhere in the back of her mind, this is wrong, wretched, but the anger and the sheer force of it feels too good.

“Do you know what you are, Sheriff Tillman?” A little more pull, a little more pinch, pressing him further up the side of her car and he shakes his head, frantic, no, no, no. Crystalline tears threatening along his dark lashes, shaking loose to smear down his cheeks, pale blue in the oncoming night.

“You’re a dog. You’re worse than a dog. You’re a dog’s dog. You’re a fucking mutt begging for scraps. You think you’re something, don’t you? A fucking nuisance wherever I go since the day I showed up. You’re nothing, is what you are. Nothing. You’re–” At first, she isn’t sure what he’s doing. Strange enough to give her pause, his hips stuttering and jerking against the car and those broken grunts of pain preening out into something else entirely. And just as suddenly she realizes the terrible reality of what she has done, and what he is now doing, ruinous and wretched and so very wrong.

Her hands tremble where they slacken, letting go of him and taking a stuttering step away. She feels like she’s going to be sick, like some hot shame is pumping and contracting in her muscles, making her weak and sideways, swaying where she stands. He turns around the instant she lets go, leaning back against her car, a doll slumped, no longer being played with, his eyes wide and shimmering wet, lips parted in a voiceless wonder.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice pitches and breaks. It’s a boy’s voice, young voice, and it makes her stomach churn awful, acrid. Awful, because he means it, because he wanted that pain, that fear, whatever that was that she just did. She doesn’t say anything because she can’t, because something has turned to ice inside her, numb and unfeeling, barely managing to take a jerked step back when he steps toward her. And the parking lot is empty except for them, and the night has come on like a heavy fog, and the world turns into a blue smear when her heel catches on chipped asphalt and she’s falling, and she’s falling, and there’s stinging grit in her palms and an ache in her body and she’s on the ground looking up into the face of a frightened boy, a fallen, foolish prince, pathetic.

She lets out a garbled shriek when he reaches for her again, willing muscle and sound into a singular command of don’t, do not that stops him in his tracks, his palms wide and stark white, surrender. Unblinking, she keeps her eyes on him, held frozen in a gaze as she rights herself, a little hunched, a little curled snarl through her body when she stands.

He looks bewildered, no regret or remorse, just that pall of confusion, of uncertainty. And it clicks for her because of course. Of course, that felt right to him. That pain felt right to him. She knows what he is, what he comes from. She’s seen the ex-wive's files, murals of pain inflicted on their bodies, broken birds in a broken cage. Mercy that they escaped. But the prince was not so lucky. Something maybe even worse for the prince. He likes the cage. So of course, the pain and the words and the tears. He was raised on poison milk. Of course, the pain feels good.

“Go home, Gator.”

“I–”

“I said go home. I’m done.” For perhaps the first time, he listens to her, shrinks back, face washed in shadows with the tuck of his chin, a boy again. She doesn’t look at him, she can’t. Heat floods behind her eyes, washing everything in a weary haze, streaks of light and dark when she finally drives away.

The seams hold long enough for her to drive back to her all cold, all white apartment, all sharp and all lines and all sterile, stark. And when she does get home, but not really home, not even house, but when she does, she splits into pieces. She cries, and she shakes, and she curls over herself, head in hands. She is failing.

Awful, all this filth, this king and his wretched domain, cobbled together with lies and guns and a bible. Built upon broken bodies. And awful, the people like it. Awful, she isn’t the savior. She’s a thorn in the belly of this terrible beast of a town, and nothing more.

But what is perhaps most awful is that for a moment, for a breath, in that parking lot with that foolish, flimsy prince, she was a part of it too. She liked it too. Filth, too.

#gator tillman #gator tillman fic #gator tillman smut #gator tillman fanfiction #gator tillman imagine #gator tillman angst #gator tillman fargo

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thefatedthoughtofyou · 7 months

Text

A Day At The Lake

Gator Tillman x Kirby Rivers (OC)

♤ Summary: Gator met Kirby through his old weed guy when he left town and left Kirby as someone Gator could go to for pot. He started hanging out there more, after the inital shock that is Kirby. Gator can't seem to stay away from them, and doesn't really want too. Kirby suggests a day at the lake so Gator can relax for a bit.

♤ Warnings: canon x oc pairing, nonbinary/trans oc, oc uses he/they pronouns, slight angst, brief mentions of drug use.

♤ a/n: i wrote this for @jozstankovich because they've been single handedly encouraging my writing of OC stories and because they've fallen in love with my little goblin boy and i couldn't be more flattered! Hope you guys enjoy it too! Reblogs and comments are cherished and loved! 💖🍒💖

♤♤♤♤

"Hey do they ever- ooow." Kirby rubs the back of his head, glaring at the open hood they'd smacked it on before moving their eyes to Gator.

"They ever let you have days off? You don't work like... seven days a week or some shit do you?" He asks, watching Gator's feet swing genlty under the tailgate he's sitting on. He scoffs, rolls his eyes, adjusts the backwards cap he's wearing.

"Course I get days off. Why?" His eyes narrow in suspicion. Kirby shrugs, whipes some grease on his overalls.

"Just wonderin. When's your next one? And doooo you have plans?" Kirby draws, points at Gator and waits, stares. Gator snorts, shakes his head, rubs at the back of his neck.

"Tuesday. I'm off Tuesday. Why you wonderin?" He asks, his lip tugged between his teeth.

"I just had an idea. Thought maybe you'd wanna come to the lake with me? Just have a chill day. Away from all'a," he gestures to Gator, their hand motioning to all of him,

"This. Just get away." Kirby shrugs, ducks back under the hood and starts tinkering again, tightening all the bolts he'd loosened.

"You wanna go to the lake? You fish or somethin?" Gator asks, Kirby hears him jump down from his little perch on the tailgate. Kirby snorts.

"Absolutely not. Too slimey. I just swim man. Swimmings nice. Keeps you cool. Sometimes there's turtles. You don't swim?" Kirby asks, talking and talking, rapid fire, like always.

"Sometimes. I guess." Gator's voice sound farther away now, Kirby lowers their head, looking under his arm to see Gator looking through the crowded fridge in the garage.

"Beer's on the left behind the ketchup." Kirby comments, looks back to his work, slips his wrench onto the last bolt and gives it a few tugs til it's nice and snug. He ducks lower than he needs too when he stands, making sure not to smack their head again. He shuts the hood and turns to find Gator holding out a cherry coke.

"Thanks." They nod, pop it open and take a swig as Gator does the same to his beer.

"What time?" Gator asks, not looking at Kirby, his eyes fixed on something over their shoulder. Kirby turns to look, doesn't see anything, shakes his head and turns back.

"I dunno. Let's saaaaayyyy...eight? Eight thirty?" Kirby shrugs, takes anothrr drink.

"That early? It's my day off man." Gator scoffs. Kirby rolls his eyes, wipes their free hand on their overalls again, trying and failing, to get the grease from between his fingers.

"Oh boo hoo. You don't have to come. I just thought I'd offer." He walks to the garage, tucks his tools into their places.

"I will be bringing some choice product with me. If that... influences your decision at all." Kirby looks over their shoulder, eyebrows high on his head as he watches Gator kick at the ground.

"I didn't say I wouldn't come. S'just early." He mutters, his boot twisting in the small divot his kicking had made.

"Oh. Well cool. Let's call it nine then. Let sleeping beauty get his rest huh?" Kirby teases, walks past Gator and kicks at his foot.

"Stop that. I'm trying to run a respectable business here." Kirby admonishes, Gator kicks back, Kirby dodges him, quick on their feet. Gator laughs when he nearly spills his cherry coke, his feet immediately tangling together after the smooth dodge.

"Alright. Nine it is." Gator bites his lip.

"You don't swim while you're high do you?" He asks, rubbing at the back of his neck again, eyes landing on Kirby briefly and then darting away again.

"Awww. You worried about me Deputy?" Kirby tilts their head, bats his eyelashes, his hand on his chest over his heart. Gator flushes a nice shade of pink and snorts, sniffs, wipes at his nose with an eyeroll.

"No. Just seein if I need to be prepared to carry your body out of a lake when you drown is all." Gator says, easy, still doesn't look at Kirby. He hasn't lately. Been looking at him. Won't meet their eye after he'd showed back up.

Ignoring Kirby for weeks. Until Kirby figured it out. Made a peace offering. And it worked. He understood now. He got it. Why Gator had run away. Kirby's beautiful , straight, deputy friend, was having some not so straight feelings about him. Or thoughts. Maybe thoughts and feelings. Kirby didn't mind either way. But he wouldn't push.

He'd just hidden a small stash of his best stuff in Gator's truck. Shot him a text. And hoped for the best. The best was Gator showing up a week later. Needing more weed, and not meeting Kirby's eyes. But he was here. And still joking around like they used too. So Kirby shoved down his own feelings, gave Gator cheap prices on good weed, and invited him to the fucking lake.

Kirby shakes his head, pulling themself from their thoughts.

"Won't be my body in the lake man. I'm a great swimmer." He says, immediately almost tripping over a stray peice of junk on the ground.

"Shit. That came outta nowhere." He huffs, finishes his cherry coke and tosses his can up into the air, aiming for the old, rusty, fifty gallon drum he uses as a trashcan. The can hits the rim and flips off to the side. Kirby huffs. Gator laughs.

"Right." He says, voice flat as he picks the can up, steps back a few feet and tosses it toward the can, it goes directly in, not even close to hitting the sides.

"Show off." Kirby mutters, glaring at him. Gator laughs again, loud and bright. And Kirby missed that. Shakes his head and pushes the thought away.

"So nine. Tuesday." Gator says, pointing at Kirby.

"Nine. Tuesday." Kirby echoes, pointing back. Smiling a goofy smile when Gator actually meets their eyes. Gator smiles back before waving and heading down the drive to his truck. Kirby waves after him, feeling giddy and light. And half not believing that Gator said yes.

They do a little happy spin, nearly tripping again as they do, hands slamming down on the tailgate Gator had been sat on. Kirby shakes his head at himself, rubs his hand over his hair, and rushes inside to take a shower.

They fall into bed that night nearly vibrating, knowing they wouldn't sleep well. Too excited for a silly little trip to the lake.

~°~

The trip goes surprisingly well. Gator shows up at eight thirty despite his previous protests. Kirby drives them down. They grab breakfast on the way and by the time they reach the lake the sun is high and warm.

Both of them run for the lake immediately, tossing their clothes this way that, ending up in just their swim trucks, Gator laughing as Kirby shrieks and jumps of the small dock into the water.

Kirby's not sure how long they swim for. Just knows the sun moves across the sky as they talk and splash and shove each other underwater. They eat lunch. Sit in the back of Kirby's old van, their nest of pillows and blankets warm in the summer heat, but it's shady, and far enough from the water that the bugs leave them alone.

They're sitting on the dock when Gator asks,

"You really don't fish?"

Kirby makes a gagging sound, pretends to puke over the side of the dock.

"No way. Not for me." They shake their head. Gator nods. Seems to think about something.

"You don't hunt either I take it." He asks, one eye srunched against the sun as he looks at Kirby, his softened hair falling into his face. Kirby's scrunched face is all the answer he needs, he laughs, holds his hands up in surrender.

"Alright. Alright. Just askin." He sounds judgmental, but he's smiling soflty, looking into his lap.

"Do you like hunting?" Kirby asks, head tilting.

"I'm good at it." Gator says immediately. Kirby smiles, bumps their shoulder into Gator's, his skin, warm from the sun, still makes Kirby shiver.

"Yeah but do you like it?" Kirby repeats, kicking his feet in the water, he watches Gator's reflection shimmer and then looks at him. He's frowning, like he's thinking, Kirby waits.

"I- I dunno. I just..." he trails off. Huffs. Tries again.

"It makes me feel... accomplished. Cuz I'm good at it. It's something I do well." He says slowly, like he's feeling it out.

"But it's not just that. Hunting deer's the best. Because we use it. As much of it as we can. The meat. The hide. The bones. Ya know? I have this summer sausage recipe that just, fuck, it melts in your mouth." Gator looks at him, face all smooshed up and scrunched, party from the sun, partly like he thinks Kirby's gonna judge him.

"You make the summer sausage yourself?" Is all Kirby says, genuinely curious. And they know it's the right thing to say when Gator perks up, nods excitedly.

"Yeah. And we pair it with this cheese Karen makes and it's like, god, I can't even describe it. You gotta try it though." Gator bumps Kirby's shoulder with his.

"I don't have to like... be there for the hunting? Or the cleaning? Or any other terrifyingly gross animal killing ritual that you get up to before the food is made?" Kirby asks, their face all scrunched up now too, seconds away from adding a gag but Gator laughs again, really laughs, his head thrown back, the sweet sound rolling out over the water like the ripples their feet are making.

"It's not a ritual. We're not sacrificing animals." Gator scoffs once he's stopped laughing

"Aren't you though?" Kirby asks, voice low and disbelieving. Gator rolls his eyes.

"Seriously though. I'd love to try it." Kirby says, bumping their shoulders again as he sways side to side.

"Okay. I'll bring you some next time I come over." Gator says, his voice small, he sounds almost shy.

"Looking forward to some of your famous sacrificial sausage." Kirby nods, Gator growls at him playfully and shoves him into the water. Kirby comes up screeching, Gator throws himself in after them, both of them sinking under together, the water cool on their sun kissed skin.

~°~

Gator walks him to his door. He didn't have too, Kirby had parked next to his truck so he could just, head home. But he walks them up the drive, lingers on the doorstep. Kirby's chest is tight as he watches Gator sway from foot to foot, eyes on the ground, hands in his pockets.

"Thanks for comin with me today. I hope- ya know, I hope it was a nice day off for you." Kirby says, shoulders jumping and then settling as they linger by their door.

"It was nice." Gator says, voice quite. Eyes on the ground.

"Good. That's... good." Kirby lickes his lips, he doesn't wanna go inside yet, doesn't want the day to end. Even though the sun has been gone for hours now, the day has ended, but this hasn't, whatever it is. He looks up to the night sky, craning his neck to look for his favorite stars.

"Kirby?" It's barley a whisper.

"Yeah?" Kirby's head snaps back down, eyes on Gator immediately, and finds him looking back. And then he's leaning forward. A soft press of lips to his cheek. Gator's skin is warm against theirs, his lips a little wet, like he'd licked them nervously before making his decision.

He's gone as fast as it happened. Taking a few steps away.

"It was really nice." His voice is strained, Kirby wants to reach out to him. Can see the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. But he doesn't, knows it will just scare him away.

"The nicest day I've had in awhile. And I-" his voice catches in his throat. Kirby frowns, watch him swallow with difficulty.

"I want- with you. But I-" Gator frowns now, his hands shaking at his sides, he clocks Kirby eyeing them and shoves them into his pockets roughly.

"I don't think- I mean-" he groans, low, frustrated, tilts his head back, turns away from Kirby and wipes at his face.

"It's okay." Kirby says, wraps their arms around their middle. Gator turns back to them.

"What?" He asks, lip wobbling, he digs his teeth in.

"It's okay. To want that. Ya know. But I understand. I mean I know- I know who your dad is and I get it. I understand." He nods, licks his lips, clears his throat.

"You can't. And that's okay. Ya know? I'll be here. For whatever. Anything you need." He takes a deep breath, looks to the sky again for a moment, lets Gator have a second to himself before looking back to him.

"Weed. A friend. Just a place to fuck around and not be under anyones thumb for awhile. A shoulder to cry manly tears on. I'll be here. For you. Just, whenever." Kirby shrugs, their throat feeling tight, even through the small tease, or maybe because of it.

Gator stares at them, for a long time. And then he's stomping forward, determined. He grabs the front of Kirby's shirt and tugs, pulls them to his chest, their lips pressed together firmly, for just a moment, before he pulls back, forhead resting against Kirby's, his eyes still closed from the kiss.

"I had the best fucking day with you." He whispers, tugs on Kirby's shirt again, desperate, and then he's gone.

"Me too." Kirby breathes, a whisper in the dark. Kirby blinks the tears away, his fingers pressing to his trembling lips as he listens to Gator's footsteps disappear into the dark.

They stand there for a long time, long after Gator's truck has driven away. Kirby stands on his doorstep, fingers pressed to his lips, and looks up at the stars, their eyes finding their favorites with ease. Two stars, directly above them, nestled next to each other, the mirror image of the freckles gracing Gator's cheek. They light the sky above his house as he finally goes inside. His chest trying to fight off the spark of hope threatening to ignite, theatening to set that feral thing in his chest on fire.

Kirby falls into bed, looks out the window and closes his eyes, presses his lips gently to the inside of his arm, and let's it burn.

#gator tillman #gator tillman fic #gator tillman x oc #oc: kirby rivers #gator tillman x kirby rivers #I AM SO NERVOUS POSTING THIS IVE NEVER POSTED OC STUFF REALLY I DONT THINK #not that anyone cared about anyway aaahhhhhhhh #my writing #mine #gator tillman x orginal character #nonbinary/trans oc #if this needs more tags let me know ive never done this before hahahah #my fic

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rustedhearts · 10 months

Text

hard learnin’ (gator tillman x fem!reader)

summary: gator punishes you for flaunting what (isn’t) his.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ main masterlist

tags: spanking, oral (m receiving), spitting (a lot of it), canon-compliant misogyny, mean!gator.

for @loveshotzz <3

the tillman barn. early morning.

“I told you—not to—do it.”

Every few words came with the snap of leather on flesh, cracking off the barn walls and exciting the horses stomping in their stables. Your fingers gripped the metal of the corral with all their might, digging into your chest against your will. Every strike of his heavy duty belt had you lurching toward the dirt and hay. Your socked feet were picking up pebbles, unprepared for an assault at such an early hour.

But you did get yourself into this mess.

“M-m so-sorry,” you hiccuped, listening to the corral clang on its hinges after a particularly rough hit.

Gator huffed, glaring down at your swelling, discolored flesh. “Yeah, now you are. Weren’t so sorry last night, were ya?”

And you weren’t. You weren’t sorry when you got dolled up in a tight little black dress and called up your friends. You weren’t sorry when you scampered down to the dive and climbed up on the bar to pour drinks. You weren’t sorry when you let that guy drag you to the dance floor. You weren’t sorry when you drunkenly scrawled some version of your phone number on a napkin and tucked it in his pants.

But you were sorry now. Gator always made sure you were sorry.

“Asked you a question, brat.” Another hard strike, slicing through the air and down on your bare ass. Your pajama pants sat around your ankles.

But the thing about Gator? He acted like you were his. His property, his possession, his girl. Yet when the time came to possess you, to have you—he fell short. Never claimed you as his girlfriend, never promised long term commitment, never made you feel like it was true. He always left you hanging.

You sniffled, willing away hot tears stinging in your eyes. Your nose burned and tingled, and you kept glancing toward the door of the barn in hopes Gator’s daddy wouldn’t come waltzing in to hold witness to your humiliation. He heard the sounds of Gator’s punishments once before and patted his son on the shoulder later at dinner. Gotta keep ‘em in line, son. You despised it. How him and his father thought they could do whatever they wanted because they ran the town.

But you loved him. It was your own damn fault.

“Shakin’ like a fuckin’ leaf, sweetheart,” Gator chuckled. He paused a moment to spit on the dirt: a sharp smack of saliva landing near your feet.

“H-hurts,” you whimpered, knees buckling to ease the sting.

Gator huffed, eyes rolling behind you. He gave you a mild lash on the thigh in reprimand. “Get back up.”

You stomped your socked foot, whining into a pout. “I’ll make it up to you, Gator, please!”

The buckle of his belt—a wide silver embellishment—tinkled as he let the leather droop. He cocked his head, inspecting your welts and swelling bruises as he thought. He fished into the pocket on his thigh and pulled out the strawberry-kiwi vape, taking a quick, hissing hit. He sighed as it furled out, tongue clicking.

“Fine. Since you’re just gonna keep complain’ anyway. C’mere.”

You shakily lifted from the corral bars, spinning around. Reaching down, your fingers curled into the elastic band of your pajama pants, but Gator whistled sharply.

“Hey. Uh-uh, leave ‘em.”

Huffing, you sulked and dropped your hands. “Why can’t I—“

“You talkin’ back?” Gator cocked his head again as he stuck the vape in his mouth.

You watched his cheeks hollow with a deep inhale. The mechanical vape click made your blood boil. You wanted to hike your pants up, march over there, and spit in his face. But his shoulders looked so broad in that stocky black sheriff’s vest. His hair was recently trimmed, lined up neatly around his ears and neck. The way those camo pants hugged his hips made you clench. And the belt still sat in his hand, silver gleaming menacingly in the soft yellow of morning light.

With hot cheeks, you huffed again and looked down. “No.”

Gator tucked his vape back in his pants and spit toward the left. His fingers drummed on the stiff lining of his vest, and he nodded down toward the ground at his feet.

“Well…it ain’t gonna suck itself.”

Your knees thumped to the hard ground instantly. You crawled his way slowly, glaring up at the smirk on his face when he had the audacity to shuffle back just to make you come. He chuckled, but stayed in place until you stopped at his feet. You sat back on your heels in the dirt and unzipped his pants, slipping him out into your palm.

“Ooh, shit. C’mon don’t play w’ it, baby, open your mouth.”

He hooked his hands into his vest when your mouth closed over him, chin tipped back toward the roof of the barn as he groaned. Warm pleasure enveloped him, but on the ground, you were freezing cold. Your ass and thighs ached pressed against your feet, fingers growing numb against his thighs.

But maybe if you did a good job, he’d be sweet again. Maybe he’d hold you tonight when he got home from work. Maybe he’d kiss you all over like he did sometimes, tickle you when you pouted too much. Maybe he’d be kind.

You worked your mouth over him languidly, and Gator groaned without shame. He dropped his belt to the dirt with a thud and wrapped his hand in your hair, guiding you around. You knew just what kind of suction, just how much tongue, how to look at him and where to put your hands—you knew him so insanely well. It was a goddamn shame.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, hips jutting toward your mouth. “Suck that dick.”

He grunted as he thrust in and out of your mouth, reveling in the wet squelches of your constricting throat. He dropped your hair and you heard the click of his vape again. The fruity smoke tickled your nose when he blew it down on you.

You lifted your eyes, blurring hot with tears. And as you found Gator’s pink-cheeked face, his own eyes hazy with pleasure and bliss—he opened his mouth and spat one out.

A wad of warm spit sizzled on your cheek, and you flinched at the smacking impact. Your mouth stilled around him, suction loosening.

“Oops,” Gator chuckled above you, sticking the vape near his mouth again. “Did I getcha, hon?”

Though a humiliated fury surged in your chest, you kept your lips closed around his cock and did your best. He wanted you to get irritated with him. He thought you were so cute when you got all riled up. And he liked being the one riling you.

Gator’s thumb pressed into your cheek, massaging his spit into your skin. Your eyes fluttered closed on their own will, soothed by his touch. He was rarely soft like that. Your involuntary moan had him bucking into your mouth again, hand moving to scrunch in your hair once more.

“Fuck, you’re a dirty bitch. No better than…an animal,” he groaned. “God, fuck ‘m gonna cum.”

You put him as far back in your throat as you could manage, nose nudging the furry patch on his pelvis. The vibrant, neon green of his vape entered your periphery when it pressed against your cheek under his hand, both of them coming to brace your head now. Gator liked you to swallow his seed. He thought it was dirty, disgusting—but that’s what he loved about it.

“B-better—swallow it,” he ordered through tight teeth. You bobbed your head in compliance, watching the veins in his neck strain around the collar of his t-shirt and behind his vest.

He pinched his eyes closed, jaw agape, nose scrunched up—and a strangled moan sliced through the barn as he spilled into your mouth. It slipped down your throat in a thick, sticky coating that had you cringing. He huffed and squirmed as he softened on your tongue, and you suckled at him absentmindedly as he slipped out.

Tucking himself back into his pants, he patted an open palm on your spit-sticky cheek. You swallowed again to ensure it was all down, and waited for him to give you the okay. God, your ass was still burning.

Gator sniffed, reaching down for his belt. He was just slipping it through the loops of his pants when a distant clang caused his head to snap up.

“Fuck, get up. My dad’s gonna be out soon.”

You wobbled as you got to your feet like a brand new fawn. You peeled your pajama pants back over your hips and secured the strings, doing your best to brush off the dirt and hope it didn’t stain. The soft fabric did little to muffle the acute sting of Gator’s strap.

“Come on,” he hissed, yanking your arm to pull you close.

He kept a close eye on the front of the barn as he hurried you out back, dragging you through the dirt the whole way. Roy Tillman would have his few hours on his horse at the ass crack of dawn like he always did, and Gator would wait until he was told what to do to make his daddy happy again.

You wouldn’t see him again until near morning.

“You’ll wait at home,” he instructed, heading toward his truck. “You hear me? No runnin’ around.”

You huffed as you slid in, crossing your arms. The truck jostled when he slammed the door after him, and the engine started up with a coughing growl. He whipped out of the dirt patch driveway, heading down the trail toward your house (where he yanked you from your bed not too long ago).

“Why can’t I just stay at your house?”

Gator scoffed, putting his vape in his mouth again. “Dad don’t like strangers around.”

Stranger somehow stung worse than anything else. He just spent an hour attacking your ass for going out without him—but you were still a stranger?

“Your dad’s an asshole—“

Gator slammed on the brakes, sending you hurtling forward against the seatbelt. Once you fell back, his hand latched to your jaw, fingers pressed tight into your cheeks. The look he fixed you with was sharp and mean.

“You watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

He tossed your head away harshly, and you glared down at your knees. He shook his head toward the windshield as he took his foot off the brake and sped down the street.

“Looks like you still have some learnin’ to do.” Gator hollowed his cheek around that stupid fruity piece of plastic again. The smoke slipped into the cold autumn air.

“Don’t worry. I’ll set ya straight, hon.”

#rolly!#gator tillman #gator tillman smut #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fanfic #gator tillman fanfiction #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x you #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x reader smut

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mwahmimi · 6 months

Note

Ok… I would like a gator tillman smut like maybe he has been away for awhile because Roy asked him to take care of something and when he comes back all he wants it’s reader but he’s not only f*cking reader but makes love to reader… idk something like that

Far too long / Gator Tillman- Fargo / One Shot / Smut

CW- smut, the term daddy is used, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, p in v, porn with a slight plot, established relationship, x reader.

“Been a while huh princess? Daddy has to work, you know that right? Daddy works to keep those hands of yours soft and manicured, while mine are dirty and calloused. Y’like that though don’t you? My hands all rough, rubbing against this pretty little pussy. Look at her, she’s crying out for me. Your little princess brain is leaking out of her.” Gator teases, he rubs his middle finger through your slit. Separating your folds and zeroing over your clit. Your breath hitches as he begins to curl his fingers inside of you, his fingertips grazing your g-spot every time he pumps them into you.

“Please.. No more. No more teasing. Want you. Please.” You’re begging him, he’s been away for little over two months, some bullshit that Roy had sent him away to take care of. You weren’t interested in his work, you learnt a long time ago to ask no questions. Ignorance is bliss. But your body aches for him, your head full of nothing but Gator Gator Gator. Your clit practically throbbing his name in morse code. He knows just how to tease you, having dated you for so long he knew your weak spots, how to melt that mind of yours.

“See, any other time, Daddy would tell you to be patient. But fuck. Babe, I need to be inside you. Been away far too long. Never again. I’ll work from fucking home and dad can just fucking like it.” He spits his words out like venom on his tongue. You knew he was lying, as much as you loved him, he could never stand up to his father. That’s a problem for another day, you hum as he rubs his dick against your slit. Your pussy acting as all the lubricant you could ever need, leaving his length slick and wet. Ready for you.

With his first thrust inside you, you’re putty in his hands. Your breath hitches as his cock hits your g-spot, violating the area until all you can think about is how good it feels. Nobody has ever fucked you so good.

“My girl. My fuckin’ girl. Missed you so much. Not just this ass of yours either. Missed your love.” Gator groans as he gently slaps your ass, leaning forward to rub your clit. It’s almost too much, the praise and the feeling of his fingers kissing your hypersensitive clit.

“Daddy. Missed you too. Love you. Love how you make me feel, love you.” You manage to get those words out in-between moans, your eyes rolling into the back of your head with every movement he makes deeper inside you. You’re convinced you can feel him in your stomach.

“Love’ya too- Gonna fill you up so good baby.” His words tease you, all your thoughts muddle up into one, Gator. Gator and how he feels, fucking the moans out of your mouth. Gator and how he’s over-stimulating both your clit and your g-spot at once. Gator and how he’s still wearing that shit eating smirk on his face, knowing how much it gets to you. All you want in your life is Gator.

Your orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach, the familiar feeling rising higher and higher. You clench around Gator’s cock. Almost trapping him into cumming inside you as you come undone yourself.

“Close.. so close. Please.” You whimper, your face buried in the pillows of your shared bed as you desperately dribble saliva from your mouth onto the sheets. He picks up the pace, not wanting to waste any more time. He just wants you. He wants to make you feel incredible. And that he does, when your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. Gushing over his cock as your tormented clit becomes even more sensitive after cumming. He doesn’t stop fucking you, he pounds into your hole faster and harder than before. It’s all too much for your little body to handle and he knows that. You can’t hold it any longer, your pussy squirting over your boyfriend and the bed.

Soft groans come from behind you as Gator ruts. Wiping the sweat from his brow and pulling out of you, ropes of cum still dripping from cock and dribbling out of your abused cunt.

Gator wipes the mess from your body and his, ripping the soiled sheets off the bed as you both collapse on the mattress in each other’s embrace.

“Love you.” He whispers against your cheek before planting a gentle kiss through panted breaths. “Love you too.” Your eyes still tightly shut, as if opening them would make the moment just a dream. You squeeze his arm a little, needing something to grip onto as you crash back from ecstasy to reality. The pair of you lay there, breathing each other in, not wanting to move a muscle. Roy better not send him away for this long ever again.

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mwahmimi · 7 months

Text

Gator Tillman thinks he’s real funny by saying “got ya a new necklace love.” Watching your eyes light up and then widen as his simply clamps the palm of his hand against your throat with a shit eating smirk plastered on his face.

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mwahmimi · 7 months

Text

You’re pressed up against the hood of Gator’s car, pushed down by his calloused hand over your pony tail as he thrusts deeper into you.

“Told ya’ not to fucking tease. Now look at ya’ getting pounded by daddy in broad daylight. Such a whore, and just look at ya’ dripping down daddy’s cock. So wet, and all for me.”

You sob into your arm, biting down to stop yourself from screaming. Desperately trying not to draw attention to two of you. Mascara running down your face that was already stained with tears.

He thrusts into you once more, coming undone inside you. Gator wipes his overstimulated cock on your skirt, cum staining over the black material. He pulls you up to your feet by your hair.

“Back in the car. Pull any more stunts like that again and I’m filming you. Give you a real audience to watch you, can’t help but want all the attention huh? Slut. Come on, you’ve made us late.”

#gator tillman smut #gator fargo #gator tillman headcanons #gator tillman x you #gator tillman x female reader #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman fanfic #fargo gator #gator x reader #gator tillman #gator tillman fargo #fargo smut #fargo season 5 #mine #smut #one shot #gator tillman smut head canon #gator Tillman one shot #small posts

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mwahmimi · 8 months

Text

Gator Tillman / Hurt me so pretty / Head canon<3

CW-Spit, degradation, humiliation, sexual violence, consensual violence, BDSM, sub!reader, dom!gator tillman, mentioning of genitalia, misogyny, crude language and power play.

Gator Tillman has a lot of kinks. The biggest one is undoubtedly degradation. All of his other kinks revolve around degrading you. He’ll spit on you, slap you, call you names, humiliate you and shame you.

“Such a fucking whore aren’t you? This pussy is squeezing me so tight, made for me wasn’t it? If only it wasn’t going to be fucking ruined tonight, isn’t that right? M’ gonna make it so you’ll never fuck anyone ever again princess.”

He saw you as his property.

“ M’ lil hole aren’t you darlin’?”

He’s say, dragging you across the room by your hair and throwing you to the bed. Spitting on your exposed thighs that were showing from your dress riding up from the impact.

“Dirty girl. Can see those marks in your underwear you know. M’ sure you’re enjoying this. That cunt of mine sure is. Like it when I talk down to you, don’t cha’ ?

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mwahmimi · 6 months

Text

On time is late / Gator Tillman / One-Shot / Smut

CW- spanking, punishment, blow job, public humiliation, slapping, daddy kink, smut, verbal abuse, humiliation, degradation.

“Nine fuckin’ o’ clock. That’s when we were supposed to get to the event princess. Look at that clock. Ten thirty. I had to call my fuckin’ dad and cancel. We cannot show up late, it looks sloppy and unprofessional. I just wanted one fuckin’ night y’know? Show off my gal’ have a couple drinks and blow off some steam. It's been a long fuckin’ week, I did not need this.” Gator spits, grabbing his vape and inhaling, exhaling the cloud of cotton candy scent into your face.

“I don’t have the patience for you. Look at you, sitting there all sickly sweet like butter wouldn’t melt. It's no use now. You’ve already pissed me off. Acting innocent isn’t gonna help your case now. Get yourself bent over the hood now. Don’t you make that face at me, you liked when I had you bent over it earlier, liked it too much that you made us late. Move it, now.” He rants, harshly grabbing your wrist, making your bracelet dig into your skin. Dragging you over to the bonnet, pushing you down face-first as if you were nothing. You wince as you hit the metal and he simply grabs your hands and holds them behind your back, holding them in one of his.

“Now. When I let go of you, I’m going to spank you. That’s what naughty girls get. And you? You are not going to say a fuckin’ word.” He drops your wrists. Lifting your dress and exposing your bare ass to the wind. Your panties were confiscated by him during your last time over the hood. You hold your breath, awaiting impact. His hits hurt; they always do. But the initial sting wears off and becomes pleasurable. “One.” He strikes you, open palm with his right hand. The burning of the first spank hitting you like a truck as he strikes you several more times. You moan ass the painful ecstasy consumes you, trying your hardest not to moan his name as his rubs his erection across your flushed skin.

“Oh baby. I can feel that. Your pussy leaking already? Just from me hitting you, you’re drooling on my cock here? God you’re disgusting.” He lets you up for only a moment, as quick as you can stand tall, he takes a fistful of your hair and yanks. Pulling violently, until he can see tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He raises his fist once more, leaving red handprints over your face. He always said you looked prettiest when you’d been roughed up a little.

“Daddy, please!” You beg, immediately regretting having spoken.

“I thought I fucking explained it to you, did the stupid little slut not understand her daddy’s instructions?” He chuckles, spitting in your face. “Your fuckin’ daddy. You truly are pathetic, aren’t you? Worthless little girl calling me daddy. Did your daddy not hug you enough? Or did he touch you so good like this daddy?”

Gator pushes you down to your knees, smirking at you. Taking his cock and slapping your face with it, flinching as it slaps your cheek. “Now, suck.”

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mrprettywhenhecries · 9 months

Text

don’t waste your time (on me) [g.t]

04. | A Bad Idea

Gator Tillman ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 5.1k words ⇾ warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, misogynistic themes, inexperienced!Gator, public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, early ejaculation, oral (f!receiving), cum eating, gator being sweet, recreational drug use/marijuana ⇾ a/n. took longer than I wanted to to finish this chapter, and I think I've definitely looked at it for too long. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I could use some kind words 💚

When Roy realizes his son didn’t heed his advice, he changes tactics, telling Gator to invite Win to the ranch. After a steamy night of sex and drugs, Gator breaks the news to Win and she realizes his feelings run deeper than she thought. And maybe so do hers.

[ masterlist • win bio ]

“Oh fuck, Gator–”

Win’s voice cracked as her head fell back against the stall door, Gator’s heavy breaths loud in her ear with each snap of his hips, desperately fucking her in the dingy bathroom stall.

“Oh shit, you feel so damn good, Winnie,” he grunted, his brows pinched in concentration and Win couldn’t help but grin as she watched him, her head and heart only tangling further each time she tangled with him, which over the past few weeks had been as often as possible – Gator taking every opportunity he could to fall into bed with her or find some clandestine spot for them to fuck like rabbits at any free second, which at the moment happened to be after breakfast in the diner’s bathroom before Gator’s shift.

For a second, Gator’s expression altered, alarm crossing his face as his grasp on Win began to slip and she let out a yelp, hastily bracing herself before she could fall.

“Gator, if you drop me, I swear to God–” she hissed, gasping as he hefted her up higher against the door to readjust his grip on her thighs, which were wrapped tightly around his waist. “I'm not gunna drop you,” he huffed defensively, resuming his impatient thrusts, making her tits bounce softly beneath her tight top.

“Now quiet down,” we don’t want anyone finding us like this,” he grunted. “Not unless you wanna end up in handcuffs for indecent exposure,” he teased, flashing her a cheeky grin.

“Wouldn’t that entail you ending up in handcuffs too?” Win pointed out, but Gator’s grin only widened.

“Oh, but you forget, sweetheart. I’m the law,” he chuckled darkly, his eyes screwing shut moments later as he came, as if it were the thought of her in handcuffs that had tipped him over the edge.

Panting heavily, he pressed his face to her chest while he composed himself. “Did you cum?” he asked suddenly, as if just remembering to ask, his large brown eyes seeking hers and Win shook her head.

“I was close, but no,” she answered truthfully, and Gator frowned, setting her down unsteadily.

“Fuck, sorry,” he muttered as they fixed their disheveled appearances, his disappointment in himself taking Win aback a little.

By all accounts, Gator seemed like just the type of guy who didn’t really care if his partner finished, as long as he was satisfied.

Except, the more time Win spent with him, the more she realized, Gator wasn’t exactly like she’d expected him to be. Sure, some of the shit that came out of his mouth was problematic as fuck, but it almost felt parroted, as if he were just repeating what he’d heard his whole life, and it was no surprise to her who he’d heard it from.

“It’s okay, you can pay me back later, Deputy,” Win drawled, slipping her arms around his shoulders as she raised up on her toes for a kiss, sighing as his lips moved against hers.

Gator raised a brow at her as he pulled back, his hands lingering at her waist. “Later?” he asked hopefully and Win bit her lip, nodding.

“Yeah, I have the night off, you should come over, watch some movies, play some video games, have some hot nasty sex on my couch,” she purred, grinning at him expectantly and Gator groaned.

“Fuck, Winnie, you’re gunna make me hard again,” he whined and she snickered, taking his hand to lead him to the door.

“You go ahead and I’ll follow, that way it won’t look like we just did what we did,” Win said, giving Gator a little shove and he chuckled as he turned back to wink at her before striding back out into the diner.

Fighting to keep a straight face, she stepped out moments later, returning the waitress’ smile and wave before she noticed Gator standing awkwardly at the end of a booth and her blood ran cold as she noticed who had just sat down.

When Roy Tillman’s eyes met hers, it felt like time slowed, the air around her turning thick like jelly and she forced herself to keep walking, Gator’s gaze catching hers helplessly before she pushed open the door and hurried outside. Something about the Sheriff’s sharp gaze made her feel weighed and judged, like some animal at the county fair, and she didn’t like it.

Gator swore under his breath when he saw his father walk through the door and tip his hat to the waitress, heading to his favourite booth. He’d taken a gamble meeting Win there, hoping Roy would be having breakfast with Karen and the twins.

As soon as Roy noticed him, Gator nodded to him, stopping at the end of the table to greet him.

“Looks like we had the same idea today,” he chuckled, looping his thumbs through his belt loops as he shifted his weight from boot to boot, hoping Roy wouldn’t notice Win leaving, though she’d have to walk right past them to get to the door.

“Guess so,” Roy mused, half glancing over the menu, though he always ordered the same thing, when suddenly his eyes lifted, fixing on something just past Gator. He could smell Win’s perfume as she passed and glanced over at her as she hesitated for a moment at the door before pushing it open.

Once the door shut, the bell on the handle chiming her departure, Roy glanced back up at him and nodded toward the seat across from him as the waitress came with a cup and her pot of coffee.

“Sit with me,” he murmured, and Gator did so, scooting into the booth and resting his arm across the back of the bench.

Roy waited for his coffee to be poured and the waitress to confirm his usual order before speaking, his gaze focused on the steaming cup in his hand.

“Am I to assume you expect me to believe that was merely a coincidence?” he murmured, taking a careful sip from his cup before his eyes flicked up to Gator's, his sharp gaze seeming to see right through him.

Gator shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact. “That what’s a coincidence?” he asked, frowning in confusion and Roy let out a disappointed sigh, thanking the waitress as she set his food in front of him.

“That was the girl I told you to stay away from,” he continued, taking a bite of the crispy strip of bacon. “And you ignored my advice because–? What, you think you know better than me?”

“I don’t know what you’re–” Gator mumbled, only for Roy to cut him off.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, son,” he snapped, his eyes boring into Gator’s. “You’ve been coming home late, if at all, you’re neglecting your chores, you’re distracted,” he listed off, taking a bite of his eggs. “It’s not hard to see where your head’s at.”

Gator opened his mouth, a slew of excuses ready on his tongue, but he quickly swallowed them as his father took a deep breath, as if deciding something.

“I suppose you are a man now, and you can make your own decisions, as long as you understand that she’s not proper wife material… as she is now.”

Gator frowned, just the barest downward twitch of lips and knitting of brow, but he didn’t argue.

“Now, I got two stipulations if you insist on continuing to see this girl,” Roy said, holding up two fingers. “One,” he ticked off, “you pick up the slack with your chores on the ranch, and two–” he brought the second finger down as well– “you bring her to Sunday dinner so we can meet her properly.”

“Uh, I dunno if that’s such a good idea,” Gator muttered, earning himself another sharp look.

“You questioning my judgement?”

Gator gulped, shaking his head quickly. “No! No, it’s just… uh, I’m confused. I thought you said–” he trailed off, stumbling over his own tongue and Roy let out a long suffering sigh.

“It’ll be good for her to spend some time around honest folk, and maybe Karen can show her how a proper woman acts,” he drawled, and Gator quickly nodded in understanding, though he already knew Win wasn’t gunna like it.

“Alright then, get goin’ now,” Roy said, nodding toward the door. “We’ll see you and your girl Sunday.”

Gator nearly tripped climbing out of the booth, trying to figure out how to persuade Win to go.

When Gator showed up later that night–for it could be no one but Gator, with that booming cop’s knock–Win answered the door in a pair of shorts and one of his black tees he’d left behind, her nipples hard under the dark fabric, having forgone a bra when she’d thrown it on after her shower. The pungent smell of weed clung to her, and Gator leaned against the door frame, unabashedly looking her up and down as he got a whiff.

“You been smokin’ in here, miss?” he drawled, his lips stretching into a sly grin and Win shrugged, not even bothering to deny it.

“You gunna arrest me, Deputy?” she asked, arching a challenging brow at him.

“I just might have to,” Gator replied, running his tongue over his molars as he shook his head in bemusement.

Win eyed him skeptically. “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, tugging him inside and shutting the door, pressing her back to it when Gator took a step closer, pressing his hands to either side of her head, boxing her in.

“Oh, you have no idea, Princess,” he drawled, watching her lips hungrily.

“I’m really not surprised,” she teased, slipping under his arm to flit past him, leaving him wanting more, and Gator let out a frustrated breath, toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his leather jacket before following her.

“You got any weed left?” he asked and Win threw her head back in laughter.

“You’re such a shit cop,” she snorted, pointing to her pipe laying on the coffee table next to her lighter.

“Hey, I’m the law, remember, sweetheart?” Gator scoffed, snatching the pipe and bringing the mouth to his lips.

“I’m not sure that’s how the law works,” Win murmured, rolling her eyes as Gator struggled to get the lighter to light, flicking the wheel several times before a flame appeared and he took a long draw.

Win leaned against the wall, trying not to stare too intently when he finally blew the smoke out in a long stream, the effect somewhat ruined by the coughing fit that followed, and she snickered, shaking her head.

“I’ve got a frozen pizza and some wings in the oven,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink?” she offered, telling herself she was just being a good host and not waiting on him hand and foot.

“Got any Mtn. Dew?” Gator asked, sinking onto the couch and grabbing the remote, flipping through the channels til he found something he liked.

Win reappeared several minutes later with two bottles, dropping one in Gator’s lap before plopping down next to him and taking a swig from her own.

“Die Hard, nice,” she murmured, snatching her lighter and the pipe from the table before leaning back and resting her legs in Gator’s lap, the light from the tv screen illuminating her face in the dark room as she took another hit.

She hadn’t been planning on getting high that night, but their near run in with Roy that morning had her nerves on edge and she’d ended up swinging by her dealer’s trailer on the way home before she realized that’s where she’d been headed. And though she was curious as hell if the Sheriff had sussed them out, saying something to Gator after she’d left, she wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.

It weren’t as if they were dating…

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she murmured, taking another swig of her Mtn Dew, her eyes finding his in the dim light.

Gator frowned in thought, his large hand resting on her ankle, thumb drawing circles against her cool skin. “You know I used to play football?” he asked, not really waiting for her response before continuing. “I was All County quarterback senior year, a real winner,” he boasted, his gaze turning far away, as if lost in memory.

“So you were a real hot shot, huh?” Win mused, having a bit of a hard time picturing it, if she was being honest. “I’m surprised you didn’t have cheerleaders falling over you left and right,” she teased and Gator wrinkled his nose at her, clearly not amused.

“Oh, I did. The only problem was, they were all members of the Abstinence Club,” he huffed. “The only action I got was over the clothes and awkward handies while making out,” he admitted with a scowl, just waiting for Win’s amused laughter.

“Aw, you poor thing,” she cooed instead, a hint of condescension in her tone, biting her lip to keep from giggling, just imagining Gator’s frustration. “Weren’t there any freaky girls you could’ve gotten with? You know, anti-social goth girls that wouldn’t turn their noses up at fucking the quarterback?” she wondered.

“Unfortunately, no,” Gator sighed, letting his head fall back against the couch. “It’s a pity you didn’t go to high school with me.”

“You think I would’ve fucked you back then?” she teased and Gator snorted.

“Course you would’ve, you can’t keep your hands off me,” he boasted, a smug grin twisting his lips. “You’re such a shit,” Win scoffed, though she couldn’t hold back her answering grin, knowing he was probably right.

“Can I get another hit of that?” Gator asked, nodding to the pipe in her hand and Win followed his gaze, sitting up slightly. Instead of handing it to him, however, she brought it to her mouth, lighting the bud and taking a long drawl, the light from the small flame illuminating her face. Holding the smoke in her lungs, she crooked her finger, beckoning him closer, peering up at him through her lashes.

Frowning in confusion, Gator leaned in, gasping in surprise as Win tilted her head as if to kiss him, their lips nearly touching before slowly exhaling the stream of smoke into his mouth.

Gator’s eyelids fluttered as he inhaled the pungent smoke, a soft groan catching in his throat before he surged forward the rest of the way, capturing Win’s lips in a searing kiss that took her just as off guard as she’d taken him, pinning her beneath him.

“That was fuckin’ hot,” Gator breathed between deepening kisses, his tongue writhing against hers, exploring her mouth boldly as his free hand traversed her body, slipping under the hem of her shirt to cover her breast, greedily massaging her beneath the dark fabric, his fingers tweaking her pert nipple, playing with her piercing to draw a desperate moan from her.

“Gator–” Win breathed, squirming beneath his touch, arousal pooling low in her gut and seeping through the thin fabric between her legs.

“Hmm?” he hummed, grinding against her, his bulge obvious beneath the rough fabric of his cargo pants and she whined as it pressed against her aching heat, the sudden shrill cry of the oven timer interrupting the moment.

“Shit, I gotta get the food out,” she groaned, half halfheartedly pushing against Gator, a gasp leaving her lips as his mouth found her pulse point, his canines sinking into her skin.

“Ignore it,” he mumbled, grinding harder against her as he pinched at her nipple, his tongue soothing the love bite at her throat.

“It’ll burn,” Win argued, biting back the moan that sprang to her lips before pushing Gator back, nearly kneeing him in the groin as she rolled out from under him. He let out a frustrated growl, but the rumble in the pit of his stomach reminded him just how hungry he was, the smell from the kitchen making his mouth water.

“Win!” he called, palming himself over his pants before adjusting his half softened length. “Hurry up, I’m starving,” he whined, leaning back against the couch to peer into the kitchen to see if she was coming.

“You’d get it faster if you got off your ass,” he called back, finally rounding the corner back to the sofa, two plates in hand.

“Oh, you’re an angel,” Gator cried, reaching for the plate she held just out of reach, waiting for a ‘thank you’.

“Close enough,” she snorted in amusement, letting him have his food before sitting back down next to him and propping her feet on the edge of the coffee table.

Silence fell as the two of them dug in, watching the movie as they ate.

“So…” Win mused around a mouthful of pizza, her eyes flicking from the tv screen to Gator. “When’re we gunna talk about this kink you have with restraining me?” she asked, her lips twitching at the way he froze, half eaten wing still hanging from his sticky fingers.

“What? Who says I—“ Gator cut off mid sentence at the knowing look in Win’s eyes. “I dunno,” he mumbled, sucking the rest of the meat from the wing before dropping the bones to his plate. “Just like the idea of being in control, I guess. Like seeing you helpless,” he murmured, clearing his throat.

Win nodded. “I like being helpless sometimes,” she mused, watching his reaction. “Don’t see why we couldn’t try that sometime.” She shrugged nonchalantly and Gator had to swallow, needing to work moisture back into his mouth.

“As long as you let me return the favour,” Win added, grabbing her pop bottle for a swig. “You look awfully cute yourself when you’re squirming under me, whining for me to let you cum.”

Gator flushed, his eyes falling to his plate, not sure he wanted her to know how much he enjoyed that as well.

“Think we should decide on a safe word before we delve into those fantasies,” she mused. “Maybe something simple as ‘yellow’ for slow down and ‘red’ for a hard stop,” she suggested. “Think you can remember that?”

“Yeah, course,” Gator huffed, rubbing at his nose with his knuckle before making to suck his fingers clean of sauce.

Before he could finish, Win caught his hand, wrapping her lips around the first finger, her tongue curling around his digit before hollowing her cheeks to suck, pulling his finger from her mouth with a soft pop before repeating the process with his next finger, her eyes not leaving his.

Gator’s mouth fell open as he watched, a moan catching in his throat. “Fuck, Win,” he hissed, his cock once more straining against the confines of his pants. “You really know how t’make me hard.”

Win smiled, leaning in to whisper in his ear once she’d finished sucking his fingers clean. “Yeah well, I’m really fucking wet right now,” she breathed, licking a wet stripe along the shell of his ear.

“Oh shit–” Gator groaned, his eyelids fluttering as his hips gave an involuntary jerk.

“Are you gunna be a good boy for me?” Win asked, placing her hand over the bulge in his cargos. “Gunna let me ride you?”

Gator let out a shaky breath, clearly itching to free his throbbing length, but holding back, waiting for Win’s permission.

“Uh huh, I’ll be good,” he whispered breathlessly, wetting his lips as he pleaded with his eyes. “Need you so bad,” she whined and Win’s grin grew. She loved that he was two sides of the same coin–cocky and demanding one minute and needy and submissive the next.

“Good boy,” she purred, grasping the hem of her shirt and lifting it over her head in one swift motion, letting it fall to the floor as she leaned in to kiss him, her hands slipping under his shirt as her tongue flicked against his, her palms sliding up his stomach and chest as she worked the tight fabric over his head.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to rid him of the garment, her mouth was back on his as her hands went to his pants, making quick work of his belt and zipper. As soon as his cock was free, Win stood, hooking her thumbs under the elastic of her shorts and shimmying them down along with her soiled panties, letting Gator watch, his eyes caressing her body like a man starved before she crawled astride him, too needy to tease him any further.

“Need you,” she breathed against his lips, her tongue meeting his as she ground down against him, coating his twitching length in her slick.

Gator’s answering groan was quickly swallowed and his hands circled her hips tightly, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he guided her movements and Win reached between them to grasp his cock, lining him up with her slick entrance and sinking down onto him, their moans blending together.

“Feel so good,” Gator grunted, his mouth falling open as she began to ride him, her hips rolling fluidly against him, picking up speed as his gasp on her urged her on.

Not bothering to watch her volume, Win’s rising moans competed with the sloppy sound of her pussy as her smooth movements turned harried, instead bouncing in his lap, chasing her pleasure as he drowned in it.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he gasped, exploding inside her without warning, her tits bouncing in his face as she milked him, pumping her fuller with each bounce.

“Shit—“ Gator whined, his head falling back against the couch as he panted for breath, kicking himself for cumming too soon.

“Sorry, I—“ he began, wincing as he softened inside her and Win surprised him by pressing a weary kiss to his lips, her sweat slicked forehead falling forward to rest against hers.

“Didn’t mean to cum so soon…”

Win shook her head. “It’s kinda hot,” she murmured, working moisture back into her mouth. “My pussy’s too good, you couldn’t hold back,” she said, her lips quirking slightly. “You know, there are other ways you can help me finish,” she added with a shrug and it was Gator’s turn to wet his lips as a thought occurred to him.

“Sit on my face.”

Win’s brows rose at how fast he suggested it. “You sure?” she asked. Gator’d had yet to test his oral skills and Win wasn’t exactly expecting much, but the husky way he said it made her stomach flip.

“Okay,” she breathed, helping him slide off the couch to the floor, his head resting back against the couch cushions while Win hovered over him, his spunk mixed with her arousal dripping down the inside of her thighs and he groaned at the sight, hooking his arms around her legs boxing in his face, bringing her down to his mouth.

“Oh–” she gasped as he kissed her, giving her clit an experimental lick, his tongue seeking her sensitive nub, swirling around it as he savoured her taste. It was so much sweeter than he’d expected and he moaned into her cunt, his eyelids fluttering as he grew bolder, tilting his chin upwards as his tongue pushed into her folds, exploring her already messy sex with fervor, his nose bumping against her clit with each movement.

“Y-yeah, yeah just like that,” Win murmured, her hands gripping the couch back as she rolled her hips, grinding against Gator’s face in her desperation for more friction.

His fingers bit into her thighs as he feasted on her, using his entire face to pleasure her, past caring about the mess that smeared his chin and cheeks, each gasp and moan he pulled from her felt like a badge of honour, driving him on, his tongue delving deeper before returning to her throbbing clit, lapping at it with broad relentless rolls of his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose as he drew her bundle of nerves between his lips to suck until she was shuddering, her thighs clamping tighter around his head.

“Oh fuck, GATOR–!” she cried, her hips stuttering as her climax hit her and she threw her head back, her entire body going rigid.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, collapsing to the couch and letting Gator breathe. “You can say that again,” he exclaimed, grabbing his shirt to wipe his face and taking a swig of pop before turning to look at her, a smug smirk gracing his swollen lips. “Seems like you enjoyed that,” he drawled, climbing to the couch with her and getting comfortable, laying half draped over her where she lay, their legs tangling as he snuggled closer.

“Don’t get cocky, Tillman,” Win teased, running her fingers through his mussed hair, the gelled strands half falling into his face as he rested his chin against her chest.

“Too late,” he chuckled huskily, licking his lips. “You taste really good, by the way,” he mused.

“Glad you think so,” she murmured, relaxing back against the throw pillow behind her, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “That was pretty hot how into it you were.”

Gator shrugged. “I like making you feel good.”

Win hummed, her fingers trailing down his smooth back, tracing lines between the dark moles and freckles that littered his skin.

“So, I was thinking… you should come to the ranch for Sunday dinner,” he murmured after a moment, his downturned eyes flicking up to hers hesitantly and Win frowned, her brows pinching.

“Gator, are you crazy? That sounds like a terrible idea,” she exclaimed, half pushing up to gape at him. “What about Roy? I thought the last thing we wanted was for him to know about this?” she asked, gesturing between the two of them.

Gator winced, hoping she wouldn’t freak out too much when he told her his dad already knew about them. “Actually, this was his idea…” he replied reluctantly.

“Really? Somehow I have a hard time believing that,” Win huffed, an uneasy feeling bubbling in her gut and she let out a soft groan. “That’s what he said to you after I left this morning, wasn’t it? He figured it out,” she murmured, reading the truth in his guilt filled gaze.

Gator nodded, the lines furrowing his brow deepening. “He said he wants to meet the girl I’ve been sneaking around with.”

A heavy rush of air whistled through Win’s teeth and she pressed a hand to her face. “I dunno, Gator, this all seems very official, and we’re–hell, I don’t really know what we are,” she exclaimed, letting her hand drop while her gaze instinctively sought his in the dim room.

“What do you want us to be?” he asked softly, a worried frown knitting his brows as he waited for her answer, his large brown eyes watching her earnestly.

“Aw Jesus, don’t do that,” Win groaned, snapping her eyes shut against the sight, too much for her to take in the moment—her chest tightening with an emotion she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Do what?” Gator countered, nearly pouting, his frown deepening and Win groaned again when she opened her eyes.

“You know what!” she whined. “Stop looking at me with those damn eyes of yours.”

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” Gator asked, a small smirk playing at his lips when he realized the power he had over her with just a look.

“They’re dangerous!” Win exclaimed, trying to turn away, but Gator was having none of it.

“Yeah, and why’s that?” he countered, grabbing her chin to force her to face him and she huffed a sigh.

“Because they’re more beautiful than they have any fuckin’ right to be,” Win breathed, wincing when Gator’s grin widened.

“Fine!” she huffed, cornered. “I like seeing you, alright?” she conceded, feeling her cheeks burn. “But I like how easy this is–how it’s been–and-and I’m afraid putting a label on it is gunna complicate everything. I don’t wanna get hurt,” she explained, her words growing smaller at the end of her outburst and Gator’s expression softened.

“I don’t wanna hafta hide you anymore, Win. I wanna show off my girl. Fuck, I want everyone to know you’re mine. Is that so bad?” he murmured, searching her face.

“Your girl?” Win scoffed before softening, her resolve weakening—those two little words sending her stomach fluttering.

“C’mon Winnie, be the Ripley to my John McClane,” he uttered with all seriousness, using the line from one of her favourite songs against her and Win barked an incredulous laugh, her doubt forgotten for a moment.

“I can’t believe you actually just made that reference!” she exclaimed, hiding her face against his forehead and Gator stiffened.

“Hey, I listened to that mix you made me. Some of it was weird, granted, but I liked that line!” he yelped defensively.

“Now, how the hell can I say no when you compare me to one of the most badass women in movie history?” Win murmured, shaking her head in bemusement.

“You can’t.” Gator shrugged, half holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

“Alright, fine, I’ll be your girl,” Win relented, rolling her eyes and Gator sobered at her flippant tone, the amusement draining from his face.

"Don’t get my hopes up if you're just gonna leave like everyone else,” he murmured, and Win felt a block of ice drop into her stomach. All this time she’d been so focused on how he could hurt her, never giving any thought to the fact that she could hurt him just as badly, that his feelings for her might be that deep, and it took her by surprise at just how serious he was.

“I won’t,” she breathed, turning his face toward her, her eyes searching his, the vulnerability in his gaze twisting her heart. They’d never talked about his mother before, but if her friends were to be believed, she’d apparently run off when he was young, leaving him with his father.

“I mean it,” she insisted, her breath wavering. “Just… don’t make me regret it,” she whispered and Gator nodded.

“I won’t,” he echoed, letting out a breath she hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. “Does this mean you’ll come?” he asked and Win sighed.

“Yeah, but they’re gunna hate me,” she reminded him, anxiety prickling her gut.

“Just don’t get political, and wear your nicest dress and those boots you look so good in,” he said, the tension leaching from his body as he rested his cheek against her chest, nuzzling closer to her.

“I hope you know what you’re talking about,” Win whispered, but she felt herself relaxing as well, slipping her arms around him, the weight of his embrace calming her somewhat.

“Trust me,” he murmured.

Win squeezed her eyes shut, hoping she could—hoping she wasn’t making a mistake. She knew this meant she’d be walking willingly into the wolves’ den, but at least Gator would be there with her. He wouldn’t feed her to the wolves.

At least, she hoped so.

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#gator tillman #gator tillman x oc #gator tillman smut #gator tillman fanfiction #fargo #fargo fx #fargo s5 #oc: win lewis #joz.fic #fic: don’t waste your time on me #otp: wingator

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