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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 28 days

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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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thecreelhouse · 4 months

Text

part time soulmate, full time problem

Paring: Gator Tillman x Alt Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns) || MDNI!

Summary: While you and Gator brace yourselves for your inevitable departure in two days, feelings threaten to break the surface for both of you. Amidst that, your families come home unexpectedly, and the past comes back to throw one last punch your way.

Word count: 6.3k

CW/Tags: PTSD, domestic/familial abuse (physical and emotional), violence and descriptions of violence, brief weight mention/fatphobia, gun mention, misogyny, alcoholism, death mention, dissociation, no smut this chapter (sry y’all!!), hurt/comfort, fluff

Series Masterlist // Read on AO3

A/N: I realized when I finished writing this chapter I can’t remember if it was mentioned in the show if Gator lived on his own or not, so if it’s not canon, whoops lol. Please take all of the tags into consideration before reading. If any of this is upsetting to you and you need to skip this one, I completely understand. Take care of yourselves first babes!! Next chapter will be back to the filth lol promise, and it only goes up from here. Thank you again for all the support on this series on here and AO3 🫶🏻

Day 8

It takes five whole days for the snowstorm to end. With your face pressed up against the window, you can’t believe your eyes, fogging up the glass with your breath.

“Am I dreaming? Do you see this?” Your fingers are splayed on the frigid cold glass, tingling over the temperature contrast.

Gator tiredly shuffles up behind you, “No, ‘cause your big head’s in the way, freak.” His arms slide around your hips while he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Why is your chin so boney? Quit stabbin’ my head with it, jerk.” You reach back to his face, shoving your now freezing hands on his cheeks; Gator yelps at the sharp cold touch.

“Get your corpse hands offa’ me,” He grumbles, large hands grabbing yours and pinning them to your sides. “Can ya’ at least let me wake up fully before you start misbehavin’?”

“The sun’s out!” You’re ignoring his grumpiness, thrilled the snow is finally done burying the two of you alive in this house. There’s also a weird, subtle pang in your heart that being snowed in together is coming to an end. You kind of liked being in your own little corner of the world with Gator, even if you almost killed each other at first, while visiting home, also your least favorite place in the world.

“I gotta call someone to clear the driveway.” He draws off his vape, blowing it over your head. A fluffy, thick cloud hits the window, blocking your view. “No way in hell either of us are shoveling any of that by hand.” You want to tease him for having his vape on hand shortly after getting up, but you realize it’s not a good time for teasing. Gator’s mind is elsewhere as he lets go of you; you catch on to his moodiness, realizing it’s more than just trying to wake up.

Spinning around to face him, you let your backside rest against the window sill.

“Hey, you doin’ alright?” You glance up to see him fixated on something, or maybe nothing, outside, brows drawing together while he’s lost in thought. “Gator?”

He can’t bring his eyes to meet yours, void of any expression. Leaning forward, your hand slips into his, softly lacing your fingers between his, while your thumb strokes along his hand.

“You have to go back soon, don’t you?”

You’ve been desperately trying to avoid this conversation, but you can’t push it off any longer. It’s not fair to Gator. It’s not fair to you.

“T- two days… I was kinda wishin’ the flight would be canceled because of the storm… but that’s— that’s just my luck, I guess,” You stutter, quickly following with forced optimism. “But we have two whole days together! It’s better than nothing.”

“Was kinda wishin’ for that too, darlin’.” Gator murmurs, finally peering down at you. There’s a rare, vulnerable sadness in his eyes, and that sadness is infectious as hell; you don’t even fight the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Jesus, this was easier to think about when we hated each other a week ago.” You’re cracking a joke to lighten the mood, but neither of you crack a smile or even force a laugh at the comment.

Gator steps closer, releasing your hand to cradle your face in his hands; the motion forces you to really look him in the eye, but he’s blurry through your tears. He lightly kisses your forehead and doesn’t pull back. Your arms enclose around him with little grace, hoping if you hold on tight enough, neither of you have to leave this week, or even this moment, behind.

“If I’m bein’ honest…” His voice crumbles, throat drying up as he holds back his own tears. “…we never hated each other, did we?”

You shake your head before hiding your face in his shoulder, “Never did. Not really. I was just angry.”

“Yeah, but you had every right to be. You still do.” Gator’s well aware that the wound hasn’t fully healed, and this past week was only a heavy duty bandaid slapped on top. He’d understand if you never fully forgave him, or never fully trusted him again.

“You’re not as awful as you think you are, Gator. You… you were pretty rotten… but you’re not that person anymore.”

“I’m tryin’ not to be. Still got a long way to go.”

“That’s all you can and should do. Just shows you want to be a better version of yourself. You deserve another chance, you deserve to be l—“

You bite your tongue before the big, scary ‘L’ word can sneak out, and redirect.

“I think trying is brave. Admitting your past self wasn’t who you should’ve been, making efforts to change that, even small changes, it’s big. It’s really fucking big. It’s scary, but I believe in you. You never completely lost your true self, it was buried by all the shit you’ve been through.”

While appreciative of your encouragement, he shakes his head, “That’s not an excuse, though.”

“You’re right. But it explains it. I think it’s still important to acknowledge it. Nothing changes until you acknowledge the truth of things.”

“Fuckin-a…” Gator’s at a loss for words. He knows you’ve been through a lot of shit too. The both of you have, with a lot of parallels in the suffering you had both endured. Yet you turned your pain into something more for yourself, and Gator just… pushed his pain aside. Ignored it, as if it’d disappear on its own someday.

You knew he never had a choice, though. Not under this roof. Not with that fuckin’ terrible excuse of a father. Even when he became old enough to know better, it couldn’t have been easy to watch everyone and everything change for the better while stuck in this godforsaken, hollow place. He gets why you moved. There was no hope here. Not really for anyone.

It wasn’t that you thought every person had to have a big, adventurous move halfway across the country to grow as a human being, but there’s truths everyone has to face at some point, or you drag them behind you like a ball and chain until your leg snaps.

None of the abuse Gator survived was an excuse for who he was shaped into, but nothing can change without addressing the root cause head-on.

“I hate this place. I hate what it’s done to us both. I hate the bitterness we were both raised under, the fucked up values and beliefs… and speaking of, how the hell did our parents allow us to have sleepovers as kids?” You can’t help getting sidetracked, and it pulls a soft chuckle from Gator.

“You really are still a pro at distracting yourself.”

“Listen, my brain likes to try to jump ten steps ahead of my mouth, but then it just kinda trips and tumbles and—“

Like a familiar routine at this point, Gator cuts you off with a kiss, sickeningly sweet with whatever artificial fruity flavor he just inhaled, just as clumsy and heartfelt as all the others before. Usually, by now, you’d smile with his lips on yours, but all you can think of is how much you’re gonna miss the familiarity of his quirks that you’ve grown to love so quickly.

Fuck. There’s that word again.

Gator pulls back to answer your question, “There’s a reason we stopped havin’ sleepovers as kids, y’know.”

“What? Why?” You tilt your head in confusion. Gator laughs and looks away.

“Pretty sure your ma’ called my mom when ya’ started your period.” He snorts, face turning red. Your jaw drops.

“No way?! That was the reason?”

His eyes squint shut as he laughs harder, nodding as his head leans forward to rest against yours. “They thought we’d try to fuck around I guess, worried we’d be ‘tempted by the devil’ or whatever.” He’s laughing in between his words as he reminisces about the ridiculous logic, if it could even be called that. “I overheard the conversation and kinda connected the dots.”

“Oh my god, I was thirteen! I was still playing with dolls! I didn’t even know why periods were a thing. I still thought babies came from the stork!” You’re almost bothered finding this out so much later in life, but Gator’s laughter is always contagious to you; you let the annoyance go, noting how it’s only further proof the two of you had parents that believed in the most outlandish nonsense.

“Wait, you still believed the stork was a thing at thirteen?”

“….. Maybe.”

“Now look at ya’, you’re the one corrupting me.”

“Hey, it takes two to tango, freak.” You taunt back, grabbing the vape from his hands. “Haven’t seen this in a lil’ while, I’m surprised.”

“My mouth’s been busy with… other things lately.” He smirks as you roll your eyes, shoving the vape in his hands. He also pays no mind to the way you use his insult- now a weirdly endearing term- back at him. Again he inhales the nauseating sugary flavor, blowing it in your face like a dick. “Well, they didn’t do a very good job at keepin’ us pure, huh?”

You go to grab the vape back, but he simply holds it high above your head. “I’m gonna take that damn thing and throw it into the fuckin’ snow.”

“Yeah, alright, if you can even reach it from down there.” He’s twirling it between his fingers, waggling his brows at you. “You need a step stool?”

“I ain’t even that short, asshole.” You grumble, relaxing back against the window sill, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just shorter than you, and it’s only a few inches.

“Says every short person ever.” His playful comment is met with you flipping him off before moving on.

“Y’know, I can’t even be surprised about this whole thing about the sleepovers. Ma’ wouldn’t buy me tampons, only pads. She thought even that was too sinful.” You’re sputtering out the words with giggles, realizing how bonkers this all sounds out loud.

“We really had fucked up families.” He jokes, grimacing. “But I’m glad they made us hang out all the fuckin’ time.”

“We still have fucked up families.” You quip, but you watch Gator’s smile fade quickly. The laughter dissolves with it. You know exactly what’s on his mind, so you’re concerned, but cautious to ask, “You still miss her?”

You knew only that his mother, Linda, “disappeared”, leaving him behind as a kid. You were only aware of the small details of hell Roy put Nadine through, and how badly that fucked up Gator even more. And you’d have to be blind as a bat to not notice the way he’s numb to Karen’s existence in the family.

He forces a sigh out, shrugging it off. “It’s— it’s still hard to talk ‘bout.” He’s contemplating if he should talk about any of it, and if he did, where the hell he would even begin.

“Hey, it’s okay. No pressure. If you ever do wanna talk about any of that… or anything… you know I’m here for you.” Your arms envelope around him, giving a reassuring hug. “If, and when, you’re ready, I’m here. Always.”

Gator hugs back, tighter than your grip; it’s his response to your kind words, and you don’t push for anything further, and he’s grateful for that. Hand in hand, his calloused, slightly wind-bitten skin is another comforting familiarity to you as he pulls you towards the door.

“C’mon, freak, let’s find someone with a stupid fuckin’ snow plow and make breakfast before ya’ corrupt me further.” He looks back at you, with that signature, smug smirk you’ve grown to love.

There’s no denying it anymore. It’s love.

And you’re terrified.

———

The sunshine reflects off the snow, creating that whimsical, sparkly look over its smoothed over surface. But god damn, is it blinding.

Insisting you needed to learn about gun safety before ever even touching a gun, Gator drags you out into the frigid outdoors to try some target practice out in a field.

You’re bundled in multiple layers; leggings under your jeans, three pairs of socks in your boots, a cozy and worn hat you crocheted years ago with a matching scarf and mittens, and a combo of your leather jacket, Gator’s sweatshirt, and multiple shirts underneath. You’re still freezing, though, so you keep your hands pulled through the sleeves, holding them close to your body to keep them warm.

Gator’s in his bomber jacket, and usual, minimal layers— maybe just minimal to you, but you’re cold just looking at him— smirking at your get up. He’s wearing the neck warmer that you made him, though, blooming a certain kind of warmth and joy in your heart that he actually likes it.

Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of warmth that’ll actually keep you from freezing out here.

You glare behind your heart shaped sunglasses, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, shove it up your ass, Tillman.”

“You look like the kid from ‘A Christmas Story’, y’know, the one that can’t put his arms down—“

“Yeah, yeah, look who’s talkin’, Mr. ‘I wear 90s sport sunglasses only dads wear’.”

He whips them off his face, pointing to you with them. “Hey, watch it.”

“What? Ya’ gonna spank me for teasing you? Good luck through these layers.” You laugh, and Gator rolls his eyes in return, ignoring your comment before trudging on through the snow.

The snow barely melted, but the harsh winds smoothed it out to subtle, fluffy hills, only to feel crunchy when you step on them, boots falling through to the colder layers underneath. Somehow it makes the ranch look even more barren than usual. It’s like riding a bicycle, though, you never forget—

Except, you did. You forgot how to maneuver through any amount of snow larger than a foot, and you’re grumbling under your breath with annoyance that Gator dragged you out here, trying to lift your legs through the snow to walk properly.

You also forgot how to ride a bicycle, but that’s not important right now.

“Gator, I don’t wanna keep goin’, it’s cold.”

“It’s winter.”

“Really? I thought it was summer. I was actually hopin’ to go swimmin’.”

Gator sighs over your lazy sarcasm, continuing on with a few more crunchy steps, until he hears a faint, fluffy ‘thud’ behind him. Sucking in a breath to try and stop an inevitable snicker, he spins around to find you feet away, flopped over in a mound of snow, and— just your luck— face down. You roll over, pouting as snow speckled all over your face as it slowly melts against the heat of your body.

With frustration, you groan loudly, laying in the snow like a rag doll that’s given up. Backtracking, Gator looks down at you, smug as he mocks your pout with an over exaggerated one.

“You know what this is, right?” He’s referring to the air mattress incident.

Eyes narrowing at him, you grumble, “You and your karma can kiss my ass.” You flip him off with a bright red, painfully cold middle finger.

“Yeah? That a promise?”

“Gator.”

“Fine, c’mere,” He relents, standing over you and offers his hands out to you, waiting to pull you up. You reach back, but as his hands lock around yours, you use all your strength to pull him down into the snow with you. The loose, dusty snow puffs up and around him like confetti on impact. Landing face first, just as you did, he rolls over with a grunt, glaring at you. “You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

Grinning, you quip back, “Like you aren’t one in mine?” Gator opens his mouth to respond, probably with some snarky comment, but it dies on his lips when he gets a better glimpse of you.

Gator can’t resist admiring how pretty you look, even if you’re bundled up like a comical marshmallow, face wet and cold from the snow. The way the early setting sun reflects off the snow, into your eyes, illuminating the color of them. How the tip of your nose is flushed from the cold, cheeks in the same shade to match; it still looks cute on you. You’re panting, trying to catch your breath in the thin, winter air, but you’re still grinning like a dork at him, and he catches his own like a bad cold, hitting hard and all at once.

Your eyes are glued to his face, admiring the way his cheeks are tinted in the most subtle shade of red, thanks to the winter wind. How soft his smile is when he’s not being a smug little bastard, with lips chapped— I’m getting him some goddamn chapstick— and the bonus of the wound on his bottom lip from yesterday. All the little freckles and moles scattered across his skin, almost like little constellations you’re tempted to trace out. How the sun reflecting off the snow illuminates his eyes, too, adding an extra glow to his already warm eyes, brown and soft with flecks of hazel in them.

There’s no questioning it. No denial. You’re in love with Gator, the once gangly, awkward little kid you grew up with, now handsome and strong; a bit rugged around the edges while still secretly carrying a soft, heavy heart, filled with more kindness than he likes to believe. It terrifies you, to be in love with anyone, let alone your childhood best friend who ended up your enemy for years; when you came home, this was never even a thought that crossed your mind.

You didn’t even realize you still felt deeply for him, not even when you were crocheting a gift for him, not even when you were plucking glass and ceramic shards from his knees, and certainly not even when he took care of you after fucking around for the first time.

Maybe there was nothing to realize when it was there all along.

He’s a little winded from being pulled down by surprised, breathy as he begins to speak. “Hey, can I tell ya’ somethin’?”

Golden hour is taking over, blanketing the expanse of the property and beyond the horizon with hues of oranges and gold, purples and pinks; the two of you are painted in the stunning natural light, and you hope to God this is a good question, or the timing of whatever he’s about to ask could be absolute shit.

You nod, curious and a little nervous. “Yeah, f’course.”

Gator chuckles nervously before taking a deep breath, “I… I think I—“

An engine roars across the field near the house, interrupting Gator; wheels crunching along the snow packed down on the driveway from the plow that came through earlier. The two of you sit up quickly to see your father’s truck pulling up to the house, and your heart sinks. You immediately become nauseated and anxious at the sight; Gator can tell you’re frightened, slipping his cold hand into your soft, mitten-bundled one.

“I- I didn’t know they were gon’ be back tonight.” He can feel you trembling as you say that, voice shaking along too; you feel small, so wrapped up in the comfort and security you and Gator had created over the past week, only for that to be erased by the unexpected arrival of your families. Your mind races, scrambling to put together any vigilance and defense for whatever bullshit is about to come, for either of you.

It was tolerable to handle your parents when you first arrived in North Dakota, because you could prepare and brace yourself for their abuse. Right now though, where you should find peace in your vulnerability with Gator, you feel like you’re drowning in it, trying to claw your way through choppy waters that only slip between your fingers.

“M’not leavin’ your side, darlin’.” Gator reassures you, voice quiet, as if they can hear the two of you from this far away. Meanwhile, not a single one of them looks over in your direction, entering the house without a look back. “We can go back to my place tonight, if you’re alright with that.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. We can pack quick and get the fuck outta here. And I’ll take you to the airport when you gotta go in a few days.”

“Gator, that’s so outta the way for you—“

“M’not leaving you with your dad, I don’t trust that fu—“ He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so rude, he’s still your family.”

“Nah. He’s not. He’s never been, never will be. Bound by blood don’t mean shit.” You can feel your fear shifting into rage; taking deep breaths, you try to calm yourself, knowing you can’t waltz back in there hostile or bitter.

Gator stands and pulls you up, hand still secure in yours. He waits for you to take the first steps, not wanting to rush you into what could be a toxic situation.

When the pair of you reach the front porch, Gator asks, “Would ya’ feel better in the car? I can grab your stuff before we leave. I don’t mind.”

You shake your head, steeling yourself for whatever could, and would, happen beyond that door, before heading inside.

The warmth of the house isn’t enough to shake the cold from your bones. Your fathers are both at the kitchen table, glasses with dark liquor in both of their hands, while your mother’s already stuck at the stove; you can hear the faint sounds of Karen talking to the twins upstairs.

Your father looks up as he sees you walk in, Gator trailing behind. A sneering look upon his alcohol worn face.

“Whoa! Looks like someone gained some holiday weight since we left,” Your father slurs, laughing when his comment twists your face into offense.

Fucking moron, I’m under like, 60 layers of clothes.

“We were outside, I had layers on, y’know, ‘cause it’s winter.”

“Watch your tone, girl.” The last word radiates with disgust towards you.

Roy’s watching all of this, silently, letting your father spit hatred right off the bat. He sips his drink, shooting a glare at Gator, who has a hand pressed against the small of your back, reassures you he’s here. You can barely feel it through the inches of fabric, but the sentiment is all the same.

“Yer’ makin’ your poor mother slave over a hot stove ‘cause you couldn’t be bothered to have dinner ready for us.” He spits. You tense up, trying to hold your anger in.

“How was I supposed to know when you’d be home, you never said shit. You don’t have to force Ma to do anything. I ain’t obligated to do anything I don’t wanna, either.” Your voice threatens to break, but you hold yourself together. Your mother still won’t look at you. Won’t even address you’re in the room. “You could learn how to do somethin’ y’self for once.”

Your father shoves himself out of his chair, striding over to you; Gator can feel you try to make yourself small and hide. “Where the fuck are your manners, woman?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “Six feet under with your dead daughter, asshole.”

“Don’t you dare talk ‘bout Willow like that—“

“Like what, Pa?” It’s taking a toll on you mentally and physically already, to balance between standing your ground, calming yourself, and hiding your fear. Your fingers clench into fists at your sides. “Don’t try actin’ like you care now.”

“It’s yer fault she died, makin’ her drive in the snow like that—“

Gator attempts to step in, still feigning respect to keep whatever little peace was left. “Sir, you can’t be twistin’ the truth like that. A drunk driver took her life—“

“Gator, stay out of it.” Roy warns, and immediately Gator shuts himself up out of fear of retaliation.

“It’s true, y’know. She was the safest driver I knew in this town, even in the snow.” You back Gator up. “It wasn’t her fault. How dare you blame her when she can’t even defend herself.”

Because she’s gone. Forever.

“She shouldn’t have been drivin’ so young, but you talked her into that one.” Your father sneers; he’s not speaking out of anger that she’s gone, he’s fueled by the insistent need to always be right, to always keep control.

“Willow had to learn ‘cause home wasn’t safe for her! She needed a way out. You made her life a livin’ hell in every way possible! I had to learn how to mend my own wounds while I was under your roof, and I took care of hers, ‘cause we couldn’t go to the hospital. I kept Lo’ alive a lot longer than either of you would ever! You and Ma both were supposed to protect her, supposed t’love her!”

Cruelly, he barks out a laugh, “Not like you did much—“

“You fuckin’ listen to me right fuckin’ now, you sick fuck,” You’re much shorter than your father, but the rage makes you feel bigger than he ever could be. You’re pointing a firm finger into his chest, only making him stumble back a bit because he’s already drunk. “I did everythin’ I could for that sweet girl, I taught her how to drive, I helped her with homework nearly every night, I gave her a safe place to rest her head once I moved out of your fucked up house. She had hope with me by her side. She had a future set that you woulda’ never cared to give her. She worked so. Fucking. Hard. Some drunk fuck took that away, not me. Not the snow. A drunk driver that didn’t give a flyin’ fuck about anyone but himself—

“Which, by the way,” You turn to Roy, eyes glassy as you try holding back tears; Gator reaches out protectively to hold you back, but you still glare at Roy. “The driver only got a slap on the wrist ‘cause it was one of your buddies, huh? Did ya’ tell my parents that one? You useless piece of—“

A sharp sting tingles across your face, with numbness and a deafening ringing in your ears to follow; your father uses his wedding ring as a weapon of discipline as he backhands you across the face. Pain sets in, and you can feel yourself dissociate as your vision doubles; reaching up to your face, you pull your hand back and find blood dripping down your fingers. You can’t hear the way your mother gasps, or the way your father tells her to know her place.

You also don’t realize Gator let go of you to lunge at your father, slamming him against the wall with force that knocks the wind out of his lungs. The arm pinning him across his neck doesn’t help much with his shallow breathing, either.

“Gator—“

“Roy, shut the fuck up, for once in your fuckin’ life.” Gator spits before turning back to your father, pressure increasing on his throat as he lays his arm into him with almost all he’s got, without killing him, of course.

Everything is blurry to you, everything sounds like it’s underwater and miles away as you stumble back into a wall, leaning into it for support. The edges of your vision begin closing in, turning black. Your heart beats wildly, and your body is begging to hyperventilate.

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass out.

“Touch her again, and I’ll make sure ya’ rot in a lonely, filthy cell ‘till the end of your days, you sick fuck.” Gator spits into your father’s face, which is slowly turning blue as his windpipe is being nearly crushed. Roy reaches for Gator roughly, but Gator throws an elbow back, perfectly aimed at his throat. His father coughs wildly, collapsing to the ground while he holds his throat, glaring at his son in disbelief.

You’ve never seen Gator so livid before; it’s the first thing you can see clearly as the blurriness dissolves from your vision, taking the ear-piercing ringing along with it. His jaw looks like it’ll break any second with how hard he’s gritting his teeth together, with nostrils flared and a threatening glare towards your father.

You don’t hear Karen come downstairs, but you can slightly hear her yell, “What is goin’ on in here?!”

Gator turns to her, still holding nearly all of his body weight to keep your father from moving; this is when his eyes soften, oddly enough. “Karen, you needa’ take your girls and leave, unless ya’ wanna die here stayin’ with this fuckin’ pig.” He glares at Roy, still gasping for air on the kitchen floor.

She’s speechless, eyes darting all around, from Gator, to Roy, to your father, then your mother, and you, holding your face to stop the bleeding. She can’t tear her eyes away from you, knowing by experience how badly hurt you are. Unexpectedly, she’s reaching out to guide you out of the room, murmuring, “C’mon, gotta clean that up ‘fore it gets infected.”

It’s incredibly surreal that Karen steps up with motherly care in an instant, where your own mother couldn’t, and wouldn’t dare. She doesn’t say much to you, letting you zone out in the bathroom while you’re on the toilet seat, trying not to lose consciousness as she tends to the gash on your face.

“It ain’t worth it, y’know. Gator’s right. Y’all gotta go somewhere safe.” You mumble, startling her a bit after going so long keeping silent. She’s trying to focus on cleaning the blood off, but you can tell her mind is elsewhere, too. “One time’s too many, y’know. Bein’ hit and stuff.” She doesn’t say it, but you know she knows already. “You and your kids deserve better than this.”

Before she can respond, Gator’s in the doorway, pushing a wad of cash at Karen, from god knows where. You’re secretly hoping he stole it from his dad, an extra blow to his ego. “Even if it’s just a motel or somethin’, y’all gotta get out and find somewhere safe.”

She looks at it hesitantly, then back at Gator, “Why are you doin’ this?”

Gator hesitates, swallowing a lump in his throat, shoving it in her hands, “‘Cause you don’t gotta end up like my mom, too.” He looks over at you, “Darlin’, we gotta go. I got no clue how long they’re down for, but it bought us some time.” He comes in after Karen quickly bandages the now clean laceration, helping you up to head out of the room. Before leaving, he turns back to Karen, “I suggest y’all leave soon as y’can, too.”

Guiding you to the stairs, Karen catches his attention one more time. “Gator?” He throws a glance over his shoulder at her. “You better keep her safe.”

He nods, shifting your arm around his shoulder, and winding his arm around you, under your arms to hold you up, using him as support. You’re in a daze, hearing everything, but feeling so distant.

“Yes, ma’am.” He’s not just politely answering, he’s firmly promising.

As the two of you head for the door, you pass your mother, weeping on the couch, unable to look at you. You know it’s useless, but you have to try. You’d regret it if you didn’t. You stop in your tracks, stopping Gator alongside you. He notices you can’t look away from your mother and the state she’s in, and helps you over to her. Gator stands close, making sure nothing else happens to you, while you sit next to her.

“Ma?” You reach out to grab her hand, with a crumpled up wad of tissues in her grip. She can’t look at you. She won’t. “You don’t gotta live like this anymore.”

Her sniffling and weeping continues. You can feel the shards of your heart that you’ve taped and glued back together, time and time again, splinter apart once more.

“Mama, you don’t have to stay with him. I can help you find somewhere to go— you can even come with me. You can be safe.” You’re pleading with her; there’s a lot you resent her for, but she still never deserved the abuse and turmoil your father dragged her through. “You deserve better. Always have, Mama. Please.”

When she finally speaks, she still can’t look you in the eye. “It’ll get better when you leave.” It’s said so simply, but it just crushes whatever splinters are left of your broken heart. “He never wanted daughters from the start.”

You hold in your tears; you never saw crying as a sign of being weak, but your mother doesn’t deserve your vulnerability at this point. She didn’t deserve you, or Willow. Neither of them did. You both should’ve been raised in a family with unconditional love.

Looking at Gator, you hold your arm out, and he helps you back on your feet. You glance at your mother one last time, who still won’t look at you. “Yeah, well… we never wanted the parents we got… So I guess we’re even.”

Goodbye, Ma.

As you and Gator head for the door, you hear her try to muffle her sobs with more tissues. You take one last glance into the kitchen, Roy and your father both unconscious on the floor. Roy’s throat is already bruising, and your father’s face is unrecognizable, pummeled to a bloody pulp. Gator tries shielding you away, but you already see the damage. He’s alive, and the bleeding slowed, but he’s out cold, probably for a while, too.

“M’sorry you saw that.”

Your mind wanders as Gator wraps you in a big blanket, the one you used the night the power went out, before cautiously heading to his cruiser to help you into the passenger seat. When you’re settled in, he kisses your forehead before tugging the blanket around you tighter, making sure you’re warm and as comfortable as you can be, despite the pain.

“You’re safe in here, gimme a few minutes, I gotta grab your stuff, okay?” You nod at his words, dozing off seconds after he shuts the car door, locking it, just in case. The exhaustion of everything that just happened takes over, forcing you to rest.

The ride to Gator’s place is quiet enough that you’re able to stay asleep for the few minutes it takes to arrive.

“Darlin’, c’mon, let’s get ya’ inside.” You’re woken up by Gator softly speaking, pulling you out of the cruiser, confused as to what’s going on or where you are until awareness slowly sets in. “I grabbed our stuff already, and we can do whatever you want to, or if you need some space, I can give ya’ that.”

You can’t find your words or collect your thoughts, still lost in a daze, so you nod distractedly in response while he helps you inside.

Gator’s apartment is cluttered here and there; you knew he was rarely here to keep things tidy, though, with how often he was made to do Roy’s dirty work for him.

He throws the covers back on his bed to get you settled and comfy, helping you out of the several layers of clothes and your boots before laying you down, while you wrap yourself back up in the blanket he gave you earlier. “You should probably eat somethin’—“ You shake your head ‘no’. “Well, at least you need some water. Maybe painkillers— wait, you shouldn’t take any on an empty stomach. Maybe ice? Yeah, ice.” You tug on his hand before he turns away to leave, so he crouches down next to you at the edge of his bed. “What’s up, darlin’?”

Your voice cracks, forcing your words through a dry, choked up throat, “Are you okay?”

Normally, Gator would tease you for asking, for putting him first before yourself. He was never dishonest when he answered before, but he’s being upfront this time. “No… I don’t think I am.”

You sit up quickly, groaning as the room spins; Gator has to guide you back down to the bed, but you prop yourself up on your arm, leaning onto it as your tired eyes search his expression. “Did he hurt you? Did your dad hurt you? I’ll kill ‘em both—“

Barely above a whisper, Gator pushes the hair falling in your face behind your ear, “Easy there, tiger.” He can’t bring himself to laugh as he gently teases you, but does his best to smile, though it’s somber. “Not physically. Watchin’ him attack you like that… I shoulda’ kept you away from your dad, or let y’stay in the car from the start. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”

Your face falls while sorrow floods through you. “Gator, you did protect me. You probably saved my life tonight, or at least saved me an ambulance trip. You know he would’ve kept going if you didn’t stop him.” You hold his face in your hand, “You’ve always let me fight my own battles, and you’ve always stepped in if I needed backup. It’s something I’ve always been grateful for. You are someone I’m always grateful for.”

His thumb grazes your jawline on the same side your fresh wound is, careful not to get too close to it. “Not sure why you’d say that after what I did to you before you moved… But m’glad you weren’t alone with this shit tonight.”

“If anyone’s ever deserved a second chance, it’s you. It’s always been you, Gator.” You mumble the last part out as your eyelids grow heavy, head sinking back into the pillow, but it’s just coherent enough for Gator to hear it. He pulls the blankets over you, assuring you’re cozy and warm, while waiting for you to settle into a deep sleep; he hopes your dreams are even just the tiniest bit sweeter than this day was for you.

Silently, Gator promises to himself and you, that he’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe, and make sure you know you’re really, truly loved.

He just hopes to God he has the balls to work himself up to the confession again tomorrow.

#gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x you #Fargo #part time soulmate full time problem #my fics

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atinylittlepain · 5 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.

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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.

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