part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
part 5
part 6
special chapter (japan trip)
first anniversary
part 7
more...
𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠
joe gets jealous when your customer tries to flirt with you
joe loves seeing you and his band getting along
you get distracted while joe teaching you chords
you teach joe how to bake and it humbles him
you get a pregnancy scare and joe keeps reassuring you
joe sleeps in your My-Melody themed bedroom
joe thought you were just having a bad day...
joe teases you about his album he found on your vinyl records
girl next door backstory
how i imagine joe and girl next door when drunk
you packed joe lunches and he shows it off to his bandmates
joe plays and sings " remember me " for you to help you sleep
joe posted your unboxing video on his account
you went to joe's show and he almost didn't recognize you
joe keeps feeding the stray kitten outside his studio, eventually he adopts it
you are obsessed with Joe’s biceps
you lost your engagement ring
joe's and gnd's ig photo dump
more...
𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔
do they have an age gap?
how long gnd and joe dating?
am i gonna write smut about them?
how long am i writing the series?
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏
girl next door backstory
part 1
part 2
part 3
joe sleeps in your My Melody-themed bedroom
part 4
part 5
first time together and you get shy because of your plushiesyou went to joe's show and he almost didn't recognize you
joe gets jealous when your customer tries to flirt with you
part 6
joe loves seeing you and his band getting along
you get distracted while joe teaching you chords
you teach joe how to bake and it humbles him
you get a pregnancy scare and joe keeps reassuring you
SPECIAL CHAPTER JAPAN TRIP
joe thought you were just having a bad day...
joe teases you about his album he found on your vinyl records
how i imagine joe and girl next door when drunk
you packed joe lunches and he shows it off to his bandmates
joe plays and sings " remember me " for you to help you sleep
you are obsessed with Joe’s biceps
HAPPY FIRST ANNIVERSARY
part 7
joe posted your unboxing video on his account
joe keeps feeding the stray kitten outside his studio, eventually he adopts it
you lost your engagement ring
joe received a call from the hospital
part 8
your regular customer for a long time dies, and his kid went to the cafe to tell you
part 9
part 10
Steve Harrington x sunshine!fem!reader, 4.1k words
Summary: Steve Harrington treats you like an annoyance, all heavy sighs and eye-rolls, and you adore him anyway. Then he goes too far, says something that hurts, and realises that he's loved you all along.
Steve Harrington is mean to you.
Well, not mean, exactly. He’s just… Steve. Which is to say, his voice carries a permanent layer of exasperation that is seemingly only reserved for you in particular. He speaks to you in a shorthand of sighs and grumbles. You are, in his lexicon, “a nuisance,” “underfoot,” and most frequently, “in the way, sweetheart.”
He calls you “kid” when he’s feeling particularly dismissive, even though you're only a year younger than him, and he has a habit of flicking your forehead or ruffling your hair into a mess.
And you adore him. Hopelessly. You bring him a Coke without being asked, you memorise his work schedule so you can “accidentally” bump into him, and you hang on his every gruff word as if it’s gospel.
You're terrible at hiding your crush on him, shining from your eyes every time he enters a room. He finds it baffling. And, in his most private moments, a little bit breathtaking.
He finds your attention strange because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. His high school crown is gone, his hair is less perfect, and his most exciting evening plans usually involve re-shelving returns.
Yet, there you are. A constant. When he mutters about his stupid car making a weird noise, you nod along with grave concern and help him look up possible problems when you go to the public library. When he complains that Robin used the last of the good popcorn, you look genuinely outraged on his behalf.
You have this way of tilting your head just so when he talks, your entire being focused on him, as if the rest of the world has politely blurred into the background. It's unnerving.
It's also kind of nice.
It happens on a Thursday. Steve's had a horrible day. His head is pounding, his car is making a new, expensive-sounding whine, and a customer just yelled at him for five minutes because Risky Business was checked out. He’s a tightly coiled spring of pure, undiluted annoyance.
And then you appear. A burst of sunshine in the stale video store air. You’re holding a small, slightly lopsided cookie on a napkin, your face lit with a hopeful, proud smile.
“Hi! I baked,” you announce, presenting it to him like a sacred offering. “Chocolate chip. I know you said your grandma's were the best, but I tried the recipe you mentioned and I added extra chips, just like you like.”
You’re beaming, so pleased with yourself for remembering this tiny detail about him. You wait, your eyes wide and sparkling, for his approval.
Steve looks from your hopeful face to the cookie. The smell of sugar and chocolate, usually comforting, feels cloying. Your cheerful voice scrapes against the raw edges of his mood.
The spring inside him snaps.
“Christ, can you just… not for five minutes?” The words come out flat and cold, sharper than he intends.
Your smile wavers. “What?”
“The hovering. The… the constant attention.” He gestures vaguely, his jaw tight. “It’s suffocating. Do you ever just… exist without making it about trying to get me to notice you?”
Your face crumbles in less than a second. The light in your eyes dims so completely it’s like someone flipped a switch. Steve's mean, but he's never this mean. Not on purpose, not with an intent to hurt, but this hurts.
You look down at the cookie in your hand as if you’ve just realised you’re holding something disgusting. Your lower lip gives a tiny, traitorous tremble before you bite down on it hard, trying to steady yourself.
You don’t say a word. You just set the cookie down on the counter, turn on your heel, and walk out.
The silence you leave behind is deafening. Steve stands there, staring at the stupid, lopsided cookie. The angry heat in his veins instantly cools, replaced by a cold, sinking dread that pools in his stomach.
What has he done?
"Steve."
He turns. Robin is standing there, her face pale. She looks dangerously close to tears, staring at the space where you just were, then back at him, her expression one of utter disbelief.
“How could you?” she whispers, her voice trembling with a hurt that isn’t even hers. “How could you say that to her?”
He opens his mouth, but no defence comes.
“She’s just trying,” Robin continues, her voice gaining strength, thick with emotion. “She tries so hard, all the time, just to be near you. She thinks you hung the damn moon, and you just…”
Her voice switches to an angry tone. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? For someone to look at you like that? After everything? To see all the crap and the baggage and the scars and still think you’re worth a lopsided cookie?”
Steve feels like he’s been hollowed out.
“She’s the kindest person who walks in here,” Robin says, her voice breaking. “And you made her feel like a pest. You broke her heart, dingus. And for what? Because you had a bad day?”
She turns and walks back into the storeroom, leaving him alone with the cookie and the echoing, agonising truth of her words.
You don't show up at all on Friday. Robin only speaks to him when absolutely necessary, and every clipped word feels like a shard of glass.
Every time the bell jingles, Steve’s head snaps up, a pathetic, hopeful lurch in his chest that’s immediately crushed when it’s not you. He straightens the same row of horror movies six times.
By Saturday, he’s a walking bruise. He doesn’t sleep. He can’t eat. He’s been hollowed out and filled with a churning, toxic mixture of guilt and terror. He drives past your street three times but can’t make the turn. What if you look at him with that shattered expression again? He doesn’t think he could survive it.
Sunday is worse. The silence in his own house is maddening. He tries to watch TV, but he just sees your face—the way it fell. He hears Robin’s voice: You broke her heart.
He has to fix it. He has to try. Even if you slam the door in his face, he has to see you.
Monday afternoon, after a horrible shift, he drives to your apartment. His hands are sweating on the wheel. He knocks. Once, twice. No answer. Just a faint, muffled sound from inside that twists his gut.
He knows where your spare key is. You’d told him, months ago, laughing as you taped it under the ugly ceramic frog pot by your door. “In case I ever lock myself out!” you’d said. He’d rolled his eyes then. “That's the worst possible hiding spot, sweetheart. If I was a thief, I'd look there first.”
His fingers are clumsy as he feels under the cold ceramic. The key is there. Using it feels like a violation, but the silence from inside your apartment is worse. He unlocks the door and pushes it open slowly.
“Hey…? It’s me,” Steve calls, his voice strained.
The living room is dim, blinds drawn. And there you are. Not on the sofa. On the cold hardwood floor in front of it, curled into the smallest possible ball. Your arms are wrapped tight around your knees, your face completely hidden in your knees.
The sight knocks the air from his lungs.
“Oh, angel,” he breathes, the endearment a pained exhale he didn’t know he had in him.
He closes the door and crosses the room in three long strides. He doesn’t hesitate. He bends, slides one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, and scoops you up from the floor. You’re so light, so boneless with misery, you don’t even startle. You just let out a small, broken whimper against his neck.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Can’t have you on the floor, sweetheart. It's so cold.”
He sits on the sofa and settles you on the cushions between his legs, your back to his chest, so you’re fully surrounded, cradled in the space he makes for you. One hand splays over your heart, feeling its frantic, sad rhythm. The other cradles your head, his fingers sinking into your hair.
You finally break. A raw, ragged sob tears from your throat, and then another. You twist in his hold just enough to press your face into the collar of his shirt, your tears soaking the cotton instantly.
“That’s it,” Steve whispers, his lips pressed to your temple. “Let it out. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. God, I hate that I said that crap to you.” His own eyes burn, but he keeps his voice steady to calm you as best he can. “I didn’t mean it. Not a single word. You’re my favourite thing in the whole world.”
His hand moves from your chest to find yours, lacing your icy fingers with his and bringing your joined hands up to rest under his chin. “I love you,” he says quietly, the first ever time. “I’m in love with you. And I was so scared of it I tried to ruin it.”
You tremble against him, your sobs slowly softening into hitching breaths. You turn your head just enough to look up at him, your eyes swimming with a heartbreak he put there. He hates himself for it. “You looked at me like I was nothing,” you whisper, the words scraped raw.
“You are everything,” he corrects, his voice thick with tears. “And I was too stupid to know what to do with it. Forgive me. Please. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
You stare at him, searching for the lie, finding only a desperate, open honesty you’ve never seen before. You blink up at him, eyes clearing of their sadness.
"You... you love me?" you whisper, your voice small and hoarse from crying, but laced with a wonder that makes his heart clench.
Steve lets out a watery, relieved breath that's almost a laugh. He nods, his nose brushing against yours. "Yeah. So much it makes me stupid. Obviously."
A shaky, almost incredulous little giggle escapes you, followed by a sniffle. "You are stupid," you agree, but the words are soft, devoid of any real bite. They're just a fact.
"You bake me cookies and look up car manuals for me," he points out, his thumb stroking your cheek. "So what does that make you?"
"Also stupid," you mumble, but you're nuzzling into his touch now, a movement that sends pure warmth through him.
"The perfect amount of stupid," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. It's chaste, gentle, a promise. "My kind of stupid."
You're quiet for a moment, your fingers tightening around his where they're still laced together. You're studying him, the last of the walls around your heart crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. "You're really not just saying it because I'm sad?"
Steve's chest aches. "Partly, but not in the way you think," he murmurs quietly. "Not 'cos I feel sorry for you." He shifts you slightly so he can see your face. "I'm saying it 'cos seeing you this sad... because of me... it's like looking at the sun going out."
He takes a deep breath. "The truth is I'm an asshole. An asshole who's in love with you. But I'm gonna try to be less of an asshole, if you'll let me."
You're quiet for a long moment, just looking at him. Then, you lean forward, resting your forehead against his. "You're not an asshole. You're just... you. And I really love you."
The words, so softly spoken, land in the centre of his chest and explode into a supernova of pure joy. He closes his eyes, letting the feeling wash over him, before pulling you tighter against him, burying his face in your hair.
"Say it again," he murmurs, the words muffled.
"I love you, Steve."
He kisses your hair. "Again."
A real, genuine laugh bubbles out of you, light and clear. It's the best sound he's ever heard. "I love you, you big, mean, stupid jerk."
"That's more like it," he laughs into your hair, tucking you closer against his front.
The next day, Tuesday, around the usual time, the bell over the Family Video door gives a single, timid ting.
Steve’s head snaps up. His heart, which has been a heavy, anxious weight in his chest all morning, gives a hopeful, painful thud.
You’re standing just inside the door, frozen. You’re clutching a small, brown paper bag to your chest. Your eyes, while clear of the devastation from yesterday, are wide and watchful. You don’t smile, not yet. Even after yesterday, you're still wary. He doesn't blame you.
Steve sets down the pen he’s been fidgeting with and slowly rounds the counter. He stops a few feet away from you, his hands in his pockets.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly. Barely any gruffness, there, only soft care.
You swallow, your grip tightening on the bag. “Hi, Steve.”
“You brought me something?” he asks, his voice a low, coaxing hum. He nods toward the bag, a gentle prompt.
“Cookies,” you say. “I… I wanted to try again. Properly.” You take a small, hesitant step forward and hold it out. “If you want.”
Steve’s heart swells. God, you're the bravest person he knows. He closes the distance between you, hands coming up to cover yours where they hold the bag.
“Look at me, angel,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper meant just for you.
You lift your gaze, and he holds it, letting you see every ounce of the remorse and adoration in his own. He sees the flicker of fear in yours, the memory of his cold voice. It guts him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, his thumbs stroking gentle circles on your skin. “C’mere.”
He opens his arms.
You hesitate for just a heartbeat, your eyes searching his. He doesn’t move, just waits, his expression open and patient.
Then you step into him, and he folds you into his chest with a sigh of pure relief. His arms wrap around you, one hand splayed wide on your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you close. He feels you take a deep, shuddering breath, your body slowly relaxing against his.
He presses a lingering kiss to your temple. “I’m not gonna yell again. I’m not gonna be mean. Okay? My voice is never gonna sound like that when I’m talking to you. That guy’s gone.”
You nod against his chest, your arms tightening around his waist. “Promise?” you whisper.
“I swear on everything,” he vows. Steve pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re safe with me. Always. You could set the whole damn store on fire and I’d just be worried you got ash in your hair. You’re it for me. Got that?"
A smile tugs at your lips. "Got it."
He smiles back, his own eyes stinging. “Good.” He leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. “Now, what do you say we actually eat one of these cookies together?"
You let out a wet laugh. "Okay."
He keeps one arm around your shoulders as he leads you behind the counter, pulling out the stool he keeps there just for you. He opens the bag, pulls out two slightly-less-lopsided cookies, and hands you one. He takes a bite of his own, watching you the whole time.
“Mmm,” he hums, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Perfect. Just like you.”
You blush, ducking your head, but you’re smiling as you take a bite of your own cookie.
The back room door bangs open, to Robin standing there, arms crossed, taking in the scene. Steve leaning against the counter, his body angled towards you, a soft, dopey smile on his face as he watches you eat. You perched on the stool, swinging your feet a little, looking up at him with stars in your eyes.
She lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Unbelievable.”
You jump a little, your eyes going wide like a deer in headlights. Steve just shoots Robin a look that’s half-warning, half-plea.
Robin ignores him and stalks over, plucking the remaining cookie from the bag. She points it at you. “So. This is it? He says ‘I love you’ once, and you just... fold? No further questions? No demands for a written apology? No ceremonial burning of his hairspray? I could've helped you with that, you know.”
You shrink a little on the stool, clutching your half-eaten cookie to your chest. Your eyes dart from Robin’s stern face to Steve’s fondly exasperated one. “He… he meant it,” you say, your voice small but terribly earnest. "He said he was sorry. And that I was his favourite thing in the world."
Robin stares at you. She looks at your utterly sincere, smitten expression. She looks at Steve, who is gazing down at you with a look of such raw, besotted tenderness it’s almost embarrassing to witness.
She shakes her head. "You're hopeless, babe. Adorable, but the biggest pushover in Indiana." She takes a big bite of the cookie. Chews. Her eyes widen slightly. "Holy shit."
You blink. "What?"
Robin points the remaining half of the cookie at Steve. “You are a lucky fuck, you know that?"
Steve grins knowingly. "How so?"
“How so?” Robin repeats, her voice full of theatrical disbelief. “Let me count the ways. One: she bakes.” She takes another bite, speaking around it. “And well, might I add. The chocolate is still melty. The edges are crisp. The centre is chewy without being raw."
"Two: she looks at you like you invented the concept of joy. Even after you were a monumental dingus. The freaking loyalty, oh my God." She pops the final piece of the cookie into her mouth. "And three: you do not deserve her. And yet, here she is."
Steve's grin hasn't faded as he turns his attention from Robin's impassioned rant to you. Your face is burning with flustered embarrassment.
He leans down to turn you on the stool so you’re facing him, your knees bumping his legs. “She’s right,” he murmurs. “I am a lucky fuck. The luckiest. And I definitely do not deserve you. But I'm gonna try to."
“You don’t have to try that hard,” you whisper.
“Yes, he does,” Robin interjects, leaning on the counter. “The minimum effort is daily compliments, foot rubs on request, and never using the word ‘suffocating’ for the rest of his life.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s still looking at you, a lovestruck smile on his face. He leans down to give you a kiss. It’s slow. Sweet. A gentle press of his lips to yours that feels like a promise sealed. When he pulls back, just an inch, he’s smiling, his nose brushing against yours.
“Alright, that’s my cue! I’m clocking out early before I develop diabetes from second-hand sweetness,” Robin announces, grabbing her bag and scattering off, the bell jingling after her.
The store is suddenly, wonderfully quiet. It’s just the two of you, surrounded by shelves of movies and the late afternoon sun streaming through the window.
Steve doesn’t move away. He stays right there, looking down at you, his features soft with adoration.
“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, warm rumble, as if he’s greeting you for the first time all over again.
“Hi,” you whisper back, feeling a fresh, giddy shyness bubble up.
One of his hands comes up, his fingers gently brushing a stray crumb from the corner of your mouth. His touch lingers, his thumb smoothing over your bottom lip. “You’ve got a little…” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on your mouth.
“Oh,” you breathe, your lips tingling under his thumb.
Instead of pulling away, he leans in and kisses you again. This one is even softer than the last, just a tender press of his lips, over and over, as if he’s savouring the taste of chocolate and you and love. When he finally leans back, his eyes are dark with a soft, dazed kind of wonder.
“So sweet,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
You duck your head, but he catches your chin with a gentle finger, tilting it back up.
“Hey,” he coaxes. “None of that. Look at me.” You do. His smile is unbearably fond. “There you are. My gorgeous girl.”
The praise, so sincerely given, makes you squirm with happy embarrassment. “Steve,” you whine softly, a feeble protest under his attention.
He chuckles. “What? It’s true.” His hands slide from your face down to your waist, his grip firm and sure. “You’re sitting here, at my work, swinging your feet and blushing ‘cos I called you gorgeous. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
You bite your lip to stop the ridiculous, happy smile that wants to take over your whole face. It doesn’t work. You’re beaming at him, and he looks like you’ve just given him the sun.
Steve's heart feels too big for his chest. “God, you’re pretty,” he breathes, the words falling out, reverent and awestruck. “The most stunning, beautiful girl in the whole damn world.”
You’re melting, a puddle of adoration in his hands. “You’re so… much,” you manage to whisper.
He grins, that lopsided, heart-stopping grin. “Only for you, sweetheart.” He kisses the tip of your nose, which makes you scrunch it up, and him smile. “Only ever for you.”
So, Steve Harrington is mean.
Well, not mean, exactly. He’s just… Steve. Which is to say, his voice still carries a permanent layer of exasperation, but it’s reserved for idiot customers and broken VCRs. He still speaks in a shorthand of sighs and grumbles, but they’re directed at Dustin’s latest conspiracy theory and the never-ending mess in the break room.
He is, and always will be, a little bit of a grump. A lovable grump with a sharp tongue and a low tolerance for nonsense.
But not to you. Never to you.
To you, his voice is soft. His sighs are breaths of contentment against your hair. Now, you are, in his lexicon, “sweetheart,” “angel,” and most frequently, “baby”. He calls you “kid” only when he’s teasing, his eyes sparkling with affection. He still ruffles your hair, but now it’s a prelude to tucking you under his chin. He still flicks your forehead, but it’s feather-light, followed by a kiss to the same spot.
He finds your attention breathtaking. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s going to spend every day of his life trying to be a man who does. His high school crown is gone, his hair is less perfect, and his most exciting evening plans now and forever involve you.
You're terrible at hiding your adoration, shining from your eyes every time he walks into a room. He no longer finds it baffling. He finds it home.
And when he comes home after a long day, his shoulders tight with the weight of the world, and sees you curled on the sofa waiting for him... the grumpiness melts away. The sharp tongue gentles. The guard drops.
“Hey, baby,” he’ll murmur, as he sinks down beside you and pulls you into his lap.
“Hi, Steve,” you’ll whisper, nuzzling into his neck.
And he’ll sigh, soft and deep, and press a kiss to your hair. “Missed you,” he'll say.
Sometimes, the air in your house will smell like brown sugar and warm chocolate. He’ll pause in the doorway, smiling.
“You baked,” he’ll state, the words soft with awe.
You’ll nod from your spot on the couch, a little shy, always so pleased to have done something for him. “Extra chips,” you’ll say, just like that first time, but now your voice is sure, your smile confident in his love. “Just like you like.”
He’ll toe off his shoes and cross the room, not to the kitchen for a cookie, but to you. He’ll sink down and gather you close, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder.
“Perfect,” he’ll murmur against your skin, and he won’t be talking about the cookies.
Later, he’ll eat three in a row, making ridiculous, happy noises of appreciation, and you’ll laugh, tucked under his arm, your heart so full you think it might glow. He’ll kiss your temple, his lips dusted with sugar, and whisper, “I love you, sweetheart.”
There's no grand gesture. No dramatic, romantic declaration of love, but you wouldn't want one anyway. You just want him. Steve. Your Steve. Mean to the world, impossibly, beautifully soft with you.
summary: you and your daughter visit gator while he’s working on the ranch.
an: i feel like no one talks about how hot gator would be working at the ranch and not in cop mode, like woah. and lots of girl dad gator coming since i have too many drafts.
it was a hot summer day in the town of lehigh. you and your daughter were heading over to the ranch to visit your husband, gator.
he’d been over there all morning doing some ranch work for his father, and you thought it might be nice to go over and surprise him.
as you pulled into the gravel road, passing the guards at the front, you saw your man. he had no shirt on, dark denim low on his hips, boxers slightly peeking out. his skin was sweat slicked and shiny.
he didn’t seem to notice your arrival as you pulled your car into park. too preoccupied in whatever instructions the other workers were giving out.
“dada!!” your baby squealed.
“yes baby, we’re gonna see dada” you smiled at her as you unbuckled her from the car seat. “you ready hon?”
she beamed up at you, giving you the biggest gummy smile. you could see the one little tooth starting to grow.
you adjusted the baby hat that sat on her head, to block her from the sun, and pulled her into your chest. her little chubby cheeks were pressed against ur collarbone, drool trickling down, as her eyes took in the familiar surroundings.
ahead of you both, you could see gator taking puffs of his kiwi strawberry vape. it was the only flavor you could handle the smell of during your pregnancy, so now it’s the only one he buys.
he grabbed a rag from over the wooden fence, and wiped his forehead off. grunting as he got back to work.
“whatcha doing there babe?” you called out.
he instantly shot up and turned around to face where your voice was coming from.
and, he looked.. hot.
brown puppy eyes that matched your daughters softened the moment they saw you two. his cheeks were flushed red from the heat, and torso a caramel tan from the uv.
his biceps were bulging, clearly been put to work all day. his tummy was marked with droplets dripping into his happy trail.
the sight made your legs squeeze together.
“hey mama,” he kissed your forehead, “and hi baby girl”
he pecked your daughters cheek, making her scream out “dada, dada, dadaaaa”
“she’s been talking about you all day, think she missed you”
“well i would hope so, i am her daddy” his sarcastic tone made your eyes roll.
“wash your hands gator then you can take her”
he jogged over to the hose that was attached to the side of the barn, rinsing the dirt from his fingertips.
his back muscles flexing as he bent down to turn the knob off.
“think it might be time for a sibling don’t you think?” you whispered in your daughters ear, bouncing her on your hip as you watched your husband.
“talking bout me over there?”
“maybe” his hands settled on your hips, fingers digging into the smooth skin there.
he let out a breathy laugh, eyes trailing your features.
your baby made grabby hands at gator, immediately squirming in your hold. she was very much so a velcro baby when it came to him. always wanting to be either held, laying on his chest, or holding his finger in her small ones. and honestly you couldn’t blame her.
he looked down at the smiling baby, picking her up. he lightly pinched her cheek as her hand came up to grab his nose.
his other hand came around to pull you into his side,
“what ya guys doing here?”
“what? a girl can’t surprise her husband” your hands came up to slide on his chest, not caring about the sweat there, just needing to feel him.
“i’m not complaining, just thought you two would be at home and not in this heat”
you leaned forward. feet sliding to your tippy toes as your hand came up to brush gators hair out of his face.
his forehead met yours. noses touching, lips so close to kissing.
“a little sun never hurt anybody” you whispered as you closed the distance, mindful of the baby on his chest.
his mouth smirked into the kiss, hand trailing down to squeeze your ass.
“let’s go inside, see if karen can watch her” his voice low and teasing, “gotta go take a shower and your coming with sweets,”
he pressed one last kiss to your mouth before you nodded, taking his hand in yours, letting him lead the way.
Girl i need one where the reader and joe got into a fight bec he forgot something so she just ignores him and when it’s time to go to bed you make like a pillow wall between you and tell him he won’t touch u untill he remembers things you planned first so he is like well what if i do this and throws the pillows and hold and you try to get out of his hold but you can’t and you can’t help but laugh and just tell him let go so he says are you sure and then suddenly he lets go and you fall of the bed and you start laughing harder and you just get a pillow and put it under your head and take the cover and tell him that you will sleep on the floor then so jumps out of bed and get on the floor too so she just gives up and they both end up sleeping on the floor
Girl, your wish is my actual command.
Defeaning Silence And Loud Thuds
Joe Keery x Reader
Content: Idiot Joe, slight angst then fluff
Word Count: 2,9k
Synopsis: You and Joe have fought over stupid things before, but nothing hurt you like repeatedly noticing the same things happening and nothing hurt him more than your silence.
The second you opened the washing machine, you knew something was wrong. At first it was subtle, just a strange pinkish tint that surprised you as you reached in for one of your white shirts.
Then your stomach dropped.
“Oh my God”, you gasped, finally processing the damage. You pulled it out fully, staring at what used to be a white oversized tee and was now very aggressively, unsalvageably pink.
The red thrifted shirt Joe had come home with earlier immediately came to mind.
The one he’d proudly shown off after a stroll with the guys, the one you distinctly remembered telling him not to wash with anything light until you knew the dye wouldn’t bleed.
You stood there silently for a moment, slowly pulling piece after piece from the machine like each one might somehow get less pink than the last. They did not.
By the time Joe wandered into the laundry room, humming to himself with zero awareness of the crime scene awaiting him, you were sitting on the floor surrounded by ruined clothes.
Joe blinked once, twice and by the third time you watched the realization hit him in real time.
“Oh no”
Silence.
“Baby…”
You reached into the washer again and pulled out one of your favorite white sweaters, now streaked with uneven reddish patches.
Joe looked genuinely horrified as he joined your side, dropping to his knees and holding out a confused hand. “Wait, no, no, no, I didn’t think the shirt...”, he trailed off.
“Right”, you mutter, your jaw clenched tightly. “Because you never actually think about things before you do them”
Joe visibly flinched, because you rarely talked to him like that, but this time, you genuinely couldn't help yourself. You were tired. Tired of repeating yourself and tired of him doing things carelessly and apologizing after like that would magically fix things.
“I just chucked it in before you turned it on”, he says weakly, scratching the back of his head nervously, “I thought one shirt wouldn’t matter”
“Oh, you thought so”, you repeat flatly, holding up one of your ruined work shirts, before chucking it into the laundry basket along with the rest of your clothes, all except his red shirt that you flung at his chest as you got up from the floor.
You bit your lip in frustration, trying to keep your emotions under control but frankly, you felt like crying.
At the sight of you, he opened his mouth again, but you brushed past him before he could say anything else, leaving behind a helpless Joe who knew he had messed up badly.
The rest of the evening was just awful. Joe tried everything. Hovering near you while you cooked. Offering to help with about anything. Apologizing every twenty minutes in increasingly pathetic ways.
You barely acknowledged any of it. You've never been this silent in your entire life and it sort of scared Joe quite a bit. By bedtime, the apartment felt heavy with it.
You climbed into bed without a word while Joe lingered near the dresser, watching you stack pillows between the two of you. A full wall down the middle of the bed.
Joe stared at it for a long moment. “Seriously?”, he asks, though he was already preparing for another monologue. You hadn't talked to him all night and he couldn't say he blamed you for it. He knew how much you loved that sweater.
“You’re putting me in quarantine?”, he tried again, but he was met with nothing. “Baby, c’mon”
“No.”
“I said I was sorry”, he speaks immediately, a little surprised and hurt by the fact that the first thing you'd said to him in hours felt so defeating.
“And I’m still upset”
Joe rubbed a hand over his face. “I know I messed up.”
“You always know after”, you mutter out tiredly.
It shut him up momentarily, a small breath leaving his lips as he leaned on the dresser behind him. Your back was turned to him now and he stared at it, feeling like utter crap, as if you couldn't even stand to look at him right now.
The little light on your nightstand filled the room with an orange hue, but it didn't offer any warmth.
“I’ll replace everything”, he steps closer to the bed, glancing down at the pillows you'd put up, taking in your silence with a small nod.
“I’ll rebuy every single thing, I'll even make a list.”
“You can’t”, you snap now. “Some of it was thrifted. But that sweater...my aunt made it for me. Shit, Joe, I told you how much it meant to me”
Joe swallowed hard. You did tell him. He knew.
“I’ll try, I— I call her first thing in the morning”
You stare at the wall instead of him, not bothering to turn around. He knew it was stupid to call her. Joe also knew that even if your aunt recreated it, it wouldn't feel the same as a sweater you'd worn for years, something that was part of you and gave you so much comfort.
“I will, I promise. And I’ll do the laundry for a month.”
That almost made you scoff.
“Yeah well, actually, I'd rather you not do it ever again. You can't even separate fabrics properly.”
“I’ll learn.”
“You said that the last time and shrunk my favourite tote bag”
Joe exhaled through his nose slowly, because unfortunately, you were right. Absolutely right. As usual.
The issue wasn’t that he was malicious. It was that he was careless. Sometimes thoughtless in that absentminded Joe way that usually came off charming until it didn’t.
And tonight it really didn’t.
“I know”, he admits quietly. “I know I keep messing up"
The honesty of it makes your chest tighten annoyingly. You hated when he sounded genuinely upset with himself. Joe had always been his own worst critic when it came to anything. One wrong note during rehearsal and he’d replay it in his head for days, one bad set and he’d pick himself apart before anyone else even had the chance to comment on it.
Usually, that softened you almost immediately. The second you noticed that tone creeping into his voice, the frustration gave way to concern because you knew how quickly he could spiral into tearing himself apart over something everyone else would’ve moved past already.
But tonight you were too upset to offer him that grace, because this wasn’t some unavoidable accident. You told him. Repeatedly.
Separate colors.
Don’t throw random thrifted clothes into washes without checking them first.
Especially not vibrant colours with loads of dye woven into the fabric.
It wasn't science, it was common sense and yet he still did it anyway, with that same absentminded confidence he always had right before making a completely avoidable mistake.
That was the part really getting to you now.
Not even the ruined clothes themselves, though that absolutely sucked, but the feeling that half the time Joe listened to you only after things went wrong.
He'd trust the process, but half the time there wasn't even any process to be trusted, he just didn't think about it at all.
There was never any actual learning process. At least not when it came to the damn laundry. No point where the conversation seemed to stick long term. He’d apologize, genuinely mean it, feel horrible about it for a while and then somehow still end up repeating the exact same dumb mistake.
And you were done explaining yourself over and over again only to feel ignored the second he stopped actively thinking about it.
Right now you couldn’t really bring yourself to feel bad about him looking and sounding guilty, because you felt unheard.
“You pay attention to everything, Joe. Literally everything. You remember things I mentioned in passing six months ago, you notice when my mood changes before I even say anything, you’re careful with your guitars, your pedals, your work, your friends”, you shake your head slightly. “So when it comes to this, I genuinely don’t understand why it's so hard for you to get it right”
His face twists a little at that.
“I thought shrinking Jake’s hoodie and him giving you shit for it would’ve been enough for it to finally land. Or me explaining why certain dyes bleed. Or me literally separating the piles in front of you every single time”
Joe drops his gaze to the mattress, fiddling with the bedding as if to distract himself.
“At this point it almost feels intentional”, you laugh as a single tear dripped down onto your pillow.
His head lifts immediately, almost as if he could sense it and his hand drops back to his side. “It’s not.”
“Look, I’m not trying to be mean”, you sniff slightly, “but it makes me feel invisible to you when I keep explaining the same thing and nothing changes”
Joe gulps at the sound of your little sniffle. "Baby no, I'm sorry. I never meant to—", he immediately leans over, one knee on the bed as he tries to touch you, but you shove him off immediately.
Joe startles back, his gaze dropping as he processed you reaction, before glancing back at you. “You're clearly upset and you seriously won’t let me touch you?”
“No, because you're the reason I'm upset”, you bark back, though it came out as a broken sob.
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
He stared at your back for another few seconds. He understood where you came from, he really did.
Then suddenly he lunged forward.
You yelp as the entire pillow wall gets shoved off the bed in one dramatic sweep before Joe grabs you around the waist and drags you against him.
“Joe!”
“Nope”, he says immediately, locking both arms around you. “I’m not sleeping when my girlfriend is this upset with me”
“Joe, let go of me.”
“You’re crying and you seriously believe that I'll let you be?”
“You ruined my clothes!”
“I know”, he sighs, burying his face into your shoulder. “I know, I’m stupid, I know. And you have every right to be mad at me, okay? But I won't sit here and let you think I'm some kind of asshole who wants to make your life harder than it needs to be. Quite the opposite actually”
You try wriggling free, but he only tightens his hold with a pathetic little whine. You elbow him in the stomach lightly, not trying to hurt him, but trying to get him to let go. “Joe, seriously, let go of me. Right now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The idiot releases you instantly, which would’ve been fine if you weren’t actively pushing against him at the exact same moment. You slipped straight off the side of the bed with a loud thud and Joe’s eyes widened in horror.
"Shit, babe—"
And then one fatal cackle escaped you before you could stop it.
Just one. A breathless little laugh that escaped you out of sheer surprise, but it was enough to make Joe’s entire face light up immediately. “Oh, thank god”
You grab one of the discarded pillows and throw it at him before shoving another under your head instead.
“Fine. I’m sleeping down here.”
Joe watches you turn around, your back facing him once more. Then, without hesitation, he climbs off the bed too.
“What are you doing?”, you grumble as he squeezes himself into the small space between you and the bed frame.
“If you’re sleeping on the floor because I’m an idiot, then I’m sleeping on the floor because I’m an idiot.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does in my head.”
You sigh dramatically as he settles beside you, immediately reaching for your waist again. This time, you let him, because as stupid as he was, it was also sort of endearing.
Joe presses a kiss into your shoulder carefully. “M'really sorry. I am listening to you and I'll prove it. I'm doing the laundry from now on, I'll be washing every day if I have to. I'll be able to recite every damn tag in the closet”
“I swear to god Joe...if this happens again, I’m leaving you.”
Joe snorts softly, pulling you in with one hand, before blindly reaching up to grab the blanket off the bed and draping it over your tangled bodies. “That’s fair honestly.”
About: You never expected to end up with Gator Tillman, but life is funny that way. Now you're expecting a child together, but your father-in-law Roy isn't making life any easier for your little family. It all comes to a head at your gender reveal party...
(Based on an idea/request by @louisbelongstome28 ; tysm and I hope I did this justice!! ^3^)
Warnings: 18+ MDNI; graphic sexual content, graphic language, mild violence, bullying/harassment/abuse, pregnancy (obvs), death of a parent; it's the Tillmans, so it's a little toxic.
Lehigh High School Prom
Your mom had taken approximately 438 pictures of you with your prom date, Jeremy McNulty, and he hadn't even put your corsage on your wrist yet.
You two had become really good friends, considering the fact that when you entered high school you both got relegated to the "weird artsy" corner for kids that didn't really fit into any of the other molds. You had bright, colorful hair that changed every other week, a snarky attitude, and mediocre grades. Jeremy was tall and skinny, really smart, but didn't play sports or an instrument, so he just hung around with you sketching in his notebook or painting in the art room after school while you smoked your cigarettes.
He had actually told you once that he was pretty sure he was gay. You told him you were so proud of him and that you'd fight anyone who made fun of him for it, but he still decided that he wanted to keep it a secret until he could get the fuck out of North Dakota, just to be safe. You sadly understood.
"Oh, Jeremy dear, lemme get a few'a you slipping the corsage on her wrist! Oh, golly, that's just adorable. You two make a really nice couple, just saying! Y'ad have real artsy little babies." Your mom wiggled her eyebrows with a cheeky little wink.
You and Jeremy cringed and gave her a mortified pity-laugh, then hurriedly bolted through the door.
The prom theme was 'Casino Night', because that's completely appropriate for a bunch of teenagers at a high school dance.
It was your and Jeremy's senior prom - you'd both just turned 18 this year, and were already making plans for getting out of this town and making it big somewhere else. Jeremy was going to be an artist. You were gonna be...not in Lehigh.
Even so, you both thought it would be fun and ironic to have one last hoorah at your prom. What could happen, right?
You were sitting slouched in a corner after a particularly raunchy rendition of the Cupid Shuffle, catching your breath and resting your aching feet.
You glanced over and saw in a darkened corner near the fake roulette table, Jeremy talking very closely to one Keith Connors from your class. He had really great hair. You were rooting for them. You caught Jeremy's eye briefly and gestured that you were gonna go outside for a smoke. He nodded and shooed you off.
Outside the air had a chill to it that your flimsy little dress did not protect against. You had a coat wrapped around your upper body, but your legs were freezing and riddled with gooseflesh. You lit up your cigarette and leaned against the wall outside the gymnasium.
A few puffs in, the doors flew open. You tensed, thinking it may be a teacher or a chaperone at first, but it turned out to the even worse - Gator fucking Tillman.
He barrelled outside with 2 or 3 of his football buddies, all laughing and hanging off of each other. You caught his eye, and he split off from the cluster of dipshits and staggered over to you. He'd clearly been sneaking some booze.
"Hey freakazoid, got another one'a them I can bum off'ya?"
You snorted. "Get lost, Tillman."
He sneered at you incredulously. "What'd you say t'me you fat little freak bitch?"
You glared at him with all the hate you could muster (which was a lot). "The fuck did you just call me, you limp dick piece of shit?"
He leaned an arm against the wall beside your head and leaned into your ear, harshly whispering "Fat. Freak. Bitch."
Oh yeah, he reeked of sour beer. You took a long inhale on your cigarette and blew it straight into his face. He just laughed.
"Whatever. Later, weirdo." He turned his back on you to horseplay with his friends in the parking lot.
They were further away, but still distantly visible and audible from where you stood. They threw things, jumped off of each other's trucks, lit small fires, and eventually they all revved up their big, souped-up engines and screeched off into the night.
Good riddance.
Prom night ended and Jeremy came to you outside with pleading, desperate eyes.
"Babe, is there any way you can get a ride home?" He leaned into your ear and urgently whispered, "Keith wants to go to the lookout, I'm not even fucking kidding right now."
The pure excitement and eagerness in his face was enough to lift your own spirits. You glanced over and Keith was indeed standing awkwardly by the doors, giving you a tiny wave in acknowledgement. You waved back and kissed Jeremy on the cheek.
"Go get em, Tiger." You winked. Jeremy squeezed your shoulders and walked briskly to his car with Keith beside him.
But shit.
There wasn't anyway you were gonna get a ride home. You had zero fucking friends, not ones at this prom at least, and your mom went to bed like 2 hours ago. Besides, if you called and asked her for a ride she'd want a full report on why things didn't work out with Jeremy, and you just didn't feel like dealing right now.
It was only a little over a mile to your house. It was a pretty, clear night, full of stars with a big, bright moon. What the hell.
You stripped off your heels, clutching the straps between your fingers, and started the trek back home.
It was getting a lot colder by the minute, and your feet were getting blistery from walking barefoot on the chilly pavement, but you absolutely couldn't do another second in those heels either.
You sniffled and trudged forward, face numb, but determined not to die of exposure walking home barefoot from your senior prom.
A pair of bright headlights shone from behind you. You could hear loud metal music blaring from the speakers, and you could just begin to picture the face behind the wheel when he called out to you.
"Hey, freak!"
You didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge his existence. He honked and it made you jump and drop your shoes. You heard him cackle. You turned and flipped him the bird, although the lights were so bright you couldn't actually see him.
He creeped forward alongside you, elbow hanging out the window.
"Well aren't you a ray of fucking sunshine. Where's your little fairy boyfriend? Ditch ya to go fuck Queef Connors behind the gym?"
You reared back and hucked your heels as hard as you could at his driver's side door. One left a small dent and the other a faint scratch. Gator slammed on the brakes and jumped out, then turned to glower right back at you.
"You little cunt! Look what you did to my truck, my dad's gonna fucking kill me!"
"Good!!" You boiled over with rage. "I hope so, then I won't have to deal with your fucking ass anymore! Do us all a favor and go die, painfully, Tillman!!"
You turned to leave in a huff and felt a rough hand grip your upper arm, hard. You tried to rip it from his grasp, digging your nails into his wrist, but he didn't relent.
"Hey, you're gonna pay for that, whore."
Whore.
You smacked him across his mouth, and he released you. When he looked back at you, you had big, fat tears welling in your eyes.
"I fucking hate you, Gator." The drops spilled over and trailed down to your chin. He just stared in awe. You turned and started to walk back home.
About 10 minutes later, not too much further from your house but still not close enough to see it yet, you saw the lights and heard that all too familiar engine.
Oh god, you had thought. This is it. Gator Tillman is gonna run me over in that big, stupid truck of his, his daddy, the sheriff, will blame it on the evils of underage drinking, and he'll get off scott free. A valuable life lesson learned for everyone. Hopefully it'll all be over quick.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
You heard him clear his throat from the truck window, turning to look at him now. Surprisingly he wasn't seething with testosterone-induced rage. He looked...sad?
"Hey, I'm uh...I'm sorry. For the whore thing. Shouldn't have said that, m'sorry. You don't have to pay for the truck, I can probably just buff this out."
You stared at him in disbelief. No words escaped you.
He huffed an unamused laugh.
"Well, you can say something? Cat got your tongue, ya fucking weirdo?"
Your jaw set in a hard line.
There he is.
"Whatever, Gator. Just leave me alone."
"Lemme give you a ride."
You looked at him, flabbergasted.
"Uh, no. You're drunk."
"I am not, I had one beer at prom. Just hammin' it up for the guys. S'prom night. Just get in."
Why on earth was he suddenly being so brutally honest, with you of all people? Was he gonna kill you after all?
"I'm not that far."
"Girl you look like you're bout to pass out, and I can see your foot's bleeding."
You looked down and sure enough one of your heels was raw and blood-smeared. You winced and looked back up at Gator. He was smirking with that cocky, lop-sided grin of his, and if you didn't absolutely hate his guts you might think he could be handsome. Maybe.
Too bad you did. Hate his guts, that is.
"I dunno, Tillman. I think I might would rather bleed to death than ride with you. Hard to say."
He actually chuckled at that, and a shiver ripped through you when a sharp breeze sliced through the air. He looked you over, top to bottom.
"What about freezing to death? Would you rather do that than hitch a ride with me? Cause it seems you're heading there, fast."
He quirked a brow at you, and that gave you pause. You adjusted your coat over your top half and groaned at the painful chill on your bottom half. With a huge sigh and a deadly roll of the eye, you relented.
"Fine, dude. Just take me straight home. No weird stuff."
"Weird stuff? I thought that was your domain, you do all the weird shit."
"Oh yeah? Enlighten me."
"Well fer starters, your hair is bright fucking pink."
You nod for him to continue.
"Go on? Is that all you've got? Pink hair?"
He shrugs. "S'pretty weird."
Oh, sweet, stupid Gator. Well, not too sweet. But very, very stupid.
You rolled your eyes again with a chuckle, but as you started to round the hood to get in the passenger seat you heard him swinging his door open and half-jogging to beat you to the door.
He opened it for you. He held out his hand to help you up. You both made just a microsecond of eye contact with some realization in it, but you both quickly broke it.
No way am I going for him./No way am I going for her.
Once you'd settled in your seat you gave him a curt nod of thanks and he gave you one back. Then, Gator Tillman was driving you home.
It took him approximately 8 minutes to get to your house. Like you had said, you weren't far. But, he parked in front, killing his headlights. You didn't get out right away, and he didn't make you. You both sat and talked; then you offered him that cigarette he'd asked for, and you smoked and talked; then you started to kiss and talk; and before either of you really knew what was going on, you were straddling his lap in your prom dress, sucking hickeys onto his neck as he ground himself into your soaking panties through his tux.
"Goddamn, girl. You trying to eat me or somethin'?"
You pulled back and glared at him. "S'at another fat joke, Tillman?"
He groaned. "Jesus, lighten up, not everything's so serious. Now can you shut up and show me your tits, please?"
That brought out a genuine laugh in you that you hadn't expected.
"You're such a little prick."
"I think you know that's not true."
He highlighted his point by thrusting against you once, and the sensation was excruciatingly, teasingly good. Your body demanded more, so you circled your hips down over him and his head lolled back, showing off his neck with 6 fresh purple hickeys.
"Fuck, that's good."
"You got a condom, Gator?" You panted out.
His head snapped up and he looked at you with genuine bewilderment. His mouth gaped like a fish trying to breath out of water. You smacked his cheek lightly a couple of times to bring him back.
"Earth to Gator Tillman. If you don't wanna, that's fine. Was just...askin'. We can just keep doing this if ya want."
He swallowed and shook his head.
"Nah, nah, I do. I have one, and I do wanna use it. Um, do you wanna? I mean, you're sure you wanna? With me?"
"Tillman I've never seen you so flushed an' flustered. It's honestly kinda cute, you should drop the big dumb jock act more often. Suits you."
He went to protest and you silenced him with a soft, tender kiss. He traced his fingers up your back and tangled them into the hair at the nape of your neck.
Through some awkward fumbling in his glovebox, you both managed to get his pants down around his ankles and get the condom on. You couldn't see very well, but you could feel that he was a lot bigger than what you'd been used to - which wasn't a huge data pool for comparison, granted, but there were two others before him and they didn't even come close.
Foreheads pressed together, mouths parted and breathing each other's air, you slowly lifted your hips and guided him to your entrance. Then you sunk down slowly, gently bouncing little by little to take him deeper each time.
His lower tip was sucked between his teeth as he watched, enraptured by the sight of himself slowly disappearing into you.
When your hips finally met and you were completely seated on top of his thighs, feeling more achingly full than you'd ever felt in your life, you met eyes with him. His are normally some nice shade of hazel, but his pupils were blown wide and look desperate leaving them just looking black as night.
You slid your spaghetti straps down your shoulders one by one and peeled the top of your dress down to reveal your breasts to him. He immediately broke eye contact to gawk at your tits, bringing both hands up to knead and twist at them. You'd put your hands over his to stop him.
"Easy, dude! They're not just fun bags you can bat around like that. Be nice or I'm putting' em away."
He scoffed. "I think I know what to do with a pair'a tits."
You tilted your head and folded your arms over your chest, covering it.
"Oh yeah? Then how come it feels like you were trying to twist mine off? Maybe none of your girlfriends have ever had the balls big enough to tell ya before now, but that wasn't good, Gator."
He looked away, embarrassed. When he dropped the act for just that moment, you saw him.
Your walls clenched around him involuntarily and you both gasped at the sensation.
He mumbled, still not meeting your eyes.
"Well what the fuck do ya want me to do to em then? Show me."
You tipped his chin up to have him look at you properly, and gave him a warm smile.
"That's a good boy. It's always fun to learn."
He twitched inside of you.
You'd put your hands on top of his and showed him the proper way to caress and twist and flick, and before long he was a pro and had you whimpering in his lap.
"Perfect, that's...that's perfect, Gator. Now I'm gonna start, just kinda..."
You rose up and sunk back down, and a moan escaped his lips sending a twisting hot flare through your lower belly. You repeated the motion slowly a few more times and then the dam broke and you were clinging to each other, fucking properly in the driver's seat of his truck.
Your ass beeped the horn once and you both froze. When no one came to check it out, you both burst into a fit of giggles and kept fucking (just a little more wary of your asscheeks this time).
At one point he looked over your face and in a soft voice you hadn't really heard from him before you hear him say, "You're really beautiful."
You flashed him a smile. "You're just pussy drunk, Gator. It'll pass."
"Nah. Always thought yer beautiful. Huge bitch, but a beautiful one."
You chuckled and smacked at his chest while your heart lurched in yours.
"You're pretty too, Gator."
"I ain't."
"You is." You proved your point with a hard thrust that had him gripping your hips with a groan.
"Goddamn, woman. You're gonna snap my dick off."
You pouted at him and he let loose a low chuckle that rumbled through both of your chests. Then, still gripping your hips, he languidly thrusted and rolled up into you, angling himself to hit a spot that you weren't reaching before. You started seeing stars in your vision. You placed a hand on his shoulder and one on the roof of the truck to stabilize yourself, desperate to keep this angle at all costs.
"Oh, Jesus, Gator. That's...that's really good."
"Yeah? I like it when you drop that moody bitch act, was gettin' old."
"Shut the fuck up, and keep fucking me right there."
You whimpered and moaned, clutching at your own chest. Gator watched, completely enchanted, and furrowed his brow to keep this exact angle and pattern of thrusts going (no matter if his right thigh was cramping up something awful). He was gonna see this through to the bitter end.
Your cries hit an apex as you came, fluttering heat pulsing from where you were both joined, over your legs, through your chest, and straight to your head.
You gripped the collar of his suit jacket and crashed your lips into his, and he could feel you quivering around him. Just that sensation alone made him explode into the condom with a few needy thrusts of his own.
You both stayed there a moment to just breathe.
Then the post-nut clarity began to set in for both of you.
Oh god.
•••
You don't call and he doesn't call. You walked out of the truck that night with a quick peck on the cheek and a small wave, and you both made an unspoken agreement to never talk about this again.
School was more of the same.
He'd pick on you occasionally, you'd glower and roll your eyes, but looks lingered more and insults didn't sting quite like they used to. Instead they just felt like lines in a play - memorized and recited words in a fictional character's voice.
You both graduated a month later. Gator went into the police academy, of course. And you - well you and Jeremy did what you said. You both got accepted to the same art school, and both got the fuck out of North Dakota.
You majored in Graphic Design and got a pretty cushy gig in St. Cloud. You'd been up there about 3 or 4 years when you got the call that your mom had died.
Your dad had died when you were 6, so she was quite literally all you had left in the world. Now you were alone; hundreds of miles from home, and alone.
Even Jeremy had met someone in college that he now lived with in the Twin Cities, and you didn't see each other as often as you'd both like. You chalked it up to life, and sent each other the occasional funny video or meme that the other person would politely respond with '😂' to (whether they watched it or not).
That evening, without much fanfare, you poured a glass of wine, put your mom's favorite Jewel album on, and packed your life back up into boxes.
•••
Your mom's funeral was actually really nice. Lots of people came. She was everyone's third grade English teacher for the last 2 decades, so there were lots of kind, lovely words to be said about her.
People brought you so many casseroles it was sickening. No one brought you things like toilet paper and toothpaste though, which you quickly realized your mother had been out of.
At the grocery store people stopped and hugged you on every aisle, giving their condolences and welcoming you home. You assured them you weren't staying long, but they all just gave you a sad, knowing nod and kept going about their respective days.
You turned the aisle to grab some cereal and your breath hitched in your throat.
Now, God? Why would you test me in this way?
Because standing there, reading the flavors on all the boxes of Pop-Tarts, was Gator goddamn-motherfucking Tillman, all dressed up for work in a tactical vest and camo pants with heavy combat boots.
This was Stark County. There was absolutely no need for all that.
But you had to admit - the pants fit him real nice.
No, stop that. Bad girl.
You quickly tried to look busy perusing all the sugar-coated puffs and rings and flakes, grabbing one without really even seeing what it was. You threw it in the basket and kept moving, but his gruff voice stopped you.
"Hey, weirdo."
A chill went down your spine. You slowly turned and did your best to act surprised.
"Well, as I live and breathe. Gator Tillman. How are you?"
He smiles at your fake niceties.
"I'm doin' just fine. Heard about your mama. I'm real sorry."
You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it just bobbed and got stuck there.
"Thanks." You managed to croak out.
He kicked his boot against the ground, and you both stared down like you'd decided that the grocery store floor was the most interesting thing you'd ever seen. Then you both tried to speak at the same time.
"Well I'll let ya -"/"Would you wanna-"
"Huh?"/"What?"
You gave a small laugh and gestured at him to go on. He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.
"Nah, I was just - it's stupid, I was gonna say if you wanted I can get ya some dinner down at the diner. Catch you up on what you been missin' since you been over in fancy land."
You made a face.
"St. Cloud, Minnesota is fancy land?"
"You know what I mean."
"I really don't, but it's fine, Gator. You don't have to do that, my mom -" The damn lump was back, unswallowable. "She and I talked all the time, I'm pretty caught up. Thanks though."
He nodded and pursed his lips, gave an attempt at a polite smile but it came off as nothing but a harsh, straight line.
"Alright then. Well, I'll be seeing you around, I'm sure."
"Lucky me." You muttered sarcastically.
The corner of his mouth twitched and for a second you saw that devious little smile of his, for real. Then he quickly turned on his heels, Pop-Tarts forgotten, and leaves the store.
•••
You got a temporary work-from-home design job that occupied part of your days. The rest of the time you were cleaning up the house, going through your mom's stuff, and crying with a glass of wine listening to Jewel.
One evening it had been a triple threat (work + cleaning + drunk-crying), and you were feeling completely emotionally and physically spent, when there came a knock at your door.
You looked at the clock. 9:45 PM.
You threw a baggy sweatshirt over your pajamas and cracked open the door. Gator looked up and frowned at your puffy, red eyes and messy bun.
"Deputy Tillman, to what do I owe this esteemed honor?"
"Jesus, you look like shit."
You snorted. "Gee, thanks. You've always been a smooth talker."
"Are you drunk?"
You bit your lower lip and nodded, silently.
He sighed, a little annoyed.
"Well, I'm just doing a kind of a welfare check on ya. Haven't seen you around in days, worried you mighta fallen and broken a hip or something."
"Help, I've fallen and I can't get up? That's what you thought I was doing in here?" You giggled, but he isn't nearly as amused.
"Just seein' how you been, freakazoid. Don't get your panties in a knot."
"I'm so good, Gator. So good. I had to leave my gorgeous little city apartment, take a shitty little remote job, and settle myself right back here in little Lehigh, North Dakota. Ooh! And to top it off, I'm an orphan now! Can you believe? A real, bonafide orphan. Don't even sound real, does it?"
Tears were streaking down your face, a sharp contrast to the wild, frantic grin on your face. Gator stared at you in awe.
"Hey, s'fine. I'm sorry, I...I was just checking on ya, that's all. I'll leave you be."
You clutched at his hand before he could turn, and you crumbled to dust at the touch of another human being.
"You can stay. But I'm not gonna be much fun." You sniffled.
"I'm not too much fun these days, either." He smirked and followed you inside.
That night you shared some coffee and stories about growing up in Lehigh. You talked about your mom a lot, and Gator listened. He told you about how she had failed him on a third grade reading assignment at least twice before she finally passed him once, but that he wasn't mad about it.
"Was the first time in school I actually felt like I learned something. Wasn't just me plugging stuff in or getting a grade cause of my dad. I liked your mom. Good teacher."
You nodded tearfully.
"Thanks, Gator."
"Daughter's stubborn as a mule though."
You kicked him playfully under the table and shared a quiet laugh.
The quiet stretched out, blanketing you both in your cozy kitchenette. Gator patted his hands on the table and stood, and you stayed sitting.
"Alright, well, I'll get outta your hair. I can see you're still alive, which is...good. Thanks for the coffee."
You gently hooked your fingers around his, and he grasped you back.
"You got anywhere you need to be?"
"Nah. Heading home."
"You could stay. If you want."
"I could. If you want."
You inhaled shakily. "I think I could want that, yeah."
•••
And it started there.
Gator swinging by, bringing you treats from the bakery on his way into the station. You returning the favor by bringing him a lunch or a milkshake on his break.
He'd come by and spend the night once or twice a week, then 3 or 4 times, then suddenly he had a toothbrush, a half of a bureau, and an entire side of the bed. By 6 or 7 months, he was all but moved into your home with you.
Then, on your one year anniversary, he'd brought you to a big surprise party at the Tillman Ranch. You had honestly been shocked his daddy had let him, considering Sherrif Roy Tillman, to put it bluntly, hated the dirt you walked on.
To him you were trash - a common, city-slicking, foul-mouthed, liberal snowflake. A harlot and a whore.
But as Gator grew up and out of his high school bubble and realized how much of an outcast he actually was, he started to see that it wasn't such a bad thing. He'd decided that you two could make your own little clique just by being yourselves, together. He was absolutely head over heels in love with you, and you with him.
The anniversary party was lovely, and during a slow-dance under the stars Gator had kissed you and dropped to one knee. He pulled a ring from his coat pocket - his own mother's ring - and you dropped down on your knees right along with him, sobbing and nodding yes.
You were really wishing that both of your mothers could see you two right now.
Karen, Gator's stepmom, clapped politely along with the other guests. But her smile didn't reach her eyes.
Roy's eyes, on the other hand, burned with hellfire, boring into you with a hatred and an inability to do anything about this without causing a huge scene. Gator hadn't asked his permission. And that was not gonna fly.
Roy made your lives hell in special little ways after that. First, he had had a house built on the ranch for you both as an "early wedding present". You insisted that you'd be happier staying in your childhood home, but the glare he had given you was enough to send a chill through your spine. It felt like someone was walking over your grave.
So, with a broken heart, you sold your mother's home and moved onto the ranch.
Gator knew how upset it had made you, so he surprised you by having the house painted and decorated as close to your home as possible. He even bought the same candles and soaps to stock the house up with so it'd even smell the same.
You had swept him up in an enormous hug right there on the porch.
For Roy, it was strike two. He had tried to take the upper hand, but here'd came Gator, blindly in love and licking your wounds.
•••
The wedding was an ordeal, but you released as much of your control as you could manage to keep the peace. You didn't have any family there other than Jeremy and his partner, Dillon, so you figured that the Tillmans may as well get the majority of the say. They were footing the bill, after all.
But Roy had suggested you color your hair to something more natural for the wedding instead of your rich, emerald green (which matched your wedding colors) and you would not yield on that.
Gator didn't make a huge fuss, but just mumbled that "She can't color it that often, Dad. She'll go bald. It's just a little green, what's the harm?"
Roy had nearly flipped the table. Gator flinched and quieted, and it didn't come up again.
Well, until the wedding speech, given by Roy, of course. And in it, he made it a point to bring up how easy you were to spot in a crowd with your green hair, and how even someone dumb as Gator wouldn't be able to lose you. He even hinted at the fact that it was such a shame that the only support you had there today was a gay couple from Minnesota, but that he was so, soooo happy for you both.
Then he had winked, and everyone but you, Gator, Jeremy, and Dillon cheered.
•••
That night, Gator had begged for your forgiveness. And you liked the way he begged.
He crawled up under your wedding dress and peeled the garter off with his teeth. It was typically a tradition done for the crowd, but you refused to make that scene in front of Roy and all his cop friends. So Gator did it here, just for you.
He'd grazed your inner thigh, sticking his tongue out slightly so he was licking your leg all the way down to the ankle.
He'd popped out from under the layers of toulle and silk, hair a mess and garter between his lips, smiling like a fool.
You giggled with a snort, and covered your mouth, blushing. Gator crawled over you, spitting out the garter and pulled your hand away.
"Don't hide from me, beautiful."
He ghosted his lips over yours, and you waited for the kiss but instead he slowly licked into your mouth.
"You wanna take this huge, white monstrosity off so you can fuck your wife, Mr. Tillman?" You tugged at the layers of your princess gown.
He propped himself on his elbows, hovering above you with a grimace.
"First off, no Mr. Tillman bullshit. Sounds like you're fucking my dad and that makes me wanna puke." You retched dramatically in agreement. "Two, hell no I'm not taking this off. I'm fucking you in it, it's tradition."
"Whose tradition?"
"Mine." He kissed your throat. "Y'look so pretty in it." He kissed between your breasts. "And I wanna see if you're just as pretty..." He flipped your skirt over your knees and peeked over the mountain of fabric. "...when I'm making you scream my name in it." He grinned and dove down between your legs, wasting no time in licking straight into your center.
You couldn't see him, but that just made everything more sensitive somehow. You didn't know what was coming next. He nibbled, licked, and sucked at your clit, then added two fingers inside you and scissored them. You were quickly coming unglued.
"Oh, fuck, Gator!!"
He had smiled proudly and kept on at it until he felt you coming undone on his fingers and mouth.
He shot up with a smug look on his slick face and you looked wrecked. Your flushed skin was exaggerated against the stark white of your dress, and your green hair was pulled free from it's loose pins and strewn about your head like a halo.
His face softened as you caught your breath and smiled cheekily at him.
"Well, Gator? Was it worth it?"
He swallowed. "You look like an angel."
You'd tilted your head and tears pricked at your eyes.
"Th-thank you."
"I like your green hair."
You chuffed. "Thank you! I didn't even tell your dad why it was so important to me to keep it."
"It's our wedding colors?"
"Yeah, but also the color on the box...it was Gator Green."
You'd bitten your lower lip and his eyes had lit up.
"Then it's my favorite."
"Mine too, I think."
He crawled back over you and fucked you in earnest, lovingly and slowly and nothing at all like the Gator you used to know or the version he put on for everyone else in town.
This was your own secret Gator, and you were completely and totally, head over heels, bonkers in love with him.
A couple of months later you were working on a design project on your couch when this huge wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere.
You'd ran to the little bathroom and puked your guts out in the toilet, then felt your head for a fever and checked the expiration dates on all the food in the kitchen.
Gator came in that afternoon from working on the ranch, sweaty and sun-kissed, hair flopping over one eye. You were laying on the couch in the dark, computer put away and an untouched glass of water beside you.
"Hey, what's up? You sleeping, it's like 2:00?"
You grumbled. "Don't touch me, I'm sick. I think I got a stomach bug or something, been puking all morning."
"Aww shit. Yeah, stay over there, I don't want it."
You shot him a seething look and he smirked and sauntered over beside you. He put a hand to your forehead. You were sweaty and clammy, but no fever.
"Think you ate something?"
"I dunno. Haven't really eaten since dinner last night other than my morning coffee. And we had the same thing, and you're not sick, so. I dunno. Hopefully it's just one of those day-bugs, and it'll be gone by tomorrow."
•••
It wasn't just one of those day-bugs. You puked up anything you tried to eat for the next three days before Gator forced you to go to the clinic in town.
"Hey, you fucking hard-headed little thing. You're gonna hurl yourself to death. You're going t'see a doctor, no arguin'."
You hadn't really had the energy to argue anymore anyway.
•••
They said you were definitely dehydrated, so they'd hooked you up to an IV to get you some fluids. That had made you feel a bit perkier. They ran some samples and tests, and when the doctor came back in she'd had this odd, shit-eating grin on her face as she looked between the both of you.
Gator sat in the tiny hospital chair beside you, tracing small swirls on your thigh as you both awaited the results.
"What's up, doc? Is it the flu or something?"
"I'm not dying, am I?" You half-joked. Gator tensed beside you.
The doctor chuckled.
"Not dying, no. But, you do have a little something extra going on in there."
The doctor handed you your result sheet.
Your urine sample.
Your pregnancy test from your urine sample.
Your positive pregnancy test from your urine sample.
Your eyes went wide as anything, and as you'd stared at Gator they'd started to glisten. He'd looked terrified.
"What? Is it contagious?"
"No, dummy! We're having a fucking baby."
He'd looked even more terrified.
Gator has since taken this pregnancy very seriously. He's reading the books, he's building the furniture, he refuses to let you lift anything or walk anywhere without offering his arm for support, and he'll shoot a death glare to anyone who seems like they might even be thinking about touching your belly.
When you'd shared the news with your in-laws, that was strike 3 for Roy. Now there really was no way of getting rid of you, was there? At least not easily.
Karen had clapped and hugged you stiffly, patting your belly briefly before seeing the fire in Gator's stare. You'd squeezed his hand reassuringly, as if to reel him back in. He'd relaxed, but just a bit.
"You think y'all are really ready to be rearing a child right now?"
You gave Roy a pointed stare, face serene but rage boiling beneath.
"Well, don't really have much choice, do we Pops?"
"Please, call me Roy. And no, I suppose not. But, if you still needed some time to get used to the idea, Karen and I are right here and we'd be happy to step in for the first few years or so."
You gave Gator a panicked look. He'd already started shaking his head.
"S'alright, Dad. She's gonna be a great mom, she takes good care of me already. She's real loving, and she works from home already so it won't be a problem. Thanks, though. Kind of you to offer."
He held your hand, but you could feel him trembling beneath your touch - be it from fear or anger, you couldn't possibly know.
•••
Karen was the one to suggest hosting a gender reveal for the little one. You were both finding out the sex this Friday, and she had seen so many "adorable" internet videos of little gender reveal parties that she wanted to try her hand at throwing one.
Essentially that meant that she had already planned one, and you, as the mother, were invited to be there. You hesitantly agreed that it could be fun, although you never really saw the point of them.
You just wanted a healthy baby, you could wait to find out on the day and be just as happy.
But, Gator had admitted that he was a little excited about the affair, too, so you leaned into it for him. He somehow managed to find blue and pink camo and was way too eager to show it off to everyone.
You wore a simple, cream dress that showed off your growing bump just so, but you colored your hair platinum blonde with pink dipped ends on one half and blue dipped ends on the other.
Gator had lost his mind, said you looked "Just like Harley Quinn" and had ravaged you on the bathroom counter, hair still wet and hanging down your back.
You had to hand it to him, your growing, changing body was not curbing his interest in you whatsoever. If anything, he saw it as a challenge to overcome, always trying new positions and techniques to make sure you still got yours.
When you stepped foot into the main Tillman house, Roy had scoffed at your hair.
"So close to something normal this time, we might just get you there yet."
You smiled through the grimace that threatened to expose your true feelings and thanked him for the compliment (?).
Most of the guests were Roy and Karen's most important constituents and cop friends, as election season for sheriff was just around the corner and this party was really just an opportunity for showing off their good, wholesome, Christian family.
Oh, if only Roy knew his only begotten son had had his tongue up your very ass just last night. Maybe then the sheriff wouldn't be so far up his own.
Jeremy and Dillon got the invite, but politely declined. You didn't blame them. A few of your friends and acquaintances from around town were there, but only the ones approved by your in-laws.
Whatever, you were just ready to do the reveal and go home so Gator could rub your feet while you complained and ate Cheetos off your stomach.
You smiled at just the thought.
An hour or so into the party, Roy tapped on his glass for everyone's attention.
"Thank y'all for coming to celebrate our little future grandson...or daughter, we'll find out soon enough." A polite chuckle moves through the crowd. "Gator, if you wanna bring your little lady up here and do the honors?"
Gator beams at you and squeezes your hand. It doesn't miss you that Roy only technically addressed him, and just asked him to bring you along, but what did you expect really?
You smile and stand there awkwardly, taking in the set-up. You expected a little cake to cut into or a balloon to pop, but all there was in the table was a loaded shotgun.
You looked to your father-in-law confused. He smugly smiled back.
"Alright son, grab your gun and let's go outside."
•••
"Are you absolutely shitting me?" You whisper harshly in Gator's ear.
He shrugged and kept walking to the mark where we would be shooting the target from.
"It's...kinda cool. I get to blow something up."
"Oh my god, you're a child. I'm married to, and having a baby with, an actual child." He stops you with a quick peck on the lips and a boyish grin.
"What color you hoping for?"
"It could be green for all I care, I just wanna take a bubble bath. My feet hurt."
"Gator green?"
You grin up at him and agree. "Gator green."
Roy stands on the porch with the onlookers holding a megaphone.
A fucking megaphone.
"Alright, Gator. Shoot when I say. Ready?"
Gator gives a thumbs up and aims at the barrel in the middle of the field.
"3...2...1. Fire!"
You plug your ears and Gator shoots.
Pink smoke plumes out of it, filling the sky like a beautiful cotton candy cloud. He does a little jump in place, puts the gun down on the ground and sweeps you up into his arms.
A girl, a little tiny girl. Gator's girls. You don't even feel them coming, but your joyful tears are thoroughly wetting his shirt.
He swipes them away with his thumbs and you look at each other so tenderly, when the slamming of the front door to the main house rips you out of the moment.
Gator turns to look, and the party-goers awkwardly shuffle their feet with one notable exception - Roy has stormed into the house.
Karen, who had been filming on her phone, slowly stops the video and puts it away, giving you a tense, pained smile. She follows inside.
You look up at Gator, furious.
"He just can't let us have anything, can he?"
Gator's face hardens and he squeezes your shoulders. Then he storms inside, swiping at his mouth angrily.
The crowd parts, and you hurry after him as fast as your swollen body will allow.
•••
In the den, Roy is sitting with his feet up and a glass of whiskey in his hand like it was nothing.
Karen was nervously rearranging things in the kitchen and starting party clean-up early. You decided to help her, because you know that the last thing you'd be welcome to do is sit down with Roy in the den after all that.
Gator went in though, closing the door with a soft click behind him.
Roy didn't look up, just stared into nothing.
"What was that, Daddy?"
"Big fucking waste of time, I'd say."
Gator huffs. "Don't say that. That's your grandbaby. Granddaughter."
Roy rolled his eyes and sipped from his glass.
"House is already overrun with women. Needed a boy, someone to carry on the Roy Tillman name."
That one hurt Gator, deeply. He was technically supposed to be the next Roy Tillman in a long line of them, but he never got that. His daddy just saw him as a puny little gator.
"We'd picked out a name already. Was gonna call him after her daddy if it'd been a boy. But it's not. It's a girl. And her name is gonna be Sunny, and you are gonna love her like a grandaddy, or --"
Roy shoots up from the couch and smashes his glass on the floor.
You and Karen freeze in the kitchen, listening.
"You're telling me an awful lot of things I'm gonna do, boy. Since when do you ever tell me what I'm gonna do?"
Gator begins to shrink, but something in him straightens his spine and strengthens his resolve.
"Because I'm someone's daddy now, too. I'm her daddy, Sunny's. And I can see now that it ain't hard to love your kids, hell, mine ain't even born yet and I'd kill for her. Die for her. So something must just be wrong with you. You made me feel like dog shit my whole life, and I thought that was my fault, like I didn't do enough to earn your affection. But I shouldn'ta had to, Roy. That was a failin' on you, not me."
Roy slaps the back of his hand across Gator's face and he takes it, licking the inside of his cheek where he can already taste blood in his mouth.
"You little pussy-whipped dog, how dare you talk to me like that?"
"I ain't whipped, or nothing. I just found someone who treats me like a goddamn human being!"
Gator raises his voice to a yell and Roy slaps him again, twice this time and twice as hard.
Gator rears back a fist and punches Roy square in the jaw, sending him backwards with a look of shock on his face. Gator's never hit back, and there was some real steel in that punch.
"Get the fuck out, take your whore with you." Blood trickled from the corner of Roy's lip as he stroked his jaw.
Gator ripped the door open, moving to the kitchen and grabbing your hand.
"Later, Karen." He mumbled as he blew through the house.
You two moved past all the guests still out on the porch, and Gator waved a hand in the air.
"Party's over, thanks for coming." He bites out, spitting blood onto the dirt like he was chewing tobacco.
"Gator, you're bleeding!" You hiss, trying to stop him.
"Yeah, but we both are this time."
A smile spreads across both of your faces. You tuck into the curve of his arm as he walks you back to your home.
Wistfully, he muses. "A little girl."
You beam up at him. "Gator's girls."
His eyes water, melting back into their honey sweetness reserved just for you (and Sunny, now).
"My girls." He kisses the top of your head and looks forward to the future.
A/N: Chapter 1 is finally here. It's taken me months to iron out the details on this story, but I feel like I'm in a good space with the plot, characters, etc. I don't have a writing schedule yet, but I do want to get ahead on a few chapters before posting the next one. This is just a little intro/teaser into this world to get everyone excited for the rest! Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read this, and I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Those pictures aren't mine and this story switches POV, also in my world Gator isn't blind, he's out of prison and in therapy and he works with Witt :)
Song Inspo - Sweetness by Jimmy Eat World (In my mind, Gator was absolutely jamming out to his old pop punk playlist in the truck lol)
Word count: 8.3K
Warnings: Mentions of past trauma (not in detail), mentions of Gator grabbing/pinching reader (not aggressively or in a harmful manner), mentions of Roy 🤢, i don't know if I'm missing anything, but if I am, please feel free to let me know :)
Gator
Gator Tillman was now a man who enjoyed brunch.
He’d never even heard of ‘brunch’ before Nadine - sorry, Dot - introduced him to it during his time living with her in Scandia. It became a Sunday tradition when he moved in with her after he was released from prison with special permission from a judge and his parole officer. There were stipulations, of course. He wasn’t allowed to leave the city, he had to commit to six hundred hours of community service, and he had to return back to school to finish his degree at a community college nearby.
Lehigh and the ranch were no longer home to him after Roy and Karen were tossed in prison. His half-sisters were moved to another state with distant relatives on Karen’s side, and he hadn’t seen them since. It sucked, but he tried to call them whenever he could. They might be a product of two of the worst people he’d ever known, but they were still just innocent children. He hoped they grew up differently than he had, with less hatred instilled in them and more love and compassion, but he knew that was unlikely with the way Karen’s family operated.
After his parole was up and he was finished with his community service and degree, he moved up to Fargo to be closer to Witt. He still wanted to be in the force, but he wanted to do things the right way. So Witt hired him to do paperwork and small tasks around the office while he worked his way through the police academy. It was hard, and people treated him like shit because of his last name, but he was determined to do right by Witt who had stuck his neck out for Gator. He put in a good word at the academy and gave him a second chance, even if he didn’t necessarily deserve that.
Now, after two years at the academy, he was officially an officer again.
And this time, he intended to do things differently.
Dot nudged Gator’s foot, bringing him back to reality with that sweet, suburban ‘Mom’ smile that he’d grown used to seeing on her.
He gave her one quick nod of acknowledgment before turning his head to Scotty.
“Hand me the syrup, would ya’, Snotty.” He teased, but Scotty just rolled her eyes and passed the syrup. “Have you heard back about the audition yet?”
“Yeah.” A crooked smile covered her face and her eyes lit up. “You’ll never guess what role I got.”
Gator faked a gasp.
“You’re right, I won’t.” He mocked her excitement, and Dot kicked at his shin under the table. “So, what role is it?”
Scotty leaned in with that mischievous glint in her eyes that reminded Gator so much of Dot.
“The Sheriff.” She whispered, laughter bubbling out of her when Gator’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “I know, right.”
“Oh, shit.” His lips curled at the corner, and he glanced at Dot. “Well, ain’t that something?”
Dot’s lips turned down at the corner and Gator nudged her foot under the table the same way she’d done when he was in his head earlier. Scotty knew a little bit about what went down a few years ago, but she didn’t know all of it. They’d agreed to keep some things from her until she was old enough to hear about them. Still, Dot didn’t look too pleased to hear about her daughter playing the role of sheriff. He couldn’t blame her for it, but he could still be excited for Scotty. She’d worked her ass off to get the role, and he was proud of her for putting herself out there.
“It’ll be good, Dotty.” He shot Dot a wink, something like reassurance that turned her frown into a tired smile. “So, Snotty, you gotta learn a bunch of lines?”
“It’s a little less than the lead, but I can memorize the lines no problem.” She shrugged, reaching for the ketchup as Gator started to cut into his pancakes. “I’m just worried I’ll get stage fright or something and I’ll choke.”
“You won’t.” He shook his head, confident in her ability. “You have a flair for the dramatics, just like your Mama.”
Dot kicked Gator’s shin under the table again.
“Ow, Nadine.” He hissed, leaning forward to rub at the pain blooming on his leg. “You gotta admit you can be a little dramatic.”
“You’re an ass.” Dot leaned forward, grabbing a piece of bacon from Gator’s plate.
“Yeah, we all know that.” He shrugged, turning his attention back to Scotty. “I’m proud of you for getting up there even when you were scared shitless.”
“You owe so much money to the swear jar.” Scotty pointed her fork at Gator, then at her mother with a shit eating grin. “Both of you.”
“We gotta pay for your college somehow kid.” Gator shrugged, turning his attention back to his plate. “Speaking of school, I have an invite for you two.”
He reached into his back pocket, pulling up the folded paper given to him by the cooking instructor he’d been studying under for the last four months. It was something Dot was adamant for him to do when he moved out on his own. He barely knew how to boil water, let alone cook an entire meal, and Dot didn’t want him surviving off of takeout and freezer meals once he moved out on his own. He hated it at first, but he grew to appreciate the idea after nearly setting his kitchen on fire over a simple bowl of pasta.
“What’s this?” She unfolded the paper, reading over it with the intensity of a Mom reading a report card. “You’re done with cooking class?”
“Yeah, the last class is on Tuesday.” He nodded, dropping his eyes down to focus on his plate and not the way Dot was staring at him. “We’re supposed to invite people and serve them three courses to show them what we’ve learned. I want you and Scotty to come.”
“We’ll be there.” She nodded once, glancing back down at the paper. “Can I keep this?”
“Uh, yeah.” He shrugged. “What for?”
“Gonna hang it on the fridge right next to your picture from the academy graduation, Alligator.” She folded it up neatly, tucking it into her purse as Scotty snickered beside him. “I’m proud of you for sticking with it.”
Gator felt his cheeks getting warm, so he stuffed his mouth with pancakes while Scotty giggled beside him.
The three finished up brunch, and Gator had to fight with Dot to pay the bill yet again.
Last time, Dot had snuck a handful of cash to the waitress and Gator had to sneak into her house to replace the money. She scolded him for breaking in, of course, and he scolded her right back for not setting the alarm on the security system he installed for her after he moved in. Roy might have been in prison, but his boys at the station in Lehigh were still around. It was a hell of a drive from Lehigh county to Scandia where Dot lived, but he wouldn’t put it past one of those slimy motherfuckers to make the drive just to prove a point.
Gator didn’t like the idea of leaving Dot and Scotty without some kind of protection, and while Wayne was a great husband and father, he was shit at self defense. So the only other option was a security system that was built better than the last one. He was three hours away now and that meant he wouldn’t be able to get there in time if they needed him. The alarm system would at least alert the local authorities, and hopefully that would deter anyone from fucking with Dot.
Scotty hopped into the front seat of her Mom’s SUV, rolling down the window so Gator could say his final goodbye until Tuesday.
“Hey, what’s that?” Gator pinched his face up, pointing down at Scotty’s shirt.
“Is it a bug?” Scotty panicked, looking down with wide eyes as Gator lifted his hand to bop her nose. “Gator!”
Scotty started to roll the window up as Gator barked out a laugh, pressing his hand to his stomach. Dot clicked her tongue in disapproval, but Gator could see the amusement in her eyes as she hiked her purse up on her shoulder.
“Love you, Snotty.” He tapped on the window, holding his hands together in a heart as she stuck her tongue out at him.
Gator turned back to Dot, his laughter slowly fading.
“She’s always wanted an older sibling.” Dot rolled her eyes fondly. “I’m glad you two get along so well.”
“Yeah, me too.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “She’s a good kid, Dotty.”
“She is.” Dot’s eyes were doing that thing, analyzing him like he was a problem that needed to be solved. “Have you been sleeping okay?”
He let out a heavy sigh, dropping his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose.
“I’m fine, I swear.” He shrugged his shoulders half heartedly. “It was a long week at the station, and Witt still has me on desk duty. I was swamped with paperwork all week, that’s all.”
“So no more nightmares?” She tilted her head, hiking her purse up on her shoulder with a soft sigh when Gator looked towards his feet. “It’s completely normal if you still have them from time to time-”
“Nadine, I’ve got it under control.” He snipped, bringing his eyes back up to hers with a deep frown and furrow between his brows. “I promise that you’ll be the first to know if I feel like I’m slipping again.”
He reached out, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug.
“Make sure to set the damn alarm when you get home.” He grumbled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “And call me when you get there.”
“I will.” She patted his back. “You be good, Gator.”
He gave her one last squeeze before reluctantly letting go.
Dot got in her car, and seconds later, Gator was waving in the rearview mirror.
For a moment, he considered following her home just to make sure she and Scotty made it inside safely. He didn’t have any other plans on his day off, and lord knows Dot was going to forget to set the alarm when she got in. He decided against it, thinking back on what his therapist had mentioned about control and letting go. He scoffed, kicking his boot against the asphalt before turning towards his truck with a grumble.
He turned the key in the ignition, reaching over to the book of CD’s sitting in his passenger seat. He hated listening to the radio, especially on his drive from St. Cloud to Fargo. The stations dipped out too often and every song was either about heartbreak, love, or getting laid. He didn’t relate to any of those things, so what was the point in singing along? And don’t get him started on streaming platforms.
Instead, he thumbed through the CD’s with illegally downloaded music from his high school years, searching for the perfect soundtrack to take him home. He settled on one of his most played CD’s from junior year, smiling at the memory of his first truck and those bitter cold mornings back in Lehigh. He could almost feel the chill creeping over him as the CD started playing. He nodded his head along, tapping his fingers along the steering wheel as he pulled up to the stop sign at the entrance to the diner.
He normally avoided taking I-94 to Fargo because it was inevitable that he was going to run into traffic at some point. Instead, he took route 10, a much smaller highway that people hardly ever drove because it was a few more miles than I-94. A few extra miles sounded a hell of a lot better than sitting in standstill traffic to Gator, so he took a right and made his way towards route 10.
As he passed through a series of stoplights, he thought about what he was going to do with the rest of his day. He’d already done his laundry and went to the grocery store, so there weren’t any chores left to do. He’d detailed his truck the day before when the weather was nice, and football season had barely begun, so there wasn’t a game for him to put on in the background while he nursed a lukewarm beer and pretended to care.
He could call Heather, the prom queen from the graduating class above him that also moved to Fargo a few years ago. She was a surgeon, and was always on call, so their hookups consisted of quickies in the back of Gator’s truck and, on occasion, sex that lasted more than twenty minutes in her apartment downtown. Neither of them wanted anything serious, so it just worked.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Heather was probably on call, which meant that Gator was stuck with his hand and absolutely nothing else to do with his Sunday afternoon. He pushed down the frustration bubbling in his chest as he made one last turn for the highway. If he was still at home on the ranch, there would be something for him to do, a chore to be completed or a task to do for Roy.
It wasn’t that he missed Roy or Karen or the ranch, he missed family. Dot was family, sure, but she lived in Scandia and he did not want to move back to Minnesota just to stay with her and Scotty because he was lonely. He wanted to prove that he could make something of himself without his father’s help. He wanted to create a life that he was proud of, not one built on the foundation of fear and shame.
As route 10 came into view, Gator let out a curse at the line of cars waiting to merge onto the on ramp. Route 10 never had traffic, but of course it would be at a standstill today.
Gator huffed, shaking his head as he merged to the left lane so he could make a quick turn to get back towards I-94. Someone blared their horn behind him, but he simply flipped them a quick middle finger and kept on accelerating until he made it to the interstate.
************
“Mommy, do you think we can stop for ice cream?” Clara stared down at her stuffed rabbit, playfully lifting and dropping its ears as she moved her feet.
“We’re almost to the new house, babe.” You glanced at her in the rearview mirror, offering her a gentle smile when she frowned. “We can go to the store when we get there and grab a carton, does that sound good?”
“But I like the ice cream with the cone.” She lifted her head, staring back at you with those big, beautiful hazel eyes that she’d inherited from her father. “And the swirl.”
“You mean soft serve?” You asked, focusing your attention back on the road.
“Yeah.” Clara nodded her head enthusiastically. “That.”
“How about this-” You flicked your turn signal, glancing over your shoulder before you merged into the right lane. “If there’s a Mcdonald’s close to the new house, we can stop for soft serve. If not, we get a carton and cones at the grocery store. Deal?”
“Deal.” She nodded, looking back down at her rabbit. “Will it be dark when we get to the new house?”
“Maybe.”
You hoped it wasn’t dark when you got to the new house.
Even as an adult with a child of your own, you were still terrified of the dark. The idea of being in the dark in a new house wasn’t helping your anxiety. But you couldn’t let that show, because Clara didn’t need to know that you were anxious about this move. She didn’t need to see the side of you that was hesitant and unsure about the decision you’d made to uproot both of you from the only home you’d ever known.
The only thing Clara needed to know was that Fargo was your new home, and you had no plans of leaving anytime soon.
You reached for the dial on the radio, turning the music down slightly as you stared at the road signs in passing. St. Cloud was the last town you stopped in on your journey from the East Coast to your new home in Fargo, North Dakota. You were low on gas and starting to get a little hungry when you pulled off the highway, so you coaxed a reluctant Clara out of the car with the promise of waffles and whipped cream at a little diner before refueling at a gas station and getting back on the road.
It had been a long trip with several stops along the way, but you were so close to being free from running that you could almost taste the relief. Twenty four hours of travel split into three days was enough to drive anyone crazy. The lines had started to blur and your back was aching from sitting in the same position for so long. When you got to the new house, you were going to spend a solid hour and a half soaking in a warm bath before you climbed into bed.
“Are we almost there?”
Clara had asked that question twelve times since you’d left the diner in St. Cloud.
Around the fifth time, you had started to lose your patience with the question.
“Not quite, baby.”
Clara let out a dramatic huff, dropping her head back against the seat.
“I think it’s just a few more hours, I promise.” You tried to reassure her when you noticed the way her limbs started to move. “Do you need me to stop again?”
“No, please don’t stop again.” She whined, kicking her feet up. “I want to go home.”
You knew she didn’t mean the new house.
But you didn’t have time to dwell on the tantrum that was brewing.
Your car started to pull towards the right, and immediately you knew that one of your tires was going flat. You cursed under your breath, jerking your head to the right before pressing on your hazard lights. You took your foot off the accelerator, carefully pulling off onto the shoulder of the highway.
“Mommy, I said I don’t want to stop.” Clara whined from the backseat, her voice teetering on the edge of a breakdown.
“I know, baby.” Your fingers tightened around the wheel as the car came to a stop. “I promise we’ll be back on the road in a second, but I just need to check something first.”
Clara wasn’t having it.
Her eyes welled up with tears and her bottom lip pushed out as you turned around to look at her from the front seat of the car. She clutched her stuffed bunny to her chest as the first few tears fell, and your heart squeezed at the sight of her frustration.
“I know this is scary, and I’m so sorry.” You reassured her. “But I promise everything is going to be okay.”
“Did you break the car?” She asked through a hiccup. “Why did you break the car?”
You turned around, dropping your head on the steering wheel as Clara’s crying picked up. She was tired, and so were you, but if you sat in the car for one more moment listening to her sob, you were going to lose your mind. So you undid your buckle and looked back at her one more time with a tight smile.
“Mommy is going to check on the tire, okay?” You rubbed your hand over her shin a few times to soothe her, but she wasn’t having it. “Do you need a minute or do you want me to stay here with you?”
“A minute.” She sniffled, reaching up to wipe at her nose.
“Alright.” You nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
You checked in your mirror to make sure no other cars were coming before you slid out of the driver’s seat. You’d had a flat tire before, sure, but you live in a small town and there was always someone just a phone call away. You had a community there, a village that looked out for you and Clara after your father passed away.
Now you were completely alone and clueless.
You stared down at your back right tire as the wind whipped around you.
It was far too cold to be outside in your denim shorts and t-shirt, but you were used to a slightly warmer climate, and you hadn’t thought to bring a jacket with you. You crossed your arms over your chest as you reached out to touch the tire. It was most definitely flat which meant you were going to have to search for your roadside assistance kit underneath the boxes full of yours and Clara’s things in the trunk of your car.
You tilted your head back as you blew out a big breath to regulate your own emotions. It was one small hiccup, and you were a grown woman. You could handle a flat tire with the help of youtube and determination. You reached in your back pocket, ready to pull out your phone to search for a video, but the sound of tires hitting the rumble strips behind you pulled your attention.
Instinctively, your guard went up and you clutched your phone tighter in your hand. A dark grey pick up truck stopped about ten feet away from you, and the door swung open without hesitation. You watched as the driver stepped out with a faded ballcap and a thick worker’s jacket tossed over his shoulders. He walked around the front of his truck, stopping directly in front of it instead of getting closer to you.
“What’s wrong with your car?” He asked, leaning against his bumper.
You hardly heard him over the sound of other cars whipping past you.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your car-” He pointed at it. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Flat tire.” You cleared your throat, looking down at your phone to check that you still had enough signal to call for help if you needed to. “I’ve got it though.”
“Do ya now?” He looked amused, and that turned your fear into frustration.
“I can figure it out.” You snapped, opening the youtube app on your phone. “Thanks though.”
“Alright.” He crossed his arms over his chest like he intended to stay.
“You don’t have to wait.”
“I’m not leaving you on the side of the road.” He interrupted. “If you want to change your tire, have at it, but I’m gonna wait until you’re finished.”
You huffed out an unamused laugh, staring at him as he gave you a half shrug, like he was daring you to argue with him.
“I don’t even know you.”
“Don’t need to know me.” He said. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you might not know how to actually change that tire.”
“Oh, is that so?” You could feel your face heating up. “Fuck you.”
“Alright.” He gave another half hearted shrug. “I’ve got all day, sunshine.”
The nickname was enough to break the last shred of patience you had.
“You’re an asshole.” You spit out, throwing your arms in the air. “Who says I don’t know how to change my tire? You think because I’m a woman that I can’t do it? Well newsflash, pal, I can change a tire in my sleep.”
“Alright.” He said again, uncrossing his arms. “So do it.”
Your shoes crunched against the scattered bits of gravel and debris on the side of the road as you turned towards your suv. You ran your hand along the spare tire carrier, searching for a latch or button to open the hard plastic. Admittedly, you had changed a tire before, but not with this particular car. It wasn’t a new car, but you’d only bought it a few months after Clara was born because your old sedan wasn’t reliable.
The longer you searched for the opening mechanism, the more your anger turned to frustration, and soon you started to feel the same way that Clara had before you got out of the car. Hot tears burned at your eyes as you stared down at your feet, and defeat crashed over you in waves. You felt the man’s presence behind you, but you didn’t bother looking up. It was embarrassing enough that you’d yelled at him, he didn’t need to see you crying too.
“I can do it.” You croaked out, reaching up to swipe at a tear. “I just need a minute.”
“You can have as many minutes as you want.” He wasn’t teasing anymore, his voice gentle as he spoke. “Hey, you don’t need to cry-”
You groaned, and he let out a soft chuckle.
“Just let me help you.” He looked up to the sky, squinting his eyes. “Besides, it looks like it’s gonna storm soon, and you don’t need to be caught out in the rain dressed like this.”
You contemplated it for a second before taking a step back.
The man nodded, tucking his hand under the carrier before he pulled at something that sounded like a zipper. You gave him room, watching the muscles in his back and biceps flex as he twisted the cover until it popped off the spare. He rested the cover on the ground before he started to inspect the tire.
“When did you put this on here?” He asked, running his thumb over the grooves. “It looks a little worn.”
“Um, I didn’t.” You said softly, crossing your arms over your chest. “It came with the car.”
He stopped, looking at you for a minute before nodding.
“Okay.” There was no judgement in his voice. “It’ll be good enough to get you to a tire shop, but I wouldn’t drive very far on it.”
“Fuck.” You lifted your hands, brushing your palms over your face as another tear fell to your cheeks. “Do you think it could get me to Fargo, at least?”
“Fargo?” His tone shifted, and you noticed the way his shoulders tensed. “S’that your final stop or-”
“I’m not telling you that.”
He muttered something under his breath, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. He flipped the front open, yanking out a white business card before he closed his wallet back up and tucked it away. He held it out in your direction, and you slowly inched forward before taking it from his hand.
Officer Gator Tillman
North Dakota State Police
Well, shit.
This was not good.
Suddenly the sound of cars whipping past you on the highway was muffled.The thick card felt like it was burning your fingertips as you stared at it. It was just a silly little card, but the dark letters pressed in felt more like a threat than a relief. It was like the world was reminding you that no matter how far you ran, you still couldn’t escape the demons in your past. Your eyes trailed back up to the man, to Gator, as he stood there with a deep scowl and his hands on his hips.
“You scared of cops or something?” He asked. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
You’d heard those words before.
Everything felt heavy.
There was a pressure on your chest that was making it hard to breathe, and everything sounded like it was underwater. Goosebumps broke out across your skin and your throat felt tight. You stared at Gator as his mouth moved, but there were no words coming out.
You shuffled half a step back when he moved forward, and he stopped in his tracks like he was approaching an injured animal. His feet shuffled forward again, and you took another step back. He snapped his fingers, and the sharp sound was enough to pull your attention back from the void you’d lost yourself in.
“Clara-” You croaked out, glancing towards your car.
Your daughter was sitting in the backseat of your car, and you owed it to her to try and get yourself out of this mess. You weren’t sure how you were going to do it, though. If someone reached out to local authorities about a missing mother and child, surely this guy would remember that he helped change your tire on the side of the highway.
“Who is that?” He asked, snapping his fingers again when your eyes drifted. “Hey, look at me, sunshine. Tell me who Clara is.”
“My daughter.” You whispered. “She’s in the backseat.”
“Alright.” This time when he shuffled forward, you took a bigger step back.
The back of your flip flop caught on the rumble strips, and a horn blared somewhere behind you. You heard Gator shout right before his hands pressed into the meat of your biceps with enough force to hurt just a little. Your back hit something hard, and the wind stopped hitting your face as Gator crouched down in front of you.
You weren’t sure at what point you closed your eyes, but when you opened them again, Gator’s face was just inches away from yours. He was saying something again, but his voice was muffled by the ringing in your ears. His eyes were wide, so wide that you barely caught a glimpse of the beautiful hazel irises that matched your daughters.
A sharp pinch pulled you out of your stupor, and you instinctively swatted at the hand near the softest part of your arm. He’d actually pinched you.
“Do you hear me?” His voice was gruff, but loud enough to break through your distorted hearing. “Hey!”
“I can hear you.” You swallowed, nodding your head at him. “I’m sorry.”
“You almost walked into oncoming traffic.” He barked, lifting his hand to take off his hat before tossing it behind you. “Are you okay?”
“I just had a moment.” You crossed your arms across your chest, leaning back against the surface he’d placed you in front of. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” He turned on his heel, shoving his fingers through the short strands of brown hair on his head. “You have a kid in the car?”
Clara.
“I- yes, I do.” You stood up straight, your knee’s still wobbly after your near death experience.
“Okay, we need to get her out of the car while I change the tire.” He looked back at you, biting at the inside of his cheek. “You can put her in my truck and sit with her while I do it, okay?”
In life, there were moments like this that often felt like standing at a crossroad. If you said okay, you’d be risking everything you worked for the second he laid eyes on Clara.
If you said no he would probably get annoyed before leaving you on the side of the road with your daughter and no way to change the tire on your car.
Either way, you were screwed.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He said again, his face softening. “And I won’t hurt the kid either, I promise.”
Believing him seemed to be your only option.
So you nodded, and walked past him even though it felt like your legs were seconds away from giving out. He followed, his boots crunching against the loose gravel behind you. You paused at the door, your hand hovering over the handle as you looked down at your daughter tucked in her carseat. She was talking to Posy, her stuffed bunny, like it was a friend. Her cheeks were still damp, but she wasn’t crying anymore.
When you opened the door, you almost lost it again.
“You said it would be a minute.” She sniffled, wiping at her cheeks. “It’s been longer than that, I counted.”
Clara couldn’t count to twenty yet, let alone sixty.
“I’m sorry, baby.” Seeing her cry was hard enough, knowing it was because of you only made it worse. “But a friend stopped by to help us change the tire, so we should be back on the road soon.”
“Mommy, I want to go home.” She whimpered, burying her nose into the soft, grey fur of her stuffed bunny. “Posy is homesick.”
“Is that so?”
Gator’s voice startled you.
You’d almost forgotten that he was there.
“Yeah.” Clara muttered, glancing over your shoulder. “She misses the beach.”
“We have beaches.”
The way he said it sounded like it was an obvious solution to all of Clara’s problems.
“You have lakes.” She looked back at you. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah, there are lakes.” You bit back a smile. “You’re a smart girl, have I told you that today?”
“No.” Clara hid her smile behind Posy, shyly looking over at Gator. “What’s your name?”
“Gator.” He cleared his throat to catch your attention, and you gave it to him. “We need to move, this isn’t safe.”
“Right.” You nodded. “Alright, sweet girl, we’re gonna get out of the car so Gator can change the tire, is that okay?”
“It’s cold outside.” Clara frowned.
“I have your blanket.” It had been abandoned on the floor board with her book about four hours ago. “Come on, let’s not keep Mr. Gator waiting.”
Clara nodded, reaching down for her seatbelt.
She was at an age where she wanted to do everything herself, and though it could be frustrating at times, you always let her try before taking over. Gator didn’t say anything as Posy fell from Clara’s hands, but he swooped in to grab the stuffed rabbit before it fell to the ground below the car. He held it in his hands, looking down at the stuffed rabbit with curious eyes as you gathered Clara in your arms.
“Can you hold Posy?” Clara asked him as you hiked her up on your hip, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders. “I don’t want her to fall again.”
She slid her arms around your neck as you shut the car door.
Gator’s cheeks tinged a soft shade of pink as he nodded his head.
He was attractive, you’d be an idiot to deny that.
He had dark lashes that framed beautiful hazel eyes. They were almost the same mossy shade as Clara’s, but his eyes edged more towards a warm honeyed brown. Soft freckles the color of his hair dotted over the bridge of his nose, but the rest of his skin was a smooth canvas. You noticed as you stared up at him that he had a faint white scar notched into the corner of his right eyebrow and another just along his top lip by the right corner of his mouth.
“Are you checking me out right now?” He asked, the mouth in question quirking up at the corners as your mouth fell open. “Listen, Sunshine, I don’t know if that’s appropriate with the kid-”
“I was not checking you out.” You hissed out, walking past the back of your car towards his truck with a scowl.
“Sure you weren’t.” He snorted out a laugh, walking around you so he could open the truck door for you.
Clara’s hands toyed with your necklace while you walked, a self soothing habit she’d been doing since she was a baby. You pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before looking over the inside of Gator’s truck to make sure it was suitable for Clara to sit inside.
The inside of his truck was immaculate. It was cleaner than the inside of any truck you’d ever seen before, and you had been around a lot of truck owners when you were younger. The truck interiors that you remembered were filled with crumbs, dirt, and cigarette ash crammed into every nook and cranny. Gator’s was spotless, and there was even a hint of an air freshener that reminded you of summer.
“You need help?” Gator pulled your attention again, looking towards the seats before looking back at you.
“Uh, kind of.” You muttered, realizing that you wouldn’t be able to lift Clara into the seat without losing your balance due to the height of his truck. “Can you lift her up?”
“Not a problem.” He gave you a curt nod, reaching around you to put Posy on the dashboard before looking at Clara. “Is that alright with you?”
Clara analyzed him, her eyes trailing over every inch of his face before she spoke.
“You won’t drop me?” She asked, clutching your necklace.
“Not a chance.” He said softly, holding his hands out towards her.
Clara leaned over and he grabbed her with ease before tossing her up into the passenger seat with a playful groan that had your daughter giggling. He handed her Posy before reaching back for her blanket. You handed it over without a word, watching as Clara settled herself in the front seat like she’d been there a million times before.
“Can you buckle yourself in, or do you need help?” He asked.
She contemplated his question.
Gator waited patiently.
“I need help, please.” She said softly. “I’m too small to reach the belt.”
“Nah, it’s just made for giants like me.” He reached for it, pulling the belt down before clicking it in. “Are you still cold?”
She nodded her head, clutching Posy tighter as Gator turned his attention towards the heat settings. He pushed the vents up so the air wasn’t blowing directly on her face, and he turned the dial all the way up on the heat so she wouldn’t get cold waiting for him to finish. You crossed your arms over your chest, watching as he moved things around so Clara would be comfortable while she waited.
“Alright.” Gator gave Clara one quick nod. “Are you gonna be okay in here for a few minutes?”
“Yeah.” Clara nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Gator.”
“Anytime.” He offered her his palm, smiling when she landed a sharp high five with her own tiny hand. “You be good, alright?”
“Alright.” She nodded back at him, and you smiled at her before he shut the door.
He shut the door, turning back to you with a sigh.
“So, where are your tools?”
“Tools?”
************
This woman had serious issues.
First, she didn’t know how to change a tire.
Second, she was from the East Coast and had an accent that sounded a hell of a lot like something out of a terrible Netflix movie about small, southern towns.
Third, she had a kid.
A fucking kid with devestating bambi eyes and adorable soft cheeks that resembled her mother’s. Gator thought he was going to vanish into thin air when she stared at him by the truck, looking right through him like she could see into his soul. She looked like she was around the same age as his sisters, maybe five or six years old.
She was still so young.
And you almost walked into oncoming traffic to get away from Gator.
He felt nauseous when you nearly stepped backwards, narrowly missing the rumble strips with the heel of your ridiculously beat up leather flip flops. It was the midwest in October, and you were wearing fucking flip flops on the side of the road like you were still sitting at a beach somewhere on the coast. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to yell at you or if he wanted to throw you over his shoulder and put you in a bubble.
“You don’t have a bag with tools in the back?” Gator asked, staring at the cargo door of your RAV4 with curious eyes. “Did you even think to look, or did you just hand over your money for the car and ride off into the sunset?”
“I probably have tools in there.” Gator noticed that your voice dipped, which meant that you didn’t actually know for certain that you had the necessary tools to change a tire in the back of your car. “I’m moving though, so everything is-”
“Wait here.” He interrupted, rolling his eyes at your long winded speech. “Absolutely insane.”
If you were his woman, he would have put you and the kid in his truck at the start of this whole thing. He would have taken you back home where you’d both be safe, and he’d come back to fix the tire later with Witt. He wouldn’t have had you standing out there in your stupid little flip flops and short shorts while you argued with him.
But you weren’t his woman.
Hell, he didn’t even know what your name was.
He reached into the bed of his truck, grabbing his toolkit and electric jack before walking back to your car. He started by taking the spare tire off the back, undoing the lugnuts before putting them in his pocket. He hauled the tire off with one hand, holding it close to his legs as he walked around to the flat tire on the back right.
He could feel your eyes on him, watching his every move curiously.
“Do you want me to teach you how to do this?” He asked, crouching down to put the jack under the frame. “It’s not too hard, but I suggest you get an electric jack instead of a manual.”
“I’ll just watch.” You muttered, tightening your arms around yourself.
Gator stopped, looking at you as the wind continued to whip around you. He shrugged his shoulders, pulling off his jacket before tossing it in your direction. He should have thought of it earlier, but he was too busy saving you from falling into oncoming traffic.
“Hold that for me?” He asked. “You can wear it if it’s too cold.”
He knew you wouldn’t, but holding it would at least shield your arms from the wind while he worked.
You didn’t say anything as he paused the jack, reaching over for the tire iron by his boot so he could start removing the lug nuts from the wheel studs. It took him a total of five minutes to get them off and tucked into his other pocket. He pulled the old tire off, resting it behind him before he reached for the spare.
He wasn’t confident that the spare was going to get you very far, but he did think it would get you to Fargo. If you were going any farther than Fargo, you would need to get the tire replaced tomorrow, but it wasn’t his business to tell you that. So instead, he put the spare on, and tightened the lug nuts as he wondered why anyone would willingly move from the East Coast to a place like Fargo.
He might not know why you were moving to Fargo, but one thing was clear by the look on your face when you read his business card.
You were running.
He just didn’t know what - or who - you were running from.
All Gator knew was that he’d handled cases like this before, cases where women went running off with their kids because being at home was worse than the unknown dangers that the world had to offer. He’d seen women like you, skittish and overly cautious.
Dot had been one of those women, and he’d be damned if he helped the law in returning you to whatever situation you were trying to escape. So he made a vow to himself that he’d lie with his hand on the bible in front of any judge if that meant keeping you and that little girl safe.
And that meant that he was going to follow you home just to make sure your tire held up and you arrived safely. Fuck what his therapist thought about control and letting go. He wasn’t letting this go, not when your safety was in question.
As he pulled the old tire off, he spared another quick glance in your direction.
You were definitely checking him out this time.
“You know, it’s a shame you’re not staying in Fargo permanently.” He hid his smirk when you let out an exasperated sigh. “Maybe we could have gone out to dinner sometime.”
“I have a kid.”
“And?” Gator shrugged. “She seems pretty cool, your kid.”
“She is.” That brought a smile to your face. “I don’t date.”
“Who said it was a date?” He turned to look at you, grinning when he noticed how your face looked flush now. “I’m teasing, it would have been a date.”
“No, it wouldn’t have, because I don’t date.” You reiterated through gritted teeth.
“Single mother’s date all the time.” He said with a half shrug.
“Yeah, well, I don’t.” You muttered, scuffing the bottom of your shoe on the asphalt with a heavy sigh. “Listen, you’ve been really amazing, and I’m so thankful that you stopped to help me, but please don’t make this a thing.”
“Alright.”
He fully intended on making this a thing.
Something in Gator’s stomach flipped, something that felt an awful lot like butterflies.
“Just keep the card, okay?” He dropped the tire iron into its rightful place before standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. “If you need anything at all, call me.”
“I won’t.” You jutted your chin up, and Gator let out a soft chuckle. “Besides, who says I’m staying in North Dakota?”
“You’re staying in North Dakota, sunshine.” He grabbed your old tire from the ground, walking towards your trunk where he screwed it onto the mount. “I may not be the brightest bulb in the shed, but I know that much.”
“Right, well, thank you again for the tire.” You gestured towards the spare with a tight smile. “I really need to get back on the road now.”
“Alright.” He noticed the way your eye twitched when he said that word. “I’ll help you get Clara out.”
He opened the passenger door, wincing when he realized that Clara had fallen asleep.
Her cheek was pressed into the center console of his truck and Posy was clutched tightly against her chest. She looked so peaceful, and for a moment, Gator wanted to shut the door and let her sleep until she was ready to wake up. His stomach twisted, and he looked back at you with wide eyes before looking back at Clara.
“What do I do?” He asked, his voice hoarse.
“You unbuckle her and pick her up.” You said softly. “She won’t wake up.”
“Are you sure?” His brow knotted together. “I don’t want to upset her.”
“I’m sure.” You nodded. “She’s a heavy sleeper, I promise.”
Gator swallowed, turning his attention back to the sleeping angel.
He reached for the buckle, wincing when Clara’s foot twitched. He waited for a moment before pressing the release on the button, carefully adjusting the strap until it snapped back into place.
He reached for Posy, gently prying it from her arms before he handed it back to you. He took a deep breath before sliding his hands under her arms and lifting her up in one swift motion. She settled against his chest, looping her arms around his neck.
Gator panicked, looking back at you with wide eyes as he adjusted her blanket to cover her arms and legs. She didn’t budge when he leaned over, prepared to hand her back to you. He might have had sisters, but he never really helped with him, not like he should have.
“What do I do?” He hissed out, tucking his chin to look down at her. “She’s glued to me.”
“She’s like a little koala.” You were amused by his panic, and that eased his nerves slightly. “Let’s get her to my car, she’ll probably let go of you then.”
“Come on.” You nodded towards your car. “She’ll let go when we get her back to my car.”
She did let go, and that scared him more than her holding on.
His heart squeezed in his chest when she let out a soft whimper, searching for her stuffed bunny or something to hold while she slept. He took it from you without asking, practically shoving it in her arms before he grabbed the blanket. He could feel you watching him as he buckled her back in, covering her up with the blanket before double checking that her buckle was done up correctly.
When he turned around, he didn’t expect to see you smiling.
“What?” He asked, softly shutting the door and wincing when it made a loud ‘thunk’.
“Nothing.” You wiped the smile from your face, shaking your head. “Thank you for that, and for getting my spare tire on.”
“Of course.” He nodded once, looking down at you. “I was serious about the card, sunshine. If you ever need anything, you can call me.”
“Thanks.”
The way you said it told Gator that you didn’t believe him.
“Hey, I mean it.” He said. “I don’t know what you’ve got going on, but you can always call me. I don’t care what time of day it is, you reach out if you need help.”
“Why?” You crossed your arms over your chest again. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “But I’m a good judge of character, and you seem like a nice person. Besides, I have a feeling you’re gonna need some more help once you get settled in. I take it you’re doing this on your own?”
He gestured towards the car and the boxes stuffed in the back.
“Yeah.” You whispered. “But I can take care of myself.”
“Well, it doesn’t hurt to have a little community in your life.” He offered you a tight smile and another nod as the thunder started to roll in. “Go ahead and get on the road before it gets bad.”
“Thank you, again.” You offered him a real smile and even though it was a small one, it still nearly knocked him on his ass.
“Oh, sunshine-” He said. “If you see me behind you, I’m not following you.”
Lie.
“I happen to live in Fargo, so-”
“Got it.” You nodded, biting back a laugh. “Goodbye, Gator.”
The flirting is picking up perhaps?? I love this chapter and I hope you guys do too! Also, I’m always open to feedback and ideas so please don’t be afraid to comment! 🫶
New Beginnings: Part 4
Pairings: blind!gator x fem!reader
Summary: After things didn’t go quite as planned, you adjust to your new life. While it’s not what you expected, it’s a chance at a new beginning… for both of you.
Warnings: sexual references, age gap??? (reader is 23 and gator is 27)
You wake up in your bed with a pounding headache. The kind where you can feel your heartbeat behind your eyes. Running your hands over your face, you roll over and try to start to remember the events of last night.
When it finally comes back to you, you shoot up in bed and gasp. No. No, that must’ve been a dream. You scramble to check your phone and sure enough, at 12:27 last night you had called Gator.
Or rather, Becca had called him.
In disbelief you call Becca.
She picks up and groans, “Ugh, hello?”
“Hello to you too.”
“What’s up?”
“Do you remember what you did last night? How you sabotaged me?”
She barks out a small laugh, “Honey, that was not sabotage. That was a great story and a good excuse to talk to him again.”
“But this is embarrassing! I would’ve figured out a way to reach out on my own!”
“If it’s embarrassing for anyone it would be me, you didn’t even talk to him, it’s fine!”
“Becca, you told him that I ‘can ride like no other bitch’ how is that not embarrassing?”
“Okay, I know you don’t have any experience with the matter but men love a woman that can ride. It’s not embarrassing, it’s a skill!”
You buried your head in your hands and groaned, “Oh my god!”
“Ellie. It’s fine. Just give him a call, it’s all gonna be okay.”
“Ugh okay. If anything goes wrong I’m blaming you.”
Becca laugh fills the room, “I would expect nothing less.”
“Bye, Becca.”
“Bye, Honey!”
You decided that before you call Gator you needed a shower and a meal. About an hour later, you sit down on the couch with your phone in hand, mustering up the courage to call him.
Finally, you get yourself to press the button.
After the longest four rings of your life, you hear his voice, “Hello?”
“Uh hey, Gator.”
“Hey, how ya feeling?”
You chuckled softly out of embarrassment, “I’m alright. Listen, I wanted to call to say I’m really sorry about Becca last night and you sending us a car, you didn’t have to do all that.”
“Nah, it’s alright. Least I could do since I couldn’t pick ya up myself. Just glad ya made it home safe.”
Heat crawls up your cheeks and you reply, “Well still. It was really sweet of you.”
“Don’t go spreading that around now.” He said with a small chuckle.
“Let me take you to lunch as a thank you?”
He hesitated for a moment before agreeing, “Alright, yeah that sounds good.”
You smiled like a teenager with a crush, “Okay good. Does tomorrow work for you? Around noon?”
“Uh yeah, where should I meet ya?”
“How about the diner?”
“Alright, I’ll see ya then.”
“Bye, Gator.”
“Bye, Ellie.”
You took a deep breath of relief and decided to reward yourself by succumbing to your hangover and bed rotting for the rest of the day.
The next morning you woke up more anxious than ever. You don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s not like this was a date… right?
Still, you found yourself spending 30 minutes picking out an outfit, mumbling to yourself how stupid that was. He can’t even see you, why do you care so much what you’re wearing?
That’s when you think, what if his sense of smell is heightened or something? You aren’t sure if that’s a real thing with blindness but you don’t wanna risk it. You decide instead of a regular shower, you’re doing an everything shower.
After you shampoo, deep condition, wash, exfoliate, and shave, you step out of the shower and dry off. You lather your skin in your favorite lotion and blow out your hair. When you’re done, you do your makeup and throw on your outfit before finishing off with jewelry and your special occasion perfume.
You check the time, 11:46. Looking over your appearance once more, the butterflies in your stomach are stronger than ever.
Once you park your car outside the diner you check the time again, 11:57. Perfect. You walk in and see Gator sitting in a booth, his head turning in your direction as your footsteps get closer.
“Hey, Gator.”
He tries his best not to smile, but fails spectacularly, “Hey.”
You slide into the seat across from him, “So, how’ve you been?”
He chuckles softly, “Good, I guess. Ya know, same old same old. How about yerself?”
“Well, I’m just doing my best to get past my humiliation. Becca can be a handful.”
He smiles a little slyly, “From what I hear, so can you.”
Face flushing you stutter out a small laugh, “Only when I’ve been drinking, promise.”
“Well maybe I should’ve taken ya to the bar instead.”
“Oh my god” You huffed a laugh and rolled your eyes.
“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m just messing with ya.”
At this point you’ve accepted that this man loves to make you blush. It’s like he can tell you are even if he can’t see it.
You both talk and talk, not realizing how much time has passed until your phone buzzes and you see the time. 1:52. You’ve been sat here chatting and laughing with Gator Tillman for two hours.
“Oh my gosh, it’s almost 2.”
“Already? Damn, that went fast.”
You giggled, “Yeah, it did. I had a lot of fun but I should probably get going, I’ve got some errands to run.”
He nodded, “Yeah, of course.”
You sit for a moment not wanting to leave when he says, “Would uh, would it be alright if I took ya to dinner sometime?”
Smiling back at him you answer, “Yeah, I’d love to, Gator.”
He let out a small breath he was holding, “Alright then, how about Friday night?”
“Sounds perfect.”
He smiles, “Okay, great.”
You could see a little hesitation before he adds, “Could I ask a small favor?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Could ya uh, maybe wear that other perfume ya usually wear? This one’s nice too, it’s just easier for me to recognize you with the other one, smells sweet like vanilla.” He says softly.
Trying not to smile too big while blushing more than ever, you reply, “Sure, I can do that.”
Once again, he lets go of a breath he was holding, “Okay, well. I guess I’ll talk to ya Friday.”
“Alright, Friday.”
You both stand up and before walking to the door you step closer to him, placing your hand on his face and softly kiss his cheek.
Stepping back, you’ve never seen a man so surprised. Giggling softly you say, “Bye, Gator.”
As you turn and walk away you hear a soft, “Uh yeah, bye.”
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