Sweetheart Part 2- Gator Tillman X Reader
Warnings:Obsessive behavior,controlling parent,tension,fear,implied violence,yelling,unhealthy dynamics.
The next morning your father had insisted on driving you to work. "Roads are a mess," he said.
"Not letting you out there alone."
You didn't argue. You couldn't.
Your car was still half-buried in a ditch miles away for godsakes and the memory of Gator's hands on your body, his breath against your neck, was still too fresh.
The ride was silent except for the heater rattling against the cold. Your father kept glancing at you like he was waiting for you to confess something.
You stared out the window, watching the snowfall.
A dark SUV parked on the shoulder. Engine running.
Windows frosted except for the driver's side , wiped clean by someone's hand?
Your breath caught but your father didn't notice. He was too focused on the road.
But you saw the silhouette behind the wheel.
The shape of the shoulders.
The way the figure leaned forward the second your car passed.
He didn't follow. Didn’t need to. He just wanted you to know he was there.
Work was a blur. You kept replaying the night before, him inside of you, the way he knelt in front of you, the way he looked so vulnerable.
By the time your shift ended, the snow had stopped. The sky was a pale, washed-out blue, the kind that made everything look colder than it was.
Your father wasn't there to pick you up yet.
You stepped outside, breath fogging in the air.
A folded piece of paper tucked under the bench by the entrance.
You wouldn’t have picked it up if it hadn’t had your name on the front.
You looked around - the parking lot was empty except for a plow truck idling near the far end. No sign of him.
Didn't like leavin' you after what we did.
Didn't like leavin' you at all.
You scanned the lot again, pulse racing. Nothing. No movement.
No shadow slipping between cars.
Your father's truck pulled up a minute later. You shoved the note into your pocket before he could see.
The whole way back home your mind was on the note.
That night, you sat on your bed with the note in your hands, reading it over and over until the words blurred.
You shouldn't have kept it.
But you folded it carefully and slid it into the drawer beside your bed anyway.
You tried so hard to sleep that night without your mind drifting to Gator.
At some point, you sat up, heart pounding for no reason you could name.
You turned toward your window.
A shadow moved behind the curtain - slow and hesitant.
You stood up, legs unsteady, and went across your room to the window.
Your fingers trembling as you pulled the curtain back.
Gator stood outside, breath fogging the glass, eyes wide and wild.
You opened your window an inch as cold air came sweeping in.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Hi sweetheart… needed to see you.”
"Can I come in?" he asked, voice cracking.
You respond by opening up the window more and stepping back.
He came in as snow melted off his jacket, dripping onto your floor. His breath came in sharp, uneven pulls, like he'd run the whole way here. His eyes flicked over you - your shaking hands, your rosy cheeks, the blanket around your shoulders, the fear you were trying to swallow.
"Didn't mean to scare you," he said softly.
You didn't step back. You didn't move at all. You just watched him, heart pounding so hard it felt like it echoed in the walls.
He closed the window behind him, careful not to make a sound. Then he turned back to you, jaw tight, eyes burning with something you couldn't name.
You swallowed hard. “Gator..You shouldn’t be here, You can’t be here.”
Slow. Controlled. Like if he was afraid that you’d vanish into thin air if he moved to fast.
"I know," he whispered. "I know I shouldn't. But I been thinkin' about you all damn day. Couldn't breathe right. Couldn't sit still. Felt like somethin' was pullin' me back here. To you.”
He stopped a foot away from you.
Close enough to feel the cold radiating off him.
Close enough to smell the vape on his tongue.
"You scared last night. I saw it.And I ain't lettin' that be the last thing you remember of me."
Your throat tightened. "My dad's home."
His eyes flicked toward your bedroom door - the thin wood, the weak lock, the hallway beyond it.
"I ain't stayin' long," he said.
"Just needed to see you.Needed to know you were okay."
He reached out slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.
His cold fingers brushed your cheek.
"You look tired," he whispered.
You shook your head, but he didn't believe you. His thumb traced the faint redness underyour eye.
"Don't lie to me," he murmured.
He stepped closer, closing the last inch between you. His forehead touched yours.
He exhaled shakily, breath warm against your lips.
"Tell me you don't want me here," he whispered. "Say it, and I'll go."
His eyes softened ,not smug. Just... relieved. Like he'd been holding his breath since he climbed through the window.
"Yeah," he murmured. "That's what I thought."
He takes his coat off and his shoes, sitting onto your bed.
“Come.” He says patting the space next to him.
You hesitated only a second before stepping toward him. He lifted the blanket from your shoulders and wrapped it around both of you, pulling you gently into his chest. His arms slid around your waist, warm and protective, like he'd been waiting his whole life to hold you like this.
"Sweetheart," he murmured against your hair, "You’re tense."
"I'm tired," you whispered.
He put one arm under your head, the other around your waist.
His chest pressed to your back.
His breath warm against your neck.
His fingers found your curls, twisting them gently, brushing them back from your face. Every touch was soft, reverent, like he couldn't believe you were real.
"You're somethin' else," he whispered. "You know that? | ain't slept right since the night I found you in that snow."
You swallowed hard. "Gator..."
"Shh," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "Ain't askin' for nothin'. Just wanna hold you.”
His thumb stroked slow circles on your hip.
His breath synced with yours.
The tension in your body eased, inch by inch.
"You're safe," he whispered.
"Right here with me. Nothin's gonna touch you. Not while I'm breathin'."
You didn't mean to fall asleep.
But wrapped in his arms, with his voice low and soft in your ear, the world finally felt quiet enough to rest.
Your eyes snapped open just as your bedroom door slammed against the wall.
Your father's voice loud and furious,
Gator jolted awake behind you, arm tightening instinctively around your waist before he realized what was happening.
He sat up fast, eyes sharp, jaw clenched.
Your father stood in the doorway, face red, fists balled at his sides.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he spat. "In my house? In her bed?"
"Shut it," he snapped, pointing at you before turning his rage back to Gator. "Get the hell out of that bed. Now."
He just stared back, cold and steady.
"Sir," he said, voice low, "you need to calm down."
"Calm down?" your father barked. "You're a grown man sneakin' into my daughter's room in the middle of the night.
You think I'm gonna calm down?"
Gator swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the floor. He didn't stand - not yet - but the tension in his shoulders made it clear he was ready if he had to be.
"I didn't touch her," he said.
"She was scared. I stayed so she could sleep."
Your father took a step forward.
You scrambled out of bed, grabbing his arm. "Stop. Please.
He shook you off like he didn't even feel your hand.
"You think I'm stupid?" he snapped. "You think I don't know what kind of trouble he is?"
Gator's jaw flexed. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
"I know enough," your father shot back. "I know you're a liar. I know you're unstable. I know you've been sniffing around her like some stray dog that doesn't know when to quit. Hell, You’re a damn Tillman."
Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Watch your mouth," he said quietly.
Your father laughed - a harsh, ugly sound. "Or what? You gonna hit me? In my own house?"
Gator stepped forward, eyes burning. "I ain't hittin' anybody.
But you talk to her like that again, we're gonna have a problem."
"Gator, stop," you begged, grabbing his wrist.
He softened instantly at your touch - but only toward you.
His glare stayed locked on your father.
Your father pointed at the door.
"Get out. Now. Before I call the sheriff."
Not until he looked at you - really looked - and saw the panic in your eyes.
Then he exhaled, slow and shaky.
"For you," he murmured. "Not for him."
He grabbed his jacket from the floor, brushed past your father, and walked out of your room.
Your father slammed the door behind him.
You stood there, heart pounding, tears threatening to fall breath shaking, the warmth of Gator's arms still clinging to your skin.
Then your father turned to you, voice low and furious.
The cold hit Gator the second he stepped outside.
Sharp. Bitter. The kind of cold that burned the inside of his lungs. He didn't stop walking, didn't look back at the house, didn't let himself think about the way you'd looked at him - scared, torn, pleading.
He made it halfway down the street before the adrenaline finally cracked.
"Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.
Snow crunched behind him.
Your father stood on the porch, arms crossed, watching him like a threat he wasn't sure he could contain.
"Don't come back here," your father called out. "You hear me?"
The look he gave your father said everything - cold, steady, unblinking. A warning wrapped in silence.
Inside, your father slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.
He turned on you immediately.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped. "Letting that man into your room? Into your bed?"
"He didn't do anything," you said, voice shaking. "We just slept."
Your tather paced the room, hands on his hips, breathing hard. He looked like he didn't know whether to yell or punch a wall.
"That man is trouble," he said.
"I've seen his type. I know what he's capable of."
You swallowed hard. "He saved me."
"When…When I crashed," you said quietly. "He found me. He helped me."
Your father's jaw tightened.
"That doesn't make him safe."
Your father laughed - a short, humorless sound. "You really believe that?"
Your father grabbed his coat.
"Where are you going?" you asked.
"To make sure he doesn't come back."
Your stomach dropped. "Dad, stop. Please. You're making this worse."
He stormed outside, boots crunching through the snow.
You followed him to the porch, heart pounding.
Gator hadn't made it far.
He stood at the end of the driveway, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, breath fogging in the cold. He wasn't leaving.
Your father marched toward him. "I told you to get the hell out of here."
Gator didn't move. "I heard you."
"Then why are you still standing on my property?”
Gator's eyes flicked past him - to you.
"I ain't leavin' her scared," he said. "Not after the way you yelled at her."
Your father's face went red.
"You don't get to talk about my daughter."
Gator stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "Then don't talk to her like she's a problem."
"Don't you fucking tell me how to raise my kid."
Gator stumbled back a step, boots sliding on the ice - but he didn't fall. He straightened, jaw clenched, eyes darkening into something dangerous.
"Don't touch me again," he said quietly.
"Or what?" your father barked.
"You gonna hit me? Go ahead. Give me a reason to call the sherifff."
Gator didn't take the bait.
He just stared at him, breathing hard, fists tight at his sides.
You ran toward them, stepping between the two before anything could happen.
"Stop," you said, voice cracking.
Your father grabbed your arm, pulling you back. "Get inside."
“Dad ow what the hell?!” You said holding your arm where he had grabbed you.
Gators expression changed into something dark.
“Don’t grab her” He snapped.
Your father turned on him. "You don't tell me how to treat my daughter."
Gator took a step forward. "I do when you scare her."
"Gator," you whispered, grabbing his sleeve. "Please.Don't."
He looked at you and the anger in his eyes softened, just a little.
Your father pointed toward the street. "Get out of here. And don't come back Tillman.”
Gator backed away looking at you softly. “For you,” he murmured again. “Only for you.”
Your father didn’t calm down.
Not after Gator walked away.
Not after the door slammed.
Not after you tried to explain.
He paced the kitchen like a storm trapped in a small room, muttering under his breath, hands shaking with leftover adrenaline.
You sat at the table staring out the kitchen window.
"He's not coming back," you said quietly.
Your father scoffed. "You really believe that?"
Your father grabbed his keys from the counter and shoved them into his pocket.
"I'm changing the locks today," he said. "Front door, back door, your window latch. Everything."
Your stomach dropped. "Dad-"
He grabbed his coat and stomped toward the door.
"Stay inside," he ordered. "Don't go anywhere. Don't call him.
Don't even think about him."
He slammed the door behind him.
You stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway, heart pounding in your throat.
You walked to the window.
Snow fell in slow, lazy flakes, drifting down like ash. The street was empty. No footprints.
No dark figure waiting at the end of the driveway.
You pressed your forehead to the glass, letting a tear fall.
You checked your phone every five minutes.
You paced your room, the floor creaking under your steps. Every sound made you jump - the heater kicking on, the fridge humming, the wind rattling.
You kept replaying the morning in your head:
The way he'd said For you before walking away.
You didn't know if he was angry.
Or planning something reckless.
You didn't know which scared you more.
By noon, the silence felt suffocating.
A shadow moved outside your window.
You stepped closer, heart hammering.
Just the wind stirring the branches.
You exhaled shakily and turned away-
"Where are you?" you whispered.
Your throat tightened. "You shouldn't be."
Another breath - shaky, uneven, like he'd been running or pacing or trying not to lose his mind.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
You closed your eyes. "I….I don't know."
He exhaled, a sound full of frustration and something like pain.
"I didn't wanna leave like that," he said. "Didn't wanna walk away from you."
"Yeah," he murmured. "But it damn near killed me."
"Your dad..." Gator's voice hardened. "He grabbed you."
Gator's voice dropped lower. "I ain't lettin' that happen again."
"I'm not takin' you," he said.
"Not yet. Not like this. But I'm not leavin' you alone with him, either."
Your heart pounded. "What are you saying?"
“I’m comin’ back tonight.”
You didn’t tell your father.
He came home with new locks, new latches, new rules. He installed everything himself, muttering curses under his breath the whole time.
You watched him from the hallway, arms crossed, stomach twisting.
He thought he was protecting you.
He didn’t understand he was provoking something far bigger than he realized.
By evening, the house felt like a cage.
Your father double‑checked every lock before bed. Triple‑checked your window. Told you to keep your phone in the living room overnight.
You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, blanket pulled to your chin. The house creaked. The wind howled. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears
You started to think he wasn’t coming.
You started to think maybe he’d changed his mind.
You started to overthink everything
You sat up slowly, pulse racing, listening.
You slipped out of bed, feet silent on the floor, and crept down the hallway. The house was dark except for the faint glow of the porch light bleeding through the kitchen window.
You reached the back door.
Your hand hovered over the lock.
“Sweetheart,” Gator whispered from the other side, voice low and steady. “It’s me.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
Cold air rushed in as the door swung open.
Gator stood there, snow dusting his shoulders, breath fogging in the porch light. His eyes found yours instantly, relieved in a way that made your chest tighten.
“You opened it,” he whispered.
You didn’t trust your voice, so you just stepped aside.
He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The house felt too small with him in it. He shook the snow from his jacket, eyes never leaving your face.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
He stepped closer, lifting a hand to your cheek. His thumb brushed your skin, gentle, grounding.
“You been cryin’,” he murmured.
You swallowed. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”
He pulled you into his chest, slow, careful, like he was giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. His arms wrapped around you, warm and steady, his chin resting lightly on your head.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered into his jacket.
“You said you wouldn’t take me.”
“Because you sounded scared,” he said. “And I ain’t sleepin’ knowin’ you’re in this house with him angry and slammin’ doors.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you.
“I ain’t lettin’ him talk to you like that again,” he said. “Not while I’m breathin’.”
You opened your mouth to answer—
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Gator’s eyes snapped to the ceiling. His hand slid from your cheek to your wrist, holding it gently but firmly.
“Where is he?” Gator whispered.
“Asleep,” you breathed. “I think.”
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “we gotta move.”
He guided you toward the hallway, steps silent on the hardwood. You followed him, heart pounding, breath shallow.
He slipped inside first, scanning the shadows like he expected your father to be hiding in them. When he was sure it was empty, he nodded for you to enter.
You shut the door behind you.
Gator turned to you, voice low.
You shook your head. “He always moves around at night. He’s paranoid.”
“Yeah,” Gator muttered. “I noticed.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.
“I ain’t here to fight him,” he said. “I ain’t here to take you. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”
You exhaled shakily. “I am.”
He gave you a look — soft, disbelieving, almost sad.
“No,” he whispered. “You ain’t.”
He reached out, brushing a curl behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, warm against your skin.
“You been lookin’ over your shoulder all day,” he said. “Jumpin’ at every sound. That ain’t okay.”
You felt your throat tighten.
He stepped closer, forehead nearly touching yours.
“Let me stay,” he whispered. “Just tonight. Just so you ain’t alone in this house with him angry and listenin’ through doors.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said. “I’ll stay quiet. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. Just… don’t make me leave you like this.”
Because you knew he was right.
Because you knew you didn’t want him to go.
Relief washed over his face so fast it almost hurt to look at.
He exhaled shakily, shoulders dropping, tension melting out of him.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Alright, sweetheart.”
He sat on the floor beside your bed, back against the wall, legs stretched out. He looked up at you with something soft and unguarded in his eyes.
“You sleep,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”
You lay down slowly, blanket pulled to your chin. The room felt different with him there — quieter, steadier, like the shadows couldn’t touch you.
Gator’s voice drifted through the dark, low and warm.
“Get some rest pretty girl ,” he whispered. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to you tonight.”
You fell asleep to the sound of his breathing.
