first name bad last name bitch

wanna get w me now that’s a sitch

[lovingcrybaby]

men need to yearn more. men need to be on their knees more. idc that you’re twice my size.

[babycowboy24]

[djospurnell]

joe keery backwards hat hallelujah

via djoternal on twitter (X)

[deedzreads]

when the author starts describing some fuck ass outfit that i’m supposedly wearing

[frootybb]

Off the Record - Masterlist

Gator Tillman x Journalist!Reader

Summary: You’re a sharp, no-bullshit investigative journalist who arrives in Stark County determined to expose the Tillman family’s corruption. Gator Tillman is the arrogant, badge-wielding deputy assigned to intimidate you into silence. What begins as mutual hatred filled with venomous insults, power plays, and constant interference slowly twists into dangerous attraction, forced proximity, and forbidden feelings that threaten everything. As secrets unravel and loyalties are tested, the line between using each other and genuinely falling blurs.

Word count: ON GOING

Warnings: NSFW, explicit smut, heavy angst & emotional hurt/comfort, toxic relationship dynamics (initial hatred, power imbalance, hate sex d/c), enemies to lovers with slow burn progression, violence (police corruption), family abuse & manipulation (Tillman family trauma & control), profanity & strong language, jealousy & possessiveness

* indicates explicit material

Chap 1: Welcome to Stark County

Chap 2: Blocked Sources

Chap 3: Late Night Stakeout

Chap 4: Motel Room Raid

Chap 5: Diner Sparks

Chap 6: One Bed, Zero Mercy

Chap 7: Crossing the Line*

[vanillacashmerekisses]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮

(𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬)

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: Home from college for the summer and desperate for a job, you become a nanny to two year old Blaire Harrington after your mom recommends you to her coworker, Claire Harrington. At nineteen, getting involved with thirty year-old Steve Harrington should be off limits, but as the lines between nanny and family begin to blur, tension inside the Harrington household becomes impossible to ignore.

chapters:

chapter one: 𝐀 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲?

chapter two: 𝐁𝐮𝐠 & 𝐌𝐞

chapter three: 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

chapter four: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞

chapter five: 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲?

chapter six: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

chapter seven: 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐢𝐦 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤!

chapter eight: 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

chapter nine: 𝐋𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲

chapter ten: 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲, 𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮

chapter eleven: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝

chapter twelve: 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

chapter thirteen: 𝐀𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞

chapter fourteen: 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭

chapter fifteen: 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐈𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮

chapter sixteen: 𝐁𝐲𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐰

chapter seventeen: 𝐎𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

chapter eighteen: 𝐀 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞

chapter nineteen: 𝐂𝐢𝐚𝐨

chapter twenty: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

chapter twenty one: 𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞!

chapter twenty two: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤

chapter twenty three: 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞

[oohgeminii]

Ngl, it'd be so funny if there was a modern au in which Gator is a confectioner, selling sweets and goodies at the local bakery, because he's like the grumpiest man on that side of town and he sells sweets ?? Hehe

Sunshine-but-snarky!Reader who was recently transferred for work to Gator's town and has an immense sweet tooth would wander into the bakery... only to come face to face with Gator, who's being his usual grumpy rude self, and asks him outright, "so you're a grump who sells sweets ? The irony is baffling"

And picks up her goodies and walks away with a smile and a wink

... Gator on the other hand, can't believe someone just spoke to him like that, but is curious about Reader and silently hopes she comes back so he can verbally spar better lol

It'd be cool to see you write this as fic, but if not, no sweat, see ya !!

sweetie boy part 1

gator tillman x reader

val speaks - ooomg this trope is so good im obsessed ur amazing !! anyways i hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing !!!

making this 2 parts bc i wanted to post smth tn but i havent completley finished it plus it works as a 2 parter so yes part 2 tmr or wednesday hehe

word count: 6k

the first thing you learned about the town was that it had a habit of pretending to be quieter than it really was.

it was the kind of place wwhere everybody knew everybody else’s business by the time the sun went down, but had the decency to pretend otherwise if they liked you. where the diner on the corner served coffee that tasted faintly burnt no matter how many times you ordered it, and the florist still wrapped bouquets by hand in paper that smelled like rain.

it was small, yes, but not stifling. not the sort of small that closed in on you like a fist, more like the kind that held still long enough to let you breathe.

you didn't hate it.

in fact, you almost liked the feeling of it. the little house you’d been transferred into was older, but clean, with one stubborn window that stuck every time you tried to open it and a kitchen that was just big enough for one person. the front steps creaked. the mailbox leaned a little to the left. and there was a patch of wildflowers out back that no one had bothered to cut down, as if the previous owner had decided that a little softness in the world was worth keeping around.

you hadn't expected to settle so quickly. the job was fine, your coworkers were decent, and the town itself had just enough charm to keep you from feeling like you’d been exiled into the middle of nowhere. which was fortunate, because you'd been sent there for work with very little warning and even less choice, and you had no intention of spending the entire experience miserable.

you had always been easy to please though.

give you a good book, a decent cup of tea or something sweet enough to make your teeth ache in that satisfying way and you were nearly content.

which was how, one thursday afternoon, you ended up standing in the break room at work with a paper cup of vending machine coffee and a new friend named elaine who had the sort of warm, nosy energy that made strangers confess their life stories in under ten minutes.

“you have not lived here long enough if you have not been to marcy’s bakery.”

you looked up from your coffee. “marcy’s bakery?”

elaine gasped, hand flying to her chest. “you’re kidding.”

“i’m not kidding. should i be worried?”

“yes, deeply. it’s the best bakery in town. the woman that owns it is literally godsent”

that alone had been enough to make you interested, but then she started listing things off in that breathless, reverent tone people usually reserved for religion, weddings, or simply really good food.

fresh cinnamon rolls before nine. lemon bars that made grown men emotional. little pies with flaky crusts. cookies that somehow tasted like childhood. sticky buns. fruit tarts. cupcakes frosted so beautifully they looked fake. and, allegedly, a chocolate cake so good that people had once tried to bribe the woman at the counter for the recipe.

you listened, more and more convinced, until you were leaning on the edge of the table and saying, “okay, that’s enough. i’m going.”

elaine grinned like she'd just won something. “i knew you’d understand.”

and so on friday after work, you found yourself walking down the town’s main road with a light breeze tugging at your hair and a sweet craving blooming in your stomach.

the bakery sat on a corner with a faded painted sign and a bell above the door that gave a soft, old fashioned jingle when you pushed inside. warmth wrapped around you immediately. not just the heat from ovens, but the soft, buttery warmth of sugar and vanilla.

and then you saw him.

he was behind the counter, broad shouldered and dressed in a dark apron that looked as if it had been tied on with irritation.

his expression, however, was unforgettable.

it was not merely grumpy.

grumpy implied a temporary mood.

this looked like a man who was oh so irritated with life and had decided to spend the rest of time making sure the world knew it.

you almost laughed just from the sight of him.

he looked up as the bell sounded, gaze landing on you with a flat, unimpressed look.

“you buyin’ or browsin’?” he asked.

his voice was rougher than you expected, low and a little tired, like he’d smoked a few too many cigarettes in another life and never quite managed to shake the rasp out of his throat.

you glanced over the display case full of pastries, all glossy and perfect under the glass. “that depends. are you always this welcoming, or am i special?”

his eyes narrowed just a little. “special, huh.”

you smiled at him, slow and bright. “i’m trying to be optimistic.”

“bad habit.”

“i’ve heard worse.”

he leaned one hand on the counter, deadpan and unapologetic. “that so?”

you tilted your head. “mhm. try harder.”

for the first time, something flickered over his face. so fast you almost missed it. not a smile, not quite, but something dangerously close to amusement.

gone so quickly you might've imagined it.

you didn't imagine the way his eyes stayed on you a second longer than necessary though.

you pointed at the tray nearest him. “what’s good?”

“all of it.”

“that’s not helpful.”

“ya didn’t ask for helpful. ya asked what’s good.”

you huffed a laugh and stepped closer to the counter, leaning in to inspect the case. “you always this charming?”

“only on days ending in y.”

“wow. how do the regulars survive.”

“they don’t. i bury ‘em out back.”

that got a real laugh out of you, quick and surprised, and this time the look in his eyes shifted more clearly, like he hadn't expected that either. you glanced up at him through your lashes, still smiling.

“a grump selling sweets,” you said, letting the words hang in the warm air between you as you pointed at what you wanted, “the irony is baffling.”

then you gave him a little wink and stepped away from the counter the second you got your goods.

behind you, you heard the faintest sound of a breath through his nose, close to a scoff. or maybe a laugh. you didn't turn around to check.

you would'e liked to, though. just to see what expression he made after that.

at home, you ate the lemon bar first.

it was, as promised, very good. but maybe not as memorable as the man behind the counter.

the next friday, you came back.

and the one after that.

and the one after that.

it became stupidly easy to build a routine around it. work would drag its heels through the week, thursday would begin to glitter in the distance like a promise, and friday would finally arrive with the steady certainty that by late afternoon you would be stepping into that bakery again with a small, hungry smile already waiting on your mouth.

he always looked the same at first glance. still grumpy. still unimpressed. but very quickly you began to notice the things most people probably missed.

how he remembered what you ordered the first time. how he always set aside the cinnamon rolls with slightly burnt edges, as if he knew exactly how you liked them. how he would slide an extra cookie into the bag without saying anything, then act like it had been an error if you caught him.

“you did that on purpose” you told him one friday when he handed you a paper sack that felt a little too full.

he didn’t even blink. “didn’t.”

you peered into the bag. “there are four cookies in here.”

“packin’ mistake.”

“liar.”

“customer service,” he said flatly. “goes with the job.”

you smiled. “you’re terrible at customer service.”

“and yet ya keep comin’ back.”

you looked up at him then, because there it was again. that almost there thing under the gruffness, the smallest edge of a smirk he was trying very hard to hide. and because you were you, and because apparently self preservation was not one of your stronger qualities, you said, “maybe i come back for the cookies.”

“sure.”

“or maybe i come back for your winning personality.”

that made him stare at you for one very long second.

then he said, “you insult me a lot for someone who’s tryin’ to get free pastries.”

“i’m not trying to get free pastries.”

“you’re bad at it anyway.”

you pressed a hand to your chest in mock offense. “slander.”

he looked past you toward the display case, then back to your face. “you want anythin else, sunshine?”

the nickname landed with such ease, so casually, that you almost forgot to answer.

sunshine.

it shouldn't have fit you as well as it did, not when it came from a man like him, not when he said it with the dry tone of someone who was still pretending he didn't enjoy the sound of your voice. and yet it somehow did. especially paired with the fact that you had started calling him sweetie boy entirely because you knew it would annoy him.

you lifted a brow. “surprise me, sweetie boy.”

his expression didn't change, but his ears had gone faintly pink, and that alone nearly ruined you.

“hate when ya say that.”

“no you don’t.”

he gave you a look that suggested he would happily toss you into the nearest river, and yet he was already reaching for more goodies before you’d even finished speaking.

“what’s in it today?” you asked.

“chocolate croissant, lemon tart, two cookies. the good kind.”

“you know me so well.”

“tragic, ain’t it.”

you laughed and rested your elbows on the counter.

his mouth did something very small and very dangerous. not a smile exactly, but the beginning of one, as if it had almost escaped before he could stop it. then he scowled at the cash register.

you had the distinct and entirely unreasonable urge to keep him talking forever.

the thing was, he wasn't actually as cold as he wanted people to think. that much became obvious over time.

there was the way he cut the pastries a little larger for the kids who came in with pocket change and hopeful eyes, then pretended not to notice when they lit up. the way he would leave the door propped open on especially hot days so people could get through the line faster, and the way he always looked away whenever anyone thanked him for anything beyond the bare minimum.

grumpy, yes. rude, sometimes. but there was a softness in him that never seemed to know what to do with itself. it hid in the edges. in the unguarded moments. in the extra cookie. in the way his shoulders seemed to loosen by a fraction whenever you walked in.

and you, with your too bright smile and too sharp tongue, had begun to notice just how often he glanced up before you even reached the counter, like he’d already been listening for the bell.

by the third week, he had started saving your favorite lemon tart without being asked.

by the fourth, he was asking, “same as last time?” before you’d opened your mouth.

by the fifth, you found yourself leaning over the glass case and saying, “you know, i think you like me.”

his reply was immediate. “that’ll be the day.”

you grinned. “you do, though.”

“you got a wild imagination, sunshine.”

“and you’ve got a big heart under all that misery.”

he went still.

it was subtle, but you caught it anyway. the slight pause in his hands. the fraction of a second where his face went unreadable in a different way. not annoyed. not amused. just caught, as if you had reached somewhere he hadn't meant to expose.

your smile softened without you meaning it to.

“too much?” you asked, quieter now.

he glanced at you then and there was something in his eyes that made your chest feel oddly full. something wary, yes, but not with you. with being seen.

“maybe” he said after a beat.

you nodded once, easy and unpressing. “okay.”

his shoulders shifted, almost imperceptibly, like he had expected another battle and found himself standing in a field of empty air instead.

“you’re weird” he muttered.

you beamed. “thank you.”

“wasn’t a compliment.”

“i know.”

he looked at you for a second longer than necessary, and this time when the smirk came, it stayed long enough to count.

it changed his whole face, made him look younger, less hard around the edges. almost pretty, if you were being honest with yourself, which was increasingly inconvenient.

you pretended not to notice how your heart stumbled.

instead, you reached for the bag he slid across the counter and brushed your fingers against his by accident, or maybe not by accident at all.

he noticed. you could tell.

he also didn't pull away.

that was how it went for weeks after that. little sparring matches tucked between trays of sweets and paper bags and the dry rhythm of his voice saying your nickname like he resented how easily it fit.

you came in every friday because the pastries were genuinely excellent, which was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and because the man behind the counter could turn a miserable remark into something almost affectionate without ever admitting he was doing it.

he asked you once why you always came in on fridays.

you had been halfway to the door when he said it, and you turned back with your bag of sweets held loosely in one hand.

“because it’s a good way to end the week” you said.

his eyebrows lifted. “that so.”

you shrugged, smiling at him over your shoulder. “and because someone has to make sure you don’t get too lonely in here.”

“i aint lonely.”

“sure, sweetie boy.”

“don’t start.”

you smiled wider. “see you next friday.”

he watched you go, and you could feel it even with your back turned, that quiet weight of his attention following you out into the afternoon light.

and if, on the walk home, you found yourself thinking about the shape of his hands when he handed you change, or the sound of his voice when he said your nickname, or the way his expression had softened by barely a degree whenever you smiled at him like you meant it, well.

that was nobody’s business but yours.

what you did not know yet was that he had started arriving a little earlier on fridays just to make sure the best lemon tart was stored ready for you. that he had begun keeping track of how your face changed depending on the pastry you picked. and that, on thr next friday he saw you walk in wearing a soft cardigan and that same cheeky smile, he was already thinking that maybe, just maybe, being miserable hadn't prepared him for a person like you.

you were stepping up to the counter, eyes glittering with familiar mischief, when he straightened and looked at you like he had all the time in the world and none of it to waste.

“well,” he said, voice rough and low and almost amused, “look who decided to show up.”

you tipped your head, smiling like a challenge.

“miss me, sweetie boy?”

for a second, his expression broke wide open in that tiny, private way he only ever let happen around you.

then he leaned an elbow on the counter, gaze steady on yours, and said, “get your usual, sunshine. before i change my mind and charge ya extra for being annoying.”

you laughed, and the sound made his smirk deepen before he could stop it.

and just like that, friday felt like the beginning of something neither of you were ready to name.

-

the first friday you didn't show, gator told himself he didn't care.

he told himself this while he wiped down the counter a little too hard. while he restocked the napkins for the third time. when the afternoon dragged on and the light outside the bakery shifted from gold to dull.

he told himself this when marcy glanced at him from the back and said, in that knowing way of hers, “you look like somebody kicked your puppy.”

“don’t got one” he muttered.

marcy snorted. “that’s not the point.”

“then what is?”

she only gave him a look and went back to counting boxes while he tried very hard not to glance at the door again.

he didn't care. you'd probably gotten busy. you'd probably forgotten. you'd probably decided, with your usual bright little grin and your stupidly warm voice, that friday was not worth making time for this week.

and yet, as the bell stayed silent, something in him soured another degree.

by closing time he was in a mood sharp enough to cut glass with, which meant marcy kept a safe distance and pretended not to notice the fact that he'd been huffing and puffing.

“you can go home” she said at last, already half-undone from her apron.

“i’m aware.”

“you’ve been aware in a very unpleasant way for the last hour.”

“glad you noticed.”

she smiled to herself and left him there with the smell of sugar and butter still hanging in the air.

gator locked up, turned off the lights, and stood for a second with his hand on the door like he might still hear your voice if he waited long enough.

he did not.

which was probably for the best.

he went home irritated at the town, irritated at the weather, irritated at the fact that his own thoughts had somehow gotten embarrassingly fixed on a woman who called him sweetie boy.

he slept badly.

he woke up in a worse mood than he had gone to bed in.

and by saturday afternoon, when he was setting out a fresh tray of tarts and trying not to think about why he'd got out an extra batch of your favorite lemon bars, he nearly convinced himself he was being ridiculous.

then the bell over the door rang.

he looked up so fast it almost hurt.

and there you were.

for one suspended second, he just stared. then his face settled into its usual scowl, because of course it did.

“you’re a day late” he said.

your smile was tired but there, soft around the edges. “i know.”

he frowned. “then why’re you here now?”

you came up to the counter as if you had every right to be there, which, irritatingly, you did. “because i feel better than i did yesterday,” you said, “and i wanted my treat.”

that knocked something loose in him.

“you were sick?”

"unfortunatley.”

his eyes narrowed. “you should’ve stayed home.”

“i did. all day.”

“not enough.”

you blinked at him, and for a second the air between you was quieter than the room deserved.

you looked smaller than usual, a little pale still, and the sight of it did something sharp and unpleasant to him.

“you look like hell” he said, because apparently the kindest thing he could manage was still dressed up like an insult.

your mouth twitched. “i missed you too.”

he snorted despite himself and bent to fetch your order. “you should’ve said somethin’.”

“about being sick?”

“yeah.”

you leaned on the glass case, watching him with that same infuriating softness that always made him feel as if he had missed a step somewhere. “i didn’t want to.”

“why not?”

you shrugged, but it was a small shrug, careful. “because then you would’ve worried.”

he froze just long enough for you to notice.

you lifted your brows. “oh.”

“don’t start.”

“you did worry.”

he handed over the bag a little more firmly than necessary. “no, i didn’t.”

you took it with a slow smile that said you were absolutely not believing him. “sure.”

“you want your receipt or not?”

“i want my lemon tart.”

he glared at you, and you smiled wider, and then you added, “thanks for saving one for me.”

that was the thing that finally got him.

not the words exactly. the way you said them, light and grateful and entirely too aware of what his gesture meant. he looked at you, really looked, and the annoyance he had been carrying all day shifted shape in his chest until it was something softer and stranger.

he huffed a breath through his nose and looked away first. “there was extra.”

you laughed quietly. “liar.”

his mouth twitched before he could stop it, and there it was, that tiny smile he never seemed able to keep fully hidden around you.

it lasted maybe a second, maybe less, but you saw it.

and because he was him, and because the moment had already gotten too warm for his comfort, he muttered, “don’t come in lookin’ like that again.”

“like what?”

“like somebody ran over you.”

your eyes glinted with amusement. “you mean you missed me so much you can’t stand my absence?”

he stared at you.

you stared back.

then, very deliberately, he said, “get out.”

you laughed all the way to the door.

after that, things changed by inches.

not enough for anyone to point at it outright, but enough that marcy noticed.

marcy always noticed.

she noticed the way gator stopped looking like he wanted to bite through the counter whenever you came in. she noticed the way he started setting aside the best pastries before you arrived, the way his voice changed by the smallest degree when he said your name, the way he looked mildly offended whenever you didn't show up exactly when expected.

so, naturally, she decided to make it his problem.

one friday afternoon, while you were still due to arrive and the bakery was quiet except for the soft clatter of trays in the back, marcy came up beside him and said, far too casually, “i think i’m gonna have you stop working fridays.”

gator looked at her like she had suggested setting the whole building on fire. “what?”

“you heard me.”

his expression sharpened. “why?”

she folded her arms and smiled in that deeply irritating way that meant she was absolutely enjoying herself. “oh, no reason.”

“marcy.”

she hummed. “i just thought you might like a little more free time.”

“i don’t need free time.”

“you could use it.”

“i work fine.”

“didn’t say you didn’t.”

“then what’s this about?”

she tipped her head, eyes bright with mischief. “about me being a generous employer.”

he narrowed his eyes. “you’re lyin’.”

“am i?”

before he could answer, the smile on her face widened into something unmistakable, and the realisation hit him with such force he nearly looked wounded by it.

his jaw tightened. “you are absolutely impossible.”

marcy beamed. “and yet.”

“you’re doin’ this on purpose.”

“yes.”

he stared at her for a long second, then looked away with the scowl.

his eyes snapped back to hers. “why are you bein stupid?”

“because,” marcy said sweetly, “i noticed you look less miserable when she’s around.”

gator went still.

the silence that followed was absolute.

then marcy laughed under her breath, delighted with herself.

“you’re insufferable” he muttered.

“and you’re blushing.”

“am not.”

“you are.”

“not.”

marcy grinned wider. “sure, honey.”

he looked away so fast it was almost funny.

you arrived ten minutes later and found the entire front of the bakery suspiciously peaceful. marcy greeted you with a look so self satisfied that you immediately narrowed your eyes.

“what happened?”

“nothing.”

you turned to gator, who was standing behind the counter with his usual flat expression and a faint redness still lingering at the edges of his ears. “you look like she just won a war.”

he pointed at marcy without looking at her. “she’s a menace.”

marcy, entirely unrepentant, said, “i’m a visionary.”

you laughed and took your usual place at the counter.

gator handed over your order with a little too much care, and you noticed, because you always noticed now.

the next week you made the mistake of arriving a little late and asking, “mind if i hang around while you close?”

gator had been wiping down the counter. he looked up at you, expression unreadable for half a second, then said, “you askin’ or tellin’?”

you smiled. “asking.”

“then maybe.”

“that sounds like yes.”

“don’t get comfortable.”

you did, in fact, get comfortable.

you sat on one of the stools by the counter while he locked the register, covered the trays, and stacked the empty boxes with the slightly rough efficiency of someone who had done it a thousand times and hated every one of them.

the bakery changed in the evening. the lights seemed softer, the silence fuller, the sweet smell of the place settling around you like a blanket.

gator moved through it with a kind of tired focus, and without the noise of the daytime crowd, he looked different somehow. less like the gruff man behind the counter and more like someone who had learned to make himself into a shape that could survive.

you did not interrupt him at first. you just watched.

“you’re starin’” he said eventually.

it was quiet for a moment, then, without quite meaning to, you asked, “did you always want to work in a bakery?”

the question made him pause.

not dramatically. just enough that you knew you had stepped somewhere softer.

he glanced at you, then away. “no.”

you waited.

he wiped his hands on the towel over his shoulder and leaned one hip against the counter. “wasn’t exactly the plan.”

“what was?”

he let out a dry little breath. “gettin’ out.”

your expression gentled, and you didn't rush him. that was one of the things he had started to notice about you. you knew when to tease and when to sit still. you knew how to be light without being careless. how to make room without making a show of it.

“out of where?” you asked, quietly enough that it did not sound like pressure.

his jaw flexed once. “everywhere.”

you nodded, because that was enough for now.

his eyes shifted to you and stayed there longer than he probably meant them to. “my old man wasn’t… easy to live with.”

you said nothing. just waited, your hands folded loosely in your lap, your attention on him in a way that felt steady instead of prying.

he seemed to notice that too.

“there’s a difference between bein’ hard on somebody and just bein’ mean,” he said after a moment, voice lower now. rough around the edges, but not with the same bite as usual. “he liked to pretend he was teachin’ me somethin’. most days he was just angry.”

your throat tightened a little, though you kept your face calm. “you don’t have to keep going.”

he shrugged once, not careless, just tired. “i know.”

but he did keep going, a little more than he’d meant to, because you were looking at him like you understood and that was a dangerous thing to give someone.

“got out when i could. moved out here. wanted far enough away that i didn’t have to hear his voice in my head every day.” he looked down at the counter, at the grain in the wood as if it held a safer answer than your face. “marcy gave me the job. said i had a good work ethic. said i looked useful.”

you smiled a little. “you are useful.”

he gave you a flat look. “that supposed to be a compliment?”

“from me? yes.”

that got the smallest breath of a laugh out of him, and when he looked back at you, the corners of his mouth had softened in a way that made your chest feel strange.

“she was good to me,” he said, more quietly now. “marcy. didn’t ask questions. just… helped.”

you nodded. “she seems like the type.”

“she is,” he said, then after a beat, “you are too, y’know.”

you blinked. “me?”

he looked almost irritated with himself for saying it. “you listen.”

your smile turned a little smaller, a little warmer. “only when it’s worth hearing.”

“hm.”

“don’t sound so suspicious. it’s a compliment.”

he snorted softly and went back to his work, but the air between you had changed. not in a big way, just enough that it felt more honest. more unguarded.

he wasn't fully soft with you, not by a long shot. but he'd let you see the shape of the bruise underneath the grumpiness, and you treated it gently enough that he didn't immediately regret it.

after that, the subtle touches started happening more often.

a brush of his knuckles against your wrist when he handed you a bag. his hand at the small of your back for half a second when someone cut through the shop too quickly. your fingers grazing his as you reached for the same pastry.

each tiny moment was nothing by itself and everything together.

and then came the friday you mentioned a guy from work.

it was supposed to be nothing. just a story, something funny from the break room, the kind of thing you usually told him in between bites of whatever he had set aside for you. you were leaning against the counter with a chocolate scone in one hand, talking around a smile.

“he was being very dramatic about the printer” you said.

gator made a noise of unimpressed agreement.

you continued, “and then he tried to ‘help’ me fix it by standing directly behind me and saying obvious things like, ‘have you tried turning it off and on again?’”

gator’s expression had changed, though it took you a second to catch exactly how.

“who’s this?” he asked.

you glanced up “who?”

“the guy.”

you smiled to yourself because suddenly, annoyingly, it was obvious. “just a coworker.”

“he bother you?”

“no.”

“hm.”

you looked at him more closely. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothin’.”

“gator.”

he looked away.

which was answer enough.

your eyebrows lifted. “oh my god.”

“what.”

“are you jealous?”

his gaze snapped back to you, sharp and offended. “no.”

you stared at him for one long, delighted second, then broke into a grin. “you are.”

“i am not.”

“you are absolutely, without question, jealous.”

his jaw tightened. “you’re enjoyin’ this too much.”

you leaned in a fraction. “you sound upset.”

“because i am.”

“why?”

he gave you a flat, simmering look. “cause i don’t like hearin’ bout some guy hoverin’ around you.”

that hit the air between you with enough force to make your smile falter for the briefest moment.

then, because you were you, and because you could not resist making him suffer a little, you said, “for the record, he’s gay.”

gator blinked.

you watched the realisation move across his face in stages. first confusion. then embarrassment. then the clear, visible awareness that he had just revealed, with absolutely no grace at all, that he had been jealous over a man who was not even remotely competition.

for a second he looked like he might actually groan.

instead, he looked away and muttered, “that’s not funny.”

you stepped a little closer, eyes bright. “sweetie boy, were you worried?”

his ears went red.

“don’t call me that.”

“you were worried.”

“shut up.”

“you were.”

he muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse, then reached for the rag beside him and started wiping down the counter with too much force.

“you’re annoying” he said.

you softened a little. “and yet.”

he exhaled through his nose, the barest hint of a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth again. “and yet.”

after that, you started staying later on purpose.

friday evenings became less about picking up a treat and more about lingering.

talking while he closed. helping, sometimes, if you were feeling especially generous, though he always acted like your offer was an inconvenience and then quietly handed you the easier job anyway.

the bakery grew familiar in the dimmer hours. the sound of the register shutting. the scrape of chairs. the click of the lock. the way he moved when he was tired, all sharp lines smoothed just enough to show the person beneath them.

and somewhere in all that time, without either of you meaning to, the space between you changed from teasing to trust.

you learned that he liked silence when he was thinking and music when he was working alone.

he learned that you hated when people lied to you about small things.

you learned that he kept gloves in the back pocket of his apron because his hands got cold easier than he wanted to admit.

and every week, every friday, the routine deepened until it was no longer really a routine at all. it was a thing living between you. a thread, a habit. a soft, stubborn little bridge neither of you had built on purpose and neither of you seemed willing to break.

one evening, much later than usual, after the bakery had gone dim and the street outside had thinned into sleepy silence, you were still there at the counter with your chin in your hand and your final pastry mostly forgotten beside you. gator had not told you to leave. that alone said enough.

he leaned against the counter next to you, arms crossed, looking at you with a tired, watchful expression.

“you’re gonna get attached to this place” he said.

you smiled without looking away from him. “too late.”

something in his expression shifted.

quietly, you asked, “does that bother you?”

he was silent for a moment, long enough that you began to think he might dodge the question like he usually did. but when he answered, his voice was low and rough and a little more honest than he probably meant it to be.

“no,” he said. then, after a beat, “guess i don’t mind as much as i should.”

your heart did something silly and warm.

you let the silence sit for a second before you smiled. “good.”

he watched you for a long moment, eyes steady, then, very carefully, as if he was testing whether the world would let him, he reached out and brushed a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

it was the smallest touch. nothing at all, if you asked someone who did not know better. but you went still anyway.

his hand lingered for half a second too long before he pulled it back like he had touched a flame.

you looked at him, suddenly and acutely aware of your own breathing, and found his face had gone just a little tense, just a little unsure.

not because he regretted it. because he hadn't meant for the moment to feel like that. because he had meant it in the simplest, most natural way in the world, and the fact that it had turned into something charged and delicate seemed to surprise him as much as it did you.

your smile was soft when it returned. “you missed a spot.”

he snorted, exasperated and relieved all at once. “yeah?”

“mhm.”

“you gonna make me do it again?”

you tilted your head, eyes bright. “maybe.”

he huffed something that was almost a laugh, and the warmth that rose between you after that didn't fade when the clock passed closing time. it stayed.

and when you finally stood to leave, he walked you to the door without being asked.

outside, the air was cool, and the streetlamps had already begun to glow. you turned to look at him, your hands tucked into the sleeves of your cardigan, and for a moment neither of you said anything.

then you smiled, and his face softened in that way it only ever did for you.

“see you next friday, sweetie boy?”

his mouth twitched. “unfortunately.”

you laughed, and he rolled his eyes like he was not, in fact, already looking forward to it.

because now he was.

and so were you.

@prettyfortucker @harringtondarling @katsallthetime @thichnhathanhh @keepdrlving @beth-mirrorball @powerpuffedbjtch @itzeeeee @ddenniiee-729 @teheblue @frozenpeanutbutterr @coldalpsmcu @b0nzey @xceafh @hearts4steve @swirledyouintoallmypoems @saintlaurentdiva @joekeerylice @blurrygir1 @songkangslvr @keerymylove @foreverserving @cciessuzi @livingblythedoli @toopypoopy @ellieluvercentral @evies4ngels @lattewirl @wolfiee10 @maevebloom @drunkedniallh @girlwithkaleidoscopeeyes777 @mabsters @i-got-the-cinema @batmanssssss @bluehexagon8 @magnificentcitadelcrest @pleasecallmeunhinged @purplequeen64-stuff @inherdiary77 @whispersoflost @yikesdrama @chronicstevelover @horanlover7 @ann-aatn @xoxocelestial @isatchl @sturniolo-szn2 @angellmiaa @chalametpwk @soggycerealtbh @leaveonthelight29 @cerealangel @louisbelongstome28 @maaaaaybebaby

[gaptoothluv]

Ever Since New York - masterlist

• • .·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

steve harrington x fem reader | best friends to strangers to lovers | slow burn... like 8 years slow burn | miscommunication | bestfriend!steve, neighbour!steve, rockstar!steve | set in 90s & 00s | eventual smut summary: you and steve were joint at the hip since birth - he had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. your neighbour, your confidant, your person. until high school when you got a boyfriend, and distance was placed between you - steve realised his true feelings. after graduation, you didn’t speak for six years, until you see him on stage performing in a band with your roommates new boyfriend. except when you’re introduced, he acts as if he doesn’t know who you are. pretending that he doesn’t write all of his songs about you. that he followed his band to new york because he heard through the grapevine you might be living there.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen

[yawnzshit]

i am obsessed.

[d4ughtersgrave]

I'M YOUR MAN

ɪ'ᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛᴀʀʏ !

PAIRING steve harrington x fem! henderson! reader

SUMMARY in which you're fresh out of a couple year long mental breakdown & trying to gain control over your life again. after realizing life has not gotten better, you apply as a secretary for attorney steve harrington. he's demanding and quite frankly; a jerk. what starts as heated tension, shifts into feelings of choice & trust when walking into his office. it’s never felt so good to be perverse.

WARNINGS 18+ MDNI dom! steve, sub! reader, plot with porn, bdsm themes, unprofessional workplace dynamics, steve and reader are both freaked out, mean asshole steve but he's still a sweetheart deep down, shy! perverted! reader, reader with agoraphobia & social anxiety, steve with commitment issues, topics of mental health, hospitalization, past suicidal implications, adult language, angst, fluff, smut, readers appearance has nothing to do with dustin or their mothers you can imagine them as biological siblings or not it will never be specified, based on the movie secretary (2002)

t e a s e r

c h a p t e r o n e secretary wanted!

c h a p t e r t w o cruel intentions

c h a p t e r t h r e e after hours 18+

c h a p t e r f o u r here i stand 18+

c h a p t e r f i v e networking 18+

c h a p t e r s i x come to me 18+

c h a p t e r s e v e n kinky love 18+

c h a p t e r e i g h t surrender 18+

c h a p t e r n i n e this is disgusting. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i’m like this. 18+

c h a p t e r t e n #1 crush

c h a p t e r e l e v e n head in the wall 18+

c h a p t e r t w e l v e 24 hours a day, 7 times a week 18+

e p i l o g u e chariots rise

AUTHORS NOTE: was going to start this around two months ago, but have been super stressed with my classes, but finally i’m in place where i’ve been working on it ugh, along with several other oneshots that are nearly done. relieved to be out of awful writers block 😮‍💨

[ethelcainsdaughter666]

Knuckle Velvet

Masterlist WIP

Gator Tillman AUfic!

“Nothing hurts like you do, like the way you say I love you”

Not having the best of luck in real life with women. Gator finds a girl on tumblr, for a year anonymous messages are exchanged that go from friendly to spicy. He thinks he’s found his dream girl…. Soon he starts to realize the similarities she has with his best friend’s sister Amma.

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, SMUT!, VIOLENCE, TALKS OF SELF HARM, ATTEMPTED SA!, DRUG USE

Authors note: No need to watch Fargo. This came to me in a dream and I said okay yeah. Definitely porn with plot. Gator and Amma definitely match freaks. Definitely some angst too. Take my warnings seriously! Gator isn’t a monster in this by any means! If anything him and Amma need each other. The universe pushed them together. 💕

Part 1: what else can you expect from a preachers daughter

Part 2: Gemma never got to live her life for herself

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

[covered-in-you-now]

MASTERLIST

I wanna be yours - Gator Tillman.

Summary : Gator Tillman has your heart. You'd do anything for him, but he treats you like you're nothing. Will he ever change his mind and his beliefs ?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10 - coming soon

[gatorgirlie]

Leathe & Lace: Chapter nineteen

“I can ride.”

wc:6.6k

warnings: gun play lowkey, mention of DV, mentions of drinking and drunkenness, alcohol, mentions of killing and violence, mentions of reader lowkey slut shaming gator, gator loving readers feet, feet worship, oral (f receiving), public oral, probably more?

Daddy always told you to stop looking straight into the sun. Said it would blind ya, hurt your eyes. You ignored it, because if something was that pretty - how could you not stare? It warmed your skin, brought out your freckles, lightened your hair… it was like magic! Something so demanding of attention, and yet was that affectionate all the same? You would give in every time. 

You’d squint, and stare. It was so pretty all the way up there, hanging in the sky.

Daddy said people went up to the moon, but when you asked about the sun - he told you that if you went too close to the sun, you’d burn up. 

Nobody could touch the sun.

You never did settle for that answer.

Mamaw would sing ‘You are my sunshine’ to you on the creaky front porch swing. She didn’t know it, but at such a young age - you were thinking deeply about the dynamics of the sun. If you were like the sun, then who was like the moon? And the moon was touchable, but the sun wasn’t? Were you untouchable? And if you were, were you only untouchable to some and not to others?

Could the moon touch you?

Who is your moon?

You could smell the beer, sweat, and perfume as soon as you pulled into the parking lot. Instinctively, you began looking around for the big black F150… running your fingers over the leather steering wheel, squinting through the sunset to try and see on the other side of the parking lot. Maybe Gator was running a bit late.

You pull the visor down and are met with a Photo Booth picture of you and Gator. They were taken at the fair in early august, only a couple months after you moved here. Crazy to think that it was June, and June meant another year in Lehigh - its been three years since Gator Tillman entered your life. 

The first shot was taken off guard, you were explaining what you wanted him to do. You looked like you were bossing him around, he looked like he was intently listening - loving every second because he was. 

The second shot was of you both back to back. You wanted finger guns, you did it… he decided last minute to pull out his Glock from his waistband, using that instead. It wasn’t until after the flash went off that you realized.

The third was you smiling ear to ear, laughing at him - his cockiness, his confidence, his swagger. It was all syrupy charm that you loved about him. He just watched you laugh, frozen in the frame.

The forth and final was him leaning in to kiss your jaw, right in front of your ear. You were bashful and covered the smooth move from the sight of the camera. You were still smiling. Gator was already showing his strength, refraining from turning your jaw to meet your lips.

It was the first time you’d seen this set of pictures from the booth since that night, nearing three years ago.

How had you not seen those pictures?

Oh. Thats why you didn’t see his truck in the parking lot.

“You dumbass… you’re in his fuckin truck”, you grumble out to yourself. That was so stupid and you are thanking the good Lord nobody was here to bear witness.

He never popped the visor down, always just used his sunglasses - you had no clue those pictures were there. Interesting. 

Hand finding the console, you press the button to release the arm. It swings open and you grab your makeup bag, the one you always keep in here. You fumble around, finding a tasty lip gloss that matches your vibe for the night.

Of course, you settle on cherry - dark cherry, to be exact.

You wore a tight black low cut shirt and pair it with a push up bra - it was your first night out in a while and your first night out as Gators’ girl officially at least. Jeans that hugged your ass perfectly, tight where it mattered and flowed outward near your boots. Brown, tall, rhinestones that made butterflies - Gator got them for you as an apology gift one day. 

He had forgotten to charge his phone one night and couldn’t tell you he was working late - he walked into the house with you sleeping on the kitchen floor. He thought you were dead. He had just finished a domestic violence case with a woman beat to a pulp, and seeing you on the ground like that? The man nearly died on the spot.

Little did he know that you had one too many glasses of wine and some fresh chocolate chips cookies warming your belly, and you decided to make your bed on the floor. Close enough to the fridge for more wine. Close enough to the counter for more cookies. 

Of course you blamed him for the whole thing, so of course he apologized in the best way Gator Tillman knew how - hand you his credit card on your day off. That is how you secured a vintage Louis Vuitton speedy bag, a very well made pink feather boa, more than a few pairs of heels, a Dior blush, almost the entire thong selection at Victorias Secret, and your boots - the brown, tall, rhinestone butterflied boots.

You swipe the dark cherry lip gloss across your lips, giving it a smack. Eyes drifting up to the mirror, you lean up and give your reflection a glittery kiss - it will be fun for Gator to find.

As you lean back to the console to slide your makeup bag back in, the door flies open - still on edge from earlier, your gun sat nicely inside next to your bag. Your hand wraps around it as you swing your body to the door - barrel meets chest.

Both sets of your eyes widen.

Your hands instantly relax, bringing your arms down to your lap - adrenaline pumping in your veins. Not even a second passes before he forces the barrel back against him, face humorless.

“Keep it there, baby.”

He leans in, metal digging into his skin - and grabs you by the back of the head, forcefully pulling you into a kiss. The shock, the fire, and the wetness all burning inside of you as he slips his tongue inside. Unashamed, he moans into the kiss whispering out your name into your mouth. 

One of his hands wraps around your wrist, holding the tip of the gun steady on his chest. The other still flayed in your hair, curls dancing around his busted knuckles. He could feel the throbbing inside of his jeans, he took the opportunity to grind himself up against your knee.

You pull back ever so slightly, but he just followed you - absolutely magnetic.

“Thats a good fuckin girl - fucking proud of you baby”, voice deep and on edge, with one of his hands wrapped around your waist, playing with the exposed skin on your slightly cropped shirt. The other hand running up and down your thigh. 

“Gator baby, I should probably put it down before someone sees…”, you giggle out to him, fully needy and the night had just begun.

You lowered the weapon, and flipped the safety back on - the motion sent Gators jaw slack, one corner of his lips sliding up into that devilish grin. 

The safety was off? 

Oh… good fuckin girl.

“You’re perfect… I swear I-”, his eyes look up to meet yours and a flash of something nearly unrecognizable flashes in the hazel. He covers it by pulling you back to his lips, to swallow the words he nearly said.

You knew that look.

It was wild, unpolished, vulnerable - dangerous. You had only seen that look in his eye a handful of times. He wasn’t about to… tell you - no… no, of course not.

You twisted back to the center console, slipping the pink Glock back in place next to your makeup bag.

“Look back there f’me and see if you find my black hat, baby”, he mumbled out - lost in the moment, desperately trying to find his footing to snap back to reality.

“Its here baby, you got you’re brown one back here too-”

“Nah, I want the black one. Though I might let Charlie borrow the brown one if he aint wearing one - forgot to tell’m bout that. Stick out like a sore thumb if he don’t got one on tonight.”

“Look at you all worried bout your new friend.” 

It made your heart swell up, just another way Gator was finding healing as he grew older. He told you early on that you were really the only friend he’s ever had.

“No no no, not worried - fucker can get lost for all I care.”

You swung your legs over the seat, his hands landing on your thighs immediately. With both hands, you grab his face.

“Gator bug… you are a terrible liar. Don’t know how you make a living as a cop - all y’all do is lie lie lie”, you whisper shaking your head - leaning in to emphasize the last bit on his lips.

Lie.

Like this morning. 

Like the whole day.

Like the past two months.

He trusted that you did hear someone this morning. He trusted it because there was signs of damage in one of the outhouses at the ranch. Both Gator and Roy knew right away, they were being watched. With Gator gone that past couple months, things had been sloppy - transfers weren’t clean, a couple deals fell through, people were mad.

All eyes on the Tillmans.

Everyonein town had heard the news of you two finally making it official by now, it could be someone he knew. Following you. Using you as a power move against him. 

Or worse, he didn’t know him at all - and he had been sloppy. Allowing his enemies to find you, know you - see you. Touch you.

No one could touch you. 

Not without his permission.

“Hand me my damn hat, woman.” He huffed, pretending to be annoyed at your cop hating comments.

“You know I hate when you call me that, Gator.”

“And you know I hate when you call me that.” Mocking you, but in total seriousness of the lack of a pet name.

You lean back and grab his hat, pulling the brown one up to the passenger seat just in case for Charlie.

“Ya know… I bet Charlie has more cowboy hats than you do, baby”, you say innocently.

Gator looked at you, blinking a couple times.

“Okay rude-”

“That isn’t what I meant!” You grabbed your small purse, and slung it over your arm - laughing at his intensity tonight.

You turn back to face him, and he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against him. Like a natural progression of things, your legs swooped around him. He pulls you from the truck and closes the door - locking it. For a moment, he kept you pinned around his waist and against the side of the truck. 

“Hi”, he whispered - flustering himself.

“Hi baby…”

His eyes drooped down to your tits, nearly touching his face with the push up bra. There is no amount of strength he could have that could stop him. He leaned in and began leaving small wet kisses to the rounds of your breast, peeking through the low cut. 

“Too damn good, mama”

That damn nickname.

He had been using it more often, nearly sending you aflame every time. 

“Oh my God- is that them?” You heard whispers. 

Your eyes shot over to the voices.

Three of your fucking previous clients.

“Gator.” You whisper urgently.

You shove his face away, and plop yourself down on the ground. Adjusting your shirt where he had dragged it away to expose your bra.

The whispers grew louder, yet more muffled… they wanted you to hear them - the girls walk into the bar, consistently glancing over their shoulders.

“Fuck them”

“You probably already have.”, your eyes widen as soon as it left your mouth. 

Ouch.

He shot you a glare, hands returning to your body. Slipping his fingers under your waistband ever so slightly over your ass. Fingertips running over the lace of your thong.

“Let me get you a drink, baby… you need it.”

Understatement of the century.

“Ya been jumpy and on edge all day, sweet.”, Gator mumbled against your temple, completely unfazed by your brattiness. He was a bomb himself, yet he made sure to defuse you - if you were okay, he was okay. This is one of the reasons you love him. Oh…

Oh.

He tipped his black cowboy hat onto his head, looking like the only meal you ever wanted to wanted to devour again in your life. His nice boots, dark blue jeans, fitted black t-shirt, and that hat. An absolute wet dream walking.

As routine, his fingers interlace into your own. You two made your way across the parking lot at Ralphs, ready for whatever is behind that door. But were they ready for you two, finally together?

Gators presence already parted the crowds, in reverence or fear. And for you? No one laid a finger on you unless they asked kindly, and if Gator wasn’t with you. Now that you were his? You could only imagine what awaited for you inside.

The bass boomed against the glass doors, barely containing the music. Gator opened the door, guiding you in with a hand on the back. 

It was like the entire room tilted on its axis. Girls necks snapped to look at you with hatred, the men gawked at you over the rim of their glasses. You were now untouchable. 

Gator Tillman didn’t do girlfriends.

This was new, you were permanently his in their eyes - in Gators, too.

You felt the eyes burning curses into your skin, and you took it like it was a heated kiss. Feeling it searing your body, Gators touch bringing a frozen sensation to your waist. You felt like a prize, hung on his wall. Theres been plenty of times where you felt like a prize in Lehigh, but this was different. There was a plaque under you, signed ‘GT’.

The air was charged, fueled by jealousy and rage. If you didn’t have something to lose, you might pride yourself in this fame… so you look up to the one who has nothing to lose - sure enough, chest out and chin high, and eyes locked on you.

Whispers grew, looks lingered, and your courage built. Looking up at your man, carrying the weight on his strong shoulders - you felt invincible. You might even test your own limits.

You made your way to the bar, which was pretty easy considering everyone stepped out of the way. Gators hand never left your body, lingering at every second. Dipping under hems, fingertips digging in ever so slightly - proof that he was allowed, proof of ownership.

“Hi! Would I be able to get an amaretto sour?”

“Whiskey neat for me”

The bartender smiled, already knowing the lore of the two of you, “Want to open a tab?”

“Put it on mine!”, a voice called out.

Charlie Nolan.

With a cowboy hat.

“Charlie.”, you both say with amusement. 

“Told ya he’d have a hat”, you whisper, nudging Gator slightly.

He looked at you with a playful glint in his eyes and pulled your back tightly against his chest, “Watch it, princess.”

“Wheres yer date? Dont tell me she bailed on ya.”, Gator said while giving Charlie a small dab up.

“Nah, nah she’s just saying hi to a couple girlfriends. Told her id be right back, saw y’all walk in.”

“Who is the lucky lady?”, you ask, kinda curious. Gator unfortunately had been with most the girls in Lehigh, it was hard not to think about. Mainly the reason you never could hold down a friendship here, especially now.

“Her name is Sadie! Not sure of her last name-”

“Sadie Burrow? Short blonde hair?”, Gator questions.

You snap your head up to look at him, his eyes locked onto Charlie with a grin. Was he amused?

“Yeah! You know her?”

“Great”, you mumble.

“Shh.” He hummed in your ear, “You know Sadie… come on! Sid?”

“Oh my god.”

Sid. Thats what all the deputies called her, she was the administrator at the front desk of the station - she hated the men and they thought it was hilarious. You bonded with her over the mutual hatred over the badges, yet, she needed a job bad enough to tolerate it and you found yourself glued to the shiniest biggest badge of all. Every time you went to the station, she’d give you a knowing look - Gator was pretty, and everyone knew it. He unfortunately was worth betraying your beliefs for, she understood - the definition of  ‘we listen and we don’t judge’.

Best of all, she wouldn’t touch a Tillman with a 10 foot pole.

Right on queue, she weaved through the crowd.

“Tillman, don’t tell me you brainwashed her”, turning to you, “What happened, girl?! I thought we were talking bout going to that protest next month in Minnesota against these bastards, huh? Now Im hearing he practically wifed you up.” 

She laughed, grabbing ahold of your arm wagging it around a bit before shooting Gator a real serious look.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the look on Gators face. His tongue pushed his lips out, jaw sharp, eyes deadly - oh well.

Wifed. You. Up.

The bartender slides you both your drinks, along with a second round for Charlie and Sid. The four of you found a small sticky booth to camp out at. Whatever intentions of leaving the two alone for their first date dissolved within minutes.

Conversations flowed over the blaring music, vibrating your bones. At one point or another, Gators hand landed on your thigh. Another whiskey in, the big hand squeezed itself between your legs, knuckles rubbing against you teasingly. 

You batted his hand away, only for him to return to its home between your legs mere seconds later. He couldn’t help the little smile on his face.

After only two drinks, you decided to cut yourself off - you still had the doctors appointment in the morning. Gator followed suit. Both Charlie and Sid allowed the night to continue without guilt.

Before you knew it, it was 10pm - the dance floor officially opened. The speakers immediately began playing “Austin”, you couldn’t help but sit straight up. Gator immediately slid out of the booth as you toppled out. 

“You coming?”, you motion for Sid.

“I dont know, I'm not great-”

“Well then you’ve got yourself the best teacher, get out there Sid!”, Gator cheered.

She reluctantly grabbed your hand and you both ran out to the floor, joining the other girls. You both crammed in with each other. The other dancers weren’t thrilled with dancing next to you, and you could tell because they’d take extended steps in an attempt to step on your feet.

“Is every Thursday like this?”, Charlie asked to Gator - leaning across the sticky tabletop, eyes locked on Sid. Specifically her ass in those cutoffs.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Gator solidified.

He couldn’t talk much, he was too busy watching every move you made. The way your body rolled, the sway of your hips. He caught how your bottom lip would pull between your teeth during the twist in the song, careful not to make a misstep - especially in front of the seething eyes surrounding you.

The lights danced over your exposed cleavage, a show for him - but a painful reminder that anyone else could be watching his same view. That thought was enough to cause him to pry his eyes off of you momentarily to scan over the body filled room.

Someone had been watching you, he didn’t know who yet. But he knew one thing was sure - whoever it was, was a dead man.

The first time he had handled someone because of you was 6 months into you living in Lehigh. It was one of the ranch hands. You had visited the ranch with Gator one Saturday, him having the day off. It was cold, winter, snowy - he thought it might be fun to take you out on the four wheeler to do donuts in the snow. You both were dripping wet, freezing by the end. Running into the living room in the main house, you both began stripping to your bottom layers - him stripping down to his boxers. You had opted on staying in your leggings and a sports bra. Both of you laughing, shivering up against the heat of the fire that Karen had put together. She walked into the living room, laughing at the pair of you - Gators lips blue and your cheeks bright pink. Minutes later she returned with two mugs of hot chocolate.

You stayed there until you were both back to normal temperatures. Gator knew your clothes were soaked, so he ran upstairs to his room and grabbed you both sweats and t-shirts - bringing you a hoodie as well. When he came back downstairs, one of the ranch hands was cornering you against the couch - leaning in close enough where he could barely even see your body. All he saw was your fingertips twitching, searching for your phone so that you could call for him - too scared to scream. That was the last time that man ever felt warmth. Seconds later, Gator had him outside telling him to wait. He sent you home, in fresh warm clothes. Before the sun went down, the ranch hand was in the pit. Cold as ice.

Within a few minutes, the song switched over to ‘Shivers’ one of your favorite songs to dance to with Gator. He was surprisingly good on his feet. He told you that he used to dance with his mama in the kitchen growing up, she said he needed practice cause Roy was shit at dancing.

Without him even waiting for your signal, he started sliding out of the booth.

“Cmon man, this is better to dance to as a couples song - the girls like dancing to it with their cowboys.” He tipped his hat to Charlie with a wink, before turning and walking up to the dance floor.

He reaches out his hand and spins you in immediately, beginning the moves - smiling when he realizes Charlie took his advice and crossed the floor to Sid.

Gator smiled down at you, not faltering on the moves one bit, “Ive missed dancing with you.”

“We danced in the kitchen just the other night?” You laughed up to him, eyes shining in the neon lights. Your hands squeezed at his biceps.

“I mean when everyone can see.”, pulling you chest to chest with him, “finally giving them something worthy of gossip, huh? If they’re gonna talk, might as well be good.”

He continues, spinning you out then back in, “You kill me every Thursday night. A dream and a nightmare wrapped into one.” He kissed your temple. “Perfect smile, perfect eyes, and that body - God… I’d hate us too if you weren’t mine.”

After a couple more songs and a small break in between - thats when you noticed it.

In the dark corner of the room, they had the mechanical bull out.

The Stark County Rodeo was taking place in a few weeks, and this was to promote it.

“No WAY!”, You squealed out - dragging Gator behind you, the other couple following after.

You made your way up to the inflatable ring, giggling as you watch a 30 something year old man fall flat on his ass in front of the small crowd that gathered to watch.

“Hey there, little lady. You want a turn?”, The operator whistles your way, gaining him a glare and a throat clearing from Gator. 

As soon as he noticed the Deputy, he immediately straightened his back and tore his eyes from your chest - looking literally anywhere else.

“Yes! Hold on-”, you turn to Gator, sliding your leopard print purse off your shoulder and overtop of his forearm.

“Can you help me take off my boots? Socks too, need a good grip.”

“And what do you think you’re doing, huh? Whatcha gonna do up there?”, he laughs out, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Wanna see how good I can ride?”

Amusement gone.

That sent chills up his spine, and heat to his dick. Toughing instantly. Eyes, locked with yours.

A group of men around the bull let out a low “Ooooooo”, in response to your choice of words to the powerful man, who didn’t mind sewing all of their mouths closed if they decided to comment on your subliminal messaging again.

His head shook back and forth, in disbelief, arousal, and anger - ready to close the entire bar just to continue this little show just with the two of you.

He bent down, propping one knee up and began sliding off your boots. Carefully pulling off your dainty socks, and exposing those French tips he could die over. You had surprised him with a little rhinestone ‘G’ on the big toe. It didn’t take you long to find out that he loved that.

Once your boots and socks were stripped from you, you climbed into the inflatable ring - Gator right behind you. Before you could even do a little hop up onto the bull, he swept you off your feet and sat you right on top. Your eyes meeting his, giving him a knowing look. His touch lingered a little too long on the skin exposed on your lower back, showing the men whose eyes wandered a little too much for his taste that you were exclusively his to touch.

The men gathered around got quiet. 

“Okay, Romeo - save some aura for the rest of us.” Charlie coughed out, making the whole group erupt in laugher.

Before he could leave, you bent down and pulled him into a kiss - meeting his possessiveness, straining his needs even more. Your hand rested on his jaw, and then slowly move up. 

You pulled the cowboy hat off of his head, and tipped it back onto your own. His eyes? Wide as the moon. His face glowed, reflecting off of you.

He backed off the platform, body filled with wonder. 

“Be careful, cowgirl - can’t have you broken for the appointment, remember?”

Calling our with your sticky sweet southern drawl, “You just sit back and enjoy the show, babe. Let me handle it.”

Again, the double meanings just sending him over the edge.

Babe.

New. That was new. It was mundane. It was almost too normal. Like you were the one waking up to him in the mornings, sipping coffee together. Like your footsteps brushed the same floor after stepping out of a shower. Like he might not so secretly use your hairbrush when running gel through, getting ready for a patrolling shift. Like he would start the car for you, making sure it was cooled off from the heat by the time you got in. Babe was exactly who you were, and who he was to you - normal. This was forever wrapped in a gift basket sent flying down the highway after a long trip from North Carolina. He had just gotten used to ‘baby’ rolling off your tongue in reference to him, but this? In front of a crowd of men who want you, and women who hated you? ‘Babe’ was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

Babe. Babe. Babe.

You give the operator a thumbs up, and he decided to help you put on a show.

A classic “dumdededum” starts spilling through the speakers, and the crowd burst out in laughter. Your mouth flies open in embarrassment, but you’ve committed to the bit. 

“Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” blares through the bar, drawing a deeper crowd as they see exactly whose girl is on the bull. Before you can even notice, the crowd is piled about 6 people deep the entire perimeter.

And Gator?

Oh… Gator.

Gator is putty in your hands as the bull starts bucking, watching your body roll to the waves sent from the machine. Your body gets jerked to the left, and it makes your left hand fly up to Gators cowboy hat sitting on your head. A laugh escaping from your mouth as you tighten your grip on the reins. 

“Cause I saddle up my horse and I ride into the city, I make a lot of noise cause the girls they are so pretty, riding up and down broadway on my old stud Leroy, and the girls say “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!” Everybody’s says “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!”

The crowd screams out the chorus as you hang on tight. One buck in particular picks up your ass and slams you back down onto the saddle, drawing a small moan out of you. Gators eyes darken, body still and stiffening. Charlie hands him a beer, trying his best not to gaze a bit too long at his new friends girl. The low cut shirt was doing you absolutely no favors for modesty as it jiggled your tits with each buck. Gators eyes unable to leave them. 

By the time the song was ending, you were growing tired - the operator had tried to make it hard for you. It was good for entertainment, but he also knew everyone would love to see you laying on the inflatable bed - completely worn out. Yeah, it was a bit fucked up… but everyone loved it. But you? No. You were just as stubborn as you looked, stayed on for the entire song just like you mentally planned on. Thighs of steel from all your pilates classes really paid off for you tonight.

You swung a leg over and slipped off the bull, Gator appearing at the entrance. Being fully aware of everyone still staring at you, feeling a bit more confident after your successful ride - you did a tiny hop from the inflatable wrapping your body around his. His arm swung under your ass, holding you up onto him - the other grabbing the hat from your head, slowly placing it back on his own.

“Told ya I can ride, Gator baby…”

The moments that followed were clumsy, a quick goodbye to Charlie and Sid before the two of you stumbled out of the bar - you leading and Gator hot on your heels. He unlocked the truck with one hand, and undid the button of your jeans simultaneously. The back door yanked open and you were being pushed inside before you could even catch your breath.

His mouth landed on yours as he climbed into the backseat, pulling the door closed behind him. Without breaking the kiss, he tugged on your zipper and exposed your hot pink lace hidden by the denim. You felt the rough fabric dragged from your body and pooled at your ankles, he pulled off your boots and jeans within mere seconds. Your back laid out on the backseat, elbows propping you up to look at him. Fingertips grazing over your legs as your panting mixed with the muffled bar music, spilling out from the opened side door.

“You were so fucking good, baby… too damn good.” He began kissing your calf, trailing his tongue up the back of it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, eyelashes fluttering. He took that as his sign to keep going.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about, sweet? I was thinking about how I wanted to snap the necks of every man in there because they were looking at ya that same way I was.” He bit down ever so slightly on some of the fat on your lower thigh. 

His lips traced your skin, bottom lip dragging back up your calf. He bit at the hem of your sock and pulled, slipping it right off and dropped it to the cool leather seat. Gator let his tongue trace your ankle, slow and desperate before licking up to your big toe - his eyes landing on the rhinestoned ‘G’.

“Thought about how fucking pathetic I was, out here jealous of a damn machine. Thought about you riding me like that - getting you to moan for me like that. Fuck baby.” He let his teeth graze the span of your foot.

“Baby, pl-please just fuck me. I can’t keep waiting, I am a mess over here-”, you whine out. Your other foot rubbing against his hardness, back arching on the leather. Your lace panties soaked through from your dripping core.

“Nonono no - baby, no. You know I am waiting for the thumbs up from doc. But you aint gotta worry sweet girl, imma take great care of you.” His lips mimicked his earlier movements, tongue tracing the length of your leg until his head was tucked perfectly between your thighs. Mouth hot against your wetness, he began to nose you through your lace. 

“Holy shit- fuck baby, I- fuck I need more baby.”

“Someone is quite impatient tonight, though you didn’t mind teasing me… huh? Whatcha need, pretty girl? Tell me.” 

Your hips bucked up against him, grinding his face onto your soaked panties. His big hands slammed you back down onto the seat, eyes flying to meet yours.

That devilish grin aimed at you, “Now I didn’t say to do all that now - I told you to tell me. Not being very obedient, are ya, babe?” Trying the name out for himself.

“I need you inside me. I need your fingers, tongue- fuck! Anything, Gator, I will take anything right now please!” You begin to beg, missing his touch with how busy he’s been lately. Plus all the stress you’ve been under? You needed a release, and no one was better at delivering than Gator Tillman.

“See… was that so hard, princess?”

He dipped back down, removing your panties and discarding them somewhere in the floorboard. The Deputy gave you a long swipe of his tongue against your throbbing heat - desperate, needing him him him him. You looked at the ceiling of the truck and blinked back frustrated tears, you needed this so bad. Needed him so bad. He was the one to hang the stars for you, and hell, maybe he was the moon - your moon. Illuminating the deepest darkest moments, desperate for his glow on your skin. You needed it like you needed air. 

The wave of pleasure came over you, and he wouldn’t relent. Your body shook, and he just palmed your feet as you moaned out his name. The mixture of the bass shaking from the bar side door, the groaning from Gator, the wetness of your pussy, and the whine of his name upon your lips was his favorite song. Needed to hear it every fucking day.

He drove you home, keeping his promise to get you in bed for a restful night. You were out before he even could pull into the long driveway. The feeling of him undressing you, and slipping you into one of his t-shirts was what woke you up. You hadn’t even bothered putting your panties, jeans, boots, or socks back on. You were left in just your shirt, so it was easy for him to strip off your chest and take off your bra. 

You pulled him into a warm, slow, loving kiss before he whispered a goodnight against your lips. He pulled at least five stuffed animals from your basket and cuddled them into your side. He would give anything to replace them - but you needed to sleep… his mind drifted back to that night he watched you. Why didn’t you sleep like that with him anymore? Now that he was left to the void of your consciousness, he made his way back out of the house - triple checking the locks before leaving.

The drive back into town was rough, he only thought about the cold bed he was going to. Lacking you.

He tossed and turned, while you slept sprawled out. He had all night to sit there in his thoughts.

By the time the sun rose, he knew he needed to be getting the truck back to you. He was upset at himself because he might as well have just stayed in the guest room or the couch, knowing he was already back on the road he felt like he had just left. Pulling back into your driveway, he saw the bathroom light glowing in the early morning dawn. You must’ve just woken up, not even your bedroom light was on.

He knew a deputy was already on the way to pick him up, so he couldn’t stay - but he could grab a kiss at least.

Gator climbed up the porch steps, opening your door with ease. He ascended up the staircase to your bedroom, unintentionally stealthy. You weren’t laying in bed, but he saw the soft glow of the bathroom - so he crossed the room and swung open the door.

He appeared behind you in the mirror while you were washing your face, eyes blurry still from the mixture of water and sleep. The bathroom was dark, the candle warmer being the only light to cascade the room. Your body stilled instantly, and a scream erupted from your lungs into the towel you were holding to your face.

Gator wasted no time stepping in, trying to comfort you - but in the dark, early morning, with the footsteps you heard in the gravel at the salon, with the lingering eyes from men you didn’t recognize that you hadn’t told Gator about… the fear washed over you.

You body sank to the bathroom floor, in terror, in shock. 

“Baby! Hey hey what.. babygirl-”

Immediately recognizing the voice, your body collapsed into him. He held you on the bathroom floor, absolutely shaken by your scream. The relief you felt was screaming at your head to stop freaking out, but your mind wouldn’t still. 

You thought about the old red pickup truck that kept appearing wherever you went. You thought about the man with the scar on his face. You thought about Roy and Wade speaking too loudly, talking about a man being mad at Gator. You kept hearing the crunching gravel.

He held you until your tears dried up. He called out of work. He drove you to your appointment. He stayed in the waiting room, anxious.

He didn’t bat an eye when you told him that they wanted a follow up appointment to talk about your anxiety. Fingertips brushing against your hand as you unloaded everything out to him. You mentioned that they think you might’ve experienced trauma from him being gone and something bad happening to you, and you tried to tell him that in the least blaming way possible - it wasn’t his fault he had to go. You knew that. You didn’t want him to hate himself for it, but he did. He hated that he didn’t protect you. He hated that he wasn’t there. 

You couldn’t tell him everything else - not yet.

The two of you took it easy. He stopped by Lucys on the way back into town to grab your favorite coffee, before making the trek back to your house.

The day was spent tangled into each others bodies, watching Gilmore Girls and explaining exactly why Jess was not as good as everyone claimed him to be.

The notification rang through around 4pm, with one simple alert. You pulled your phone to the side, away from those nosey eyes of his. 

*1 new message from Stark Medical: Exam Results

Patient cleared for all physical activities 

———

a/n 💌 HI i think this might be my favorite chapter yet? and longest too??? i hope you love it just as much.

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[bearwithegg]

The Defunct and Destitute | G. Tillman |

Post S5!Gator Tillman x Criminal!Reader | 21 Jump Street/Suicide Squad inspired AU

~4.6k

Summary: What does a corrupt ex-cop, eco-terrorist, vigilante and master hacker have in common? Not much, other than the FBI's latest undercover group to bust high profile criminals. Oh, that and you absolutely have a thing for that corrupt ex-cop.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Reader is sex positive! MAKING OUT SLOPPY STYLE WOOOOOO, bitta angst, language of course! Enemies to lovers eventually maybe?? Slut used as derogatory, one guy is an incel, mentions of suicide, league of legends mention (again 😔 twice in one day kill me), Gator has misogyny to work through okay?? be patient he is stupid.

 FINALLY IT IS HERE! Thank you VERI VERI much to @keer-y @buckysgrace @sadhours @charlston-chews for helping me work through the weeds of this after I got stuck 😔

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

It's a seemingly regular Tuesday afternoon in the D - Division quadrant when the foundation of the team sits on the precipice of change. D was derogatory — short for defective, degenerate, disowned — whatever the other divisions felt like calling the group. Concrete walls sweat with condensation because the AC broke and ex-criminals aren't supposed to have the luxury of being treated humanely. So you all swelter and melt in the summer heat, within the four walls of those barely breathable slabs of concrete.

It was a normal day at the office otherwise, until the very fabric of the group is rocked by bad news in combat boots and cargo pants.

Fresh blood.

"Who the fuck is this chud?" Leroy snorted when taking in the newbie, half hearted slicked back hair, scars wispy and white across his face near his eyes and the permanent scowl of a man who thinks he's gotten himself a good deal signing up for D - Division.

You appraise him like he's meat because really there's a lot to a person based off body language. He stands confident and tall, but he hasn't any idea what to do with his hands so he thinks slotting thumbs into belt loops comes off as authoritative.

Instead, it comes off clumsy.

His eyes scan the others in the room, finding you first, then Leroy, then Smoker in that order. Assessing each of you as a threat or who the easiest person was to push — that's what you did when you first arrived.

He's cute. In that mid-western conservative kind of way. No self respecting man who pretends to be a feminist would wear camouflage cargo pants in public. This is the style of a man who goes hunting for fun on weekends and by-proxy, should be the kind of person you despise.

Being surrounded by criminals, as a criminal completely fucked your standards though.

"Someone who looks like a lot more fun than you." You grin, eyes tracking from top to bottom at a leisurely pace without shame.

"Doubtful," Leroy doesn't look up from his laptop, fingers clicking away as if he was doing something important. He most likely wasn't, he was probably playing Cookie Clicker or League of Legends. Then he looks up at you, expecting you to have made that assumption and smirks to make a point, "ex-cop, snitched on his daddy and half the deputies for that Stark County blunder. Y'know that debacle and kidnapping thing. Was a big deal."

Not that he needed to, but he spins his laptop around to show the court document from one of the hearings.

"Yeah in 2019, fuck face — Piggies can still squeal when they have a good time," you lick your lips, turning back to the new guy and winked at him as if neither of you were talking about him like he wasn't there.

"Or when they're gettin' murdered." Smoker smirks uneasy, that intense stare of his was off putting at the best of times, but he resumes reading over Leroy's shoulder, "did they cut ya tongue out too? Or are ya mute? Last mute we had ended up offin' himself."

"Yeah, because she's a fucking sex pest." Leroy snaps, gesturing to you.

"Newt didn't kill himself because I had sex with him, asshole." You flip him off then turn to the ex-cop to give him context he hadn't asked for, "total field accident, he wasn't gun trained and shot himself." A very important distinction. Purpose mattered, and really who throws a loaded gun at someone who has never handled one?

You apparently. Not that you say that.

Leroy sighs, expelling whatever rancid insult was resting on his tongue, he knows better than to provoke you with the wrong words. So he opts for something easier and lower, "she gave him Chlamydia—"

"—Oh fuck you, incel. He's pissy I won't have sex with him." The justification isn't necessary, but neither was implying you were dirty because you slept with people that weren't, him. "Go on, back to 4chan you go and doxx predators like a good boy. I'm showing the new guy around."

It had been fourteen months of this dynamic, its not all mean-spirited ribbing. Leroy is mostly joking, and so are you, but there was always a razor thin edge to each insult that was the truth cutting through. Not destructive or gouging where the wound gushes rivulets of crimson, but a small and annoying nick like a paper-cut. Unnoticeable at first, then makes itself known when there's salt or soap.

You round on the newbie, smile bright, wide and a little bit daring. Up close he looks lethal, not dangerous necessarily, but devastatingly attractive. Sharp features softened by freckles faintly dusting across sun kissed skin, moles in abundance in a way that makes him look more sweet than sour. But then one look at his lips, downturned into that grimace was enough to turn sweet into sour, undoing the hard work of his beauty spots.

His eyes, damaged upon closer inspection which explains the scars — brown iris' once a spiral of mahogany now half muddy to pools of milky gray from corneal damage. The left eye looked worse off than the right, but it's clear he can't see very well. And for the same reason you know he's either a recovering conservative or is one, is the same reason you think he was too proud to get himself glasses.

"What's your name, newbie. Or would you prefer newbie?" You tilt your head, eyes purposely track to his lips then back up again. Mark your words, you'll get a fix of him one way or another.

"Gator," his response is sharp and short, tipping away from you, wordlessly setting a boundary. Too close too soon. Yet his head turns slightly to the left so he could look at you with his better eye.

"Oh! Already with the aliases, sir yes sir. I'm Cherry, then." You salute mockingly, not mean just playful, then gesture vaguely to the other two in the room. He opens his mouth to argue, something in your statement doesn't land right but the momentum continued so he closes his mouth.

Hand flourishing in the direction of Smoker. He's tall, in his forties with tattoos covering his arms, neck and one on the side of his head. He's heavy set like lumberjacks are, even wore flannels as if it was his personal uniform out of hours. "Smoker, got done for killing pedo's, which is a shame because no one is really missing those sick fucks."

Then, dropping the fan fare for Leroy, you simply nod in his direction. He's more bone and awkward limbs than muscle or fat, greasy blonde hair that looks wet tucked behind his ears and one of the most punch-able faces, "Leroy, got done for infiltrating military databases and selling information to international parties. Also plays world of warcraft instead of touching a woman, but then blames it on 'the nice guys never get lucky'."

"Go fuck yourself, Cherry." He drawls.

"I do every night, baby!" You turn back to 'Gator' — an odd alias to choose but it probably had meaning. Everyone's did. "And me? Well its still up for debate, but stalking high-profile business owners and setting their properties on fire. The judge called it eco-terrorism but really it's kind of like liberation for the people."

"It's still Domestic Terrorism even if you add pretty technicalities," Leroy sighs, one that says he's had to add this clarification every time you've explained your time inside.

Gator watches all of you, his new team and realizes what an absolute clusterfuck he has to work with. Smoker has that quiet composure which terrified him, because its not really composure. It's a hairline fracture away from snapping. Leroy was every poindexter he'd spent a lifetime looking down on and in no way was he helping those type of guys look better. Then there was you, and he'd already decided you were fucking crazy inside and out with daddy issues apparent for days.

Maybe he should've kept his original plea deal, because there was no feasible way he could run a team this dysfunctional. This beyond help.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

"— yeah I got eyes on him. He's cute." Through tinted windows and compact binoculars, your head follows the direction of the perp. Some Walter White wannabe, to the facial hair and scowl. He looks unassuming on the surface — most drug lords were. But his entourage is obvious. Dressed as civilians that linger a little too close nearby, attempting to pass off as bystanders until the time comes and guns start blazing.

"You should be focusing on Smoker." Gator grouses from the passenger seat. He's backup, if you could call a half blind guy that. The head of the operation told D-Division he was supposed to be the group leader.

Which seemed ridiculous, he could barely walk in a mildly dark room without bumping into anything. So how the hell was he supposed to lead a team? Neither of said team mentioned anything, just exchanged looks and wondered if this was some kind of ridiculous hazing ritual.

Or a test.

"And he's fine, he's talking the guys ear off." You scoff, watching the two men across the street stop to talk more. Whatever Smoker was talking about must have been riveting.

"Just watch Smoker, without the slutty commentary."

Gator was more repressed than on the initial once over. Rooted somewhere deep inside him like a blight, which didn't seem like a problem until moments such as this. Because he says the quiet parts out loud, unintentionally egged on by Leroy's rhetoric toward you.

"Oh I'm sorry, do you want the binoculars Stevie Wonder?" Jerking around, you raise a brow and look at him.

"Quit bein' a bitch — focus on the objective." Huffing, he immediately goes to pen down something. A literal clip board, with a reading light attached to it. The low hanging fruit dangles, it would be easy to call him a lot of things that he couldn't help. Especially when emotions are on the rise, frustration ebbing and flowing from his words.

Insults he hadn't earned to call you yet. Leroy gets his pass, barely hobbling over that line. But Gator? He's been nothing but hard to crack since his arrival, showing nothing but thinly veiled contempt for the team.

You almost listen to him, then see what he's scribbled down in his chicken scrawl; Doesn't work well with others.

"Doesn't work — are you kidding me?" How dare this ex-cop show up from bumfuck North Dakota and tell you how bad at team dynamics you were. The finality of the dot-points he's penned under your alias alongside the comment land somewhere between pain and insecurity.

Volatile, Easily-Distracted, Liability.

"Well it's true, ain't it? If I have t'tell ya again to focus. I'm gettin' Leroy in."

"Oh fuck you. Leroy's got worse eye sight than you."

"Least he got less attitude. Quit bein' difficult." He tries to come off bored, but beneath it is very apparent simmering anger. Prison does that, makes you good at appearing calm but really it's only a bandaid over a gaping crater.

"He's so bitchy actually! The worst!" Half true, both of you bring it out in each other but he's absolutely no better at not giving useless commentary than you.

When you look back out the window, Smoker and the perp haven't moved. Which is good, so you take this moment to turn back to Gator and snatch the pen out of his hands. Taking full advantage of the fact he'd be slow to see it coming and toss it in the backseat.

He scoffs, "real nice. What? That time o' the month?" There it is. What you saw in him the first time he strolled into the shitty little office. Generationally ingrained hatred toward anyone who wasn't a man or white or straight. It's not said with conviction like someone who believes it, it's said by someone who doesn't know any better.

Regardless, it doesn't feel very nice.

"Oh I am much worse when I'm on my period. Asshole." This time, when you go to snatch the clipboard, he's expecting it. Hands whipping out to catch your wrist, it's not crushing, just firm.

"Don't. Ya had ya cute tantrum. Now behave."

Sometimes the way he speaks, it was dehumanizing — like you were a dog or an animal. Sit, stay, drop. Good girl. This wasn't something extended to the guys, and though it's clear he doesn't respect Leroy, he still talks to him like a human.

If he wasn't so good looking you'd have slapped him by now, told him to die or even asked Smoker to beat him. Unfortunately for you, Smoker likes the guy just enough to probably not beat down on him.

"Give me my hand back," you ask, cool, calm, annoyed.

"Ya gonna behave?" His smarmy smile makes it difficult to stay calm and put together.

"Give me my hand back."

"S'not an answer, little missy."

"I'll stop being a bitch if you stop talking to me like I'm a dog." You try and wrestle your arm back. He's obscenely strong for a guy not nearly as big as Smoker.

"Well quit actin' like one 'nd I will."

There's a moment you consider doing what he wants— barking like a dog, that is. But between the thought forming and the two of you playing tug of war with your arm, a knock on the window brings an abrupt end to the quarrel.

One of the 'civilians' is standing on the drivers side, not peaking, yet.

"Fuck," you mutter, trying to think of a good reason why a car with tinted windows would be posted up here.

"Nice one, doll." Gator scoffs.

"Shut up," you hiss, moving without thinking and start climbing over to the passenger seat.

"The hell ya doin?" He's hand shoots up to stop anymore movement.

"Shut up! Trust me," it comes out in a half garbled mutter. Surprisingly enough, he lets you straddle him haphazardly, the best you could do in speed and panic. The gun at his holster just painfully into your thigh, the position is awkward and hurried but there was no time to adjust.

The kiss starts of clumsy, and while it definitely wasn't your first choice of when, where and how you'd kiss him. It'll have to do. He's out of practice, late to respond and when he does it's hesitant and uncertain.

Another knock doesn't stop the way his tongue slithers over the seam of your lips. Asshole. A thought of bite his tongue off crosses your mind, but don't act on it. Instead, sighing and opening up for him felt like a more rewarding option for you.

His hands prop themselves on your waist, squeezing gently. Which was a surprise, you didn't think Gator could be synonymous for gentle. Not with all of his hard jagged edges and rough exterior.

Your fingers weave into his hair, desperate to mess it up because that slick back looked god awful on him. His tongue slides over yours with more confidence, nothing about it was clean. Not the spit or the teeth grazing over lips. Marlboro reds leave a tainted taste in his mouth, faint hints of gum too.

The door jerks open after a third impatient knock that went unanswered, selling the flustered couple look by jerking away from him. A string of spit webs between two swollen bottom lips. Thinning out until it snaps and dangles from his partly open mouth.

"Can we help you?" You pant, brows furrowed and a furious look set upon this 'civilian'. What office worker has mutton chops anyway? Any attempt to pass of as such is undone completely (by the mutton chops) and from the assessing gaze, far too curious about the inside of the car.

Before his curious gaze finds Gator's pistol holstered, not quite obscured by the bulk of your thighs, you adjust enough. Pressing into him more, earning a squeeze of warning at your waist. As if that was enough to distract you from the fact the bulge in his cargo pants didn't exist.

"You're in a tow-away zone," the guy finally says, another dead giveaway that he's not the white collar civilian he's dressed as. Any regular person is flustered at seeing a loved up couple — this guy? Couldn't give a rat fuck apparently.

"And I'm fuckin' horny, bub. Sorry, are you the neighborhood watch or something? Do you always just open car doors?" You lean forward, resting languid elbows on Gators shoulders, fingers curling around the head rest for support, "or are you a perv and wanna watch because I can arrange something."

Thankful at the very least Gator was keeping quiet, he might very well be taking note of how this blunder is being saved by your quick thinking and get off your back.

'Easily Distracted, Volatile, a liability'. Tch

Finally, mutton chops clears his throat, giving one last once over before nodding. Threat level assessed; no further action required. What a dumbass.

He shuts the door with unnecessary force. Enough that the car jostles slightly. A painful several beats pass before both of you exhale in relief, crisis averted.

"Off." Gator snaps, fingertips embedding deeper into your waist, firmly trying to shift you back to the drivers side.

"Funny way to say 'you're welcome', I just covered our asses." You don't move, not yet.

"Yeah — after ya got too distracted 'n let him get too close."

"That's it? Not even an acknowledgement of quick thinking? Nothing? You're such an asshole."

Really he had a lot of nerve. Considering he did nothing that entire time but look at you, mouth open like a dead fish. Even Leroy would've admitted that was a good save. Smoker surely will when he hears about it later.

"Mmhm, v'been called worse, little missy. Now get the fuck off me," he's shoving now, brows downward and creasing his forehead. That was raw, not the distant coldness he's had up until now. He's genuinely perturbed by something you did, or said, or some other reason.

"Yeah — I'm moving!" You snap, crawling back over to the drivers side, purposely making it difficult and drawn out. Knees digging into the meat of his thighs, hand pressed into his face to help steady yourself over the console and down back to the seat.

After the car settles back into silence, he starts sweeping a hand through his hair, "that was outta line."

"What? Saving our asses or using your chopped up face as a launch pad?" You bite, not turning back to look at him. Eyes focused through binoculars once more.

"That whole display," you figure he's gesturing because the car jostles slightly, "it was outta line." He repeats.

Turning back to face him, you shamelessly redirect  eyes from his face to his crotch when it was still tented, positive that his milky gray and brown eyes can't accurately equate where you're looking.

It's low hanging fruit, but you go for it anyway, "if you wanna talk about being out of line should we address the hard on in the room, or?"

"Shut up," he immediately adjusts himself, taking it personally as he doesn't speak for the rest of the stakeout.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Six months as pseudo leader of the team, Gator hasn't cracked or caved to your charms. Not after the stakeout incident, or the times spent actively trying to be attentive and jokey with him. Enough for it to borderline annoying and breach into insulting territory. His exterior was hard packed, unbreakable material that had little give and no signs of cracks.

They were there, of course, singular, microscopic cracks. In moments where his composure shatters for a fraction of a second, eyebrows twitching or nostrils flaring in response to you pushing too much. Or when Smoker makes an inappropriate joke. Or when Leroy opens his mouth.

Cracks forming over time, eventually the structure will have to give out. That time didn't seem likely anytime soon.

Another field directive that didn't involve you meant that you aimlessly roamed the concrete prison cell of an office everyone all called home base. This was the third day trip all the boys got to go out and it was beginning to feel a little targeted that you were left out.

Naturally, when they get back, you're laying across one of the desks, a case file in hand — Gator's case file — and learning all kinds of juicy things about him.

"Lucky smoker wasn't active in North Dakota back in the day, otherwise your daddy would've been on his kill list." You hum, playful and it was meant to make him feel better because from the information, Roy Tillman sounded like a piece of shit. From all the micro-isms of Gator's face and phrases over the previous months you could infer a few things;

- He hated his dad.

- He was a misogynist.

- He thinks running D - Division is recompense for murder, kidnapping, assault, corruption, obstruction, abuse of power. The list goes on.

"Get up," he grouses, snatching the case-file from your hands.

"But your desk is very comfortable," and to make the point stick, you stretch languidly for effect. "Besides, you all took your sweet time. Again. Thanks for the invite out."

Leroy slams his satchel down on the desk adjacent, "working field is almost bearable when there isn't an annoying bitch yapping our ears off."

Easily-Distracted flashes in your mind. Is this punishment? Did the boys think that as well?

"Get up," Gator says flatly again, jaw working as he looks down at you. For someone who didn't have a hundred percent of his vision, he sure knew how to make you feel watched under his gaze.

Reluctantly, and exaggerating the shift in your body when clambering off the desk, slinking toward Leroy. "And this annoying bitch will scatter her brains all over your laptop if she gets left out on the next field job." Obnoxiously, you shut his laptop lid and turn back to Gator.

He meets your expectant gaze with an unreadable one, "did you consolidate the paperwork from the last job?"

"Right! 'Cause girls belong in offices, typing up reports and taking meeting minutes, right?" It annoys you more than it should, twisting wrong inside your gut that ever since he started, you got out less. You did one field day with him and now were metaphorically benched for no reason.

"No. 'Cause it's an order. I tell ya what to do 'nd ya shut up then listen." It's not convincing, not in the slightest. He doesn't like you, and that much was certain.

Immature as it may be, you opt to scoff and roll your eyes in response, "could've fooled me."

"Just do what ya damn told, missy. mm?"

It's not even the nickname that does it. The condescension was the nail in the coffin. So to feel a modicum of good, the only natural, albeit immature retaliation was to knock his coffee cup off the desk. Upon hitting the polished stone floor it completely shatters as does his neat composure with a twitch.

"I can have the boys take ya back in. Taycheedah, wasn'it? Gettin' overcrowded now, or so I hear."

The threat sits heavy in the air, enough that Leroy stops typing and looks up, Smoker's chair squeaks and for a miserably quiet moment the only sound is your heart beating. He's threatening you, thats for certain.

According to the people who approached you to join the program (eighteen months ago) deemed your skillset specified and necessary. According to Gator, the only thing you were good for was filing, spreadsheets and fixing his coffee. Like a fucking secretary.

"Sorry, did your time at the police academy fry your neanderthal brain? Or the guy who gouged your eyes?. I'm here for a reason, you can't just send me back to that shithole."

"I can — 'nd I will. Ya disposable like the rest of us, doll. You ain't special for havin' a pair of tits and seducin' perps."

Because that's all you could be to a man like Gator. The way he says it, cold and factual. As if the last year and a half had you flouncing around instead of applying the skills you were hired for meant that you were beneath him curdled in your throat.

"Great, if thats what everyone thinks I do here then I guess I'll fuck off." It comes out uneven, voice wavering because you can't help but cry when things get hard. Maybe it proves a point to Gator who sees you as a liability and distraction or something to be shafted while 'real men' do the work.

He's made his opinions abundantly clear, today was just the final straw. Through action alone he never bothered to engage with you back, even when you changed tact he was stoic. He always laughed a little too hard when Leroy needled you about sleeping around.

Leroy earned the right to rib you, just like you earned the right to rib him back. Gator did none of the ground work to be like that.

So you take off, not that you could physically leave the building with an ankle monitor and a hundred armed MPs outside. Anywhere was better than in there at least.

Smoker breaks the silence first, clearing his throat, "You ain't mean that right? You ain't gonna send her back, proper?"

Gator considers it for a moment, because he hadn't seen your face. Or the others. Somewhere his in prison shrink mentioned he had an empathy deficit, now exacerbated by blurry faces and marred vision as permanent reminder of actions having consequences.

He used to be good at reading people.

Now he has to replay what you said, in that wobbly tone of voice. He overstepped, probably. But he can't run a tight ship when his team doesn't respect him or follow orders.

"She's fucking annoying, and we argue... But she cares. About all of us." Leroy adds quietly, then clears his throat and resumes typing.

All Leroy and you ever do is argue, so to hear him speak so softly of you caught him off guard. Had he got it wrong, then? Assuming the boys didn't particularly enjoy your company based off snappy (and constant) back and forth.

He thought he knew your type of woman, the ones that are eager to throw themselves around and show off. Peacocking for the benefit of nothing but to fill a bottomless hole with insatiable hunger. And admittedly, there was once a time where he'd happily indulge because being wanted in any capacity felt good.

Did he respect women like that? No, they always had it easy and part of him enjoys the fact that he can say no and it'll needle away at you. It makes him feel better, and feeds his own bottomless hole that was carved out by Roy Tillman.

"She'll be fine," he finally clears his throat, sitting down at his desk where his open case-file sat. Unsure how to feel about the fact there was now someone on the team who knew too much about him. Of course it had to be you.

Sighing, he places the file in his drawers, leaning over embarrassingly close just to see better at what he was looking at. Sitting on-top of the pile is neatly consolidated paperwork from the last job, penned and alphabetized.

Because even if you absolutely detested being told to do office work, you did it anyway because it beat being stuck in prison and you were nothing if not a hard worker.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged hehe 🫶

[gatorgirlie]

Leather & Lace: Chapter eighteen Gossip!

wc: 4.4k warnings: mentions of sexual activities, nothing much - this is a fun chapter for the most part

The whispers grew heavier. It became less cautionary, and felt more deserved. People didn’t mind speaking their mind, and they didn’t mind letting you know exactly what everyone thought. 

It followed you to the grocery store. The salon, spinning in your chair - mocking you. Memorized your footsteps down the alter of the church, heavy eyes laying on you as you made your way to your new pew. The name under all of the hushed tones, “Tillman”.

You knew it would happen, you didn’t expect it this soon.

The patrons at the bar have labelled you Gators’ girl for as long as you’d be in town - it was different hearing it whispered from strangers. But for the first time, at least they weren’t wrong. At least now, you actually were his.

The men stopped looking, and if they did, their buddies would pull them away whispering Gators name into their ears. The women, they never stopped looking at you now. They already hated you, but now? They loathed you. Now it wasn’t just their husbands and sons looking - or suddenly not looking, now? Now it was them hating you because you officially were with Gator - and everyone in town wanted him. Regardless of rings. Sometimes if they had a ring, it made the longing for him and the loathing of you much stronger.

Schedules went back into formation when you were cleared for clerical work, there was no signs of head damage - just soreness. You hadn’t officially been cleared to work on clients, because were in no shape to be doing a double process color correction or be trusted with shears with the shape of your back right now. 

But, you were on thin ice… and it would only continue to melt.

Word had gotten out to your clients. Strangely, it seemed to move faster with your clientele than with the rest of the town. Only one thing could have caused that, and you knew it all too well.

Gossip.

The cancellations from Brynn were the beginning of the avalanche that was your filled books. Your phone dinged, and you were scared to look. It was either someone texting you, asking if the gossip they heard was true or it would be a firm cancellation of an appointment. This was the downfall of being the new, young stylist in town - everyone under the age of 40 wanted to go to you. It didn’t matter how they felt about you, or how their husbands felt about you - you could fucking work magic in that chair. The whole town knew it. 

But suddenly, they didn’t care about magic touches and perfect blending. They cared that you were with a Tillman. If they didn’t want him for themselves, then they were scared of him or his daddy. 

Less than two weeks into this relationship and you were under every spotlight in town, the light began to irritate your skin and Gator knew it.

He had to finish out his assignment, he didn’t leave again - but he had to finish reports, be on long zoom calls, had conversations behind thick metal doors with the Sheriff. The drama of the town fell on your back while he bore the load of his work. He was there, but he wasn’t. You knew it was only a short matter of time until everything would be back to normal, but with the newness of the relationship, the heat from the town, and especially seeing it effect your work life? Fuckin sucked.

Gator had noticed that you would wake up several times in the middle of the night. He could rarely sleep, that was just the torture of himself and his mind - but you? You were a snoring, drooling, sprawl out on the mattress kind of girl… yet, you were struggling. He offered to give you a couple nights without him, and you would always protest. But sometimes… sometimes he would pretend he was working late. He would sit against your closed bedroom door and watch you. You would be out like a light. Why didn’t you sleep like that anymore when he was with you?

It bothered him.

But he didn’t have time to unpacked that right now. 

He knew only a few more days and the entirety of the operation with the DEA would be over, though he already kinda checked out due to him just needing to steer them away from the Tillman Ranch. The director of the mission knew Gator came home because of your accident, and after following up checking on the fact himself and seeing it was true - he didn’t bat an eye. Roy on the other hand, he needed to seal the deal - so, Gator had to keep engaged in the operations until it was completed. 

Only a couple more days.

Tonight was one of those nights.

“I know what I said… but hey, look at the bright side huh? You can get some good sleep before the big doctors appointment in the morning?”, he whispered softly into the phone, trying not to spoil the prying ears in the Sheriffs Office.

You left out a huff. He was right, you’d get some good ass sleep - and you needed it. Like badly. Tomorrow was your appointment that would clear you for work. Amongst other strenuous activities. You needed to be well rested and be physically at your best - you wanted to pass with flying colors.

“But I didn’t even get to see you this morning. And Im about to have to go into the salon and rearrange my books yet again and it makes me sick to my stomach”, you started, “Do you realize that I genuinely only have a couple handfuls of clients left? Like a fuckin tornado blew in and took them all away… a fucking tornado named Gator Tillman.”

“Thats a pretty badass name for a tornado, to be fair…”

“Gator baby…”

He looked around the station, and a wild thought came to his head. He hated it. But it was good.

“Open your books for mens haircuts.”

Your mouth flopped into a frown, eyebrows scrunching together. That didn’t really ever occur to you. It most definitely wasn’t your specialty, you only had a couple male clients.

Two weird men from Ralphs. Zak, the only male stylist in the salon. Obviously Gator. And recently Wade, and once - Roy.

“I don't do mens cuts like that.”

“You do mine, and I always love it - even the little lines you do on the side are dope as fuck”, he continues, “And my dad said you were careful around his cut and you didn’t take too much off the back. Karen practically buzzes him back there. Wades cut doesn’t suck either.”

“Doesn’t suck- great. Is that the standard now? Doesn’t suck? Gator baby, I don’t do mens cuts.”

“You’d make more-”

“No, I wouldn’t! I can get a color client and make an easy $400 in a day!”

“Yeah, off one client baby. You could get in 15-20 male clients a day and make buckets more, plus they would tip you so good with that scalp massage you do.”

Now that right there… you hated to admit it. But he was right.

The two guys from Ralphs always tipped you 50%. Gator always snuck you a hundred, though you never charged him. Even Roy tipped well.

“And you’d be okay with me leaning my tits right over another mans face? Running my fingers through his hair? Massaging his neck and shoulders, like I do for you?” You already know the answer.

“Fuck no”, he barked into the phone, causing a few heads to snap his way before quickly retreating in apology, in fear.

“Yeah, thats what I thought.” You laughed.

It was a good plan, you’d give him that.

“Do it anyways. Anyone who has the balls to touch my woman, will have them ripped off and stapled to my wall like a fuckin trophy.”

Your nose curled in disgust, and unfortunately, you felt a fiery line flow to your core.

He still hasn’t fucked you.

Been swearing he needs the doctor to clear you. 

Its almost been fun, a little game between the two of you. So close, but forbidden.

Your knees have grown permanently bruised. So much so that he went to Tractor Supply and bought you a garden kneeling mat. When he pulled it out of the truck to show you, you quite literally had to turn around and walk inside because you were about to bust at the seams in laughter and you just couldn’t let his pride become even more inflated.

But that didn’t stop you from trying it out less than 10 minutes later.

Him on the other hand? If his mouth wasn’t running off to you about something stupid, locked on yours, or eating - well… he was still technically eating. Your thighs seemed to have become indented by the shape of his head masterfully between them as much as you’d let him. 

“You promise?”, you whisper out a whine to him.

That whine. You know exactly what you’re doing - you know how he reacts to that voice. You know exactly where he feels it. You know it shoots through his chest, straight into his cock. You knew it like the back of your hand. If you weren’t a tease, you were nothing.

Gator stepped out of the station, quickly crossing the parking lot to his cruiser. He gave a quick once over to the lot and climbed in. His hand instinctively moved down to his cargos as he palmed himself through the rough fabric.

“Do you need a reminder of what I can do for you, baby? A couple of the guys who have tried you are still kicking… I can fix that for you. Say that magic word, princess.”

“Meet me at the salon.”

He felt a lightning bolt strike his fingertips, just at the thought of touching you in your little professional outfit. Oh god… he wondered if you could climb up and let him eat you out in that fancy sink chair of yours. 

You pulled into the back lot, gravel - nothing fancy. Crossing the rocks with ease, heels and all - you were a professional in heels, you definitely chose the wrong profession. Hey, with how its looking - maybe it was time for a switch. Gator would absolutely lose his shit. You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. There might not be man left in the town once he is finished.

Sliding your hand into your grey leather bag, you fumble around for your work keys. Something inside of your purse snags on your nail, pulling a low curse from your mouth. You hear the sound of footsteps on gravel behind you, hand retreating from inside as you whip around to look. 

Absolutely nothing.

You scan the parking lot, you take a side step to widen your stance just in case. Your gun was in the truck. If you ran, you might be able to make it. 

Chest heaving. It must be your lack of sleep, your nerves are just off… right? A low ringing in your ears as you lock in, eyes flicking to every hidden corner.

The sound of a powerful engine and crunching gravel under tires pulls you from the skin prickling scene.

The familiar Stark County Cruiser pulls into the lot, right next to Gators black F150 you borrowed from Gator until you can get your new car this weekend. A relief washes over you as your eyes meet his hazel ones - already locked on you.

He wasted no time hopping out of the cruiser, making a beeline for you. 

Lips crashing onto yours without any social awareness. His big hands immediately sliding around your waist and over top of your ass, giving it a rough squeeze in his palms. Gator pulled you flush against him, his hard bulge rested above the waistband of your grey slacks. With the heat of the moment, you let out a huff of laughter - this man didn’t read the room on bit… and you were okay with it.

Your chunky belt buckle gave him a sharp sensation against his solid cock, causing him to groan into your kiss. He forced his tongue into your mouth, your hands instinctively flew around his neck - slightly giving him a squeeze.

“Fuck, babygirl. You’re looking a little too good to be out here all alone-”

This snapped you out of your fog.

“Yeah, actually speaking of that- I thought I heard someone…”, you pull your face away from his, glaring to the lot behind him, “Felt like I was being- I don’t know, watched or something?” You confess out.

“Oh, baby Im sure it was just the wind… maybe someone down the sidewalk you didn’t notice?”

Deescalate. Relocate. Evaluate.

This was his training.

Get you inside. Now.

You believe him, why wouldn’t you?

Your eyes glazed over the parking lot one last time before sliding back up to meet his, which were zoned in on you. Jaw set. Hands firm.

“Here, let me help you with your keys honey.”, seconds later, he was opening the back door of the salon.

You step in, black stilettos clicking on the vinyl floors.

He doesn’t hesitate to step in after you.

In one motion, he flips on the lights and clicks the lock on the door. His hand finds the small of your back, guiding you in without sounding alarms.

Your eyes catch the look on his face within the mirrors across the work stations. He looks tense. He has been working a lot, you just dismiss the look as stress. You were good at easing his stress these days. 

Once you get up to your station, he makes him quick rounds around the salon, checking the individual rooms - you in his peripherals at all times. 

You didn’t even question it. Gator was nosey, he was just nosing around to you. Probably trying to find the best place for his next trip between your legs. With how much he has been working since he had been home, you guys didn’t have much time for convenient places.

“Gator bug…”

He kept snooping.

Looking.

“Gator… Gator, stop it.”

You stomped across the salon to him, heels clanking the whole way. Hand grabbing his bicep, you pull him back to you.

“I said stop it.” You say sternly, giving him a look.

His eyes lock onto you, giving you a puppy dog face, “I wasn’t doin nothing, baby, swear it.”

“Yeah, well last time you were snooping around you ate Susans protein balls.” You said with sharpness, but your lips curved into that little smile.

“No, baby, those were yours!”

“I made them, yes. But I made them for her… she’s pregnant and gets the munchies and needs to get in as much protein as possible, Gator bug.”

The innocent realization hits him.

“Oh… I- didn’t know that…”

You couldn’t help but smile. This man has never known boundaries, especially when it came to your food. You cant actually remember the last time you had a meal where Gator didn’t eat half of your plate. Forget your leftovers in the fridge, you knew he would swing into your house while you were working and eat it all. Couldn’t complain though, the man almost always bought your groceries. 

It started with pie.

You and a couple of the other stylists from the salon went to the local apple orchard late august, just a couple months into your new life in Lehigh. It was a little outing you all had planned, you were going to do a mini photo session together for promoting the fall season to remind your clients to book in time for the holidays.

Gator knew you were going, and knew you said you would bring home some juicy fresh apples.

That was all he thought about for three hours.

Juicy. Fresh. Apples.

Motherfuckin apple pie.

Now, did you offer to make your new friend Gator some apple pie?

No.

Did he ask you to make some?

No.

When you pulled up to your house that evening, was there all the ingredients you’d need AND a pie dish sitting out on the front porch with a note that just said “-G :)”?

Yes.

The next evening after his shift, Gator was sitting on your porch swing watching the late summer sun set in the sky. His mouth was full. Feeling like he died and went to Heaven, eating some delicious apple pie while he could hear you humming in the kitchen. 

That was most definitely not the last time groceries ended up at your house, but it was the last time they were left on the porch. You gave him a house key shortly after so that he could set them right in the kitchen. After a few times being in the house, he even leaned where everything should go - so he then began putting the groceries away on his own.

You’d get the hint of what he wanted by what he’d buy. Because of Gator, you finally could brave the grill - you knew your dad would be proud of you for that. Almost weekly, T-bone steaks ended up in your fridge. And almost weekly, you grilled them to perfection. Sometimes Gator would even naw on the bone like the fucking dog he is.

It was never your intention to lure Gator in with food, but alligators love feeding time. Guess it was just the natural order of things.

“What are you looking for, Gator bug?”, you ask, almost waiting for the punchline - knowing he is getting caught snooping with no goal in mind.

He gave you a smirk, strolled over to you and slipped his hands to the back of your neck, bracing your head.

“You got no clue how fucking gorgeous you look, do ya? Im just tryna figure out where I want ya… lots of mirrors in here - we could figure something fun out, huh?”, he said, completely serious but also trying to steer away from the fact that he is looking for any signs of forced entry, misplaced things, anything… anyone.

But hey, if that deferring can get his mouth on you or yours on him? He is game.

He began pulling you back to the rinse stations, fingers interlaced, grin devious.

“I was thinking about you climbing on top of one of these things, and maybe sprayin my face with something other than water this time?”

“Gator! Oh my god, thats gross. I can’t believe you just said that”, you step in quickly to your man, face bright and blushing from both laughter and embarrassment. Your hand smacks his chest playfully, but with a bit of force too - you know he likes it when you get a bit rough with him.

“Thats gross, baby? Was my tongue inside of you gross when you were on the phone with that client the other day? Huh?” He leans in close, low and deep into your ear as he continues, “What about when my fingers were inside of ya while you were sitting across from my daddy during lunch last Sunday? Was that so gross, baby? Wanna see gross?” His hands rough on your ass, your body pressed against his with pressure. You knew your panties were soaked at this point.

Before you could even respond, a knock came to the front door - with a quick inhale, you pulled back from Gator. You shook the arousal from your body as you rounded the corner. Your eyes were met with a man you didn’t recognize.

He was dressed nice, nicer than most men in Lehigh - maybe he was new?

Gator followed you around the corner, clearing his throat to let you know he was right there. His senses were ringing, but with him here, your guard was nonexistent. 

You give the man a soft smile as you make your way across the floor, and unlock the front door, swinging it open just enough for your body.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Uh hopefully”, he shyly laughs, “I was hoping to get a hair cut, I have a date tonight and the barber down the street doesn’t seem like my kind of stylist. I swear I saw him peeling his apple with the same razor he used to line up his client.”

“Oh god!”, you let out a laugh, making Gator take one step forward.

“Well, I mean Im the only stylist here right now… we are more appointment based so walk ins aren’t really frequent”, you thought for a second, “I was only coming in to do some office work, but I would be more than happy to take you! Actually, I am looking for more men clientele so I would love the practice… I mean, like I'm good - Oh, yeah look! This is my boyfriend, Gator! I do his hair!”

You go to motion for Gator to come over, and you don’t even realize that at this point he was already standing right behind you. When you swing your hand back, your hand flies right into his bullet proof vest.

“Oh hey baby… I didn’t realize you-”, getting back on topic, “Yeah, so I do his hair and a couple other guys in town-”

Gator had his eyes locked onto the man, assessing every breath he took.

The man, on the other hand, was completely unaware.

“Yeah, no thats actually perfect - I really just want to clean up my edges and everything. Do you line up facial hair too, or just hair?”

“Oh, yeah no I can do that for you, no problem!”

“Perfect! I would love that!”

“Okay, awesome!” You pulled the door completely open at this point, backing up to allow the man to walk in - completely stepping on Gators boot with the point of your heel because he refused to move. You ass completely pressed against him, his hand on your hip - holding you steady from the shift of the misstep.

You give Gator a look. Basically a ‘what the fuck do you think you’re doing, this was your idea genius’ kind of look.

He takes the hint, closing the front door behind the man. 

“Whats up man, Im Gator - Gator Tillman.” His eyes watched for any reaction to the Tillman name - nothing. Reaching for the mans hand.

Nothing? He is new.

Taking it immediately with a smile, the man yanks off his sun glasses with the other hand.

“Oh, cool name man! Thats sick. I’m Charlie Nolan. Just moved here!”, he replied in the most sickening gold retriever way, “You’re a deputy?”

Gator was so thrown off right now. 

“Uh yeah, I am… what do you do?”

You prepped your station, ears perked up. Was Gator… actually making a friend right now?

“Thats so cool. I work in construction! Always looking for more work and I was in Texas, and now here.”

“Texas? Ive always wanted to go…”

“For real? Thats where I’m from man! Hot as balls. That’s why I came up here.” He laughed out, and you swear in the mirror you caught Gators lip turn up for just a moment.

Gator stayed for the entire appointment. The only conversation you had with the new client was when he showed you his inspo picture, which you were more than surprised that a man had.

They chatted about everything from dirt, to tractors, to the Dallas Cowboys… that was a heated discussion as Gator hates the Cowboys. That conversation nearly broke their brand new friendship.

There was a small dull in the conversation when you touched up Charlies mustache, Gator was horrible at making small talk. You decided to take over.

“So, you’re going on a date! Thats nice! Really nice way to get out there and meet people, see the town. I remember when I was new here and I quickly became a regular at the bar at the edge of town, Ralphs.”

“Oh yeah! Thats where were going!”, he said mumbling, trying not to move too much.

“Were at Ralphs like… most nights actually”, you laughed out, looking towards Gator.

“Yeah they have dancin and shit there too on Thursdays… so just know that you might need to be prepared to get dragged out to the dance floor. I know I had to get used to it.”, Gator smiled up at you while spinning around in the chair next to your booth. 

“And you’ve survived so far, so quit acting like you don’t like it.” You playfully shot at him, before turning your attention back to Charlie. “Do you know how to dance?”

“Hell yeah, I might step on her feet a couple times but I’ll have fun doin it.”

That made all three of you break out into laughter, this was actually really nice.

“So… does that mean y’all will be there tonight?”, he peered over at Gator in the reflection of the mirror, causing Gator to then glance up at you.

“She had a rough car accident couple weeks back, we haven’t been dancing since so im not too sure if-”

“Please? I think I need the night out… plus, it would be fun to hang out a bit more!”, you smiled, looking down at Charlie.

“Alright, yeah we can. But… ya know, we will keep our distance with ya bein on a date and all.”, Gator replied over to Charlie.

“That sounds like a plan, Stan.”

Gators eyebrows crinkled together, “Who the fuck is Stan?”

“Oh God…”, you mumble out.

Charlie laughed as if Gator just made the funniest joke, unfortunately making Gator perk up. Head absolutely inflated.

You refused to let Charlie pay, instead, he let you take a few pictures for your portfolio since you were going to begin promoting mens cuts.

“Okay fine… but I am definitely buying you guys a round tonight, okay?”

“Cant complain about that now, right Gator bug?”, you look up at him smiling ear to ear.

“Gator bug… that’s so cute”, Charlie chimed in.

“Dont.” Gator barked, completely serious.

Halfway out the front door, Charlie whips his head back around to look at the two of you once more, “Alright, Ralphs at 8. It was great meeting you, and thank you so much for getting me in - it looks great! And you…”, He points to Gator, “I’ll see ya later, Gator bug.”

He shut the door quickly and nearly sprinted away laughing, your mouth dropped in amusement.

And Gator?

Frozen solid. Eyes wide. Smile threatening to peak through the scowl.

He may have just met his match.

————

a/n 💌 didn’t even get half of what i wanted to in this chapter 😂😂💖 this one is so fun!!! AND JAKE, WELCOME TO THE L&L UNIVERSE 🎉🎉🎉

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[comfycosygirl]

I Know He's Crazy, But He's The One I Want (Masterlist) - 18+

Your fathers detested each other, ever since Roy Tillman swindled yours out of his business years ago. Your whole life you'd been raised to hate the Tillmans. However things get difficult when Gator comes swinging into your life and you fall in love with him.

Gator Tillman x fem!reader

series warnings: nsfw content (mdni), swearing, alcohol, mentions of abuse, protective gator, parental fights, trashy exes, roy tillman mentions

***

☆spotify playlist

☆chapter 1 - "dutiful daughter all my plans were laid, tendrils tucked into a woven braid."

☆chapter 2- "he was chaos, he was revelry, bedroom eyes like a remedy."

☆chapter 3 - "stay away from her, the saboteurs protested too much." (coming this week)

☆chapter 4 - "lord knows the words we we never heard, just screeching tires and true love." (coming soon)

☆chapter 5 - "I'll tell you something bout' my good name, it's mine alone to disgrace." (coming soon)

☆chapter 6 - "we came back when the heat died down, went to my parents and they came around." (coming soon)

☆epilogue - "now I'm dancing in my dress in the sun and even my daddy just loves him, I'm his lady

and oh my god you should see your faces."

[scoopsahoydjo]

Off the Record | Steve Harrington

masterlist

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A modern AU about your experience documenting the team captain of university’s basketball team, Steve Harrington

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

•. Intro

I. Tip Off

II. Full Coverage

III. Safe House

IV. Damage Control

V. Half Time

VI. Conflict of Interest

VII. Out of Bounds

VIII. Technical Foul

IX. Offense vs Defense

X. Time Out

XI. Overtime

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

COMMENT BELOW TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST FOR THIS STORY <3