TW : age gap, obsession, revenge, sexual tension, reader kinda crazy, plotting
Words : 3.7k
You returned to reception with your jaw clenched. The paperwork in front of you blurred together. You tried to focus, but just couldn’t. Every few minutes, your eyes drifted toward the sheriff's office. You could still hear his voice in your head. My son was in a car accident. That was not your decision to make. You pressed your pen harder against the paper than necessary. Fine, if that's how he wanted things to be...
About ten minutes later, the office door opened again. You didn't look up immediately, didn’t want him to think you cared even though you heard every footstep. Gator and Ben walked side by side toward the front of the station. “…How's the neck feeling ?” Gator asked.
“Still attached.”
“I'll take that as a good sign.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of Gator's mouth. As they neared the entrance, he glanced at the clock. “Have you eaten already ? We could grab something together before I head back out.”
“Oh.” Ben pointed toward reception. “I already did. I went out to that sandwich place we like with her.” He pointed directly at you and your head lifted from the paperwork. You put on the brightest, most innocent smile you could manage, then gave a tiny wave with your fingers.
“Hi.” For a second, Gator just stared at you. His eyes moved from you to Ben, then back to you again. He looked completely caught off guard.
“You…” He blinked once. “You two… ?” Ben nodded casually.
“Yeah. It was nice. She actually listens better than you do.” Gator opened his mouth, trying to find the right words but a deputy hurried over before he could say anything.
“Sheriff ? We've got a question about the Peterson report.” He didn't answer right away, his eyes lingered on you for another long moment, trying to understand, trying to piece something together. Then he finally looked away.
“I'll be right there.” He gave Ben one last nod before following the deputy toward the records room. Ben watched him disappear before turning back to you. He walked back toward the reception desk, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Uh…” You looked up at him, he seemed pretty nervous for some reason.
“Yeah ?”
“I just wanted to say… I really enjoyed lunch.” He smiled sheepishly.
“So did I.” His smile grew.
“Good.” A brief silence settled between you as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “If…” He cleared his throat. “If you'd ever want to do it again… maybe sometime when neither of us is supposed to be working ?” You couldn't help smiling, he was falling right into your little trap.
“I'd like that.” His shoulders relaxed.
“Really ? Okay.” Another awkward silence. Then, summoning every ounce of courage he seemed to have, he spoke again. “Would… would you maybe want to give me your number ?” He looked everywhere except at you, bingo, you had him right in the palm of your hand. You held his gaze for a second before smiling again.
“Sure.” His expression lit up and he hurriedly pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking it before handing it across the counter. You typed your number into the contacts list, added your name then handed it back. He looked down at the screen for a second, a grin spread across his face.
“Well… I guess I'll text you.”
“I'll be waiting.” His cheeks flushed faintly.
“See you around.”
“See you, Ben.” He gave you one last smile before heading toward the exit. The station doors swung shut behind him. Your eyes drifted almost instinctively toward the hallway where Gator had disappeared. You wondered how long it would take before he found out, and, more importantly, whether he would care.
You were halfway through a case file when the phone on your desk rang. Without looking up, you picked up the receiver. “Stark County Sheriff's Office.”
“My office, now.” Gator, his voice was low and hard. The line went dead and you slowly lowered the receiver. Looking up, you noticed his office door standing slightly ajar at the end of the hallway. You stood, smoothing your shirt before walking toward it.
As soon as you stepped inside, the door closed behind you and the lock clicked. You turned, Gator was standing just inside the room, waiting, arms were crossed tightly over his chest. He didn't look angry, he looked... unsettled. “What the fuck are you doing ?”
“With what ?”
“With Ben, with my son, with me. Fuck, with everything.” You tilted your head.
“I still don't know what you're talking about.” He let out a humorless laugh.
“No ? You have lunch with my son, you give him your number and you spend every day pushing boundaries with me.” Okay, that was quick, he already knew you gave him your number. His jaw tightened. “And somehow I'm supposed to believe none of it means anything ?” You took a slow step closer.
“It doesn’t.” You replied, and his brows drew together.
“…What ?”
“It doesn't mean what you think. I like Ben, he’s sweet, made me laugh. But he isn't the reason I'm here.” His eyes searched yours, wetting his lips with his tongue. “You are, Gator.” He looked away first, as if he wasn’t able to keep looking at you anymore.
“You need to stop saying things like that.”
“Why ?”
“Because I'm married.”
“You've told me, you’ve told me a hundred damn times.” You got closer and stopped only a foot away from him. “But that's never been your answer.” His expression faltered.
“What ?”
“You don't say you're happy, you don't say you love your life, you only tell me you're married.” He swallowed as though he wanted to respond, but just couldn’t. “You told me yourself, you didn't choose any of it. Your marriage, your badge, the expectations. You said your father chose for you.” His shoulders dropped ever so slightly, and you placed your hands on his chest. This time, he didn’t budge, you could feel his heartbeat pounding under your palm.
“I shouldn't have told you that.”
“But you did, and now I know.” You reached up slowly, giving him every chance to move away. Your fingertips rested lightly against each side of his neck while he looked down at you.
“You're making this harder than it has to be.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“No, I think life already did that to you.” A faint, tired smile appeared despite himself.
“You always think you've got an answer.”
“I don’t, I just think nobody's ever asked what you wanted.” His breathing slowed then caught again.
“You're wrong.”
“Am I ?” He didn't answer, his hands lifted slightly from his sides hovering above your waist, but not touching you yet and not quite knowing where to go. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “You're afraid.” His eyes snapped back to yours.
“I'm not afraid.”
“You haven't touched me once and you've spent the whole conversation trying not to.” You said, glancing at his hands still hovering near your sides.
“Because I’m marri…”
“I swear to God Gator if you tell me you’re married one more time …” He let out a shaky breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh, and rubbed a hand across his face. “You know I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you, one of them being that you were rough with women.” Your hands were resting on his cheeks now, thumb brushing gently over them. “Turns out they were wrong, you can’t even touch me.”
“When I was younger…” he started, voice quieter now. “…people thought they knew exactly who I was. The sheriff's son, the angry one, the one who solved everything with his fists. I was rough, I’ve always liked everything rough, probably still do.” He gave a small shrug. “Then I got married, became a father, had people depending on me. I learnt how to restrain myself.” His eyes drifted toward the window. “My … wife hates roughness, so I just learnt how to be gentle I guess.”
“Don’t you miss who you used to be ?” You asked, still rubbing circles on his cheeks, and you felt him melt into your touch.
“I don’t know. I guess so, but I had to change. Had to learn to think before I acted, to be patient and steady.” He smiled faintly. “Mia deserved that, and so did my kids.” When he looked back at you, you saw something you hadn't seen before, fatigue, like he was done pretending after all these years. The weight of twenty years spent becoming the man everyone else needed.
“You're still trying to protect everyone. But who ever protected you, Gator ?” His expression cracked for a second before he looked away again.
“…You should go.”
“You always say that.”
“Because every time you're in this room… I forget what I'm supposed to say and I’m on the verge of ruining my whole damn life.” He laughed softly, shaking his head.
“So to you, finally deciding something on your own is ruining your life ?” You asked, mouth close to his ear and once again, you felt a shiver run down his body. His hands finally rested on your hips, and you took this opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck, feeling his uneven breath on your face. “So, what are you choosing, Gator ?” You could see the internal battle he was facing. His eyes searched yours as though he were hoping to find a reason to stop. Instead, he only found you waiting. He slowly lowered his forehead until it rested against yours, closing his eyes, and you felt his breath tremble. That’s it, you were so close.
“…God.” The word escaped him as his shoulders rose with a slow inhale, as if he was trying to breathe his way back to reason. “This isn’t... ” his voice cracked. “This isn't who I am.” You didn't answer, his forehead stayed pressed to yours for a few seconds, then a quiet, frustrated sound escaped the back of his throat. Almost a whine, as if fighting himself physically hurt.
His hands slowly rose and stopped beside your face, hovering there. He hesitated then finally cupped your cheeks, his thumbs resting just beneath your eyes. He looked at you for what felt like forever. “So many damn years…” he murmured to himself while you barely breathed. That’s it, he was cracking under all the pressure you’ve put him under. His eyes searched yours one last time before laughing softly. “…Fuck it.”
He kissed you, mouth desperately crashing onto yours, tongue already in your mouth before you could even register what was happening. He turned you around and pushed you against the wall while grabbing your chin hard, forcing his tongue even deeper in your mouth. You could feel the roughness coming out, and how he probably spent years restraining himself until you came along.
You kissed back just as hard, one of your hand dropping to his chest, then to the front of his cargo pants, palming his hardening cock through them. He whined, pushing you even harder against the wall while your fingers wrapped around his shaft though the fabric, squeezing hard.
Suddenly, reality crashed back and Gator pulled away so abruptly he nearly stumbled backward. His eyes were wide as he stared at you in disbelief. His fingertips brushed over his own lips as though he couldn't quite believe what he had done. “…What the hell am I doing ?” His breathing became uneven again and he started shaking his head. “No, no, no…” You took a cautious step toward him.
“Gator…”
“Don’t.” His voice came out sharper than he wanted to, and you stopped. He dragged both hands through his hair. “I fucking can’t.”
“You don't mean that. You’re the one who kissed me.”
“I know.” He backed away until the edge of his desk pressed against his thighs, his hands were trembling. “I have a family, children, I can't destroy everything because I…” He couldn't finish the sentence as his eyes filled with panic. “Please, just… leave.” You didn't move.
“Gator…”
“Leave.” He pointed toward the door without looking at it, his breathing had become shallow now, almost frantic. You stared at him, how pathetic he looked filled with guilt, and something inside you snapped. A bitter laugh escaped you.
“You’re unbelievable. You spend twenty years telling yourself you’ve never had a choice and the first time you actually make one you run away from it.” He squeezed his eyes shut and flinched.
“I said leave.”
“No. You know what I think ? I think you’re just a fucking coward, a frightened little man.” His jaw tightened and he opened his eyes again. “You’d rather spend the rest of your life miserable than admit you wanted something different.”
“You don't get to decide that.” He replied.
“I didn’t, you already decided yourself. You kissed me, you wanted me and now you’re pretending it never happened because that's easier than being honest.” His shoulders sagged.
“You don't know what you're asking me to lose.”
“And you don't know what you're throwing away.” He couldn't even look you in the eyes. “I almost felt sorry for you. But maybe your dad was right after all.” His head lifted, and you could see in his eyes that you were hitting exactly where it hurt. You wanted to stop, not wanting to hurt him even more but you just couldn’t, words coming out of your mouth like poison. “You’ve spent your whole life letting other people tell you who to be, and apparently, you still need someone else to make your decisions for you. So yeah, your dad was right to choose for you, because you’re too much of a fucking coward to do it yourself.”
Your words hurt him more than a physical punch, but you didn’t take them back. Instead, you turned toward the door, and without looking back, you pulled it open. The door slammed behind you while Gator remained exactly where he was, alone, hands still shaking. His lips still remembering the kiss he had already decided he could never allow himself to have again.
Your boots carried you straight back to reception, where the stack of paperwork you had been working on was still waiting exactly where you had left it. You dropped into your chair, jaw was still tight. You looked at the clock mounted above the bullpen, you still had thirty minutes left of your shift. Normally, you would've stayed, but today, you couldn't stand being in the same building as him for another second. You yanked open your drawer, stuffed your notebook inside your bag, grabbed your keys and shrugged your coat over your shoulders. One of the deputies looked up. “Heading out already ?”
“Not feeling great.” It wasn't entirely a lie, so he nodded sympathetically.
“Hope you feel better.”
“Thanks.” A minute later, the station disappeared behind you as the driver's door slammed shut. The silence inside your car wrapped around you as you gripped the steering wheel so tightly your fingertips turned white. Fucking coward. You had meant every single word you said to him. With a frustrated sigh, you let your head fall back against the headrest and pulled out your phone to check it. You had a new text.
Unknown : Hey, it’s Ben. Just wanted to say thanks again for lunch today. I had a really good time 😍
You stared at the screen, something suddenly shifting inside you. The anger, the humiliation and the ache Gator had left behind hardened into something colder. A need to make him feel even a fraction of what you had just felt. You needed revenge, needed to make him feel like shit, and what could be better than using his son to do that ? It was fucked up, but you didn’t care, all you could think about was vengeance, so you started typing.
- : I had a really nice time too. I’m actually heading home early, I wasn't feeling very well
You hit send and waited. Three minutes later, your phone buzzed again.
Ben : I'm sorry. Are you okay ?
Another message appeared before you could answer.
Ben : I’m still in town. If you need anything from the pharmacy or the grocery store, I can grab it for you before I head home
You smiled, hook, line, sinker. Instead of texting back, you pressed the call button and he answered after the second ring. “Hey.”
“Hi Ben.”
“You don't sound sick.”
“I already feel a little better.” You replied, rolling your eyes. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you would want to get some fresh air with me instead ?” There was barely a second of silence.
“Yeah, of course. I’d love that.” His answer came so quickly it made you laugh. “Only problem is… well, I don't have a car anymore. My mom drove me into town and she was supposed to pick me up later.”
“Text me where you are, I’ll come get you.” You said, and his voice brightened.
“Really ? If you're sure, yeah, I’ll send it now.”
“Okay. I’m coming then.” You hung up and less than a minute later, his location popped up on your screen. You started the engine.
Ben was already waiting outside when you pulled up. He climbed into the passenger seat with an easy smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem.” He fastened his seatbelt before looking over at you.
“So… how're you feeling ?” You smiled.
“Better already. Fresh air fixes everything.” He laughed.
“Well then… let's go find some.” Ben replied, smiling from ear to ear. You drove for a while before eventually leaving town behind.
You pulled over at a small overlook as the conversation flowed effortlessly. Music, college, terrible first jobs, favorite movies … Every now and then, you caught yourself wanting to steer the conversation toward Gator but stopped, not yet. You had learned enough over the past week to know that pushing too hard only made people suspicious. No. First, you needed Ben to trust you completely. The rest could come later.
Nearly two hours slipped by before either of you noticed the time. Ben glanced at his phone.
“Oh. My mom's probably wondering where I am.” He smiled sheepishly. “I should call her.” You started the car again.
“Or… you could let me drive you home.” You said, and he looked over at you.
“You don't have to.”
“I don't mind, it’ll save her the trip.” He hesitated for only a second before smiling.
“Okay, thanks.” He directed you through the winding roads outside town. Turn after turn, the houses became fewer and the properties larger. Finally, a pair of enormous wooden gates appeared ahead. Beyond them stretched a long gravel driveway leading toward a ranch house. Your eyebrows lifted.
“Wow.” Ben laughed.
“Yeah. It belonged to my grandpa, my dad kept it after he passed.” You looked out across the property. So that’s where he was living. You pulled to a stop near the front porch.
“Well…” Ben unbuckled his seatbelt. “Thanks again. I had a really good time.”
“So did I.” He smiled, looking way too excited for your liking.
“I'll text you ?” He asked.
“I'll answer.” His grin widened.
“Good.” Ben climbed out of the car, gave you one last wave, then disappeared inside. You waited until the front door closed behind him, only then did you slowly pull away from the ranch. The gates disappeared in your rearview mirror, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.
The rest of the week passed in complete silence between you and Gator. You stopped finding excuses to walk into his office, stopped bringing him coffee and stopped lingering in the hallway whenever he passed. Gator seemed determined to do the same. Whenever he needed something from reception, he spoke to one of the deputies instead. If paperwork required his signature, someone else carried it into his office. The distance between you had never been greater, and yet, more than once you caught him looking at you across the bullpen, through the glass of his office.
The moment your eyes met, he would look away and bury himself in whatever report happened to be in front of him. You never acknowledged it, instead, you poured your attention somewhere else : Ben.
The two of you texted every day, nothing particularly exciting, memes, pictures he was taking during the day, complaints about his physical therapy… You had met for lunch twice since that first sandwich, but as far as you knew, Gator had no idea and if he did, he had never mentioned it.
Friday arrived before you realized it. The station had settled into its usual afternoon rhythm. You were organizing case files behind reception when movement in the hallway caught your eye, Gator. He walked past without looking at you, and just before reaching his office, his pace slowed, head turning the smallest fraction, like he was considering saying something. Instead, he kept walking, closing his office door behind him.
You watched it for another second before looking back down at the paperwork. Your phone vibrated against the desk.
Ben : Hey. Random question
Another bubble appeared.
Ben : It’s my sister's birthday. Mom and dad are doing one of those backyard barbecues at the ranch tonight. Would you maybe want to come ?
Your heart skipped, you read the message again, a smile spread across your face. This was it, not another lunch, not another useless conversation, an invitation into the Tillmans' home, into Gator's world, exactly what you had been waiting for. Your thumbs flew across the screen.
- : I’d love to. Thank you for inviting me 😊
The reply came almost instantly.
Ben : Awesome ! You can come by around 6 if that’s good for you !
You locked your phone and leaned back in your chair. It took everything you had not to smile. You had spent the last week wondering how to get past the walls Gator had thrown up around himself, and you didn't have to anymore. His son had just opened the gate for you. And in only a few hours, you would be standing at the Tillman ranch as a welcome guest. You were walking straight into his life and this time, he wouldn't be able to keep you outside.
general taglist : @proooof @maaaachiii @us3r4682 @delphinemix @cecesblogg
summary: still living with your ex was the absolute worst. you don’t even know what the hell you saw in gator tillman to begin with! but you two should really invest in separate beds.
cw: 18+, minors dni, angst, smut, lots of arguing, oral (both parties receiving), p in v
wc: 5.5k
You and Gator had been broken up for an entire month now. An excruciating month and not because you missed him. No, the complete opposite actually. Because you and Gator still live together. You signed the lease together, it was hard to get out of and well, rent is expensive. You didn’t have the kind of funds to move out and neither did Gator. So here you were, separated yet still sharing the same bed.
And it was hell, truly, truly and deeply hell.
Most days, you wondered what the hell you saw in Gator to begin with. The first big argument was about who would sleep on the couch, and you and Gator are equally stubborn so the result was a barrier made of pillows between the two of you. But the arguments increased exponentially. You guys couldn’t have a conversation without bickering.
You get home from work, open the door and trip on Gator’s boots. Because he took them off. Right when he got in the door. And left them.
It feels like it’s on purpose, like Gator’s doing everything in his ability to piss you off. You can’t remember if he did these things when you were madly in love and you just ignored it or if he’s actively trying to irritate you. You kick his boots to the side and call out, “Gator! Move your fucking boots!”
He doesn’t respond, and you walk into the kitchen where he’s made an absolute mess. And you know he wasn’t like this before, Gator never left messes after cooking. You heave a sigh and start to call out again, “For fucks sake, Gator! What the fuck is your—“ you turn and see him standing in front of you, wearing nothing but his underwear, holding a plate, “problem.”
You used to actually really enjoy Gator’s disdain for wearing clothes around the house. Now it’s extra annoying. Because he looks good, he always looks good. All your friends think you’ll get back together unless you move out but you’re determined. Just to prove to everyone you can do it. There’s no way Gator’s irresistible. You can resist him.
He looks at you and smirks, “My problem is standing right in front of me.”
Oh, yeah, you can resist him.
“Do the fucking dishes, clean the kitchen, you made a huge fucking mess,” you complain with a roll of your eyes.
Gator snorts, moves past you and drops his plate in the sink, “Alright, mom.”
“Don’t do that,” you huff, moving to the refrigerator and opening the door. You’ve been thinking about the last of the lemonade all day. There was enough for one glass. However, upon inspection, Gator’s drank it all and left a tiny bit at the bottom. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“What?” he turns to see what you’re upset about as you hold the plastic jug up. Then he shrugs, “I left you some.”
You slam the jug on the counter by the sink and huff out, “You’re so annoying. I’m going to change and then I’m going to the gym. So you can go ahead and do whatever it is you do.”
“Wait!” he whines, “I wanna go.”
You freeze, because you and Gator used to go to the gym together every time. But he hasn’t gone with you since the break up. It was a pretty big way you two spent time together. In fact, you’d hated going to the gym until you went with Gator. Him going with you blurs the lines a bit and you’ve been really good at keeping them crystal clear.
“Gator, we’re broken up,” you say.
He scoffs, “Yeah, I know. It’s just the gym, ain’t like I’m asking for sex. Jesus Christ.”
Your heart beats a little faster at the mention of sex because if you’re totally honest with yourself, that is something you did miss. Quite a lot. Hell, you haven’t had an orgasm since the last one he gave you. A whole month ago. Your routines were still the same, waking up and going to bed at the same time so there weren't a lot of opportunities to get one by yourself in.
“Fine. But you’re cleaning the kitchen as soon as we get back,” you huff before stomping to the bedroom to get changed.
At the gym, it’s even worse. You’re on the stair master and you can see Gator across the way, and you’re just watching in awe. He’s sweaty, his muscles are flexing and you’re thinking about how it felt to be wrapped in his arms.
He lifts his weights and the muscles are truly bulging. You should look away. You have a very good reason for breaking up with him in the first place, but watching him work out has you practically forgetting that reason.
Gator was definitely toxic. He’d gotten a bit better the longer you two were dating but it just wasn’t enough. Perhaps you guys were just too different. It was a snowball effect, basically. Enough little things that piled up to the point you couldn’t handle it anymore. You had to break up with him.
But there he is, looking so fucking good so effortlessly. And you forget every awful thing he did in the three years you’ve been together.
You think about your friends and how upset they’d be, how they’d tell you they told you so. Hell, they probably have a bet going. This isn’t exactly the first time you and Gator have broken up, but it’s lasted the longest. And that’s a good sign. So you peel your eyes away, lock your eyes back on your phone.
Gator keeps tossing and turning in bed. Every time he does, he pushes the little pillow barrier into you. And you push it back every time. The struggle goes on five or six times before Gator’s yanking the pillows up and tossing them off the bed.
“Would you go to sleep?” you seethe, turning to look at him.
“I’m fuckin’ tryin’,” he groans, kicking his legs in irritation. Sometimes Gator gets restless legs at night. When you were together, you’d help by rubbing lotion on them and giving him a bit of a massage. But you’re not together, so you’re not doing that.
Looking at him a little closer, you realize that’s not his problem. His face is flushed and he looks over at you with all too familiar eyes. He chews on his bottom lip and has the nerve to look needy. Oh, hell no. Absolutely not. You two are not doing that. You broke up for a reason.
You open your mouth, about to scold him but he speaks first.
“Could we cuddle?”
And you almost break. Almost. The longing tone in his voice ignites embers deep in the pit of your stomach and nearly takes your breath away. You clear your throat before asking, “Hypothetically, if I say yes, is something hard gonna poke me?”
Gator laughs, that raspy voice is tempting you to say yes to cuddling. Regardless if he’s got a boner.
And he does admit, “Yeah, probably.”
“Alright. That’s definitely a no, then.”
He whines then, “Come on! Please? I just wanna cuddle, I can’t sleep. It’ll help me sleep. I won’t do anything.”
“Gator, I know you,” you argue. “You’ll start humping me.”
He scoffs, “It’s not my fault, it’s your asses fault. For being humpable.”
Which makes you giggle and shove at him. He grabs your wrist and keeps your hand against his bare chest. Pouts his lips and says, “Come on. Just a cuddle.”
“No, Gator,” you pull your hand back and roll over.
“Geez, alright, you’re a real fuckin ice queen,” he mumbles, rolling over onto his other side.
Another bout of him tossing and turning before he grabs his phone, rolls out of bed and goes stomping toward the door.
“Are you actually gonna go jerk off in the bathroom?” you guffaw.
“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” he groans, slamming the door on his way out.
And you lay there, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about what he’s doing. You can picture it clearly. You’ve watched Gator jerk off a handful of times, you know how he does it. Well, at least how he does it when he knows you’re watching.
He likes it to be really wet, either with spit or lube or lotion. And you have a big bottle of lotion in the bathroom, so you imagine him pumping some into his palm and spreading it over his impressive cock. That was part of why letting go in the past was hard, impossible even— Gator had a really, really nice dick. Long and thick, round head, curved slightly to the right. You used to be obsessed with it. Fuck, maybe you still are because you’re imagining him stroking it with a ton of lotion. His phone is probably playing some porn, set on the bathroom counter while he tugs at his cock. And it’s making you uncomfortably wet. You can feel it on your thighs, you consider touching yourself but you’re certain you don’t have time. Gator will be back soon.
So what you actually do is put the pillow barrier back up and lay back down.
Gator comes back a couple minutes later, heaves a really dramatic but happy sigh and dives into the bed.
“You’re disgusting,” you say for good measure.
“Jerked off to your nudes,” he snorts, rolling on his side and pulling the blankets to his side.
The thing is, Gator hasn’t told his dad that you two are broken up. So every Sunday, you go with him to church and then brunch at the ranch. And you hate it, you’re not really the religious type but in the past, you compromised because it’s a big part of Gator’s life. Or, well, his dad makes it a big part of his life.
Gator’s behavior isn’t exactly god honoring. You’ve never seen him pray aside from church and meals with his family. You know he’s got some secrets, he won’t ever really talk to you about work. Always says he can’t and you never really pushed, because you didn’t want to know what Gator got up to. You knew the way his dad ran stuff was pretty corrupt so you figured the less you knew the better.
“Why haven’t you told him?” you grumble, in the passenger side of Gator’s pickup.
He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on the road and takes a long pull from his vape. The smoke billows out, acidic and artificial strawberry scent filling the cab. You roll down your window, watching as the smoke is sucked out down the highway.
In a stern and strained voice, Gator says, “I can’t.”
You know better than to push right now. You don’t need Gator in a bad mood at the ranch. That never ends well. So you sigh, look out the window and prepare yourself for the lying. Roy always pressures you and Gator to get married and start making babies. It’s a whole thing.
The sermon goes fine, all things considered. Gator holds your hand during it and you let him because otherwise his dad would know something was up. He picks up on body language. Like he has some sixth sense for it.
At one point though, Roy mentions how couples living together premaritally are living in sin. And he stares right at you and Gator as he says it. Gator goes rigid at that, so you squeeze his hand. You get it a little bit, but seriously, Gator is a grown man. He should stand up to his dad at some point.
During the meal after, Roy says to you and Gator, “Glad you two could make it.”
You guys come every single Sunday.
Then he says, “What did you think of the sermon?”
You nod, “It was lovely.”
Gator puts his hand on yours and nods in agreement. Then Roy asks, “And the premarital part? Mentioned that especially for you two. You can repent and repent but there are some things the Lord just won’t forgive ya for.”
God, the strength it takes for you to not roll your eyes. You just look at Gator, he’s the one that put you in this mess in the first place. He nods again, “Heard loud and clear. I’ve been thinking about it, praying on it.”
“It’s in your hands, son,” Roy says, “God and I have given you all the guidance we can, you just gotta get your shit together and listen.”
“I know, dad, I will,” he says, looking like a scolded puppy.
And you just look at him because this is just making it all worse. His dads just gonna be more pissed the longer they drag this on because Gator is not planning on marrying you, you’re fucking broken up!
You help clean up, like the women do at the ranch while all the men sit around the table and talk. Gator looks so stiff, on edge and you feel guilty. You’re the one who broke up with him, but there was only so many times you could tell him you were unhappy. He wasn’t doing anything to fix it. But you feel bad, so you rub his shoulder comfortingly between picking up things from the table. You play nice with Roy’s wife and daughters, along with her parents.
But you’re so relieved when Gator walks into the kitchen and says to you, “It’s time to go, darlin’.”
You have Gator some time to stew on the way home. You wanted him to feel bad. But as soon as you get in the door, you tell him, “You have to fucking tell him, Gator. I can’t do that shit anymore. I feel like they’re all staring at me and judging me and think I’m this big fucking whore just because you and I live together.”
“I know,” he whispers, sits on the couch and starts taking his boots off.
It’s quiet, you don’t like that. You want him to fight back, you realize. So you put your hand on your hips and say to him, “Well, fucking do it. Stop being a fucking coward.”
That seems to work, he stands and raises his voice, “I can’t fucking do it, you don’t get it. You’re just a fucking selfish lil brat. You ain’t ever thinking about anyone but yourself.”
“I spent way too fucking long not being selfish, Gator! I did— fuck, I’m still doing it for you, I can’t do it anymore,” you exclaim, your heart racing as you feel tears prickling your eyes. You always cry when you’re angry, you wish you didn’t. Especially because Gator usually bitches about it. Like he does now.
“Oh, my god, don’t start fuckin’ crying! I already feel bad, stop trying to make it worse,” Gator spits out, stepping closer to you.
“I ain’t doing it on purpose, Gator! I can’t help it, I just fucking cry when I’m mad,” you explain, wiping the tears away.
“Why are you so mad? Was I that fuckin’ awful?” he asks, stepping even closer and raising his brows.
You look up at him, hating that he can be so intimidating. Gator never gets physical, but he will yell at you. He’ll scream in your face until he gets what he wants. But you can do it too, can’t you?
“You were! You were really fucking awful! You never ask about my day, you never wanna talk about things, you never ask what I wanna do. It’s all about you and I’m supposed to just go along with it,” you argue back, poking his chest for emphasis.
His eyes drop down to where your finger is, and he smiles. It feels eerie, but also, Gator has a lovely smile and you can’t help but warm up to him a bit. Especially when he grabs your wrist and moves it behind your back, using his experience to his advantage. His other hand grabs your other wrist and he’s got you detained easily. You hate that it turns you on, but it does.
He leans down, you can feel his breath fan against your face as he asks, “Yeah? You want me to fucking worship you, is that it?”
Heat bubbles in your core, you inhale sharply and lean into him. You do want that. Your voice is shaky, quiet when you say, “Yes.”
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he laughs, “See, that makes things a bit complicated, darlin’. I wanna be worshipped, you wanna be worshipped… how we supposed to manage that?”
“We can’t,” you exhale, “That’s why we’re broken up.”
“But you want me to worship you, and I want you to worship me. So we ain’t gonna be all that happy apart, are we?” Gator points out, and he isn’t wrong.
“Uh…”
“You want me, I want you. Why should we deprive ourselves of that?” Gator purrs, nose nudging against yours. His eyes are dark, needy again.
You swallow then, “‘Cause one of us is gonna be unhappy.”
“Compromise, baby,” Gator leans down an inch more, captures your lips in a kiss. It’s not urgent, it’s hesitant, like he’s giving you an opportunity to reject him. And it’s a bit of a compromise from him already. Giving you more agency in the situation. He compromises further by letting go of your wrists, but your hands immediately go into his hair while you deepen the kiss, messing up the gel cast. You like when his hair gets all floppy.
His hands cup your jaw, catching up with the pace, he licks against your lower lip and you open for him. Gator kisses you filthy, walks you backwards to the dinner table and pushes you back onto it. He stands, pushing your dress up and tugs down your underwear. You kick your heels off and aid in the movement, lifting your hips so he can expose your core. This is definitely a compromise. Gator never goes down on you. But here he is, pulling your ass to the edge of the table before getting on his knees. You spread your legs, gazing down at him in awe.
Those big eyes look up at you, large hands wrapping around your thighs as he inches closer. Gator kisses your pussy, tenderly. Then you feel his tongue, rigid as it moves up and down your folds. You gasp and cry out, watching him as he licks at you. His tongue circles your clit, teasing you. He won’t quite put his tongue on it, so you narrow your eyes at him.
“Don’t tease, Gator, that’s not nice.”
“Who the hell said I’m nice?” he snorts as he pulls back, squeezing your thighs.
“No one,” you admit on an exhale, “but I want you to be nice to me.”
“Hmm,” he thinks on it, “Yeah, I guess you deserve it, huh?”
You nod at him, “I do. I’m so nice to you all the time. Just want you to be nice to me.”
“I’m nice to you,” he rolls his eyes, and then he finally gets his tongue back on you. Broad on your clit, moves his head up and down and then side to side.
Your back arches, feeling waves of euphoria run through you. Gator keeps his eyes on you, like he’s gauging your reaction. He needs the guide, because he really doesn’t ever do this to you. And it’s unfortunate because really, Gator is actually so good at it.
Curling his tongue around your clit, he pulls a hand from your thigh and you feel two fingers prod at your entrance. He gives a short laugh, because he feels how goddamn soaked you are. He pulls them away though, like he was just checking but then his tongue sinks down and slides into your center. You moan out, hand slipping into his floppy hair and you pull him closer. His strong nose bumps against your clit and the sensation makes your eyes cross.
Gator laughs again, but you like that he’s watching you so intently. He stays at it for a bit, tongue lapping at your hole. Slides in and out, while his nose continues brushing against your clit in the most delicious way. And you think, Gator looks really good like this, his mouth out of view but his nose rubbing against you while his eyes gaze up at your face. His brows lift with it, causing small wrinkles in his forehead. You tug his hair, writhing against his face.
Now, you’ve not had an orgasm in a month and Gator doesn’t usually eat you out, so it’s not a huge shock that you’re approaching a climax this quickly. But you are a little bummed, because you wanted this to last longer. So you pull his hair back, pulling him off.
“Fuck, I’m close,” you explain, chest heaving.
Gator squints at you, “Isn’t that a good thing? Why you pulling me away?”
“Don’t wanna cum that quick,” you complain.
“Takin’ that as a compliment,” he says before diving back in, licking enthusiastically. This time his eyes close and he starts basically making out with your pussy. Sloppy, yet firm. It pushes you over the edge, legs snapping closed and trapping him there. You shake with the orgasm, crying out as you tug at his hair.
“Fuuuck! Gator, yes! Oh, my god!”
You collapse, letting him go as you lay back on the table and attempt to catch your breath.
But Gator’s pulling back, standing up and undressing himself. Practically rips the buttons of his shirt off and then goes for his pants, “Okay, it’s my turn.”
You sigh and sit up, but his excitement is unfortunately cute. So you can’t be too annoyed. And really, you used to give Gator a blow job pretty much every day. He hasn’t had one in a month.
You stand then, pulling the hair tie from your rider and tying your hair up. Gator pulls his briefs down and his cock springs out, fully erect and god, is it gorgeous. You really did miss it. He leans against the table and you get on your knees, looking up at him.
“Thought about you doing this every fucking day,” he groans out.
With a roll of your eyes, you wrap your fingers around his cock, “See how I spoil you? All I’m asking is you return the favor sometimes.”
“I make you cum all the time,” he points out, his voice a little shaky as you squeeze the base of his cock.
“Uh huh, you do, but I want to feel like it’s all about me sometimes,” you tell him before rubbing the tip of his cock against your lips. You give him a lick before asking, “Think you can manage that?”
“Yeah,” he breathes, eyebrows furrowed with those needy eyes looking down at you, “Promise.”
You wrap your lips around him, licking against the ridge where the tip meets the shaft and Gator whines out. You have to admit you missed this. Turning him into a whiny mess was so fun to do. He grabs the edge of the table for support as you continue to tease at his sensitive spot. And Gator has a real pretty voice. Especially when he’s whimpering and whining. It’s so cathartic to get through that tough guy exterior and bring him to a desperate puddle. And honestly, it’s probably good for Gator too. He wasn’t an awful boyfriend all the time, sometimes he’d rub your feet while you made him watch trash reality television.
His hand wraps around your ponytail and he pushes you down further on his cock, the stretch makes the corners of your lips sting but that’s because you’re a little bit out of practice. You inhale through your nose and follow his guidance, sinking down on him until your nose meets the curly hair at his base. The musky aroma fills your nostrils, makes your eyes roll back because you absolutely love the way Gator smells. Whether it’s because it’s genuinely good or just pheromones, you may never know, but you bask in it as you swallow around him.
Gator groans, low and drawn out. Then he pulls your hair, dragging your lips back towards his tip. Repeating that a few times before he lets you decide the pace. Compromise. Look at him learning.
“Fuckin’ perfect, love the way you take it,” he mumbles out, head tilted as he watches you. “Like being a good girl for me, don’t you?”
You answer by swallowing around him again, blinking up at him with wide eyes because you do. You like when he praises you. Your hand moves from his thigh up to cup his balls, cradling them in your palm and he whimpers out. Looks down at you all pathetic and needy and fuck, you can’t let this man go. You’re a fool to think you could in the first place.
Pulling off his cock, you use your hand to stroke him while you move your mouth down to his balls. You lick, broadly at the seam before sucking one into your mouth. Gator cries out, head falling back a bit while his hips jerk forward. His stomach muscles flex and twitch as you roll his ball around against your tongue.
You move to the other, not wanting to neglect it as you continue stroking Gator’s pulsing length in your hand. He’s vocal, so vocal. A mess with it, really.
“Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s it, oh, shit, fuck, you’re such a good girl, holy shit…”
Now, you wrap your lips around his tip again and sink all the way down until your nose meets that mess of curls again. Gator thrusts into you and you let him, he fucks your face for a beat before he’s pulling you off, hand grabbing your ponytail.
“Fuck! Almost came, holy shit,” he pants out, lips turned up in a smile that makes you melt.
“Isn’t that the point?” you tease.
“Nah,” he pulls the hair tie from your hair and pulls you up, “That’s just the warm up, babe, you know that.”
He kisses you, which is also something he doesn’t usually do. Not after you’ve had his cock and balls in your mouth. More of that glorious compromise. He lifts you up, you wrap your legs around him and Gator carries you to the bedroom. He puts you down gently on the bed, crawling on top of you and continuing the kiss. Deepens it, licks into your mouth as he grabs the hem of your dress and starts to pull it up. The kiss breaks so he can pull it over your head, leaving you just as naked as he is. Your hands skate across his hairy chest, as his lips connect with your jaw and down your neck. Then, across your clavicle and move down to your breasts, he cups them in his hands, pushes them up as he plants sloppy kisses against your cleavage. Then he licks against your pert nipple, pulls back and blows on it.
You whine, back arching at the sensation. Fuck, he’s listening. He’s giving you what you asked for.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, before wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking. He licks again, eyes looking up to see how you react.
Biting your lip, you smile, nodding softly. Gator mirrors the smile, then moves to the other nipple. Licks and sucks, the pad of his thumb toying with the other one. Your body shivers from the stimulation.
“Feels so good, Gator,” you tell him.
He pulls back, pushes your hair back and smiles, “I know how to do that, ya know.”
“I do know,” you admit, reaching up to caress his face. He leans into it. Because he needs it. You know he needs softness, it’s the only way he can heal from his upbringing. You feel a little guilty.
Then he leans down and kisses you, writhes against you and you feel his cock against your pussy. Hot, rigid and pulsing. You meet the movement, grinding up against him. Gator moans into the kiss, rolls his hips a little harder this time. The tip of his cock catches against your clit and it’s your turn to moan. He stills, keeps the trajectory right and then rolls his hips again. Your clit rubs against the head of his cock and it’s delicious and heady. Makes your legs spread on their own volition, inviting the pleasure.
His hand moves between your bodies, gripping his cock as he guides the tip through your folds down to your entrance. He pushes, just slightly. Teasingling, he circles your hole. You gasp, Gator licks into your mouth as he simultaneously slips his cock inside you. Then, you moan in sync and you can feel the vibration of his voice in your mouth. Gator sinks in deeper, inch by inch, excruciatingly slow until he’s as deep as he can get. Your body tingles, warm with euphoria as you cling to his biceps.
Gator stills for a beat, licking and moaning into your mouth like the desperate and needy boy he is. Your hips roll up, though Gator’s own hips have you pinned down but you’re eager for friction. He doesn’t let you have it. He presses down a little firmer into you, grabbing your hands like he thinks you might do something with them. He pins them above your head, licks again, real filthy into your mouth. Your tongues meet, it’s sloppy, messy.
You feel anticipation building, needing Gator to move so fucking bad you might explode. But he doesn’t. He licks once more before he pulls back, “You my girl?”
“Huh?” you blink, confused by him.
“Are you my girl?” he repeats, looking down at you expectantly.
“Gator—“
“Tell me, tell me you’re my fuckin’ girl and I’ll give you exactly what you want,” he says, voice gruff, “But I gotta hear it.”
You swallow hard, you need him to move but you’re a bit stubborn. However, you’re realistic. This whole thing means you’re getting back together. So you lock your eyes on his, lick your lips and say, “I’m your girl, Gator. All yours.”
Gator grins, “Always were, huh?”
“Yes,” you confess with a nod.
He finally, finally, rears his hips back, dragging his cock back against your spongy walls before slamming back into you. The force of it punches a moan out of you, loud and piercing.
He lets go of your hands, moves his hand to your throat. Not applying pressure, but keeping a grip on you as he thrusts back and forth. The friction is exactly what you’d been dying for, Gator’s fat cock stretching you out in such a satisfying way. You can’t believe you gave this up for a whole month. Your hands move to his shoulders, then scratch down his back and he pumps in and out of you.
“Fuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as his cock drills deep into you and then he pulls out completely. You whine at the loss, but he slips back in.
Gator presses his face against the side of yours, moaning as he drives his hips in and out. Your lips lazily find each other’s, kissing sloppily. His hand reaches down, thumb finding your clit and he rubs quick, firm circles against it.
It’s not long before that powerful bliss finds you, crashing into your body in eye rolling waves. Your vision goes white as you writhe against Gator. When you come down from the high, he’s pulling out and painting your navel in thick white ropes. He collapses next to you and catches his breath, his spunk going cold as you lay there. But, he does something he doesn’t usually do. Again. Compromise.
He rolls over and kisses your cheek, cups your jaw and tilts you over for another soft kiss on the lips. Then he’s up and retrieving a towel to clean you up with.
As he’s doing so, you ask him, “So, now that we’re back together, why couldn’t you tell your dad we broke up?”
Gator sighs, tossing the towel to the floor. He puts his hands on your waist as he looks at you, “It’d be just another thing I failed at. Just another fuckin example of me being a fuck up.”
“Gator…” you sit up and caress his jaw, “You’re not a fuck up… life throws shit at you. Failure’s happen. It doesn’t mean you’re a fuck up. You’ve always managed to find a way, huh? You don’t give up. You adapt. You’re good, Gator.”
He can’t look at you, eyes aimed down towards the bed. He shrugs, “That ain’t how he sees it.”
You lay down, pull him with you. Hooking your leg over his waist, curling up into him and kissing his shoulder. He wraps his arm around you.
Then he says, “Plus, I knew you didn’t really mean it. Why tell him when we was gonna get back together?”
“Oh, fuck you!” you roll your eyes but you’re smiling. Because he’s right.
Summary: During a fair organized by Sheriff Roy Tillman to celebrate the great harvest of the season, Gator patrols through the crowd. However, among the crowd, you appear and steal all of his attention, and he can't think about anything other than this girl he has never seen before.
Pairing: Gator Tillman x Fem!reader
Word count: 9.1k
Warning: smut, p in v, protected sex, power and some other kinks, doggy, cowgirl, car sex, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, spanking, pet names, no use of y/n
Note: Hey! First of all, English is not my first language, so keep that in mind as you read. Secondly, this is my first full-on smut fanfic. I was inspired to write it when I went to a kind of harvest fair in a state next to mine, saw police walking through the crowd, and, picturing Gator between them, I thought of a few things I ended up writing here for you. Hope you enjoy it!
AO3 link | Wattpad link masterlist
It’s another of Roy’s events to promote himself to get elected next year, and this one is to celebrate the great harvest from the last season, a harvest that was so gracious that some of the best are displayed around the fair.
A beautiful street fair was organized in a grand land of the Tillman’s, normally used for festivities just like that one. There are many food booths and amusement rides, with country songs playing from the booths' sound boxes, along with a lot of live music around the fair on small stages, alongside the main one.
There is a festive atmosphere in the air, with children laughing with their parents, kids running towards amusement rides like the carousel, older teens giggling at each other, couples holding hands.
Even though with the lightness of the moment, while Roy does his political thing around the fair, greeting families and elders and lecturing between concerts at the main stage, trying to buy votes and wooing some voters for his next election campaign, he designated Gator to guard the fair.
Gator has a team of deputies working with him to make the fair safe and enjoyable for everyone. They were divided into smaller groups and spread throughout the event to conduct patrols. They are in their duty clothes, usually beige or military cargo pants, a neutral shirt, a bulletproof vest over it, and some even carry a gun or a baton at their waist, as well as tasers.
Gator and a smaller group of debuties, four of them, are leaning back in a knockdown booth, looking around for any suspect moves, being from some drunk dude, or someone trying to jeopardize Roy’s election.
Gator is smoking his vape lazily while one of his feet is on the wall of the booth, looking at the crowd, scanning faces. And then his eyes land on you, finding your eyes already on him.
You pass with your two girlfriends in front of him and his men, your eyes locked on his face since you found him five minutes ago. You check him out, looking him up and down, with a smirk on your lips as you bite your lower lip.
Gator follows you with his gaze, smoking out his vape, checking you out as well, oogling you shamelessly, pushing off the wall and straightening up, not breaking eye contact until you turn your head and get lost in the crowd.
He smiles smugly to himself, lifting his chin a little bit, proud of the attention he received from you, on how you were looking at him with those malicious eyes of yours. He shakes his head slightly, adjusting himself in his cargo jeans, trying to turn back to do his job, which seems impossible now.
Around 15 minutes later, Gator and his boys walk past the crowd to their next stop, close to one of the small stages. When he is walking ahead of his team, leading his men with them forming a line behind him. Meanwhile, you are walking towards him through the crowd.
His eyes widen slightly in recognition, then get a little dark at the sight of you again. Lifting his chin again, he smirks cockily to himself while keeping his eyes glued on you; he even puffs his chest a little.
You are talking over your shoulder to one of your friends behind you, leading your little group as well, while holding her hand to guide her through the crowd. And you turn ahead of you, your gaze finds his instantly.
Gator notices how your breath hitches just a little, but quickly your mouth changes into a naughty smile, holding his gaze, your eyes showing a mischief that sends a wave of desire down his pants again.
You pass by his side again, but since there are a lot of people around, too crowded, and he would even think that you want to even if it isn’t, you pass really close to him, brushing your arm against his, your fingers touching, even hooking slightly against one of his as well, for just a fraction of a second.
Even after you pass through him, he watches you go over his shoulder. You glance once to see if he is watching you, smirking proudly when the answer is positive, turning your head ahead again.
Even if you are not looking at him anymore, he can’t seem to be able to take his eyes off you. Gator even slows his pace, making the line behind him with his workmates slow down and be called to hurry again. He shakes his head, putting his mind in place, at least mildly, and returns to his initial pace again, heading to the designated stage.
Eventually, Gator gets him and his men to their next spot at the side of a small stage. He finds his spot at the edge of the stage, he stands with his legs slightly apart, one hand at his back while he vapes with the other.
He doesn't pay much attention to the band playing, mostly bouncing his head slightly at the beat of the song. He is just looking around the crowd in front of the stage and in the surroundings when his eyes find you again.
You approach the area around the stage with your girls, giggling and smiling lightly, probably from something they must have said.
Now that he can take a proper look at you, he pays attention to what you are wearing: a brown pair of cowboy boots that go to the middle of your leg, a pair of dark blue skirt jeans that go until the middle of your thigh, and a white sleeveless vest with buttons in front of it.
When he notices you are not wearing a bra under your vest, with no sign of a lace or a bra strap, and your nipples are slightly hard against the clothing, he wets his lips and bites his bottom lip.
He watches you, the way you move your hips at the beat of the country song, your hands up in the air, excited, the way your feet do some dance moves along with your friends, making all of you laugh in delight.
Gator is not even trying to be subtle; he is no longer worrying about doing his job. The only thing he can pay attention to now is you.
After a couple of minutes, you turn fully towards the stage, clapping your hand and cheering at the band when they finish a song, and you find him beside the stage, shamelessly looking lustfully at you.
Gator catches the moment your eyes land on him, and in how you bite your lip and grin at him, making his cargo pants become slightly tight around his groin again. When the next song starts to play, you start moving, dancing, without taking your eyes from him.
Still smoking his vape, he glues his eye on you like a hawk; the need in his eyes is undeniable. You continue to look directly at him, your hands sliding up and down from your sides, following the curve of your body until up your hair.
You slide your hands up, tangling in your hair, lifting your chin slightly with your lips a little apart, eyes still locked on his. You move your hips during the process, following the rhythm of the music.
You turn your back to him, looking over your shoulder just one time to see if he is still watching you, and with your back to him, you swing your hips, twerking quietly even, shaking your ass at the beat of the song, dancing with your friends while doing this little show for him.
Gator frowns in lust and desire when you turn your back to him. His eyes go dark; he wets his lips and looks with such thirst that all the world around you becomes a blur, his attention only on you.
The way you ass move, your hands running around your side, makes him think of your hands being his. Makes him think about how it must be the sensation of his hands holding your waist while you grind against his hips. Makes him think about a lot of things he can do with you.
But when he is about to imagine these numerous and delicious scenarios, his pants get even tighter on his groin. Even so, with possibly a visible boner he doesn't care about trying to hide, a guy approaches you from your side.
His breath is taken away when the guy places his hand on your lower back and whispers something in your ear. You glance over your shoulder at Gator, and when your eyes meet for just a fraction of a second, the mischief in your eyes is enough to make Gator’s head spin.
You turn back to the guy, smiling widely, placing both of your hands over his shoulder while he pulls you to dance with him, a hand on your lower back while his other hand has a beer can, his back facing Gator.
Gator is not necessarily jealous, because how could he be? He doesn't know you; he has never seen you before tonight, but even so, something is unsettling resting on his chest. Rejection? Fear? Envy?
He swallows drily while watching with his full attention as you spin and laugh with the guy speaking too close to your ear, saying some shit to make you giggle like that. Though your laughs are for the guy, your eyes never leave Gator; your eyes have been locked on his since he first approached you.
Gator looks suspiciously at you for some seconds, his face becoming a scowl, his wrinkles between his eyebrows so deep, and his nostrils so wide, that it is noticeable how pissed he might be.
But then he notices something, putting his vape, way back, forgotten between his fingers, away in his front pocket, to watch the show with full attention and curiosity, using his investigative skills to read the situation.
You start to dance as you did before, but now your hands are replaced by the guy’s hands, dancing along with you. You are facing Gator again, your back barely brushing the guy’s chest. Your eyes locked on Gator’s.
Your gaze from before intensifies, darkening a little, and then it clicks. You are dancing to Gator, seducing him, doing in a minor intensity with the guy what you are willing to do with Gator.
His hands hover over your body, your curves, brushing slightly along your arm, his lips brushing slightly at the hair at the side of your head.
Every time the guy tries to be too smart, touching in places close to where you are needy for Gator, or even gripping you, you slap the guy’s hand away.
The only person allowed to touch you like that tonight is Gator, and no one else, and Gator notices it just by the way you part your lips slightly, looking directly at him, biting them with lust and need.
Eventually, you turn your back to Gator again, your hands resting lazily on the guy's shoulders. Gator has had his eyes locked on you since the beginning, but now, with a different feeling inside of him, there is no doubt that he will have you for himself tonight.
When you glance over your shoulder to see if he is still watching you, you smile widely and slyly to yourself when the answer is positive. When you face the guy in front of you again, he leans in to kiss you. You dodge, pulling back from him, smiling politely at him, and shaking your head in denial.
Gator notices the rejection hits the guy, and, with an angry look on his face, he starts talking back to you as you are about to leave.
He grabs your forearm, spinning you to face him again. But before Gator could step in, you punched the guy hard and straight in the nose, and he instantly starts to bleed and groan in pain.
This all happened so quickly, in less than five seconds.
Besides his father, who thinks women must be submissive and men should be the ones to protect, Gator always had a soft spot for and huge respect for women who know how to throw a punch.
So when he sees you defending yourself since he can’t at the moment, his dick gets so hard that it's painful.
You glance at Gator after you punched the guy, and he mouths to you to leave, firmly. When you nod in response, taking his order, already grabbing your friends by their wrists, you get lost in the crowd again.
Gator lets you vanish, then points to the punched guy and announces to his team that he is going to see what happened there, taking the quest to resolve it.
Gator walks lazily towards the guy, grabbing his vape from his front pocket again while his thumb from his free hand is tucked into the waistband of his pants. “Something’s wrong here, big guy?” he asks, uninterested, blowing smoke at the corner of his mouth, looking away at the guy with scorn.
“That bitch just punched me in the face!” The guy exclaims, his hand under his nose, still whining a little from before, blood starting to dry beneath his touch.
When the guy calls you that, Gator freezes, his vape lifting halfway through his mouth. He turns his head slowly back to the guy, chuckling bitterly at him. Gator straightens up, not caring that the guy is taller than him; he is not letting him call you that.
He looks dead at the guy, putting the vape away in his front pocket again while his other hand rests threateningly at the holster where his gun is at his thigh. “I saw you, fucking piece of shit, grabbing her arm because you couldn’t handle a no from a lady,” Gator says menacingly, hissing through his teeth.
“So don’t be a little baby crying about receiving what you deserve,” he takes a step closer to the guy, who widens his eyes in fear, “and I better not find you again tonight, or I’ll take you to a five-star hotel to watch the sun rise behind bars, you hear me?”
The guy doesn’t even say a word, just nods and steps away slowly, getting lost in the crowd just like you did earlier. When he loses sight of the guy, Gator returns to his team. “C’mon, let’s do another route,” he instructs, already heading away, his men following him behind.
After a couple of minutes walking through the ground, heading towards the Ferris wheel, Gator catches you in the crowd again, some meters ahead of him. You are in a table along with your friends drinking a beer, when your eyes find him as well.
You grin widely at him, then you turn to your friends, leaning over the table to whisper to them. Gator sees your friend glancing towards him, then turning back to you with a knowing look, taking a lipstick and a little notebook from her bag, and giving them to you.
Gator looks at the scene with curiosity. You write something down, ripping the paper off the notebook, and giving the lipstick back to your friend. You stand up, fixing your skirt, and start to walk towards him. Just like before, you pass by his side, but now you place the note on his hand when you walk past him.
Gator grabs the paper from your hand and takes his chance to lace his finger around yours for just a second before letting go. He tucks his hand into his front pocket, heading to the Ferris Wheel, glancing over his shoulder to find you doing the same, winking at him with a laugh leaving from your lips.
Gator smiles to himself, looking ahead again, puffing his chest again. He and the boys arrive at the wheel, staying at the side. After a minute there, he turns to his boy beside him, “I'm going to take a shit, man, something I must have eaten something bad, might take a while,” he lies, patting his colleague’s shoulder while already walking away before his deputy could say something.
When he is far enough from the Ferris wheel, he grabs the note from his pocket, opens it, reads it, and finds your handwriting in red lipstick: “meet me at your car ♡ ”.
“How the fuck this girl knows my car?” he murmurs to himself, shrugging just afterward, putting the note in his back pocket, and heading to the parking lot, a smug and excited smile on his lips.
About five minutes later, outside the fair, walking in the parking lot, at the back and dark part of it, his Jeep comes into view, and a gorgeous girl is sitting on the hood of it: you, scrolling through your phone.
You lift your head from your phone when you hear footsteps approaching. You grin widely, and you see Gator coming towards you, so you put your phone away in your back pocket. You straighten your posture, your elbow resting on your knees, your legs on the car's bumper.
“Took you long enough, officer,” you tease, watching him get closer, stopping just a couple of steps in front of you.
Gator has his thumbs tucked into his waistband, looking down at you, admiring you as you sit on the hood of his car, a mischievous smile on his lips.
“It’s deputy, ma’am,” he corrects you, taking a step closer, resting his hands on your knees, not taking his eyes off you.
You raise your eyebrow, smirking, “Oh, so you are the kind of guy who likes the titles you have, deputy?” You chuckle, oogling him, wetting your lips slightly, parting your legs to receive him between them.
“I like to call things the name they owe, actually,” he says suggestively, taking another step forward, your knees brushing just above his waistband around his hips, his hands sliding up from your knees to your thighs.
“Is that so?” you smirk, chuckling, hooking your finger under his belt buckle and pulling him properly between your legs, his knees touching the front of his car, your faces just apart enough to look at each other, “so which one is for me?” you whisper seductively, looking from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes.
Leaning over you, whispering against your mouth, his hot breath brushing against your lips, "for now?” Gator chuckles, “You're mine,” and crashes his lips against yours.
He places one hand at the lower part of your back, pulling you at the edge of the hood, your legs instinctively wrapping around his legs, pressing his hip against yours. His other hand tangles in your hair while you hold him by the straps around his sheriff vest, pressing his body to yours.
Gator groans at the back of his throat, tilting your head by gripping a little harder at the roots of your hair to deepen the kiss. You gasp against his lips, making him smirk cockily against your lips.
“You like that, huh?” he holds your hair tighter, pulling your head back, your lips parting, desire in your eyes, no words needed to confirm his statement.
His eyes go darker, and a wider and sly smile appears on his lips. His other hand goes to your hip, his thumb grabbing the front while the others spread above the curve of your ass. He notices your phone there, grabs it, and tucks it into the back of his pants, then returns to hold you.
Gator holds you firmly while grinding against you, looking at you. You moan when his erection brushes against your panties, rolling your eyes back.
“Fuck,” he murmurs painfully, continuing to grind you, “you're so responsive,” he says breathlessly, then crashes your mouths again, open just like yours from your moans, both tongues crushing and rubbing inside each other's mouths.
You hum into his mouth with need, sending warmth waves directly to his cock. You hook your fingers on both sides of his cargo pants at the belt loops there, pulling him impossibly closer, willing to feel his hardness against your damp panties.
Gator bites your lower lip when he feels your heat through his pants, kissing you harder, cradling the back of your neck while deepening the kiss.
He slides his hand slowly from your hip to your thigh, his big hand sliding until the hem of your skirt, then going up beneath it, his hand running up to the waistband of your panties.
You moan into his mouth, pressing against him. Gator smirks against your lips, kissing down from your mouth to your cheekbone, jaw, until getting to your neck.
He pulls your head back by your hair, sucking, nipping, and kissing your neck open-mouthed and wet, his tongue spread wide while sucking.
You bite your lips, squeezing your eyes while moaning sweetly against his ear, making him thrust against you instinctively, taking a gasp from you.
While devouring your neck, leaving sucks marks all over your neck, marking you down, he hooks two fingers around the waistband of your panties.
“Can I?” he whispers while breathing against your ear, sending a jolt of desire through your core. You can't respond properly, too dizzy, just nodding back at his question.
“Use your words, baby girl,” he commands against your neck, sucking a little harder, making you gasp, squeezing your eyes even more, your grip on his vest tightening.
“Yes, please,” you plead in a whine, making him chuckle against your ear again, making you shiver down your spine just from his breath against it.
“Good girl,” he praises you, licking with his tongue spread wide at the column of your neck from your collarbone to your ear. He pulls the panties down your hips slowly, you lifting your hips to help him.
Gator pulls back from your neck, looking at you while he slides your panties to your knees. You open your eyes, breathless, seeing blurry, with him being the only thing in focus in your gaze.
He let go of the back of your neck, grabbing the other side of your panties to slide them off, stepping back. Without breaking eye contact with you, he kneels on the grass under his feet, pulling your panties down through your leg, passing through your boots, until he takes them off.
Still looking at you, he brings your panties to his face, shutting his eyes when he inhales your smell while groaning at the back of his throat, his eyes full with lust when he opens them and looks up at you again.
“If you smell like this,” Gator takes your panties and tucks them in his back pocket, “I can't wait to see how you taste, doll.” he grabs the hem of your skirt, pulling it over your hip, exposing your pussy to him.
“Oh Lord, you are dripping,” he whimpers painfully when he looks down at you, at your shining pussy so wet with your arousal, your own breath getting heavier just by seeing him looking at you like this.
Gator grabs both your legs, resting them over his shoulders. He pulls the hem of your skirt up until your waist, holding your thighs firmly. He locks his eyes with yours, kissing up from your knee to the inside of your thigh.
You throw your head back, your mouth apart, moaning sweetly at the feeling of his hot lips against your thigh, getting closer to where you need him the most. You pull yourself up in one hand against the hood while the other tangles into Gator's hair.
You look down on him with half-lidded eyes, biting your lower lip with desire, “You always fuck random girls at the hood of your car in dark parking lots?” You tease, chuckling weakly, feeling too dizzy to react with anything other than that.
Gator chuckles against your groin, feeling the heat radiating from your pussy on his cheek, still not breaking eye contact with you, “No, just the dirty ones,” he smirks to you just before diving on your pussy.
You throw your head back, shutting your eyes and crying out at the feeling of his mouth down on you. He licks your folds from your entrance to your clit, humming against your core, vibrating through your body, and sending shivers down your spine.
Gator savors you, his nose deep on your pubis, sliding his tongue inside of you now and then, rolling his eyes back just by the taste of you on his tongue.
After tasting you and getting drunk on your arousal, he sucks and licks your clit, his tongue spread against it, rubbing it.
He can't take his eyes off you, not only because he wants to see you writhing because of his mouth, but also to study you, to learn about you.
He watches how you react with different pressures of his tongue on your clit, and where and how you like it the most. He watches the way you tighten the grip on his hair when he licks you just right, drooling all over your pussy.
Shamelessly, you moan loudly, looking down and finding him looking with such attention towards you. You bite your lips at the sight of this man in a deputy uniform, on his knees, devouring you.
Gator grinds once against the bumper of his car to try to get some friction to his painful cock, trying to get some relief for himself.
One of his hands holds tighter on your hip while he releases the other from it. Still with his eyes on you, he takes his hand with two of his fingers sliding slowly inside you so easily from how wet you are for him.
“Ooooh fuuuck,” you whimper, buckling your hips towards his fingers and mouth, but he holds you down with one hand on your hip, pinning you against the hood of the car.
Gator curls his finger when he feels your spongy spot inside of you, pressing it, massaging deliciously, making your legs press against his head from the pleasure.
“That's it,” he praises against your core when he senses your walls clenching around his fingers, feeling your thighs getting tenser around his head, your breath hitching, your eyes squeezing shut, the grip on his hair tightening, “I got you, come for me, gorgeous.”
You feel the heat spreading from your core, up from your back to all over your body. Your body tenses fully, a strangled moan at the beginning of the release, becoming louder and guttural while you continue to come against his mouth.
Your hand on his hair is holding tighter, making him wince slightly from the pain, but this just adds more pleasure to him, while he still rides you off from your high, rubbing inside of you and your clit just slightly and slowly.
When your legs start to get shaky from overstimulation, and your breath follows with a high-pitched whine, Gator pulls back his mouth and slowly pulls his fingers from your core. You whimper slightly, from the overstimulation, but also from missing him inside of you already.
You almost cry out from the view of him between your legs, his nose, cheeks, mouth, and chin shining from his saliva and your arousal. You are wrecked, but he is just as wrecked as you.
Gator carefully takes your legs off his shoulder. He brings his fingers to his mouth, eyes still on you, while sucking your arousal off them.
You bite your lips, whining just by seeing him humming around his fingers, you press your thighs together, feeling another wave of desire rushing inside of you.
He stands up from the ground, a smirk on his face when his eyes drop to your shaky legs pressed together. Gator looks up at you again, one hand coming between your legs, spreading them for him to get closer to you again, while his other hand cradles the back of your neck.
He pulls you into a hungry kiss, you tasting you in his tongue that curls against yours. You groan against his mouth when you taste yourself, your hands going to his belt, starting to unbuckle it.
Gator chuckles against your mouth by the sound of the metal of his belt and the rubbing of your hands against his pants. He slides his free hand on your ass, squeezing it, making you gasp between kisses.
Without breaking the kiss, he palms your ass fully, pulling you off the hood of the car, standing you up. Gator presses you against the bumper of the car, his hand squeezing all your ass, moaning painfully against your lips. You feel the cold of the core in the parts you are bare, gasping slightly.
Gator pulls back, both of his hands going to your waist, where your skirt is lifted. You move your head forward, searching for his lips by reflex when he pulls away. Before you could protest, he spins you, making you face his car.
Gator grabs both of your wrists with one of his hands, holding you in place with them at your back. He presses your body against the bumper, pressing your back against his chest, pushing his boner against your ass, his free hand holding your hip firmly.
“See how hard I am for you, sugar?” He murmurs against the shell of your ear, biting your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine.
Gator kisses your neck, sucking and biting it, with his tongue out, savoring all he can of you, taking his time with you, thrusting at you, looking for some friction for himself.
“I saw you punching that guy, how you can take care of yourself," he confesses while, with his free hand, he finishes the work you started, “so I was wondering…”
Gator finishes unbuckling his belt, now zipping down his pants, “if I can take care of a good girl like you.”
You press your ass against his hips, feeling the cold of a part of the zipper of his pants but also the warmth at his lower belly and the fabric of his briefs against you, “I've been thinking about it since the first time I saw you,” you confess, looking over your shoulder at his eyes.
Gator chuckles, leaning to bite your earlobe one last time, soothing just after sucking a little, until with the hand on his pants, he pins you down against the hood of his car, your hands still locked with his on your back, your ass on full display for him.
You gasp at the movement, your cheek pressed against the hood of the car while looking back at him over your shoulder. Without releasing your wrists, you see him grab his wallet and take a condom out of it.
When he finds you looking at him, he smirks, dropping the wallet on the floor while putting the condom right above your butt cheek.
Without breaking eye contact, with one hand, he takes off his pants and briefs just enough to release himself, just a little above his knee. You can't see, but you feel his dick slapping your ass when he takes his boxers off.
You roll your eyes back, biting your lips while humming in desire. Gator's eyes go darker at your reaction, holding his cock by the base and rubbing the head against your butt cheek.
You feel the wet sensation of his pre cum at your skin, making you whine, “Seems like you're dripping as well, deputy,” you say breathless and need, shutting your eyes.
Gator smirks mischievously, letting go of his dick, now resting against your ass, and two of his fingers sliding between your folds. He moans gutturally, his eyebrows furrow, and his mouth forms an o.
“Jesus Christ, sugar,” he says in awe. The wet sound from your pussy, showing how wet you are for him, fills the air around you. You moan sweetly at the sensation of his fingers on you again, your head spinning.
He slides two fingers easily inside of you, moving his hand up and down inside of you, the wet sounds becoming louder just like your moans.
“You are so ready for me again,” he fucks you with his finger for some more seconds until taking them out, making you whimper from the absence, but before you could properly protest, he smacks your ass, making you bounce against the car and gasp in surprise and need.
Gator smirks proudly to himself at your reaction. He tightens the grip around your wrists, while looking back at you, he grabs the condom with his free hand, ripping it with his teeth. He spits the plastic away, placing the condom at the head and sliding it down his cock.
“I always wondered if men like you have a kink for arrest play,” you tease, chuckling, watching his arm move in a stroking motion to wrap the condom around his dick. “Guess I'm right.”
Gator raises an eyebrow at you, chuckling with amusement, finishing to put the condom on and looking back at you, “I like to put naughty girls in their place,” he smirks wider, rubbing the head of his dick through your folds, moving his hips slightly, making both of you moan at the sensation.
“God, you look so hot like that,” he palms your ass, squeezing it, spreading it apart, and then smacking it again, squeezing again just afterward, his hand rubbing against your ass, soothing it.
You gasp and moan when he hits you again, you sliding against his dick, seeking some release from your pleasure, throwing your hip back against his hips, feeling brushing your butt against his pubis.
“I wish I had my cuffs with me,” he admits, leaning towards you, pressing your butt against him while sliding his hands beneath your vest. He runs his nails against your back beneath your vest, leaving weak red paths along the way down your spine, “but I'll still teach you a lesson either way.”
Gator hums in approval, smacking your ass again, making an o with his lips again, biting his lower lip, appreciating the view of your ass like this to him. You bounce against his car, his dick sliding lazily between your wet, dripping folds, while seeing you move along with him.
“You are all talk and no real action, deputy,” You tease, smirking, still looking at him, humming slightly at his dick sliding between the lips of your pussy, “I'm starting to think I misjudged- ooooh fuck!”
Before you could even finish your sentence, looking in disbelief with a smug smile on his face while you accuse him with such dirty words, Gator holds the base of his cock, placing him at your entrance, and slides into you all at once easily, balls deep.
“What were you saying, princess?” He teases back, rubbing your ass, chuckling cockily at you while letting you adjust to him, while also gripping harder on your wrists.
You can't think straight, you half moan and half whine at the fulfillment you are feeling with him inside of you. Your walls take him so well, you are so wet that he slides into you so effortlessly, even though you notice he is not a small guy.
“You are always this cocky?” You can't help yourself by teasing back. And you receive back him pulling back just enough to thrust hard but not fast into you again. You roll your eyes back just before squeezing your eyes shut, your lips parted from the moan that just left your lips.
“Just when I know I’m doing a fucking great job,” he answers while thrusting you again. It's not fast, not exactly rough either, but he thrusts hard. The sound of your hips clapping along with the filthy sounds of your wet pussy makes you feel dizzy.
Gator looks at his dick disappearing inside of you over and over again in awe. He holds you by your ass, holding your wrists at your back still.
The dirtiness of the scene: your skirt pulled up to your waist, your bare ass on display, his dick deep in you, the red mark of his hand on your ass, your hands behind your back… if he died now, he would not complain at all; he would go happily.
Gator finds a comfortable pace and speeds up a little, thrusting harder as before. You and he moan with pleasure, your ass hitting against his hip, when he also smacks your ass.
“Fuck, doll,” he moans, strangled, glancing from your ass to your face, his vision getting blurry from the desire, “you squeeze my dick just fine,” he moans, letting go of your wrists, gripping your hips by both sides, fucking you hard.
Released from his grip, the car bouncing beneath your body, you lift on your arms, your back arched at Gator, looking over your shoulder, moaning filthily at him, now having a great view of him fucking you from behind, and just by seeing it, you moan even more.
He looks up at you, locking his eyes with yours. You both moan at each other, being the other one the only thing in focus, the only thing you can both sense, hear, and smell.
“I saw you dancing with that bastard,” he starts, fucking you harder, a little faster, smirking just by seeing your eyes shaking from pleasure along with your moans, “this was what you were imagining?” he asks between moans, smacking your butt again, “me fucking you like that? Touching you like that?”
“Yeah, fuck,” you whine loudly, glancing from him to where your bodies meet, your vision blurry, becoming cock drunk. You drop your head, moaning loudly, gripping the air at the hood of the car.
Gator can't see your face properly, so he notices he really wants to see your face, how he wants to see how you break because of him. “I have an idea,” he announces, pulling you to his chest.
He holds your hips firmly, kissing your neck, hearing your breath heavily, while he painfully slides off of you, both of you whining and whimpering from the absence of one another.
He lets go of your hips, pulling his pants and briefs just enough for him to walk properly. With your legs a little shaky, you rest your hands on the hood.
Gator wraps a hand around your waist, pulling you by his side to steady you, walking towards the back seat of this car while searching for his car keys in his front pocket.
He beeps the car open, unlocking it and opening the door for you. “Such a gentleman,” you tease, chuckling, crawling into the car while he enters just behind, kicking his boots off, and sliding his pants all the way down as well.
While taking off his clothes, he sits in the middle seat at the back, grabbing your waist to pull you into his lap. “Oh, no, no, no,” you chuckle, taking his hands away from you.
While confusion starts to appear on his face, you get down from the seat to kneel on the car floor, tucking your legs beneath the passenger and driver's seat, your hands over his thighs with his hard dick just a few inches from you.
“Now it's my turn to take good care of you, deputy,” you say sweetly to him, grabbing him and pumping him above the condom, working him up, feeling him pulsing under your touch, “you have another with you?” you refer to the condom.
Gator, biting his lips while humming with need, nods. Without taking his eyes from you, he grabs one from a secret spot he has at the back seat, grabs the new condom from there, and places it beside him on the seat.
“Good boy,” you smirk, taking the condom off him and dropping it on the floor beside your knee, and stroking him again, now skin to skin, feeling his veins on the palm of your hand while you slide up to his head until his base.
Gator whines and curses under his breath at the praise and the way you are playing with him, his hand coming to the roots of your hair while the other one places at the back of the seat beside him, gripping it tightly, his knuckles turning white. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips part from the sweet sounds he is making.
You lock your eyes on him when you lick from the base to the head, your tongue spread wide along his length. You feel his grip on your hair tighten, and you smile to yourself, your eyes glued to his face, and you can tell how lost he is in you already.
You lick the head with the tip of your tongue, licking his pre cum, swirling your tongue around it. Gator throws his head back, moaning breathlessly, gripping harder at the back of the seat to not hold your hair too tight, hurting you, but little does he know you like it a little rough.
You chuckle against him at his reaction, “Eyes on me, deputy,” you call for his attention. His eyes fall back on you, his eyes barely open, his face wrecked just by the movement of your tongue around him. And when he looks back at you, you sink into him.
You wrap your lips around his tip, going down on him, your gaze locked on his, humming around him, vibrating through his body.
Gator holds your hair tighter and moans in a whine as if he is in pain, feeling your warm mouth taking him. He sees you sucking your cheek into your mouth, continuing to suck him down, moaning more fiercely around him every time his grip tightens on your hair.
He notices your jaw relaxing and sinking more into him, until your nose hits his pubes, the tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes water, gagging a little.
“Oh, baby girl,” he whimpers, cradling the back of your neck, holding you while you go up and down on him. “Oh fuck,” he moans sweetly, getting lost in the feeling of your mouth around him, your warm mouth, the vision of your eyes getting watery because of his cock.
You moan against his dick, your eyes rolling back from the pleasure of having his disck pulsing inside of your mouth. You love the way he, just slightly, jerks towards your mouth, making you gag just enough to send a shiver down your spine, and small tears rolling down your cheek.
“Such a good girl taking me like that,” he praises you when you start to drool around his cock, dripping into his lap, humming with approval, his hand following your head's movements while he wipes the tears off your face with his thumb.
You grab the condom beside him, ripping the plastic around it while still sucking Gator. You take your mouth out of him slowly, making him whimper from missing your warmth around him. You grab his base and slide the condom down until it reaches your hand.
“Now it's my time to fuck you, deputy,” you declare while climbing on top of him, straddling him, one leg on each side of his hips, your knees resting at the seat of the car.
You grab his dick and place it at your entrance with one hand, while the other one holds his shoulder, with him holding you by your hips with both hands to help you.
Gator pulls back, breathless, sweat accumulating at his hairline, willing to look at you. Your eyes lock while you sit into him slowly, doing your best not to roll your eyes back to keep them on him, placing your now-free hand at the back of the seat behind him.
You both part your lips in a strangled moan, and when you take him fully, balls deep in you, you both become breathless. You adjust to him with your eyes shut while he rubs your hips to soothe you, and you breathe deeply.
“You okay, gorgeous?” He asks softly, the first time you've heard him speak like that since the beginning of it, one hand coming to your face, rubbing your cheekbone, a little concern in his eyes.
“Yeah,” you chuckle breathlessly, leaning into his touch, opening your eyes even if dizzily, “just getting used to you,” you chuckle weakly, “I feel you everywhere,” you confess, chuckling, cock drunk.
Gator smirks, between an amused chuckle, holding your jaw with his thumb, tilting your head, “good, because I couldn't take you out of my mind all night,” he confesses, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb, looking at how heavy your breath is.
“Good, because I have you in my mind for a couple of weeks already,” you whisper weakly, looking at him while taking his thumb into your mouth. Meanwhile, you start to move your hip slowly against him, rolling your eyes back while moaning around him.
Gator moans a little louder at the view in front of him, along with you riding him. He presses his thumb against your tongue while holding your hip tighter, guiding you.
“Fuuuuck,” his breath hitches when you begin to suck his thumb, moaning around it while moving against you, your eyes rolling back at the double stimulation.
Eventually, you open your eyes and start going up and down on him slowly. He takes his thumb off your mouth with a wet pop and grabs both sides of your hips, looking up at you, moaning as you sink on him in that delicious speed.
He gets lost in you for a while, both your hands grabbing the back of the seat beside his head, while his hands help you go up and down on him.
Gator dives into the feeling of you around him, you being the only thing he can process, how your pussy takes him, how you get him balls deep on you every time you sink into him again and again.
He loves how you moan sweetly, tilting your head to the side without taking your eyes off him, your lips parted, drooling a little even, that he quickly captures with a wet kiss at the corner of your mouth.
He loves the way you whine slightly every time the tip of his dick hits deeper on you, some tears accumulating at the corner of your eye, that he carefully brushes away with his thumb.
Both of you get lost in each other for a while, unable to think straight or of anything else besides one another. On how his hands burn against your skin, on how his brows furrow when he feels something intense while riding him, making you both chuckle at it.
After a while, Gator looks down at your chest and sees your breasts bouncing beneath your vest. You notice his interest in your chest, smiling brrsthalessly, leaning your body back a little to give him better access to take it off.
He looks up at you, receiving a nod and a malicious smile from you in return. Gator smiles deliciously, landing his eues on your chest again.
You sit on his lap, moving slightly, weak sounds leaving both of you, while he unbuttons your vest, starting at the bottom. He glues his eyes on you while opening your vest slowly, both breathless, until he unbuttons the last button on your vest.
When Gator takes his hand off your clothes, your vest covers just enough to cover your nipples, letting your cleavage on display.
He whines in pain, holding your ribs just below the curve of your breasts, leaning into the valley between them while rubbing the soft skin under them. With his tongue spread, he licks from the bottom to the top of your cleavage, licking and kissing open-mouthed all the way up.
Gator slowly takes your vest off your shoulders, dropping it at the seat behind him. Then he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him, your chest pressing against his bulletproof vest.
You throw your head back, your hands tangling into his hair with sweet moans leaving your mouth. You kiss the top of his head while he continues to savor you, going from your collarbone to your back to your neck, his fingernails running down your spine more freely now, making you moan.
Eventually, Gator slides down from your collarbone to your nipple. His eyes up to you now, he swirls your hardened nipple around his tongue, sucking it sweetly while one of his hands cups your other breast, rubbing your nipple under his thumb.
“Fuck,” you whine, rolling your hips by reflex because of the feeling of his warm mouth on you again, making him gasp against your breast.
He is speeding up to invite you to match his pace, and when you get it, you match his energy, holding your half top still while rolling on his lap while he enjoys your breasts.
“What’s your name?” you ask breathlessly, your head thrown back, “I realized now I don’t know it yet,” you confess between a moan, holding his hair tighter, pressing your mouth parted at the top of his head, rolling fast on him, getting intoxicated by him.
“Gator,” he answers breathless, a little muffled against your nipple. He pulls back, still rubbing your other nipple, looking up at you, “What about yours, princess?”
You say your name in a whine, your knees growing weak from riding him that long. Gator notices you getting tired, moaning your name sweetly while pinning his feet on the floor, holding your hip a little up while thrusting into you.
“Oh, Gator,” you moan loudly when he thrusts deep and hard into you. Your hands are cradling his head, your mouth parted, just like his. He holds you in space while fucking you, your foreheads pressed together, moaning into each other.
Gator moans your name in a gruttual moan. You both lock eyes with each other, pulling back just enough for that, moaning each other's names, and getting closer to your climax.
His breath starts to hitch while a heat starts to bloom from your lower belly up to your chest by the constant friction of your clit against his pelvis. Your walls clench around his cock meanwhile he starts to pulse inside of you.
“Don't stop,” you beg, whining loudly, your body tensing up, your orgasm building up.
“I won't,” he groans in response, “Come for me,” he cries out your name, his thrusts becoming erratic, “fuck, come for me, gorgeous”
Your moan becomes strangled, your eyes locked on his, then you come for the second time tonight. Your eyes roll back, and you shut your eyes just afterward, moaning loudly, your walls clenching hard around him, your grip on his hair tightening.
Gator thrusts two, three more times, lost at the sight of you unraveling in front of him, looking at you with awe. His thrusts fumble until he comes just after you, riding you off your high until he hits his.
His stomach tenses, his hips lifted from the seat, deep in you while he comes, the grip on you tightening, probably leaving marks of his fingers. He moans a little strangled, your name leaving his lips like it's something divine, seeing stars, his head spinning from his release, and you clenching around him.
You both slowly come down from your high. He sits back in his seat, wrapping his arms around you while you crash and lean against him, his head pressing against the shell of your breasts, breathing in your smell, a mix of sex, sweat, and your perfume, while hearing the fast beat of your heart against his ear.
Your arms wrap around his neck while you rest your cheek against the top of his head. Both of you are breathless, hair damp with sweat, clinging to each other, calming each other's nervous systems just by breathing in each other.
After long minutes, you both pull back to look at each other. You run your fingers through his scalp while his hands slide down your hips, doing idle patterns with his thumb against it.
You look at each other for a second before leaning forward to kiss, this time slowly, properly savoring one another. Your lips move softly against the other, you cradle the back of his neck while he widens his hands across your back, pressing you even closer against his chest.
Your lips move lazily together, humming weakly and gladly at the feeling of you touching like that. It’s a calm kiss, no rush, either hungry, just savoring the other after an intense moment between you two.
You rest your foreheads together after a while, breathing weakly against each other's mouths. “I should get back to my guys,” Gator says just above a whisper, breathing heavily.
“And I should get back to my girls,” you add just as weakly. You both pull back, calmer now, you rub his scalp while he rubs your back up and down with his fingertips, making you smile slightly at the sensation against your skin.
“Give me your phone,” he says quietly, sliding one hand up to rub the apple of your cheek with his knuckles.
You chuckle at the request and the gesture, leaning into his touch, “I'm not from here, actually. I'm from Minnesota, I'm on a trip with my friends for a month,” you say quietly, adding just after.
“We can make a deal,” you suggest, grinning, enjoying the game you are planning, “if you see me around town until I leave at the end of the month,” your eyes shine with the idea, “I'll give you my phone.”
“Is that so?” He laughs beamingly, amused by the suggestions, enjoying this pursuing journey. Gator rubs your cheek again, with his thumb now, cupping your face and pulling you to a kiss, pressing his lips softly against your lips to give you a little peck.
“I'm in, I like the idea of hunting you down,” he laughs with mischief, pinching your side, making you squirm on his lap, giggling.
“I'm not easy to find, deputy,” you say slyly, but grinning widely, rubbing his hair at the nape of his neck.
“And I don't quit easily either, gorgeous,” he says in a whisper, leaning closer to your mouth again, “I'm a winner, and I'll get your number as my prize,” he declares, pressing your lips together again, sealing the promise.
childhood enemy!gator tillman x reader - w.c. 16.6k
summary: when your dad takes off for a weekend fishing trip with his friend roy, he enlists the help of his son gator to keep you in line while they're away. unfortunately for you, gator might be the one person you hate enough to get grounded for.
tags/warnings: childhood enemy!gator x reader, no use of y/n, childhood/family friends (but you hate each other), enemies to lovers, reader and gator are 19, mentions of domestic violence, mean!possessive!douchebag!gator, hate sex, manhandling, play fighting but kind of not play (scratching, wrestling, etc), slut-shaming, degradation, praise, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), body worship, maybe elements of cnc if you squint?, cannot stress enough gator is mean in this
author's note: based on this request from a while back! i'm so proud of this and if no one reads it i will cry. please check the tags!
---
You stand in your driveway watching your dad pack up his gear, your arms crossed and your face set in a scowl.
“Don’t give me that look,” he calls to you, loading his tacklebox into the bed of his behemoth truck. “You made your damn bed.”
You don’t argue back, already sensing how futile it would be. Your father is many things, but unpredictable is not one of them. And now that he’s made up his mind about how you’re going to be spending the weekend while he’s out fishing with Roy Tillman, you know there’s no changing it.
“Goddamn disgraceful,” Roy calls from the other side of the truck, where he’s packing his own fishing gear. “Nice young lady with that attitude toward her daddy. He oughta smack it outta ‘ya.”
Your frown deepens, but you wisely don’t reply. Your dad’s never hit you– you’ve always thought he just lacked the guts– but that doesn’t stop his best friend from suggesting it any time he sees you. So what if you’ve always been unruly, always balked against the town’s expectation you be perfectly quiet and chaste? It’s only a few more years till you’re out of here for good, and you won’t have to worry about Roy Tillman and his sycophantic male fantasies anymore. Or, arguably worse, his disgusting, intolerable, pain-in-the-ass son.
As if your thoughts have summoned him, a black truck pulls up to the curb outside your house, and your mood darkens even further. You don’t mind your dad leaving for the weekend– you prefer it, actually. The issue, though, is that he’s decided you won’t be spending it alone. Instead, mostly because the last time you were left home unsupervised, you might have taken the opportunity to spend a couple hours with your then-boyfriend, and your dad might have found out from the neighbors, this time, you’re going to have a babysitter.
The door of the black truck opens, and you watch as Gator’s heavy combat boots hit the concrete. He’s dressed ridiculously for the hot weather in a black t-shirt and that weighted tactical vest, his beige cargos thick and creased from the drive. His hair is gelled back, like he actually bothered to make himself presentable for this bullshit job. To top it off, he’s already taking a pull from his neon-tropical-vomit-flavored vape, blowing a pungent cloud into the air.
Your nose wrinkles almost unwittingly. You think dimly that you must hate him more every time you see him.
Gator slams his door, and his eyes land on your stiff form immediately. “Hey, sweetheart,” he calls to you, a grin pulling at his mouth as he stalks up your driveway toward you.
You freeze in place, willing your frown and your crossed arms into stone before him. It’s a practice you’ve perfected when dealing with Gator– a survival tactic, really. You’ve learned over the years just how many miles he’ll take if you relinquish that first inch.
Roy catches the nickname, which Gator’s been teasing you with since you were fifteen, and frowns, too. Crossing around the truck to his son, he grips him by the shirt and warns him loudly, “No funny business. You hear me, boy?”
Gator raises his hands in surrender, and you can’t help your amusement as his tough-guy facade cracks a little under his father’s scrutiny. It’s maybe his truest weakness you’ve ever been able to detect. “Relax, Dad, I was just kiddin’ around,” Gator complains.
Roy releases him and turns to you, pointing one finger at you. “And you– honor thy father and mother. You know what that’s from?”
“Hamlet?” you guess innocently, ignoring the look your dad shoots you in response.
Roy’s jaw clenches, displeased by how he’s failed to intimidate you. “Be good,” he barks. “Gator here’ll make sure you behave.”
The shit-eating smirk is back on Gator’s face, and you fight not to let your face burn. You’re almost twenty– you don’t need a goddamn babysitter. This whole thing is ludicrous.
Your father calls his goodbyes to you, and without saying anything further, you turn on your heel and head back into the house. You don’t need to check behind you to know Gator’s following you.
You’ve probably hated Gator Tillman since he’d first learned to walk and talk and pull your hair.
The town of Lehigh is just small enough to get uncomfortable when you find someone you truly detest. And ever since that first moment you can’t remember, some family barbecue or church picnic too far back to recollect, whatever moment you first met Gator, you’ve known he was someone you were engineered to despise.
He’s loud and lewd and completely unapologetic about it. When he’s not shovelling food into it like he’s been starving for years, he’s got the foulest mouth of anyone you know. When the opportunity has presented itself, he’s never once failed to make a comment about how your ass looks.
He’s despicable. Disgusting. He chews up women and spits them out, barbie after barbie, in and out of his tacky, red-pill bedroom at the ranch. He was the first one on the playground to call you names and the only one in the class to boo your presentations in high school English. Even if it weren’t for his crippling nicotine addiction, the ridiculous way he wears his hair, and the superiority complex that’s only worsened since he got his license to work as a deputy for his father, he’d still be the same arrogant, sexist prick you’ve grown up barely tolerating.
In some ways, you think Gator might be even worse than his father. Roy’s an unbelievable asshole, it’s true. Apart from his insane, puritanical beliefs about women, the cruelty and abuse he levels at everyone around him, he’s got one thing and one thing only going for him: he’s honest. He might be evil, but it’s what he is.
Gator’s different. Gator isn’t evil, not to the core of who he is. And that’s what makes him worse– he could be different if he ever pulled his head out of his ass and stopped trying to be Roy. He could learn to love women instead of using them, to handle things softly, to speak gently despite that tough-guy voice in his puny brain. But he won’t do it– won’t make that choice. That, you think, might be weaker and more pathetic than anything.
And no matter how much you hate him, no matter how many times you’ve screamed into your pillow with frustration after a fight or stormed out of his truck when your dad has forced him to pick you up from some school event or another, Gator’s stuck to you like flies on shit. He seems to think it’s funny– some sick little game in his head to keep coming back for more. He’ll keep mocking you with flirting, teasing you about your hair or your clothes. He’ll keep threatening the guys you’re seeing to scare them off, thinking it’ll never get back to you. He’ll keep provoking a fight, even when you shove at his chest and fire insults right back at him.
That’s just Gator. He’s never known how to leave well enough alone, how to keep his hands from clenching in a vice grip. Everything he’s once owned has bruises on it.
As you make your way to your living room, you hear him shut your front door, probably with a little more force than necessary, and drop his overnight duffel bag in the entryway. “What, no hello for me?” he mocks you, not bothering to take off his shoes as he follows after you.
Set on ignoring him, you flop onto the couch and pull over the magazine you’d been flipping through idly.
You watch those idiotic combat boots stop a few feet before you on the living room rug.
“You know, if you wanted to know ten ways to drive a man crazy, you could just ask me.”
You snort, not lifting your eyes from your magazine. “Yeah, I’ll pass. Repulsion’s really more your area, isn’t it?”
“You sure?” Gator goads you, and you don’t need to look at him to be able to tell he’s grinning down at you. “Bet I’ve got a tip you could use, sweetheart.”
You lower the magazine, finally meeting his stare with all the ire you can muster. “I’d rather stick my hand down a garbage disposal, thanks.”
Gator’s grin is absolutely feral. Quicker than you can avoid, he leans down and snatches the magazine out of your hands, and a fresh wave of fury rises in your gut as you scramble for it back.
“Now, what are you ‘n I gonna get up to this weekend?” he asks you, thumbing through the pages of the magazine as he strolls away from you.
You leap up from the couch, going after him. “I have plans,” you inform him sharply. “You can do whatever the hell you want. Your bedroom’s in the doghouse out back.”
“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head solemnly, closing the magazine and chucking it onto the dining table. “Your daddy said you’re under house arrest. That means no going out, little miss.”
“Oh, blow me, Gator. We’re the same age.” you spit back, face twisting.
“Well, sure, but someone still can’t stay home alone without gettin’ into trouble, now can she?” Gator teases. “Heard you had your lil’ boyfriend over last time. What’d you do, huh? Suck him off while your folks were gone?”
Your face goes brilliantly, vibrantly red. “You’re a pig from hell,” you fire at him, planting both your hands on his chest and shoving him back. “It’s none of your damn business.”
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Gator goes on crudely, his eyes tracing over your burning face. “Friends tell friends what they’re gettin’ up to. ‘Specially when they’re whorin’ around and need lookin’ after.”
He knows exactly what to say to get to you– he always has. If Gator Tillman ever had a talent, it was knowing the precise formula of words to lay down to make you go white with rage.
“You’re just jealous,” you shoot at him. “I bet no one’ll come near yours. I doubt you’ve gotten head since Lottie Jameson during seven minutes in heaven.”
Gator steps closer, his eyes sparking with temper and challenge. “You wanna settle that bet, baby?”
You scoff, lost for a comeback at his heated expression, at the nickname that’s always completely disarmed you. “I can’t believe my dad thinks you’ll keep me out of trouble. He’d have better luck having me stay with a crack addict.”
“You got a dirty fuckin’ mouth on you, you know that?” Gator drawls, nonplussed. You watch as he digs in his tactical vest and pulls free his vape, and your brows shoot up.
“Do not fucking puff that in my house, Gator,” you warn him, pointing a finger threateningly at his hand.
Gator’s smile spreads slowly. “Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”
“I’m not kidding,” you threaten him. “Those things are fucking disgusting. I don’t need this house to smell like you.”
Gator raises it halfway to his lips, and you take two sharp steps toward him, telling him just how quick you’ll make good on your promise of violence. He halts at your motion, amused, then smiles wider as he lifts the vape up to his mouth.
Unable to kill your temper, you lunge at him.
Gator dodges your first attack, swerving out of the way of your hand as it grabs for the stupid pen. The second time you reach for him, he’s not as fast, and your nails dig into the skin of his hand as you wrest the vape from his fingers, pulling it free and quickly pitching it out the wide-open living room window.
Gator’s eyes flare in shock as he tracks the precise throw, then turns back to you, now only inches from your face. “That one was a spare,” he goads you, reaching into his vest again and pulling out another, even more disgusting bar of e-cancer.
“Give me that,” you spit, hands digging into his again.
Gator growls as you wrestle with him, trying to pull away. “Quit fuckin’ scratching me– ow!”
His free hand grabs for your wrist, and you work your elbow into him to try to wedge your way out, grunting with the effort. It lands somewhere against his ribs, but with the heavy vest, it probably hurts you more than him.
The vape in Gator’s other hand clatters to the floor as he grabs for your wrists again. “Would you fuckin’ quit it?”
“Let go,” you hiss, twisting your arms to get him to loosen his grip on you. The wrestling match devolves between you, more frantic, less fair. You stomp your heel down onto his foot, and he swears, grabbing for your arms to try to pin them to your sides. To his credit, Gator doesn’t try to hurt you– just get you to stop laying into him, like he knows somehow it’d be wrong to rough up a woman who, despite her temper, still isn’t as strong as him. It must be the influence of the one loose brain cell rattling around in his head that hasn’t yet been corrupted by his father. Still, his hands are rough and his grip strength is completely ridiculous, so the dig of his thumbs into your biceps will probably bruise.
“Christ, stop thrashin’, woman!” he yells at you as you try to twist away from him, accidentally pinning yourself against his chest. “You’re like a wild fuckin’ animal. Will you– ow, fuck!”
Gator’s finally had enough– wresting his hands free, he grips your waist and hauls you into his arms, making you loose an aggravated yell.
“Put me down, you fucking asshole!” You yell at him, slapping at his shoulders as he carries you back through the living room.
“Calm the hell down!” he barks at you, his hands a vice on your legs as heaves you up, throwing you over his shoulder completely. “Goddammit, woman, you’re fuckin’ relentless.”
You thrash against him, writhing against the unbending pressure of his arms.
“Gator, I swear to God, if you don’t put me down–”
He reaches the couch and chucks you down onto it, and you yelp as your back hits the plush cushions. Gator comes over you, knees on either side of your thighs to keep you in place. Your hands reach up, probably to claw his eyes out or something, but you settle for slapping at him like you used to do when you two would fight like this as kids, the blows weak but sufficiently annoying.
Gator’s hands try to still your attacks, fighting for control of your wrists again. “No, no– ah, fuck. Hold still, will you? There– hah. Gotcha.” His hands clamp down on your arms, finally pinning you to the cushions.
“What the fuck?” you spit, blowing hair out of your face as you wriggle against him.
Gator pants above you, triumphant. “You done?” he asks, brow raising. You loosened his hair of some of its gel when you yanked it, and strands hang down over his forehead as he looms over you.
Something twists in your gut– unnamable, but so close to that same rage you always feel when you see him.
“Get off of me, you bastard,” you tell him, fuming.
Gator just smirks, his breaths evening. “Guess you’ll do anything to get me on top of ‘ya, huh?”
The teasing makes you see red, and you move before you have a chance to think, driving your knee up between his legs.
Gator blocks you with his thigh just in time, his eyes widening in shock and outrage. “Jesus, you’re a real piece of work,” he huffs, his breath ruffling your hair. “What the hell is wrong with you, woman?”
“Get off of me,” you say again through your teeth, thrashing again. “And don’t call me that shit.”
He finally releases you, sitting back on his heels as you scramble upright. He examines his hands, now sporting red lines from your scratching. “Cut your fucking nails,” he orders you. “You’re like a dragon.”
You push off the couch, rubbing at your sore forearms. “Don’t touch me, Gator,” you bite, stalking away. Your cheeks are red, your heart is pounding, and you’re absolutely humming with anger. And you have a feeling it’ll stay that way for a while yet.
A few hours alone in your room cool you off significantly.
Despite the fact that you can hear the noise of the TV blaring whatever inane hunting show Gator’s put on while he lounges around doing fuck all, you spend the first hours of what was supposed to be your blissful, solitary weekend hunkered in on your bed painting your nails and calling your friends. All of them are outraged but unsurprised when you tell them about your fight with Gator, and none of them can admit to ever having come to blows with a man before. You tell them, of course they haven’t– and neither have you. Gator’s not a man, he’s a weasel.
You’re on speaker with your friend Emmie while you finish up painting your toenails, only just beginning to feel the hunger you’ve been dreading. Hunger means you have to get dinner. Dinner would require stepping out of this room and seeing the amoeba that’s taken residence on your couch.
Emmie’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Come on, babe. It won’t be that long.”
“Easy for you to say,” you huff. “You’re not the one hearing the dulcet tones of Duck Dynasty through the walls.”
“Oh, please,” Emmie snorts. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying the view a little bit.”
You color despite yourself, your eyes flicking to your door, as if Gator will appear there and scare the hell out of you. It’d be in character. “I am not.”
Emmie laughs into the receiver. “Face it, hon. Gator Tillman might be the biggest asshole ever to walk the earth, but he’s hot. You’ve always thought he was hot.”
You narrow your eyes, picking your phone up to hiss into the receiver, “If there was ever a sliver of attractiveness in him, it was immediately overruled by how completely and totally revolting he is. I do not think he’s hot.”
“Yeah, right,” Emmie teases, unperturbed. “He had you pinned to the couch today.”
You scowl, though she can’t see it. “Shut up, Emmie. It’s not like I have a crush on him. I mean, I’m not thirteen anymore.”
You can hardly stand to recall those few months you’d had a teeny-tiny thing for Gator– right up until he made out with Mandy Collins in front of you and stomped your heart into the dirt. You knew better now than to let yourself fall for any kind of lie he told you. No part of Gator Tillman was worth the torture that was spending any amount of time around him.
A creak of the floorboards in the hallway makes your head shoot up. Your eyes narrow, but when there’s no more noise following it, you relent and turn your attention back to convincing Emmie you’re still sane.
You talk for a while more, but eventually, your stomach starts growling louder than you can ignore any longer. You sigh and tell Emmie you have to go, then hang up and reluctantly rise from your bed.
You open your door cautiously, looking left and right for any sign of him. Then, shaking yourself, you remember it’s your house, too, and you don’t have any reason to hide from him. In fact, if anyone should be embarrassed of your fight earlier, it’s sure as hell not you.
Without another thought, you make your way down the hallway, your nose in the air and your eyes forward.
Gator’s not in the living room– in fact, he’s placed himself exactly where you’re going. The fridge is open, and he’s picking up containers from within it and throwing them down aimlessly, unimpressed. He must find one he likes– some kind of leftovers your dad must have stuck in there– because he takes it out and pitches it onto the counter.
“Don’t eat that,” you snap. “I already made pasta for tonight.”
Gator turns, brows raised at your tone. He hasn’t fixed his hair since your fight, and you brush aside how much better he looks when he’s a little disheveled like this, his t-shirt rucked up a bit around his waist from lounging on the couch. “You cook for me, sweetheart? That’s cute.”
Your nose wrinkles. “I must have gotten you confused for a homeless person. Feeding you is kinda like doing charity.”
“Nah, I bet you made it special,” he teases you, rifling through the fridge to find the container you’re talking about. “You put my name on the label, too?”
“Just move out of the way,” you spit, knocking your hip into his to shove him over before he completely wrecks your organization of the fridge. “God, do you have to destroy everything you get your hands on?”
He shrugs, nonplussed, as he steps back and leans against the counter. “Lotta girls like what I do with my hands.”
You hiss at the joke and don’t reply as you find the container of pasta and set it on the counter, pulling down two bowls from the cabinets and moving for the forks.
“Kinda sweet, you makin’ dinner for me,” he hums.
“I did not make dinner for you,” you repeat bitterly. “My dad said I was responsible for cooking this weekend. This was completely forced.”
“Whatever you say,” Gator replies mildly. “Doesn’t look that way, though. Almost looks like you have a crush on me, or something.”
Your fingers freeze over the silverware, your heart leaping into your throat. “The fuck did you just say?”
You turn over your shoulder to find Gator smirking at your back, utterly triumphant. “You heard me,” he insists. “You got a crush on me, sweetheart?”
Your fingers close around the two forks tight enough to hurt. “You were eavesdropping?” you ask in outrage.
“Kinda hard not to when you talk so fuckin’ loud,” Gator drawls.
Anger roils in your gut again, that quickly. You toss the forks onto the counter and glare at him. “Well, if you were listening at my door, you little pervert, you would have heard me say how deeply I don’t have a crush on you.”
“But you did,” Gator corrects you, a grin spreading across his face.
You fight the redness blooming in your cheeks. “I was thirteen and deluded,” you defend yourself. “I also thought I was gonna marry Justin Bieber."
“How bad did you like me, huh?” Gator asks, his voice needling deeper at an old wound you didn’t realize was still capable of hurting. “You write ‘Mrs. Tillman’ on all your notebooks?”
“God, do you need an ego boost that bad, that you’re digging at middle school me?” you scoff in challenge, refusing to let him humiliate you. “Why the hell do you care, Gator? Times have clearly changed.”
Gator pushes off the counter, something settling even and dangerous in his eyes. His voice is a low rumble as he tells you, “Maybe I’ve got a crush on you, too.”
Your heart pounds harder in your chest– so hard it’s embarrassing. So hard that for a stupid moment, you worry he might be able to hear it.
“Yeah, right,” you make out roughly. You refuse to let yourself fall for it. This boy has burned you too many times for you to believe him now. “You don’t have a crush on anything that can say words with more than one syllable.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” he murmurs, stepping closer until he’s towering over you, his face slightly bent towards yours. Your breath hitches just the slightest bit, caught off guard by the close proximity. You pray he didn’t notice, but know somehow he did anyway.
“You’re insane,” you tell him, your voice weaker than you mean it to be. “I hate you. You hate me. You just don’t like that you can’t control me, so you play this game with me instead.”
“Maybe,” he hums, his eyes half lidded as they drop to your lips. “Or maybe I’m thinkin’ about you every time I get a minute alone. Maybe I’m makin’ some girl scream, and I’m picturin’ the way you’re lookin’ at me right now.”
Your chest feels tight, your heart beating an odd, off-kilter rhythm. “You’re repugnant,” you breathe. “You’re sick, Gator.” For some reason, your emotion feels almost too big to come to terms with. “I fucking hate it when you do this. It’s like sex is some competition to stoke your ego.”
His hand comes up slowly, and your eyes track the movement. Gently, he presses his thumb to the corner of your lips, his eyes studying the touch with rapt attention. “You have no idea what I’ve been thinkin’ about doin’ with this pretty little mouth.”
The touch entrances you, catches you in a cloying spell. It only breaks when his smirk returns, irreverent as always.
His fingers drop away from your face, and before he can say another word, you put both hands on his chest and shove him backward. “Fuck you, Gator.”
His lips twitch upward. He knows he’s won. “You wish,” he mocks you.
Abandoning the food on the counter, you flee from the kitchen, fire alight in your belly. “Make your own damn dinner. I’ll eat in my room.”
“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that,” he calls after you, that smartass humor still lingering in his tone.
You don’t care. You’re already gone.
It’s only a few minutes later, when your noise-cancelling headphones are set firmly over your ears and you’re sulking to your moodiest playlist, that your bedroom door swings open and Gator reappears.
“Knock, much?” You snap at him, already scowling.
Gator stays in your doorway and snorts, waving a hand at you. “Like you’d be able to hear me with those huge fuckin’ things on.”
“Get out of my room, Gator,” you spit harshly.
He reveals his other hand, which holds a steaming bowl of the pasta you made. Without ceremony, he throws the bowl onto your desk and sticks a fork in it.
You blink. Gator Tillman sort of made you dinner. That’s fucking new.
“Here,” he drawls, giving you a flat look. “You women get cranky when you’re hungry.”
“Get out,” you yell, grabbing one of the pillows on your bed and chucking it at him.
He laughs as he dodges it. “Have a good night, sweetheart. Don’t try to sneak out your window– I’ll know.”
“Why don’t you go blow yourself?” you yell after him. “It’s all you’re good at, anyway!”
His chuckle echoes down the hall.
The next morning, you don’t emerge from your room until you’re fully dressed and ready.
Unfortunately for you, Gator’s always been an early riser.
“Cute outfit,” he calls from his place leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s showered since you last saw him, and he’s dressed more casually in jeans and a rock t-shirt, a baseball cap set backwards atop his ungelled hair. You guess he’s not going into the station today– probably no need, without his dad there for him to impress.
“Bite me,” you fire back, not looking at him. You’re still furious about the shit he pulled last night. You spent hours tossing back and forth in bed over it, actually– completely revolted at what he’d implied. Your sheets had been cloying and burning against your skin. And, petulantly, you’d hoped that somewhere in the house, in whatever room of the house Gator had finally crashed, he was sleeping even worse.
You can’t put your finger on why it bothered you so much that he said what he did. Gator’s always been that way– teasing, mocking, pushing entirely too far over the line of basic decency. He’s always used sex against you, whether you’ve been getting any lately or not. Maybe it’s that you’ve been single for a few weeks now, and the aloneness is starting to feel a hell lot like a dry spell. The last thing you need in the midst of all of that is Gator fucking Tillman telling you he jerks off thinking about you.
You shove that thought aside before it can torture you any further this morning. It’s all a game– it always has been. You just need to keep a grip on your anger and a firmer one on your composure and get through this godforsaken weekend.
The killer thing, you think as you stroll through the kitchen, feigning being unbothered by his presence, is that your outfit really is cute– an olive green tank and your shortest denim skirt, your nicest sunglasses pushing back your hair. No part of it is for him, however. In fact, today, you’re planning on putting as much distance between you and Gator as possible.
“So where we goin’ today, sweetheart?” he asks as you near him in the kitchen.
You grab an apple out of the fruit bowl and a bagel from the breadbox. “We are not going anywhere.”
“Now, don’t be like that,” he chides you, pushing off the counter and moving closer. “You and I could have some fun this weekend if we really tried.”
You ignore him and his innuendos as you nab the cream cheese from the fridge and start spreading it on your bagel, untoasted. “I’d hate to interrupt your busy schedule of kicking puppies and stealing candy from babies.”
He grins again. “I can raincheck it till next weekend.”
When you don’t respond, he moves closer. “Come on,” he presses you. “You got all dressed up for me. Can’t let it be for nothin’.” His hand slips toward you and tugs at the hem of your skirt, his knuckles skimming along your thigh.
You go ramrod straight, your knee jerking forward and knocking against the cabinet in front of you, hard enough to make you wince. “It’s not for you,” you fire back when you regain control of your words. “I’m going out. Now get your hands off me before I find another use for this butterknife.”
“You’re goin’ out?” he repeats, disbelieving.
“Yes,” you spit, finishing with your bagel and moving away from him.
Gator laughs dryly. “You’re not goin’ out.”
“The hell I’m not,” you scoff. “Emmie’s gonna be here in ten minutes. I’m getting the fuck away from you for a while.”
“Emmie,” he repeats, laughing again. “Yeah fuckin’ right. You think I’m dumb?”
You let out an incredulous laugh. “You really want me to answer that?”
“You’re sneakin’ out to go see your fuckin’ boyfriend,” Gator says in challenge, moving an inch closer. “And you think I won’t find out.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend, you idiot,” you spit at him, taking a bite of your bagel.
“Then whoever you’re givin’ it out to this week,” Gator suggests, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter so much to me.”
“Oh, yeah?” you scoff, meeting his eyes with fire in yours. “‘Cause you seem pretty damn interested in where and when I’m putting out. You jealous, Gator?”
Something shifts in his eyes as he watches you, his eyes dipping to your mouth as you chew your food slowly. “You gonna give me a reason to be?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His eyes sweep down your body, then back up. “It means I don’t see what I have to be jealous about when I’m the only one you’re always screamin’ at.”
“Oh my God,” you snort, though you feel none of the casual indifference you project. “You are so full of shit. I think your ego’s actually starting to infect the rest of your brain.”
“You’re not goin’ out,” Gator says with finality. “Pops told me to watch you, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
“You can’t keep me under house arrest, Gator,” you challenge, panic flaring within you at the thought of him actually trapping you in here with him all weekend.
“The fuck I can’t,” he snorts. “I’m the babysitter, ain’t I?”
“You’re not my babysitter,” you fire at him, your temper kicking up again.
“Oh, yeah?” he hums. “What am I, then?”
“My local parasite?” you offer, mockingly sweet.
Gator doesn’t take the bait– just smirks at you. “You try and leave here without me, sweetheart, and I’ll just have to call your daddy and see what he has to say about it.”
“There’s nothing to do in here,” you argue, trying desperately to make him see reason. “I’m gonna be bored out of my skull, and so are you.”
“Alright, then let’s find somethin’ to do,” Gator suggests. “You and me. Not Emmie or whatever fuckin’ guy you were gonna let put his hands on you all afternoon.”
“You’re such a fucking pig!” you nearly yell in aggravation.
“Come on,” he goads you. “You wanna play a board game? Want me to braid your hair?”
“I want to get as far away from you as possible before I catch something contagious.” You ditch the rest of your food and make for your room again, dimly aware that it’s becoming something of a fortress.
“It’s a small house, sweetheart,” he tells you as he follows you, right on your heels. “You can’t avoid me forever.”
You whip around and stick a finger into his chest. “I want you out of here, Gator. I want you gone. I don’t care where you go. Just get out of my fucking house and leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that,” he tells you, intensity back in his expression.
“I don’t care,” you repeat, shaking your head. You’re almost trembling with anger, your fists clenched. “I don’t care what our dads say about it. I’d rather be grounded until I’m dead than spend another moment with you.”
For a second, Gator doesn’t speak. And then, voice low, he mutters, “You weren’t kiddin’ yesterday, were you?” he asks, his eyes scanning your face. “You really do hate me.”
“I do,” you agree– probably the only time you ever have. “And you hate me.”
“But you think about me,” he murmurs without answering you. His voice takes on a low, dangerous edge, and you become aware again of how little space there is left between your faces. “Don’t you, pretty?”
“You’re delusional,” you hiss, the words coming out on a whisper.
“Nah,” he brushes you off. “I can tell, baby. When you’re all hot and bothered like this, when you get this fired up…” he lets out a breathy laugh. “I bet you toss and turn all night, too riled up to get to sleep ‘cause all you can think about is me.”
The words hit too close. They make your breath hitch, and like always, he can tell. It’s like he knew what you were doing in your bedroom last night– knew how long it took you to finally settle down, and only after you’d taken care of yourself a few times, just to pull some stress out of your brain. It’s like he knew what you’d been thinking about when you had.
Gator sees it on your face– that vulnerability, open and ready for him to exploit. And you can’t let him have it. And you’re running on five hours of sleep. And you’d rather die than let Gator win one over you like he has all your life.
And you tell yourself that’s why you grip him by the neck of his shirt and haul his lips to yours.
The kiss is hard, abrasive, and pressing. You don’t give Gator a second to adjust, swallowing his breath of surprise, your hand fisted in his shirt.
And something in you, something you’ve been ignoring for your entire life, something that tortures you on nights like last night and days like today when you really can’t shove him out of your mind, settles and clicks into place. That dooming, disastrous secret you’ve pretended all these years you haven’t yet discovered.
Heat licks up inside you, seeping into your belly. You want more, you realize– more than the slide of your lips against his, more than Gator still and receiving. You want hands and tongues and teeth. You want him to move, but for once in his pathetic life, Gator Tillman seems frozen.
With the hand still gripping his shirt, you shove him back, sucking in a breath.
His face is torn in shock. He’s panting slightly, his shining lips just beginning to turn pink. His dark eyes rove over your face, wider and more focused than you’ve ever seen.
Your stare traces from the few hairs sticking out of his ballcap down to his lips that were plusher than you’d thought possible for a man like him. And then you laugh, low and harsh.
Without another look at Gator, your heart in your throat, you turn on your heel and disappear behind your bedroom door.
You’re sitting at the high table of a coffeeshop next to Emmie, your feet propped up on the bar between your stool legs, when the sight of a black truck pulling up to the curb outside makes your heart drop through your shoes.
It would be fair to say that, in the heat of anger, you did something pretty fucking stupid.
After you’d kissed Gator and left him standing in the hallway, the retreat to your room hadn’t felt any less stifling than being in his presence. With Emmie still on her way to pick you up and the elephant sitting between you and your next interaction with Gator, you’d thought that then would be the perfect time to manufacture an escape.
Ironically, Gator had given you the idea by himself. Your window was ground-level, and your dad had never bothered to stick a screen on it to keep out the summer bugs. Today, that would work in your favor.
You left your music blaring out of your speaker and snuck out the window as gracefully as you could once Emmie had texted and informed you she was parked around the block. And then you’d driven into town and filled your friend in on everything you still couldn’t believe had just happened.
Emmie had laughed herself sick when you’d told her you kissed Gator. You supposed it was fairly ridiculous, really– a stupid, uncharacteristic, poorly-thought-through move. It would cast a pall between you– that much, you knew. But you’d been too tired of him playing that game, holding feelings and attractions over you like you were the only affected one. So, there. Now, at least you’d shown him what you were made of.
Emmie notices you staring out the window, and her eyes widen as she realizes why. “Is that–”
Gator jumps down from his truck and slams the door, his expression already awash with anger. You swallow as you watch him stomp toward the café and rip open the door, his eyes landing on you immediately.
A jolt runs down your spine at that look– the total rage that’s directed only at you. He must have driven around looking for Emmie’s car– guessing at the spots you two frequent together. You wish you could say you’re surprised he found you so quickly, but Gator’s always had a good memory when it comes to cataloguing how best to drive you insane. Including but not limited to memorizing the name of your favorite coffeeshop.
Gator stalks toward you, and you register dimly that his hair is a wreck beneath his cap, his mouth set in a grim line. Oh, he’s furious you ran out on him. This was his one job, the one promise he made his dad for these two days– and you made him fail.
He stops in front of you where you still clutch your mug, not sparing Emmie a second glance. “Let’s go,” is all he says– not a request.
Swallowing, realizing you’ve pushed him to the limit, you rise from your stool and turn back to Emmie.
She’s watching the encounter with wide, skeptical eyes. “Babe,” she starts, her voice quiet. “Are you gonna be okay?”
You know what’s on her mind– what’s probably running through the minds of everyone in this café. They know Gator’s reputation, and they know his daddy. Worse, they know what it means when a woman upsets a man from the Tillman family.
But you’re different for one reason– you know Gator. And no matter how hard you push, no matter the bullshit he spits at you, you know one thing about him for certain– he will not hurt you. You used to call it pathetic, just like with your father, but now you think differently. Gator wouldn’t hurt a woman because he doesn’t have it in him. And he won’t hurt you because all he wants to do is the opposite, even in his weird, twisted way.
“I’ll be fine,” you tell Emmie, pushing off your stool. “I’ll get you back for the coffee later, yeah?”
Emmie nods, watching as you turn back to Gator.
He’s no less full of ire, but you can tell he’s satisfied by your compliance. He lets you walk toward the truck first, and you wonder if it’s so he can catch you if you try to run off again.
When you reach the passenger side door that he holds open for you, you start, “Gator–”
“Get in the fucking car,” he snaps.
You clamp your mouth shut, still riling internally against his order, and climb into the seat.
The drive back to your house is wordless, but you can tell he’s still steaming about this. It’s only when you’re back in the house, the door slammed behind you and your jacket thrown over the hook again, that he finally pipes up.
“You’re a real fuckin’ brat, you know that?”
“You wouldn’t let me go,” you argue flatly.
“What are you, fuckin’ twelve years old?” he shoots back. “Climbin’ out your window? They weren’t kiddin’ when they said you needed a goddamn babysitter.”
“It’s my house.” Your expression contorts with frustration. “I should be able to leave it when I want to. And I don’t need some overgrown manchild guarding my door.”
He storms over to you, his expression stony. “Well, clearly, you fuckin’ do. I come in there to check on you, and you’re just gone. That’s real mature, sweetheart.”
“Check on me?” you scoff. “Oh, please. You were probably just worried I’d tell your daddy what you’ve been saying to me all weekend.”
“What I’ve been saying?” he huffs, outraged. “How ‘bout what you’ve been doing? You’re nothin’ better than a fuckin’ preteen, stompin’ around and escapin’ outta your room.”
You meet his stare, your brow set and low. “You think you can just keep me here– that I’ll just do whatever you want. You’re wrong, Gator.”
“It is my job to take care of you this weekend,” he snaps.
“No, it’s your job to watch me,” you correct him. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m supposed to know where you are. I’m supposed to keep tabs on you, woman. ‘Nd I don’t need you climbin’ out your window and runnin’ off ‘cause you want to fuckin’ rebel.”
You round on him, his attitude only feeding yours. “I told you I was gonna go crazy in here. You can’t lock me up, Gator. You’re not in charge of me.”
“Right now, I am,” he spits back. “Right now, you answer to me. And when I tell you to do something, you fuckin’ do it.”
“You’re a prick,” you breathe. “You’re the worst person I’ve ever met. Why the hell would I listen to you?”
He crosses the rest of the room toward you in three long steps. “Say that again.”
“You’re not mad about this,” You shake your head, meeting his eyes. “You’re not mad I ran off or got you in trouble.” You let your eyes scrape down over his face, then back up. “You’re mad because I did it after I kissed you. You’re mad I didn’t just fall at your feet like everyone else does.”
“You really wanna talk about the shit you pulled back there?” he asks threateningly, eyes widening. He looks crazed like this– almost feral. “You wanna go there? ‘Cause you don’t tend to like it when you ‘n I talk dirty.”
You will a smirk onto your face. “You liked it, didn’t you?”
Gator’s expression shifts. He’s almost shaking with anger. You’ve never seen him like this– never once. You’ve never seen him when he’s losing before.
“When you thought I meant it,” you clarify. “For a second there, I made you believe it.”
Gator doesn’t say anything, his eyes boring into yours. And that’s how you know– you won. It just doesn’t feel as sweet as it should.
“You don’t like me,” you shake your head, finally seeing the full picture. “You just don’t like that you can’t have me. That’s what I am to you– something you can’t stand for anyone else to put their hands on.”
He snorts, tries to wave it off. It’s not as convincing as he tries to make it. “‘Cause you know everything about what I think now?”
“Yeah,” you challenge. “Yeah I do know you, Gator. And what you’re doing here? It’s fucked.”
“Yeah, well I know you, too,” he spits out, his glare so hard it could chip rock. “I know you tell yourself you’re throwin’ yourself at all those douchebags ‘cause you’re rebelling, but really you just can’t stand anybody rejecting you. I know you take shit from your dad and my dad and everyone else ‘cause you don’t have enough of a spine to stand up to ‘em.”
“You don’t know me,” you say gutturally, the words landing sharp as gravel in your chest. “You don’t know anything. Least of all how to want something without hurting it.”
Gator’s fists are clenched to hide his shaking. “Fuck. You.”
“You wish,” you throw back, and you don’t need to say it harshly. Because for once, the words you pitch at him are true, and the both of you know it now.
Gator rips his eyes away and stalks back toward the living room. “Go hide in your room again. Do whatever the hell you want. You always do, anyway.”
You watch him walk away, and in your head, beneath the rushing anger, you make a decision.
You’re not going to hide. You’re not going to slink away and let him have this– let him avoid what you’ve made him feel today, tonight, maybe for longer than you know. He doesn’t get to give up the game now that he’s lost the upper hand.
So, that night, you don’t go back to your room.
You do your summer homework at the counter with your headphones on while Gator fires off curt emails at the dining table. You eat a wordless dinner side by side, the leftovers somehow tasting worse than they had yesterday– but maybe that was the aftertaste of the fight in your mouth. Gradually, things even out, some of the tension slipping out of the air. Maybe it’s that it’s all on the table now– nothing left unsaid between you, and nothing to say that could possibly be worse.
You and Gator settle into a rhythm, the fizzing, livid frustration soothing between you as you move side by side, unspeaking, for the entirety of the night. The first time you exchange words again, it almost feels like things are back to how they were before.
Gator’s on the couch in front of the TV, but he’s not watching it. Instead, he’s observing you as you emerge from your room, where you’d changed into a baggy sweatshirt with your high school’s name on it and a pair of athletic shorts you’ve probably grown out of by about two years. Gator’s eyes track you as you make your way back into the living room, running up and down your body.
“What?” you snap, sick of his scrutiny.
“Nothin’,” he replies, not tearing his eyes away as he smirks. “Real sexy outfit, that’s all.”
You roll your eyes, though you might be secretly glad the two of you are any kind of back to normal. “I’m in my own living room. I'm allowed to wear what I want.” You flop down onto the other end of the couch from him unceremoniously and pick up the discarded remote. “You probably sleep in your jeans, you cretin.”
Gator hasn’t changed out of his day-clothes yet, but his hair is sticking out further from the front of his cap. He adjusts it on his head, and you have to pull your eyes away from the way his arms flex with the motion.
Adjusting to be more comfortable on your end of the couch, your back against the armrest and your legs stretched out across the cushions, you change the channel, and Gator makes a noise of protest. “I was watching that.”
“You were watching 10 Things I Hate About You?” you deadpan, giving him a look. “Really?”
Gator fumbles a little for words. “It’s the guy from The Joker. I don’t know.”
You snort, clicking through channels. “Didn’t know you were such a fan of rom-coms.”
“You’re so fucking annoying,” he gripes, turning his eyes back to the screen.
When a few minutes have passed and you still haven’t settled on an evening feature, he makes a noise of exasperation and throws a hand out at the TV. “Will you just pick something already?”
“It’s my house,” you remind him imperiously. “It’s my TV. I'll take my damn time.”
“I’m gonna be dead by the time you land on a movie.”
“All the better for me,” you answer sweetly.
“Just give me the fuckin’ remote,” he insists, sitting up and reaching out for it.
“No, thanks,” you huff, holding the remote away from him in case he decides to snatch it out of your hands. “I have very little interest in watching Swamp People or whatever the hell it is you find entertaining.”
“Well, you’re gonna pick some girly crap, and I don’t wanna sit through that,” he argues.
“Then go to bed,” you propose, not looking at him as you keep clicking. “Nothing’s keeping you here.”
With no warning, a large hand clamps around your ankle, and you yelp as Gator drags you toward him by your leg until you’re staring up at his smirking face, your sweatshirt hitched up around your waist. The action, the audacity of it, steals the breath from you, and for whatever reason, you don’t fight him as his hand spans your calf to keep you in place.
Gator leans over you, and there’s none of the playfulness of the last words you spoke in his eyes. Instead, he’s staring down at you with such unbelievable focus it makes your heart pound in your throat.
It doesn’t even surprise you when he kisses you.
Gator’s lips are as plush as they were this morning, but this time, he doesn’t freeze. He pushes against you, hard and claiming, his head bowed over yours and his hands loosening their grip on your legs. The kiss is messy, his tongue pushing past your lips and sweeping your mouth, like he knows neither one of you can stand to do anything halfway anymore.
You don’t even notice that he’s wrested the remote from your hand until he pulls back and smirks at you.
You stare up into his face– his stupid, arrogant, triumphant face– as he holds the remote over you in victory, just like he’s held everything over you, every little thing he’s ever won.
It’s less than a moment before you snake your hand around the back of his neck and pull him back down toward you.
You kiss him again, harder this time, the push and pull of your lips igniting something in your gut you didn’t ever think Gator Tillman would be capable of eliciting. It’s intoxicating, that feeling– so close and intimate. You nip at his bottom lip, and Gator groans.
You have just enough sense left in your dazed brain to pull the remote from his fingers again, and he lets it go almost willingly. This time, you’re the one who pulls back, relishing in that last second of victory.
The two of you hang there for a moment, staring back into each other’s faces.
And then, in one brief, intoxicating second, the dam breaks, and all bets are off.
The remote clatters to the floor. Gator’s hands surge for you, wrap around your back and band around you to pull you upright. Your lips lock together, messy and desperate, and the noises you’re making are absolutely indecent as he licks into your mouth like he wants to steal the sounds from you. You break the kiss only long enough to push yourself fully upright and onto your knees, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him, your loose hair falling down between you.
Gator looks ravenous as you loom over him, hunger baked into his expression, so intense it makes your breath catch. You don’t pause long enough for him to mock you for it.
You grab his face in both of your hands and pull him toward you again, teeth scraping against lips. You take a second to knock the cap off his head and pitch it away, and then you’re tugging his hair and he’s panting against your mouth as his hands squeeze harder than necessary at your waist and hips.
You’re surprised– honestly shocked– he hasn’t made a move to grope at you yet. His fingertips press into you so harshly you think they might bruise– so rough and needy, like it’s been years of waiting for him to paw at you like this. Maybe it has.
Your hands run down his body, over his shoulders and pecs and tensed abdomen. You don’t break the kiss while your fingers grip his belt tightly, and Gator lets out another groan into your mouth.
His hands dip a little lower, his fingers skimming under the hem of your sweatshirt, but that’s all he does. Fine, then– maybe all his big talk is just that. If you need to be the cleaver of what you’ve spent years convincing yourself is a normal, hate-hate relationship, then so fucking be it.
Your hands scrabble to undo his belt without looking, the starched denim of his jeans rough against your bare thighs.
Gator pulls away from you just long enough to catch his breath, his eyes hazy with lust as he looks up at you. “What’re you doin’?”
“Gonna fuck you,” you pant, surging forward to kiss him again. You finally make progress with his belt and nearly tear it open, but Gator’s not finished.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, one of his hands sliding up beneath your sweatshirt and settling flat on your back. “Thought you hated me.”
“I do,” you correct him, voice strained even now. You tear your lips from his to kiss down his neck, finger still working to pull his belt free. “I hate you so fucking much, Gator.”
You can almost hear his grin in his voice as he says. “Good. Just checking.”
His hands grip your thighs, and suddenly you’re in his arms, your legs wrapping automatically around his waist as he pulls you up with him as he stands.
“What are you doing?” you ask against the skin of his neck, your attention honed on leaving an obnoxiously big mark there.
“I’m not fuckin’ you on a couch,” Gator tells you dryly, and begins to carry you toward your bedroom like it’s second nature.
“Such a gentleman,” you mock him. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I just want you spread out,” he says bluntly, his nose prodding into your hair as you continue to attack his throat. “Let’s not get things confused, baby.”
You give a muffled laugh against his Adam's apple.
When you make it to your bedroom, Gator actually throws you backward onto the bed, so hard you squeak when you hit the mattress with a bounce. “‘Course you got stuffed animals on here,” he drawls, moving over you on all fours. “You’re such a kid.”
“And you’re a heartless bastard,” you coo, your hands coming to rest on his chest. “They’re cute.”
With one hand, Gator sweeps your stuffed animals off the bed. “‘M not having them watching me.”
“You insecure, or something?” you tease, your voice a high pitch.
Gator’s eyes narrow into a glare. “Why don’t you put your hand in my pants and find out, sweetheart?”
“Take your shirt off,” you demand, refusing to let him know what the challenge in his eyes is doing to you. With him hanging over you like this, his broad body commanding your attention, you feel like you’re on fire.
“You’re pretty fuckin’ needy, aren’t you?” he goads, but he sits up and tugs his shirt over his head anyway.
“And you’re doin’ exactly what I told you to,” you point out, though the effect of the teasing is a little lost when your eyes fall to his bare chest.
You almost hate him just for looking as good as he does. The unfortunate side effect of the gym-bro identity he’s developed is that Gator’s had serious results. His pecs are sculpted, his stomach lean and toned, and his arms… well, if you weren’t seriously fucked before, you certainly are now. His biceps flex as he moves over you again, pulling you back into a harsh kiss. “Your turn,” he makes out when you break free. “Strip.”
“How romantic,” you croon. “What if I wanna keep everything on?”
Gator shakes his head. “Nope.”
You give him a look. “Excuse me?”
“Show me your tits,” he orders you. “I’m gonna see every inch of you.” When you still don’t move, he barks, “Now.”
“You know, your bossiness?” you hiss, fingers moving almost involuntarily to the hem of your sweatshirt, “One of your worst qualities.”
“It works, don’t it?” he huffs, watching as you struggle to free your arms. Impatient, he pulls back again and yanks you upward. “This is the ugliest fuckin’ sweatshirt I’ve ever seen.”
“Fuck you,” you breathe, and he drags it over your head and tosses it aside, baring you to the room. Your nipples perk up from the sudden chill, and the warmth in your gut builds as Gator takes you in hungrily. When he touches you again, he starts by smoothing down the hair he wrecked with your sweatshirt. And then those hands run over your shoulders and down your arms, soothing the goosebumps that haven’t gone away since the second he kissed you.
“Fuck,” he blurts out, staring unabashedly at your chest.
Your skin prickles under his stare, the vulnerability of it. You’re not afraid of Gator. You just can’t tell what he’ll do when his walls are down, and that’s more thrilling than anything.
Without any more delay, he cups your right breast and squeezes gently, like he’s testing the weight in his palm. You squirm a little, and he tells you, “Hold still.”
“Gator,” you make out, a little put off that this is taking so long. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Just shut the fuck up and let me touch you,” he says back, and kneads at your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “It’s the first time, sweetheart. Gotta enjoy it.”
Your breath hitches when he slaps lightly at your tender flesh, watching the movement with a smirk on his face. “You’ve got great tits, you know that?”
You shoot him a dry look. “What, first time you’ve ever seen a pair?”
He lifts his other hand and presses into both at once, massaging with a care you didn’t know he had in him. “Mouthy,” he observes, frowning. “You should quit that. Pants.”
“What about them?” you ask indignantly, watching the way he remains fascinated by your chest.
Gator’s eyes flick up to yours. “Get them off.”
“I suppose ‘please’ is a foreign concept to you,” you drawl, laying back against the comforter. In the back of your head, you register that you’re letting him order you around, and that under normal circumstances you would be completely revolted with the way you’re giving in. Right now, it feels like the least of your worries.
“I like to have all the manners comin’ from you.” Gator breathes as he moves over you again, his face appearing above yours. He kisses you once, briefly, and then starts drawing a line down the middle of your body with his lips– your chin, your throat, your sternum. He gets distracted at your chest and diverts to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, and you arch up into the touch, letting out an embarrassingly loud gasp.
Gator hums against your breast, satisfied by the sound. His teeth scrape gently over its peak, and your fingers curl in his hair in response.
“This doesn’t feel like fucking,” you mock him, though it comes out breathy and weak.
“Be nice,” Gator tells you flatly. “Or I’ll stop being nice.”
That’s ironic considering you can’t recall him ever starting.
Your fingers dip into the waistband of your shorts just as Gator’s lips reach your stomach, and he helps you work them down your legs, his broad hands smoothing over your skin until you’re completely bare and he chucks the shorts away. You shiver, the reality of being so exposed in front of him hitting you beneath the hazy lust. Your legs tense up involuntarily at the realization, your knees locking together.
Gator’s head snaps up, and that sight alone almost rips another moan from your throat. His hair is falling in his eyes, mussed from your grip. “Hey. Don’t fuckin’ hide from me.”
Your jaw clenches. “Why the hell should I trust you?” you ask, the question tearing from you before you can stop it.
His stare is absolutely wicked. “You spread your legs for all those other guys, don’t you? Doubt you trusted any ‘a them. Bet they didn’t even make you come.”
His mocking does nothing to quell your insecurity. “You’re an asshole, Gator,” you snap, pushing up on your elbows and drawing your legs away from him.
His hand reaches out and grips you around your ankle again, halting you. And then he says, his eyes intent upon your face, “I know you better than anyone. That’s why you should trust me.”
The words relax you without you meaning them to. Gator sees it, and he smiles a little– not quite devoid of arrogance, but something bordering on genuine.
And then he grips you by the ankles and props your legs up, eye-level with your cunt.
He doesn’t touch you at first– just looks.
“Gator–” you squirm a little, arching your back. From here, you can see the pleased expression on his face as he examines you, and something about the diligence in it is making it hard to stay focused. “Gator, either move or get back up here. I don’t care.”
“Just let me look at you, baby,” he throws back, nonplussed. One of his thumbs brushes against the skin around the center of you, and you shiver. “You’re so wet it’s unfair.”
“Stop staring at me, you pervert,” you make out, but the light touch is affecting you so much already that your argument sounds weaker than you mean it to. “It’s creepy.”
“Why?” he asks bluntly, that thumb guiding itself through your folds, parting you gently. “It’s pretty.”
Compliments are rare coming from Gator. You can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s legitimately offered you one. Which is probably why you’re trembling before he’s even touched you– not because you want him to so badly right now you can’t think straight.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I like?” you prod him, your voice low.
Gator’s face dips slightly, his eyes still intent upon the center of you. “Nope.”
You snort. “And they say chivalry’s dead. Do you– oh.”
At the first broad sweep of his tongue, every argument falls from your lips.
It’s fair to say you’ve been with a number of sexual partners. Not as many as Gator mocks you for, but you’re not what you would call naive to how sex should feel when it’s done right. You’ve had guys go down on you like they’re making out– slow and sensual and unhurried. You’ve had uncomfortable, oblivious experiences that ended in rolled eyes and faked orgasms. And you’ve had a few really stellar players, too– ones that don’t need to brag to tell you they know what they’re doing.
As in most things, Gator feels different.
It might be the eagerness with which he latches his mouth to your cunt, or the immediate pressure he adds without reprieve. But something about the intensity of the strokes of his tongue, the slight drag of his teeth, the way his nose presses against your clit, is unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Gator goes down on you like he’s starving for it– like he’s trying to consume you, to press himself so deeply against your heat there’s no chance of retrieval. He laps at your wetness, his tongue spearing inside you, and you moan louder, your back arching off the bed and your thighs squeezing either side of his face.
Harshly, he takes one broad hand and presses your right leg back to the mattress. He removes himself just enough to say, “Gimme some room to work here, alright?”
“Gator,” you breathe, overwhelmed.
“What?” he responds as he dives back in, sucking your clit into his mouth.
You let out a cry, forgetting what you’d meant to tell him. It was probably something derogatory. You wish you remembered.
“So fuckin’ responsive,” he laughs, the vibrations travelling along your center. “Can’t believe how wet you are, baby. I really turn you on that much?”
“Fuck off,” you pant, and Gator looks up at you through his brows.
“What’d I just say?” he goads you, and without preamble, slides one of his fingers inside you. “Be nice.”
You gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets. “Gator– fuck, Gator.”
He pumps his finger inside you, then adds another just as fast. It’s almost annoying how he can tell immediately how to curl them to hit the spot that always makes you writhe, but when you move too much for his taste, he uses his other hand to slide over your lower stomach and pin you to the bed. “Go ‘head and hold onto me, sweetheart,” he tells you, seeing how badly you want to move. “I know– I know. It’s a lot, baby, but you can take it.”
Your cheeks sting at the way he’s talking down to you, but you can’t formulate a scathing enough reply. Instead, you snake your hand down into his hair, clutching at the strands so hard it probably hurts.
“There you go,” he purrs, eyes on you as he lowers his mouth to your clit again, fingers still moving inside you. “That’s my good girl.”
The worst part is that he’s right– it is a lot. It’s too much, too fast, too far, but Gator doesn’t seem to care, and with the way you’re catapulting toward your orgasm, you can’t bring yourself to, either. Nothing about the way he laves and sucks at you, the way he nips gently at the apex of your core while his fingers make you bow off the bed with their consistent, unrelenting pace, is even pretending to be gentle. That’s not who Gator is– that’s not what he’s willing to give you. He’s always been this and only this– hard, rough, brutal where it hurts the best. What’s killing you even more than the overstimulating pressure is that you’re realizing in the back of your mind that he’s the best lay you’ve ever had.
“Fuck,” Gator mumbles against you, and retracts one of his hands to adjust himself in his jeans. “Jesus Christ, you taste good. Never had pussy this perfect before.”
You groan and grind your hips up against his face, and Gator makes a noise of approval deep in his throat. “Do that again.”
You don’t need to be told twice. Your hips chase his face as he presses harder into you, his fingers pumping faster and faster. “Fuck my face, baby. Come on— there you go. Give it to me.”
“Oh my God,” you pant as the coil inside you tightens and tightens, poised to snap. “Gator— Gator, right there, fuck—“ Your fingers clench in his hair, and he whines against you.
“Go ‘head, baby. Let go. Lemme see your pretty come face.”
Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm tears through you, and Gator doesn’t let up for a moment as he works you through it, mumbling how good you’re being, telling you to let him see it. By the time it finally breaks, your entire body is tingling with leftover energy, and Gators tongue is still working at your center.
“Gator,” you plead, your voice a defeated whine. “Too— too much. I’m sensitive.”
“You made a real fuckin’ mess down here,” he says gruffly in return, licking over you— cleaning you up, you realize. “You can do it. Hold still.”
Now that your walls are down again, you find it in you to start disobeying like you’re used to. You squirm against his grip, your hips bucking. Gator uses the hand on your stomach to press you further into the mattress, letting him finish his diligent work. When he’s finally satisfied with himself, he presses a messy kiss to your inner thigh and moves over you again.
“Still think I’m an asshole?” he asks, his smirk intolerably wide.
“Marginally less so,” you breathe, a little surprised, yourself.
Gator grins and lowers his head to kiss at your cheek, your neck. “Guess the only reason you’re always bitchin’ at me is you’re too pent up to do anything else, huh?”
Your eyes flatten as he sucks at your neck, your fingers twisting in his hair. “Call me a bitch again. See where it gets you.”
“Aw, don’t feel bad, baby,” he croons. “You’re too stressed, in’t that right? Need someone to work it outta ‘ya?”
“And here I was, thinking my attitude gets you hard,” you drawl, too spent to bother being humiliated by his words.
“Maybe it does,” he offers. “And maybe I like bein’ the one to get you to finally fuckin’ relax.”
“Mm, what every girl dreams about,” you tease him. “Sex being relaxing.”
“You bored?” he challenges, pulling back to raise a brow at you.
“Whole lotta talking going on,” your return evenly, pushing down the thrill his expression sends through you.
“You’re pretty fuckin’ insufferable, you know that?” he gripes, and you grin as your hands slide up his bare chest and push him backward so you can sit up.
“Says you,” you hum, shifting to sit cross-cross between his legs. “Pretty big talk for a guy who hasn’t pulled his dick out yet.”
“You gonna beg me?” he goads, his own grin growing.
“Over my cold, dead, rotting body,” you reply, your voice low and sultry.
Gator laughs and pushes off the bed, his fingers going for the zipper on his jeans. His eyes are on you as he shucks them down his legs and kicks them away, then follows with his boxers.
In one terrible second, the reason for every speck of arrogance in Gator clicks into place in your mind. He’s hung. Like, the kind of hung that you thought was a joke when rumors started circulating in high school. Every coy, teasing plan you’d had running through your head a moment ago curls up and dies, and your mouth goes dry as you stare at him in outrage.
“You goin’ dumb, sweetheart?” he asks you smugly.
You glare and point a finger toward his length. “Absolutely not.”
“What?”
“I can’t take that,” you shake your head, incredulous.
“Sure you can,” Gator waves you off, ego simmering in his eyes.
“Nuh-uh,” you scoff. “I’ll break. There’s no way that fits inside me.”
“Never know until you try,” he points out, crawling back onto the bed toward you. “I just warmed you up. You’ll be fine.”
“Gator—“
“Just shut up and lay back,” he complains, his face inches from yours. “I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart.”
He’s so uncannily good at that– saying things to you that put you immediately at ease, even while he relinquishes none of the control. Gator knows the formula of exactly how and when to push you, and he knows when it tips into too far. You didn’t think he had that sort of emotional intelligence in him, but somehow, even bare and exposed before him now, you’re not nervous.
Gator moves over you, his head lowering to kiss you again– slower and sweeter, like he knows you need the reassurance. There’s still that fire underneath it, that unkillable, tortuous want, but it’s settled somehow in the way he’s pressing your bodies together.
“Condom?” he mumbles against your lips.
You scour your brain, trying to remember if you replaced the box of rubbers in your nightstand after the last time your dad raided your room looking for contraband. “Mm– I don’t know if I have one.”
You roll your eyes at his expression. “I don’t actually put out that much, Gator.”
“You don’t have a single fuckin’ condom?” he deadpans. “What are you, some kind of virgin?”
“Just check the nightstand,” you snap.
Gator crawls off of you and reaches out to rifle through your top drawer. A laugh escapes his throat, and he withdraws a familiar, bright-purple object. “Now, hang on a sec. What’s all this?”
You groan and press your eyes shut. “Oh my God, just kill me.”
Gator flicks the vibrator on where he kneels straddling you on the bed, studying the way it jumps in his hand. “You think about me when you use this?”
“Gator Tillman is holding my vibrator,” you mumble to yourself. “I’ve died and gone to hell and this is it.”
“It’s kinda cute,” he says observantly. “Little. You want me to help you out with this?”
“Your window for putting on a condom and fucking me is closing,” you inform him dryly.
He heaves a sigh, mischief in his eyes as he smiles down at you. “Fine. Some other time.” He flicks the vibrator off and sets it on the nightstand, then rifles through your drawer some more until he finds a single foil packet. “Fuckin’ finally.”
“Oh, and whose fault is it for taking so long?” you snap, pressing up onto your elbows as he sits back and tears the wrapper open with his teeth.
“You know, you’re not real good at this whole ‘patience’ thing, baby,” he tells you mildly.
You watch as he rolls the condom over his length and pumps himself once, twice. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’ll make it fit. You’ll be fine.”
“I mean having sex with you,” you retort flatly.
“Oh, please,” he huffs. “You know you’ve been dreamin’ about this for years.”
“I fucking hate you,” you remind him, eyes narrowing. “I’ve spent my entire life hating your guts. And now you’re naked in my bed. I feel like I’m on drugs.”
“I’m not that surprised,” he tosses back, staring down at you spread out beneath him. “Been flirtin’ with you since I was twelve. Figured we’d get here one day.”
“You were not flirting with me,” you counter, the words sending color to your cheeks. “I think what you were doing qualifies as harassment.”
“You think I talk about every girl’s tits like that?” He arches a brow.
“I know you do,” you hiss, slapping his thigh. “That’s what all disgusting, horny, deadbeats do.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve been droolin’ over you for years,” Gator snorts. “You’re pretty fuckin’ dense if you couldn’t tell, baby. Everybody else could. My friends gave me so much shit about it in high school.” Your cheeks burn redder, and he grins. “Yeah, you fuckin’ knew it, too. Your face always went red just like that.”
Determined not to let him hold it over you, you push further upright. One hand curling against his chest, you halt his movement over you and push him back into a seated position. “Is that why you’re so hard right now?” you coo, angling your head. “‘Cause I’m so affected? And you’re so above it all?”
He studies you, his eyes tracking the movement of your lips. “Never said I was.”
“Yeah, you look pretty fuckin’ desperate, too,” you murmur, your hand tracing gently over the lines of his abdomen. “I better help you out, huh?”
“Lay back,” he says again, the words low and gruff.
Your lips curve up into a smile, and slowly, you shake your head. “You had your turn– now let me have mine.”
His brows raise in surprise, but he doesn’t object.
Cautiously, you extract yourself from beneath him, pressing up on your knees to straddle him again. Your hand comes hesitantly down to touch his length, and you watch Gator’s jaw clench as you close your fingers around him.
“Sensitive, huh?” you croon, and he glares at you.
“You wanna move your fuckin’ hand?” he drawls. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m not gonna last too long.”
You huff a low laugh and give him a testing squeeze, moving your hand up and down. He really is huge– so big you have no idea if you’re going to be capable of your next step. That tinge of uncertainty finds you again, but it’s just as quickly soothed by the feeling of Gator’s warm hand spanning your thigh, smoothing over it. It’s enough to encourage you to rise higher on your knees and notch him at your entrance, gritting your teeth at the sensation.
Gator hums at the feeling, too, looking up at you with smug admiration. “You gonna ride me, baby?”
“Shut up right now,” you mumble, eyes squeezing shut.
He laughs roughly. “Come on– sit down. I’ve got ‘ya.”
With deliberate slowness, you begin to sink down, letting out a pathetic little noise at the stretch.
“Good girl,” Gator coos, drawing out the word. “You’ve got it. You can take it all.”
You halt your progress to give yourself a moment to adjust, the stretch of him inside you walking the delicate line between pleasure and pain.
“Breathe,” Gator orders you. “Breathe, baby.” You can hear the smile in his voice as you suck in a bigger breath and let it out. “There she is. Look at you, baby– face all screwed up. All stretched out on my dick. Keep going. I want you lower.”
You whimper and keep going, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders while one of his grips your waist to help you down. For a moment, it’s too much, and you stop again.
A sharp smack sounds, and the back of your thigh stings as Gator lands a slap to it. When your eyes flutter open in surprise, you find him glaring.
“Hey. I said lower,” he tells you. “Take it. Don’t make me do it myself, sweetheart.”
“Fuck. You,” you make out, your breath coming in pants.
He smacks your thigh again, and you cry out. “Drop the fuckin’ attitude,” he snaps. “You don’t want me to flip you around and take care of it for you. Lower.”
“It’ll hurt,” you say through gritted teeth.
“You were built for me,” he murmurs, the hand on your waist coming up to push your hair behind your ears. “You’ll be fine.”
Your hands tighten on his shoulders, and you sink lower, inch by tortuous inch. It drags another sound from your throat, and Gator preens. “Thaaat’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. You’re doin’ so good for me, baby. You’re gonna get it all the way, huh?”
Your face burns, but the challenge gets to you like it always does. Jaw clenching, you shove yourself the rest of the way down, ignoring the jolt of pain and the way you gasp outright. It fades quickly enough into ecstasy at the sheer size of him– the fullness so intense it makes you wonder if any sex will ever be the same again.
When you manage to come to, finally adjusted to the pleasurable burn, Gator’s hands are brushing over your cheeks, smoothing down your body, keeping you centered. “There she is,” he hums again, a smile blooming all over his face. “Knew you’d fuckin’ do it for me. You’re perfect. So pretty like this– my own little cocksleeve.”
“‘M not,” you argue, your face falling forward into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
“Sure you are,” he counters, hands slipping around to hold you close. “So proud of you. You took it so well, sweetheart.”
You whimper– at the words or at the stretch of him, you don’t know. You feel a little drunk on it– the headiness of being this close to him, the rush of anger at being so demeaned. You can’t tell if you love it or hate it.
“You’re gonna move now,” he tells you, hands slipping down to your hips. “You’ve got it. Go slow.”
You don’t have the faculty to disagree. Carefully, you begin to roll your hips, Gator’s big hands guiding you as you grind back and forth over him. Desperately, you find his lips and press them to yours, cupping his face like he’s some kind of precious to you. You clench around him, and he moans into your mouth.
The drag of him inside you is just the right side of too much. You move faster, chasing your pleasure and his, letting him push and pull you how he wants to. It feels like worship, your bodies working together like this. The fit is seamless, despite how unfathomable that would have seemed to you a day ago.
“Your little boyfriends teach you how to do this?” he mocks you breathlessly, one of his hands tangling in your hair and tugging your head back so he can bite at your throat. “Were you this much of a slut for them?”
“Shut up,” you breathe.
“Bet you learned all on your own,” he goes on. “None ‘a them fucked you like this. They made you do it all yourself, didn’t they? That’s why you’re so perfect for me now.”
You tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, temper flaring in you. “Quit fucking talking about them,” you bite. “I’m fucking you now, aren’t I?”
“Damn straight,” Gator huffs, his breath hot on your throat. “Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had. Shoulda been with me the whole time.”
“I’m not with you,” you gasp out. “I’m just– fuck, Gator– I’m just…”
“Just what?” he challenges, nibbling at your pulse point.
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Having a– oh– momentary– lapse of sanity.”
He laughs roughly, pushing his hips up to meet yours. “We’ll see about momentary. Ah, fuck– squeeze me like that again. Jesus, you’re tight.”
You let out a keening sound as you do as he asks. “Gate–”
He lets out a groan, arms squeezing tighter around you at the nickname. “Tell me how much you hate me.”
You fumble for words a little, your concentration completely shot. “What?”
“Talk,” he breathes. “Tell me. I know you want to.”
“You don’t know anything,” you pant. “You don’t know me. You don’t have any idea how much I– ah!– how much I hate that we’re doing this.”
“You don’t look like you hate it,” he murmurs.
“I do,” you nod, your eyes squeezing shut. “I fucking hate it. I hate you more than anything. You make my skin crawl.”
Gator groans.
“You’re disgusting,” you go on. “I hate the way you talk to me and the way you treat girls. I hate that you can’t live without your stupid fucking vape. I hate the way you gel your hair.” Your breath hitches as he thrusts up into you, and your rhythm falters. “You’re arrogant. You’re self-serving. You’re– fuck, Gator– you’re a prick. You’re the worst kind of asshole, and I wish I’d never met you.”
“You’re so pretty when you lie,” he moans, reaching a hand up to tweak your nipple.
You take a jagged breath. “I hate that you’re gonna hold this over me till I die.”
“This?” he scoffs, but his voice is a little weak, a little breathy. “Nah, baby. This is just for me. Can’t have anyone else knowin’ I got to see you like this.”
“Gator,” you eke out, his reassurance hitting you somewhere low and deep.
“Yeah, baby?”
You don’t know how to say it– how to get what you want without giving him his. You don’t know how to say that you need to be closer to him, to fuse your bodies together, to go over the brink with him and not care for an hour or two what sharp rocks are at the bottom of this pit you’re willingly throwing yourself into. You need him deeper, harder, more.
“More?” he mumbles, as if taking the words straight out of your head. He’s always been so good at reading you, for better or worse. It’s how he knows now to make sure you’re ready, to hear you say it even in spite of all the dominance, all the insults. It’s that fact that makes you wonder just how meaningless all this really is to him.
You nod frantically, and that’s all it takes for Gator’s hands to grip you again and lay you back down on the covers, still joined. He hitches your legs up to lock around your waist, and then he’s drilling back into you, his hips slamming into yours.
“Gator!” you gasp out, your nails clawing at his back.
He moans, taken over just as much as you are by the feeling of you squeezing him. “That’s it, baby. Fuck– so fuckin’ tight. Perfect little doll for me.”
Every thrust into your body drags another cry from your throat as you rake at his back, the drag of him against your walls driving you out of your mind. “Fuck– fuck– fuck, Gate, I need–”
His hand is already there– moving down between you, finding your clit as he keeps at his unrelenting pace. “You beg so– ah– so pretty.”
You arch your back up into him as his fingers circle your clit. “Gate, I’m close. I’m– oh, fuck.”
“Can’t talk so well, huh?” he goads, pace increasing. You tip your head back at the new pressure, your mouth dropping open. “That’s okay, baby. I know I’m… know I’m fuckin’ you dumb.”
“Come with me,” you whimper, scratching at his shoulders. It’s all you need– all you’ve been able to think about for minutes now.
Gator’s head droops, and he hisses out, “Fuck.”
“Please,” you whisper– the first time you’ve said it all night. “Need it. Need– you.”
Gator kisses you hard, halting your words like he wants to seal them into permanence. His pace increases until you’re panting into each other’s mouths, and the warmth in your core is growing and growing, and you’re spiralling toward your peak–
You throw your head back and cry out his name as your second orgasm hits you, and it’s only seconds before Gator follows after you, spitting out curses with an intensity to match how he’s pounding into you.
He works you through it, your heart beating in your throat, your bodies getting closer and closer with every slowing thrust. Eventually, you’re chest to chest, Gator’s bare skin pressed to yours, his weight an intoxicating blanket that does nothing to ease your exhaustion.
Your fingers slowly release their vice grip on the skin of his back, your hands sliding up hesitantly to tangle in his hair. Gator lets out a defeated little noise into your neck as you scratch at his scalp.
For a single, deluded second, you feel like you want to stay there forever. You know this has to end– know Gator’s bound to pull away any moment now, to toss you some shitty comment about not getting attached, shuck his clothes on, and walk back out of your heart with one more thing to hold over you forever. It’s a problem of yours– you’ve always hoped for more from him. For better. And even if you know this meant nothing, if you’re trying to cement that knowledge into stone in your head, a tiny, insane part of you wouldn’t be upset if maybe he cared, too.
Which is why, when he finally does move, it surprises you more than anything tonight.
Gator pulls out carefully and shifts his weight so he’s not crushing you, but his hands don’t relinquish their grip on your body. Instead, they slide slowly over it, spanning your ribs, holding you delicately. And then his mouth lowers, and he presses a soft kiss to your sternum.
Your breath feels caught in your throat as he begins to place a line of careful kisses down your abdomen, his fingers brushing at your ribs and your waist. He’s touching you reverently, haltingly, like he’s mapping the expanse of your skin, worshipping the warmth of your form. It’s not sexual, and that’s perhaps what shocks you the most. It’s diligent. Curious. Purposeful.
He mumbles something against your stomach that you can’t make out.
“Gator,” you make out, your voice hoarse.
He moves back over you again, finding your face. Drops another kiss to your throat, your jaw, and then your cheek.
“What are you doing?” you whisper.
He stares down at you, his eyes half-lidded. “Treatin’ you good.”
You fight the urge to correct his grammar and focus on the words– the simplicity of them. “Why?”
Gator doesn’t blink. “‘Cause I never said I hated you.”
You reach down and grip his forearms, feeling the corded muscle there. You roll your eyes. “Come on. Be serious.”
“I am,” he insists, voice low.
The statement drags a scoff from your throat, and you push at his arms to tell him to get off.
“I am,” he repeats, shifting so you can slide out from beneath him. He remains on your bed, watching as you get unsteadily to your feet and walk across the room to get your robe.
“This isn’t real, Gator,” you argue, but whether you’re convincing yourself or him is lost on you. “You don’t mean any of this. You’re just… high on sex, or something.”
“I know what the hell I'm talkin’ about,” he snaps. “You’re tryna’ tell me that wasn’t fuckin’ incredible?”
You clench your jaw, finishing off your robe tie harshly. “I’m telling you I’m not gonna fall for this, and neither should you.”
“What’s there to fall for?” he challenges, watching as you scoop his pants off the floor and toss them onto the bed for him. “I’m bein’ serious. Let me take you out tomorrow. We’ll get dinner.”
You huff. “No.”
“Lunch.”
“Gator—“
“Coffee,” he proposes. “Come on, baby. You know you want to.”
“I’m not playing this game with you,” you cut him off. “We’re not together, Gator. We fucked. That’s it. This was a one-time thing.”
“I like you,” he says baldly, rising off the bed to start dressing. “And I know you like me, doll. Don’t see what sense there is fightin’ it.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, heaving a breath. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll start thinking you mean it,” you say in challenge.
Gator buttons his jeans and puts his hands on his hips. “Good. Something’s gotta get it through your thick head.”
“Nothing good happens when I let myself believe a word out of your mouth,” you return mildly, not rising to the bait. “Last time I was stupid enough to fall for you, all I got was humiliated and hurt. I won’t do that again.”
“Who says it won’t work out different this time?” he proposes.
“I say it won’t,” you tell him flatly.
He waves a hand. “You’re a cynic. I want a second opinion."
You hold back the aggravation in your tone and say firmly, “I don’t want to date you, Gator. You’d be horrible for me.”
“How do you know?” he fires back. “I’ve never been your boyfriend before.”
“I know because—” you sigh, frustrated. “You just are what you are, Gator. I can’t fix that. You’re always gonna be the guy that put gum in my hair in middle school and crashed my first date.”
He arches a brow. “I’ll also always be the guy that beat up Brian Murphy in senior year ‘cause he called you ugly.”
You flush a little at the memory— the embarrassment. The way Gator had looked as he sat outside the principal’s office, scowling at you like it was your fault he had a bloody lip. You guessed it sort of was.
Gators eyes narrow at your expression. “So what, I just can’t ever grow?”
“You can,” you correct him, tossing him his shirt, “But you won’t.”
“Three years ago, I wouldnt’ve fucked ‘ya like I just did,” he informs you, pointing to your rumpled bed. “That’s fuckin’ growth, sweetheart.”
You fight to keep your tone even. “One orgasm doesn’t just change a person like that. You’re still who you were when you walked into this house. I’m still me.”
“Yeah, and we fit pretty good, don’t we?” he drawls.
“You don’t like me.” You brace your hands on your back, determined to get this point across. “You want to… conquer me.”
Gator walks toward you evenly, sizing you up. He doesn’t stop until he’s towering over you again. “Maybe I like that I can’t.”
“And when you finally do?” you challenge, emotion working its way into your flat tone. “When I finally fall for you again? What are you gonna do when the chase isn’t interesting to you anymore?”
“Then we’ll get a little kinkier in bed,” he offers dryly, lifting a hand to brush a knuckle over your cheek.
The touch stills you for a moment, but it doesn’t quell your aggravation. “Stop it,” you roll your eyes, batting his hand away. “You suck, Gator. Just get out of here and we can pretend this never happened.”
You turn away, but Gator doesn’t let you get far. Gripping your arm, he turns you back toward him and hauls your face to his, locking you in another deep, pressing kiss.
You can’t help it— you’re only so strong. You forget your fight and sink into it, relishing the feeling of his tongue sweeping your mouth— the feeling you can't help but stupidly hope you’ll feel again.
When Gator pulls back, your expression must betray you, because he smirks. “You tell me you didn’t feel anything just then, and I'll let you go.”
“I—“ You fumble for words, shaking your head as you stare up at him.
“Go ahead,” Gator goads you, nodding his head to you. “Say it.”
You wrench your arm out of his grip and glare at him, wishing you had the faculty to just get it over with and lie. “Just because something feels good doesn’t mean it’s right,” you spit. “It’s not a reason to throw yourself into something blindly.”
“It’s the only reason,” he scoffs. “And you’d see that if you weren’t so fuckin’ scared.”
“I’m not–”
“It's alright, baby,” he interrupts you, lifting his hand to your mouth again, brushing at the corner. “I get it. You’re scared I’m gonna make you feel too good, right? Scared to let yourself have what you really want for once?”
You step back, wishing your chin wasn’t trembling as you answer him. “I’m scared you’ll end up just like your daddy, and I’ll be too obsessed with you to see it.”
Gator’s face shifts slightly– hardens. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“How do you know?” you press him.
“‘Cause I’m not my daddy,” he says firmly, his voice lowering like he can’t bear for anyone else to hear it. “And you’re not like my mom.”
You still. Gator never talks about his mom. He hasn’t once brought her up in the time you’ve known him. But you’ve heard the whispers– everyone in town has. Linda Tillman, who ran off and left her boy– Linda Tillman, who Roy beat on till she just couldn’t take it anymore. Linda Tillman, who was the one and only person Gator might have loved more than his father.
She’s a cautionary tale in the back of your head– a lesson about what happens to women who fall for men like that. But, for all his faults, do you really believe Gator is one of those men? Do you believe there’s a chance in him to care more about something than proving himself– to care about you, in that stupid, deluded way you’d always secretly wished he would?
Gator must see the deliberation in your face, the desperate, feeble hope in you, because his lips soften, turn somehow sweeter as he stares back at you, not waiting for an answer. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he explains to you quietly, stepping forward and reaching up to cup your face. This time, you don’t stop him. “I’m gonna take you out. We’re gonna put our weapons down and talk. Really talk, alright? I’ll tell ‘ya whatever the fuck you wanna know. And you can keep bitchin’ about how stupid you think all this is for as long as you want.”
Your lips move to disagree, but he shushes you.
“And I’m gonna convince you,” he promises. “I’m gonna win you over. Hold out for as long as you want to, doll. I’ll get through to ‘ya eventually.”
“Gator–” you start, but he silences you with another kiss, deep and consuming.
He doesn’t pull back far. He’s only millimeters from your face when he whispers, “Just lemme take you out, okay?” Let me show you how good I can be to ‘ya.”
You make a noise of disagreement, your eyes shut as you take in the sensation of him– always so abrasive, so difficult to swallow. Gator Tillman has never had any difficulty commanding the entirety of your attention.
“You want me to get on my knees for you, doll?” he offers, his smile spreading as your resistance gives way under his hands and lips. “‘Ya liked that before.”
You can’t help it– you huff a laugh against his lips, and Gator grins. “There she is.”
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you inform him, allowing your hands to come to rest on his bare chest, still blazing with heat.
Gator kisses you again, his smile searing against you. “Yes?” he surmises, though you’re certain by now he’s already torn the answers from your hands, already seen through your unwillingness and plunged through to the part of you that wants him with a desperation.
So you stare into Gator’s hard, dark eyes, softened in pursuit of you, and tell him, “Fine.”
What happens when you wake up in Hawkins summer of 1985, with no clue how you got there, or why there’s a handsome boy in a sailors costume staring down at you? Between secret Russian bunkers, Starcourt mall, and inter-dimensional monsters, one question becomes increasingly difficult: do you take the chance to go home and leave everything behind, or stay with the boy who was never supposed to be part of your future?
warnings : male masturbation; Gator kinda have a kink for innocence; reader falling in love easily; nothing else needed i guess; proofread; possible grammatical errors ; english is NOT my first language
💌 Lillie talks : umh sooo here’s the first part of my little serie about Gator because i’m having an obsession with him right now. Enjoy girls !! 💕(posting this at 2 a.m btw i need some sleep ig) Read more of my work here : masterlist. Request are always open, feel free to ask anything !
The day Gator laid eyes on you, he was captivated. It was an early Sunday morning. You were sitting front row at church, the pastor standing right in front of you behind the altar while he pronounced the sermon. You listened carefully, hands folded on your lap and a small grin on your lips.
The church was surprisingly full today, most of the time there was a lot of missing people, those who only came on important days or once a month just because it looked right. But you, you were here every Sunday. For the past five months since you arrived here, you hadn’t missed a single one service. You always sat on the first pew so you could hear well and always wore a dress from your "church-appropriate" collection. The old ladies that have been coming here for decades always took the time to help you feel a little more at home in this church.
Gator Tillman arrived mid sermon, wearing a black button-up shirt with a black pant, his sheriff’s badge hanging around his neck. The sound of his boots on the tiles echoed through the building, making everyone turn towards him and cutting the pastor in his words. That was something Gator knew how to do—draw attention. Most of the time, all eyes were on him no matter where he was. He was handsome, and every girl had a chance with him as long as things didn't get serious. Plus, he was the son of the Roy Tillman.
Those were the first things we told you when you arrived. Some old women told you that the sheriff’s son was a pretty boy, able to take care of you and protect you. On the contrary, girls your age said he was the biggest jerk who ever lived, with his stupid slicked-back hair and that smirk he always had on his face — at least when he wasn’t in a mood.
His eyes wandered around the room, taking in each person sitting in front of him. Then his gaze settled on you. He had never seen you before. He checked on you from head to toe, paying attention to every detail of your figure. Starting with your straight hair who were slightly curled on the end, they fell perfectly on your shoulders. Then he saw the dress you wore, a little white dress with short, puffed sleeves that fell to your knees, embellished with a few lace details at the collar and sleeves. He saw your hands resting on your thighs, then lower down, your pink ballet flat decorated with a small pink ribbon.
He scoffs once and shook his head, clearly thinking that an innocent looking creature like you shouldn’t be living around here. His gaze leaves you to focus back on the pastor, even if he wasn’t truly listening.
When the ceremony ended, he hurried out before anyone else. When he reached his car, he didn't get in, he just leaned his back against the door, crossed his arms and waited. Waited for you. He needed to know more about the new girl in town.
When you got out, he spotted you almost immediately in the crowd. You walked with an old lady gripped on your arm to steady herself, you were smiling to her. He could see your face properly now. Your perfect smile spread across your face, your eyes lightened by the sun. That gold necklace around your neck reflecting the sun’s rays.
He takes a puff on his vape, his brows furrowed and eyes slightly squinted from the day light. He knew you were coming his way because he was parked next to a convertible Mini Cooper, and who else could possibly be driving a Mini Cooper ?
You politely smiled to the old lady before heading toward your car. Gator quickly puts his vape in his pocket and walked slowly toward you already standing beside your car.
He leaned against the door with his forearm, “Hey, miss.” He said, “You’re new here ?”
You looked up and met his gaze, he was almost a head taller than you. “Not really,” you smiled politely after seeing his badge, “I moved here five months ago.”
His eyes inspected you once again, seeing that your golden necklace was a small cross. “Never seen you around.” His gaze lowered down again, landing on your hands and your red-painted nails.
“I’ve never seen you either.” You said with a small grin making him smirk.
“Living alone ?” He asked.
“No,” you shook your head, “I live with my parents.”
He nods once, “’K,” his eyes inspecting you one last time, “be safe, wouldn’t want a pretty girl like you to get in trouble.” He winked at you before returning to his car. Your cheeks flushed pink as he looked at you one last time in the side mirror, before leaving.
You felt a little bit embarrassed, this was a weird first meeting. You shook your head to get that out of your mind before you get in your car and start the engine.
It was a fifteen minutes drive from the church to your house, fifteen minutes of listening to random pop girlie songs on your favorite radio.
When you finally arrived, you parked your car in the driveway in front of your house. It was a small white one story house, with green shutters and a brown tiled roof. There was a wooden porch, decorated with flowers and vines, on which rested two armchairs. High trees surrounded the building, slightly hiding the small ranch behind the house. And beside your car was parked your grandfather red truck, an old pickup that was a little beat up.
It was your grandparents house before you moved in, well it basically still is because your granddad is still alive. You and your parents moved in with him after the death of your grandmother, he was feeling so alone. And since she was the one who took care of him since he’d lost his ability to walk, someone had to replace her. So you left your peaceful life to come here in North Dakota.
When you opened the door, you found him alone in the living room, sitting in his wheelchair in front of the TV. He was watching an old baseball match he’d already watched a thousand times before. He loved seeing his team win. You smiled and quickly climbed up the stairs to your room.
You couldn’t really stop thinking about Gator, you weren’t really sure about his name but he was for sure the sheriff’s son and you doubted that there was two handsome men his age in the Tillman’s lineage. You thought about the way he looked at you from head to toe while licking his lips. How he smirked and winked at you, called you a pretty girl and then just walked away like nothing happened.
Maybe because it was nothing, it meant nothing. Gator had a reputation with girls and you knew it. You couldn’t help but blush thinking about him, it was stupid, he literally talked to you for less than a minute. But still, the way he stared at you gave you butterflies in your stomach. You always felt like that when a beautiful man talked to you.
When people told you about him, you didn’t imagine him like that. You thought he might be the kind of narcissistic guy who think he’s more handsome than everybody else, even tho your dead grandma is prettier than him. But shit, Gator was in fact really handsome. He managed to make your stomach shutters with less than 30 words.
The thing you didn’t know is that Gator thought the same about you. I mean, in his own way. Since his eyes found you in the church, he couldn’t stop thinking about that innocent looking girl he’d never seen before. But yet, in only an hour he managed to remember your entire body, and every single details about it.
Around 8 p.m., you were sitting across from your mom at the table, your dad sat next to her and your grandpa by your side. You ate in a silence filled with the sounds of the TV.
But then your mom spoke, “Joyce told me that you met the Deputy at church this morning.” Joyce has been her best friend since childhood, they told everything to each other, and you, talking to Gator Tillman was a gossip for some reason.
You looked up and found her gaze, “Uh.. yeah.”
“What did he told you ?”
You shook your head once, “Oh nothing, he just asked me if I was new here.” She nodded and got back to listening to the News playing on the TV.
After sipping the delicious tomato soup your mother had prepared, you quickly got back to your room. Tonight was the first truly warm night of spring, the air felt good and the breeze was cool enough to relieve you of the night's heat.
So you sat down by your window, with the windows wide open to air out the room, and went back to reading your romance novel. It was a cute little story between a young woman working in a coffee shop, who falls in love with her most regular client. You loved this book because you work in a coffee shop and secretly hoped that one day the love of your life will just pass the door and change your future.
—
While you were reading your fabulous book, Gator laid on his bed and thought about this morning. That white dress drove him crazy as his hand slid to his boxer, palming himself through the thin fabric. His breath fastened as he started stroking his dick over his boxer, still thinking about you.
“Fuck-” He said under his breath. You looked so beautiful to him, so angelic.
—
After reading for an hour, your eyes began to close automatically. So you stood up and kneeled down beside your bed to pray, before getting comfortable under the sheets and fall asleep quickly. This night you dreamt about Gator.
You imagined him pulling you over because you were driving too fast when you were late for work. He was leaning on your opened window frame with his forearm. His eyes scanned the inside of your car while you admired him standing just few inches from you. His breath was hot on your face when he leaned closer, his hazel eyes searched deep inside yours. Even in your dream he had that stupid grin, even in your dream he looked pretty.
Or maybe you weren’t dreaming ? Because right now Gator Tillman was giving you a ticket for driving 68 mph in a 45 zone.
“I didn’t saw the sign.” You tried to protest.
“That’s not my problem, miss.” He was dead serious. His brows furrowed and that grin absent, “I’m doing my job.”
You exhaled, “Please. I’m not driving like this usually, i’m just late.” You leaned in the window frame and gave him one of those look, the one that says ‘i’m an innocent girl that beg you to forget what just happened’. He suddenly stopped writing on his piece of paper and looked down at you.
He laughed once and put his pen and paper back in his vest pocket, “Where ‘you working ?”
“At Crux Coffee, officer.” (i actually found a real coffee named like this in Fargo and i thought let’s cross universe)
“That’ll do it for now.” He leaned down on your window again, “And it’s deputy, pretty girl.” He said with that same grin, before taping gently against your car to tell you to leave.
Your breath caught and your cheeks flushed pink from everything that happened right now. You weren’t even sure if this was real or if you were stuck in your dream from last night. Did he just called you ‘pretty girl’ again ? Or it was your imagination playing tricks.
The horn of his Sheriff car snapped you out of your thoughts. When you looked in the rearview mirror he was staring at you, gesturing to you with his hand to tell you to leave. So you did, you started your engine again and got back on the road to go to work.
Near the end of your shift, people stoped coming, only the two regular old men sat by the window and a young writer sipped her coffee at the center. Until the door bell rang, signaling that someone just entered the building.
You looked up and saw Gator, already leaning on the counter with his forearm.
“Oh, hey.” You said with a shy smile, your cheeks turning pink once again.
“Hey.” He leaned over a little more, “I’d like a black coffee, miss.”
“Yeah, of course.” You smiled to him, taking a deep breath before turning around to make his coffee. His gaze immediately lend on your ass in those jeans skirt. He licked his lips and smirked at the sight.
After few minutes, his coffee was finally ready, and you immediately served it to him. “There it is.” You said as you gently placed the cup on the counter.
He laughed once, “Thank you, pretty girl.” He winked, turned around and disappeared.
The next Sunday, Gator was at church, it was a record at this point. Gator Tillman coming to service two Sundays in a row was truly impressive. He was still siting at the back, still watching you. This time you were wearing a white embroidered blouse with a baby yellow shorts that reached down to your knees, and an other cute pair of suede ballet flats. Your hair were in a messy French braid, that gold necklace still hang around your neck and today you did a light makeup, just some blush and some mascara.
Gator licked his lips while his eyes roamed over your body, your clothes clung to the right places, leaving just enough for his imagination and making him bite on his lower lips. You looked so innocent sitting there in front of the Pastor, smiling widely when he looked at you while repeating his sermon.
When the ceremony ended you quickly got up and your gaze catches his. He nodded at you from the other side of the buidling, a way to say hello, with a slight smile on his face. You got out first, he was busy talking with the pastor, and when you walked past him his eyes instantly focused on you, making your cheeks flush pink and a faint smile spread across your face.
When you reached your car and sat inside, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Why does Gator Tillman have such an effect on you ? Why did you kept thinking about him for the past few days ? Why were you blushing every time he was around you ? Why do you get butterflies in your stomach every time he calls you ‘pretty girl’ ?
You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing your eyes. Then you started the car — at least you tried, because a weird sound came from the engine making it impossible for the car to start.
“Shit-” You said under your breath. If your mother had heard you she would have told you to put a dollar in the jar for the curse you just pronounced. A stupid rule she imposed when you were five, after learning a lot of curse words from the boys in your neighbourhood. That rule never really disappeared, it just became a habit.
Suddenly Gator’s head appeared behind the window, before gently tapping on it. You rolled down the window and smiled softly to him.
“A problem, miss ? Heard your car making a weird sound.” His hand gripped to the roof of your vehicle, as he leaned down to see you better.
“Yeah.. It won’t start.”
“Can I take a look ?” He nodded to the front of your car.
You nodded as an answer, then he opened the hood and leaned down again to check on the engine. You stayed beside for the whole five minutes he spend searching for an answer to your problem. But he found nothing.
“‘Don’t really see what’s wrong in there.” He straightens and wiped his hands. You couldn’t help but stared at them. His veins were thick, his fingers long and his forearms, god his forearms, they were breathtaking. A white soft skin, full of freckles and moles. You bit your lower lip, your heart beat fastened somehow and your cheeks flushed pink once again.
When you lifted your head and found his eyes, he was smiling and scoffed once, shaking his head slowly. “Can I offer you a ride ?”
“A- a rid- Yes, yeah, please.” You tried to smile, but your entire face turned red now. Either from embarrassment, either because the most handsome man (in your opinion) just offered you a ride home. He laughed once again, walked towards his car and sat in the driver seat before you could even start to walk.
You moved quickly when he closed the door and reached for the passenger seat. You sat down, and even before you could close the door, Gator started driving.
“So,” He started after driving for five minutes, “where do you live ?”
“After Roy-” You cleared your throat, “your father’s election sign, you turn on the first one on the right, it’s the first white house you see after 2 miles.”
“‘K” He said quietly.
You spent the last 10 minutes in a pure silence, the only sound behind the hum of the car. When you arrived, he parked in the hallway and stopped the engine, before turning toward you.
“You’ve arrived to your destination, miss.” He said with a playful grin.
You smiled shyly again, “Thank you.. Mister.”
He laughed quietly, “Call me Gator, baby.”
Your breath catches and your face turn red for the hundredth time since you met him last week. Baby ? You gave him a small smile before opening the passenger door and stepping a foot on the ground.
“See ‘ya.” He smirked, driving away. You exhaled slowly and took a deep breath before finally getting inside your house.
When you opened the door your mom stood beside the door, she was putting on her mud boots to go feed the horse.
“Oh, hey mom.” You smiled to her, your face was still red and unfortunately she noticed.
“Hey, girl.” She smiled back, “Gator’s making you such an effect.” She laughed.
You laughed quietly, closing the door behind you. “No, no I just-” You shook your head and smiled foolishly. And without finishing your sentence you climbed up the stairs to your room, hearing your mother laughing downstairs.
You threw yourself on your bed and kicked your feet in the air from excitement. Gator called you baby, and told you to call him by his name, after driving you home. Typic romcom story. It was stupid because this probably meant nothing. But you never really had a boyfriend before and nobody ever talked or looked at you the way Gator did.
On the drive back to the Tillman’s ranch, Gator bit his lips thinking about you. He had a new idea, a new goal. This goal was you. Gator wanted to fuck you. His cock hardened at the thought of you vulnerable under him, for him.
warnings : male masturbation; Gator kinda have a kink for innocence; reader falling in love easily; nothing else needed i guess; proofread; possible grammatical errors ; english is NOT my first language
💌 Lillie talks : umh sooo here’s the first part of my little serie about Gator because i’m having an obsession with him right now. Enjoy girls !! 💕(posting this at 2 a.m btw i need some sleep ig) Read more of my work here : masterlist. Request are always open, feel free to ask anything !
The day Gator laid eyes on you, he was captivated. It was an early Sunday morning. You were sitting front row at church, the pastor standing right in front of you behind the altar while he pronounced the sermon. You listened carefully, hands folded on your lap and a small grin on your lips.
The church was surprisingly full today, most of the time there was a lot of missing people, those who only came on important days or once a month just because it looked right. But you, you were here every Sunday. For the past five months since you arrived here, you hadn’t missed a single one service. You always sat on the first pew so you could hear well and always wore a dress from your "church-appropriate" collection. The old ladies that have been coming here for decades always took the time to help you feel a little more at home in this church.
Gator Tillman arrived mid sermon, wearing a black button-up shirt with a black pant, his sheriff’s badge hanging around his neck. The sound of his boots on the tiles echoed through the building, making everyone turn towards him and cutting the pastor in his words. That was something Gator knew how to do—draw attention. Most of the time, all eyes were on him no matter where he was. He was handsome, and every girl had a chance with him as long as things didn't get serious. Plus, he was the son of the Roy Tillman.
Those were the first things we told you when you arrived. Some old women told you that the sheriff’s son was a pretty boy, able to take care of you and protect you. On the contrary, girls your age said he was the biggest jerk who ever lived, with his stupid slicked-back hair and that smirk he always had on his face — at least when he wasn’t in a mood.
His eyes wandered around the room, taking in each person sitting in front of him. Then his gaze settled on you. He had never seen you before. He checked on you from head to toe, paying attention to every detail of your figure. Starting with your straight hair who were slightly curled on the end, they fell perfectly on your shoulders. Then he saw the dress you wore, a little white dress with short, puffed sleeves that fell to your knees, embellished with a few lace details at the collar and sleeves. He saw your hands resting on your thighs, then lower down, your pink ballet flat decorated with a small pink ribbon.
He scoffs once and shook his head, clearly thinking that an innocent looking creature like you shouldn’t be living around here. His gaze leaves you to focus back on the pastor, even if he wasn’t truly listening.
When the ceremony ended, he hurried out before anyone else. When he reached his car, he didn't get in, he just leaned his back against the door, crossed his arms and waited. Waited for you. He needed to know more about the new girl in town.
When you got out, he spotted you almost immediately in the crowd. You walked with an old lady gripped on your arm to steady herself, you were smiling to her. He could see your face properly now. Your perfect smile spread across your face, your eyes lightened by the sun. That gold necklace around your neck reflecting the sun’s rays.
He takes a puff on his vape, his brows furrowed and eyes slightly squinted from the day light. He knew you were coming his way because he was parked next to a convertible Mini Cooper, and who else could possibly be driving a Mini Cooper ?
You politely smiled to the old lady before heading toward your car. Gator quickly puts his vape in his pocket and walked slowly toward you already standing beside your car.
He leaned against the door with his forearm, “Hey, miss.” He said, “You’re new here ?”
You looked up and met his gaze, he was almost a head taller than you. “Not really,” you smiled politely after seeing his badge, “I moved here five months ago.”
His eyes inspected you once again, seeing that your golden necklace was a small cross. “Never seen you around.” His gaze lowered down again, landing on your hands and your red-painted nails.
“I’ve never seen you either.” You said with a small grin making him smirk.
“Living alone ?” He asked.
“No,” you shook your head, “I live with my parents.”
He nods once, “’K,” his eyes inspecting you one last time, “be safe, wouldn’t want a pretty girl like you to get in trouble.” He winked at you before returning to his car. Your cheeks flushed pink as he looked at you one last time in the side mirror, before leaving.
You felt a little bit embarrassed, this was a weird first meeting. You shook your head to get that out of your mind before you get in your car and start the engine.
It was a fifteen minutes drive from the church to your house, fifteen minutes of listening to random pop girlie songs on your favorite radio.
When you finally arrived, you parked your car in the driveway in front of your house. It was a small white one story house, with green shutters and a brown tiled roof. There was a wooden porch, decorated with flowers and vines, on which rested two armchairs. High trees surrounded the building, slightly hiding the small ranch behind the house. And beside your car was parked your grandfather red truck, an old pickup that was a little beat up.
It was your grandparents house before you moved in, well it basically still is because your granddad is still alive. You and your parents moved in with him after the death of your grandmother, he was feeling so alone. And since she was the one who took care of him since he’d lost his ability to walk, someone had to replace her. So you left your peaceful life to come here in North Dakota.
When you opened the door, you found him alone in the living room, sitting in his wheelchair in front of the TV. He was watching an old baseball match he’d already watched a thousand times before. He loved seeing his team win. You smiled and quickly climbed up the stairs to your room.
You couldn’t really stop thinking about Gator, you weren’t really sure about his name but he was for sure the sheriff’s son and you doubted that there was two handsome men his age in the Tillman’s lineage. You thought about the way he looked at you from head to toe while licking his lips. How he smirked and winked at you, called you a pretty girl and then just walked away like nothing happened.
Maybe because it was nothing, it meant nothing. Gator had a reputation with girls and you knew it. You couldn’t help but blush thinking about him, it was stupid, he literally talked to you for less than a minute. But still, the way he stared at you gave you butterflies in your stomach. You always felt like that when a beautiful man talked to you.
When people told you about him, you didn’t imagine him like that. You thought he might be the kind of narcissistic guy who think he’s more handsome than everybody else, even tho your dead grandma is prettier than him. But shit, Gator was in fact really handsome. He managed to make your stomach shutters with less than 30 words.
The thing you didn’t know is that Gator thought the same about you. I mean, in his own way. Since his eyes found you in the church, he couldn’t stop thinking about that innocent looking girl he’d never seen before. But yet, in only an hour he managed to remember your entire body, and every single details about it.
Around 8 p.m., you were sitting across from your mom at the table, your dad sat next to her and your grandpa by your side. You ate in a silence filled with the sounds of the TV.
But then your mom spoke, “Joyce told me that you met the Deputy at church this morning.” Joyce has been her best friend since childhood, they told everything to each other, and you, talking to Gator Tillman was a gossip for some reason.
You looked up and found her gaze, “Uh.. yeah.”
“What did he told you ?”
You shook your head once, “Oh nothing, he just asked me if I was new here.” She nodded and got back to listening to the News playing on the TV.
After sipping the delicious tomato soup your mother had prepared, you quickly got back to your room. Tonight was the first truly warm night of spring, the air felt good and the breeze was cool enough to relieve you of the night's heat.
So you sat down by your window, with the windows wide open to air out the room, and went back to reading your romance novel. It was a cute little story between a young woman working in a coffee shop, who falls in love with her most regular client. You loved this book because you work in a coffee shop and secretly hoped that one day the love of your life will just pass the door and change your future.
—
While you were reading your fabulous book, Gator laid on his bed and thought about this morning. That white dress drove him crazy as his hand slid to his boxer, palming himself through the thin fabric. His breath fastened as he started stroking his dick over his boxer, still thinking about you.
“Fuck-” He said under his breath. You looked so beautiful to him, so angelic.
—
After reading for an hour, your eyes began to close automatically. So you stood up and kneeled down beside your bed to pray, before getting comfortable under the sheets and fall asleep quickly. This night you dreamt about Gator.
You imagined him pulling you over because you were driving too fast when you were late for work. He was leaning on your opened window frame with his forearm. His eyes scanned the inside of your car while you admired him standing just few inches from you. His breath was hot on your face when he leaned closer, his hazel eyes searched deep inside yours. Even in your dream he had that stupid grin, even in your dream he looked pretty.
Or maybe you weren’t dreaming ? Because right now Gator Tillman was giving you a ticket for driving 68 mph in a 45 zone.
“I didn’t saw the sign.” You tried to protest.
“That’s not my problem, miss.” He was dead serious. His brows furrowed and that grin absent, “I’m doing my job.”
You exhaled, “Please. I’m not driving like this usually, i’m just late.” You leaned in the window frame and gave him one of those look, the one that says ‘i’m an innocent girl that beg you to forget what just happened’. He suddenly stopped writing on his piece of paper and looked down at you.
He laughed once and put his pen and paper back in his vest pocket, “Where ‘you working ?”
“At Crux Coffee, officer.” (i actually found a real coffee named like this in Fargo and i thought let’s cross universe)
“That’ll do it for now.” He leaned down on your window again, “And it’s deputy, pretty girl.” He said with that same grin, before taping gently against your car to tell you to leave.
Your breath caught and your cheeks flushed pink from everything that happened right now. You weren’t even sure if this was real or if you were stuck in your dream from last night. Did he just called you ‘pretty girl’ again ? Or it was your imagination playing tricks.
The horn of his Sheriff car snapped you out of your thoughts. When you looked in the rearview mirror he was staring at you, gesturing to you with his hand to tell you to leave. So you did, you started your engine again and got back on the road to go to work.
Near the end of your shift, people stoped coming, only the two regular old men sat by the window and a young writer sipped her coffee at the center. Until the door bell rang, signaling that someone just entered the building.
You looked up and saw Gator, already leaning on the counter with his forearm.
“Oh, hey.” You said with a shy smile, your cheeks turning pink once again.
“Hey.” He leaned over a little more, “I’d like a black coffee, miss.”
“Yeah, of course.” You smiled to him, taking a deep breath before turning around to make his coffee. His gaze immediately lend on your ass in those jeans skirt. He licked his lips and smirked at the sight.
After few minutes, his coffee was finally ready, and you immediately served it to him. “There it is.” You said as you gently placed the cup on the counter.
He laughed once, “Thank you, pretty girl.” He winked, turned around and disappeared.
The next Sunday, Gator was at church, it was a record at this point. Gator Tillman coming to service two Sundays in a row was truly impressive. He was still siting at the back, still watching you. This time you were wearing a white embroidered blouse with a baby yellow shorts that reached down to your knees, and an other cute pair of suede ballet flats. Your hair were in a messy French braid, that gold necklace still hang around your neck and today you did a light makeup, just some blush and some mascara.
Gator licked his lips while his eyes roamed over your body, your clothes clung to the right places, leaving just enough for his imagination and making him bite on his lower lips. You looked so innocent sitting there in front of the Pastor, smiling widely when he looked at you while repeating his sermon.
When the ceremony ended you quickly got up and your gaze catches his. He nodded at you from the other side of the buidling, a way to say hello, with a slight smile on his face. You got out first, he was busy talking with the pastor, and when you walked past him his eyes instantly focused on you, making your cheeks flush pink and a faint smile spread across your face.
When you reached your car and sat inside, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Why does Gator Tillman have such an effect on you ? Why did you kept thinking about him for the past few days ? Why were you blushing every time he was around you ? Why do you get butterflies in your stomach every time he calls you ‘pretty girl’ ?
You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing your eyes. Then you started the car — at least you tried, because a weird sound came from the engine making it impossible for the car to start.
“Shit-” You said under your breath. If your mother had heard you she would have told you to put a dollar in the jar for the curse you just pronounced. A stupid rule she imposed when you were five, after learning a lot of curse words from the boys in your neighbourhood. That rule never really disappeared, it just became a habit.
Suddenly Gator’s head appeared behind the window, before gently tapping on it. You rolled down the window and smiled softly to him.
“A problem, miss ? Heard your car making a weird sound.” His hand gripped to the roof of your vehicle, as he leaned down to see you better.
“Yeah.. It won’t start.”
“Can I take a look ?” He nodded to the front of your car.
You nodded as an answer, then he opened the hood and leaned down again to check on the engine. You stayed beside for the whole five minutes he spend searching for an answer to your problem. But he found nothing.
“‘Don’t really see what’s wrong in there.” He straightens and wiped his hands. You couldn’t help but stared at them. His veins were thick, his fingers long and his forearms, god his forearms, they were breathtaking. A white soft skin, full of freckles and moles. You bit your lower lip, your heart beat fastened somehow and your cheeks flushed pink once again.
When you lifted your head and found his eyes, he was smiling and scoffed once, shaking his head slowly. “Can I offer you a ride ?”
“A- a rid- Yes, yeah, please.” You tried to smile, but your entire face turned red now. Either from embarrassment, either because the most handsome man (in your opinion) just offered you a ride home. He laughed once again, walked towards his car and sat in the driver seat before you could even start to walk.
You moved quickly when he closed the door and reached for the passenger seat. You sat down, and even before you could close the door, Gator started driving.
“So,” He started after driving for five minutes, “where do you live ?”
“After Roy-” You cleared your throat, “your father’s election sign, you turn on the first one on the right, it’s the first white house you see after 2 miles.”
“‘K” He said quietly.
You spent the last 10 minutes in a pure silence, the only sound behind the hum of the car. When you arrived, he parked in the hallway and stopped the engine, before turning toward you.
“You’ve arrived to your destination, miss.” He said with a playful grin.
You smiled shyly again, “Thank you.. Mister.”
He laughed quietly, “Call me Gator, baby.”
Your breath catches and your face turn red for the hundredth time since you met him last week. Baby ? You gave him a small smile before opening the passenger door and stepping a foot on the ground.
“See ‘ya.” He smirked, driving away. You exhaled slowly and took a deep breath before finally getting inside your house.
When you opened the door your mom stood beside the door, she was putting on her mud boots to go feed the horse.
“Oh, hey mom.” You smiled to her, your face was still red and unfortunately she noticed.
“Hey, girl.” She smiled back, “Gator’s making you such an effect.” She laughed.
You laughed quietly, closing the door behind you. “No, no I just-” You shook your head and smiled foolishly. And without finishing your sentence you climbed up the stairs to your room, hearing your mother laughing downstairs.
You threw yourself on your bed and kicked your feet in the air from excitement. Gator called you baby, and told you to call him by his name, after driving you home. Typic romcom story. It was stupid because this probably meant nothing. But you never really had a boyfriend before and nobody ever talked or looked at you the way Gator did.
On the drive back to the Tillman’s ranch, Gator bit his lips thinking about you. He had a new idea, a new goal. This goal was you. Gator wanted to fuck you. His cock hardened at the thought of you vulnerable under him, for him.
You arrived in Stark County mid afternoon admist the sweltering summer heat. You heard on the radio during the drive in that the majority of the state was under a heat advisory for the week. After rolling your eyes, you glanced at your gas gage and noticed its bordering on empty. A heavy sigh then left your lips before you looked up and mercifully saw a gas station ahead.
You turned off the highway and pulled up next to a pump. Once your tank was full, you got back in and moved your car to a parking spot in front of the desolate convenience store. You exited your car and walked inside, completely oblivious to the man watching you from the police car across the lot.
After getting yourself something to drink, you stood at the counter, waiting for the cashier to pause her riveting conversation with her co worker to acknowledge you. When she finally did, you were met with an annoyed glare. Once you swiped your card you quickly headed back out to your car. You sighed, as you leaned your head against the headrest. You've made the drive out here from Minneapolis before, but this particular trip felt different somehow.
'It's probably just the heat,' you told yourself, as you started to pull back out onto the highway. You barely had time to speed up before you saw blue lights in your rear view mirror.
"Seriously?" You muttered, under your breath, as you flicked on your turn signal.
You pulled off onto the gravel shoulder and waited for the officer to appear at your window. You went through a mental checklist of all the reasons he could've stopped you and came up with nothing. He tapped lightly on the glass, slightly startling you before you rolled your window down.
"Do you know why I stopped ya today?" He asked, pointedly.
You looked up at him, incredulously, and replied, "I honestly have no idea, officer."
"Its deputy," he quickly corrected, tapping his badge with the tip of his pen.
"My apologies," you then remarked.
"I haven't seen ya around here before and I wanted to see if ya had plans later," he explained, leaving you dumbfounded.
"Plans?" You questioned.
"Yeah, like with a boyfriend or somethin'," he clarified.
"I don't have one, so no," you answered, almost instantly regretting it.
"So, where are ya headed then?" He inquired, now leaning against your car.
"To my aunt's house," you responded flatly.
"Ah, okay," he nodded. "So, uh, you're from Minnesota, then?"
"Yeah, I'm visiting for the summer," you revealed, as he took off his sunglasses.
"Can I see your license real quick?" He then asked, prompting you to reach into your purse for your wallet. The realization that he was kind of cute struck you as you handed it to him.
His eyes quickly scanned it before he handed it back to you. He then reached into one of his vest pockets and pulled out a business card.
"I want ya to meet me here tonight at nine," he began, as he wrote something on the back of it. "If ya don't have anything else going on."
He extended his hand back through your window, as he looked at you expectantly. You reflexively took the card from him, your eyes fixed on his.
"I hope to see ya later," he added, before taking a step back.
"I'll think about it," you replied, as you watched him walk back to his patrol car.
You turned your attention back to the small card in your hand and recognized the address as a bar on the outskirts of the already tiny town.
"Figures," you sighed before you resumed the drive to your aunt's house.
-
You were still just as dumbfounded as you sat at your aunt Donna's small kitchen table. You had shoved the card in your pocket and couldn't stop thinking about it.
"I was hoping you'd get to see Katie tonight, but she's at a sleepover," Donna revealed, as she cleared both yours and her plates from the table. "She was looking forward to seeing you then isn't even here when you arrive."
"Its okay," you smiled. "I'll see her whenever."
"She had talked about wanting to have a 'girls day' with her favorite cousin, so I guess she'll have to fit you into her schedule," your aunt then laughed.
"I guess so," you also laughed.
"So, I trust the drive went well?" She asked, as she sat across from you.
"Yeah, it did, for the most part... until I got into town," you vaguely answered.
"What happened?"
"I got pulled over by a cop that wanted to ask me out on a date," you explained, bemused.
"What?" She questioned, with a laugh. "I've never heard of such a thing."
"Neither had I. He even gave me his card," you continued, pulling the card from your pocket and glancing at it again. "Oh, apparently he's the deputy sheriff, hm."
The expression on her face changed slightly, into a look of mild concern.
"So it was Roy's boy, then, Gator," she said, almost to herself.
"Yeah. I wonder if he does that to all the girls or if I'm just special," you joked, but her expression didn't change.
"I used to know the Tillmans, but that was years ago," she admitted. "Gator was a sweet boy until his father got a hold of him. That family can be... a lot. I can't tell you what to do, but if you plan on seeing him, just... be careful."
She then abruptly got up and went over to the sink and started rinsing off the plates stacked next to it. You wanted to know more about this infamous family, but now wasn't the time to ask.
"I think I'm going to lay down for a little while," you then announced, as you rose from your chair.
She simply nodded and you hurriedly walked down the hallway to the guest room.
Your aunt's cryptic warning echoed in your mind as you stared up at the spinning ceiling fan. A part of you knew you shouldn't go out with him, as you didn't need to live through another disastrous relationship. There was just something in his eyes that piqued your morbid curiosity about how bad could he really be.
-
After pulling into the gravel parking lot, you saw Gator leaning against his truck, waiting for you. He looked better out of his uniform, you thought, dressed in a tight, black t-shirt and jeans. He exhaled a small cloud of vapor as he watched you get out of your car and approach him.
"Ya sure are a pretty thing," he lamented, with a crooked smile, as he slipped his arm around your waist.
He escorted you into the bar and guided you to his favorite booth. A few drinks in, he started moving closer to you as you talked. He then leaned in and pressed his lips to your neck. You knew you probably should've pushed him away, but couldn't bring yourself to. His hand found its way up your thigh, right at the hem of your dress.
"You're too cute for your own good," you breathed, getting him to glance up at you.
"Ya think so?"
"Mmhm."
He smirked, leaning in to finally kiss you when he's interrupted by the sound of a hand slamming on the table.
"Tillman! We didn't know you were gonna be here tonight."
Gator grimaced, and turned his attention to
two guys standing in front of the table.
"Can't ya see I'm on a date?" He asked, annoyed.
"Sorry man," one of them apologized. "We were about to start a game and saw you sitting over here."
He gestured to a pool table towards the back of the bar.
"Maybe some other time, I'm kinda busy here," Gator replied, as he squeezed your thigh.
"Actually, you can join them if you want, I don't mind," you offered, finally having regained yourself.
His head whipped back towards you, with his brow quirked in confusion.
"But I'm here with you. I wanna continue our date," he protested.
"You still can," you smiled. "I get the feeling I can get some entertainment value out of this."
His face fell for a moment before he resumed his cockey facade.
"Alright, if that's what ya want," he conceded.
You followed them to the back of the bar, as its smoky atmosphere started to hurt your head. You sat on a stool, to the side of the pool table and watched as the three of them talked amongst themselves.
Gator then strolled over to you and lowly asserted, "I need a kiss for luck."
Before you could say anything, he kissed you. His tongue greedily parted your lips as his kiss was short but deep. You leaned back, slightly dazed, while he wore a smug grin. As they began to play, you hated the way you squeezed your thighs together at the sight of him leaning over the table. Also at how he would wink at you before sinking a ball. You should find everything about him insufferable, but instead you felt intense attraction.
The game dragged on until Gator ultimately won. He briefly gloated to his buddies before he sauntered back over to you.
"Ya ready to get outta here?" He asked, as he extended his hand.
You looked up, into his darkened eyes and nodded, while placing your hand in his.
-
You wound up in the backseat of his truck, parked off the side of some lonely road, while you straddled his lap and kissed him desperately.
"I knew I could get ya to like me," he breathed, into a kiss.
"Against my better judgment," you remarked before he nipped at your bottom lip.
"We could be real good for each other..." he softly drawled.
"I doubt that."
"I just gotta prove it to ya, then," he replied, as he began to unbuckle his belt.
You quickly placed your hand on his and informed, "I'm not fucking you on the first date."
His crooked smile returned as he gazed up at you.
"I love how mouthy ya are," he praised. "And that's okay, there's other things we can do."
He then swiftly maneuvered you onto the backseat underneath him. You gasped as your back met the warm leather of the seat. His lean body engulfed yours, as he leaned in close, letting his lips brush yours as he breathed, "I want ya to beg for it, anyway."
He kissed you roughly, and you hated how much you loved it. His hand slipped between your bodies, underneath your dress. He dragged the tips of his fingers over your soaked, clothed core, and relished how you squirmed from his touch.
"Ya already want it real bad," he rasped into a kiss, while he still traced his fingertips over you.
You nodded.
"Please..." you then whimpered.
"Will ya go on another date with me?" He asked, breathless.
"Yes," you answered, while you reached to cradle his face in your hands.
He smirked before he kissed you, slow and deep. His hand slipped underneath the dainty, black lace and you finally felt his touch. He teasingly traced up and down, collecting your arousal on the pads of his fingers, before he eased two of them inside you. You gasped into his mouth as he pumped them in and out, while your hands grasped at his shirt.
His lips trailed open mouth kisses down your neck, with him licking the sweat from your skin. He groaned before he sunk his teeth into the top of your shoulder. You cried his name, as pleasure was building at an unrelenting pace.
"Fuck..." he breathed, "I knew I had to have ya..."
His wet lips were on yours again and it took everything you had to kiss him back. Your entire body was pulsating and your thighs trembled as he brought you over the edge. Your lips parted for more cries of his name and your eyes rolled back as you dug your nails into his biceps. He was in awe, as he had never seen something so beautiful.
He lazily kissed you while he pulled his hand from under your dress. You saw how his fingers glistened even in the faint moonlight.
"Best date I've had in forever," he quietly admitted, against your lips.
"Me too," you softly agreed, smoothing his now messy hair from his face.
Some time later, he drove you back to where you left your car. You were still a bit wobbly as you hopped out of his truck. He was quick to hurry around to the passenger side and help you the rest of the way to your car. You leaned back against the driver's side as he stood in front of you. His large hands framed your face before he leaned in and kissed you, in a surprising display of tenderness.
"I want ya to be mine," he whispered, with his forehead pressed to yours.
"We barely know each other," you blurted out, with a laugh.
"That'll change," he assured. "I just know you're the one for me."
"How can you know that?"
"Its just a feelin' I've never had before, which must mean you're special," he explained, with a smile.
You gazed up at his confident expression and wondered what you were getting yourself into.
"Can I see your phone?" You then asked, surprising him.
He wordlessly pulled it from his jean pocket and handed it to you. You typed your number into his contacts then handed it back to him.
"Text me tomorrow and we can plan our next date," you said slyly, before you pulled him into a lingering kiss.
He had a slightly dazed look about him after you slipped out of his embrace to get into your car.
Once you snuck back into your aunt's house and slipped under the sheets of your bed, did you reflect over how the night went. You normally wouldn't have batted an eye at someone like Gator, but he had this captivating quality that made you want to be around him. As you nestled your head into your pillow, exhaustion finally overtook you and you drifted off to sleep with one last, semi coherent thought of possibly getting involved with the small town, deputy sheriff.
how would gator react if you started crying during sex? maybe your crying because it feels too good and he thinks it’s because it hurts
or im just imagining having a bad day and he helps take your mind off the stress. but it doesn’t seem to work and your still sad, but maybe he doesn’t get annoyed at that?
well,
i have written smth like this before (and it’s lowkey one of my favorite pieces i’ve shared) - where reader cries
idk about crying bc it feels too good but i do think that if things were really serious and it was the kind of relationship (or even situationship) where he could feel a little vulnerable with you, then i think you’d prob feel comfortable enough to also bare your soul to him yk? so i can see an overwhelming emotion making you cry bc you’re feeling so much and i do think that would freak him out bc sure as shit that’s never happened before. he’d stop (out of a sense of obligation) but once you managed to express that you just felt so nice with him and you (maybe even) love him, he’d get it.
'Pretty Lil’ Mama' - a preview of my Gator Tillman spit kink/breeding kink smut:
"Gonna put a baby in you," Gator whispered hoarsely against your throat, mouth working overtime to press damp, feverishly sloppy kisses to your flushed skin. His tongue swirling over your neck to soothe where his teeth nipped red marks. "Make you my pretty lil’ mama. You want that, baby? Hmm? Tell me you fuckin' want it."
You felt almost dizzy by his words, but if Gator had said he wanted to eat you alive just then, well, you might have let him.
"I want it," you babbled out. "Mmh—I-I want it, Gator! Want it so bad." Gator was sweaty above you, the humidity of the room turning the light sheen of it that had glimmered off him in the low light moments ago into actual droplets that ran the length of his nose to drip down into the crook of your neck. The wetness of it beginning to pool there on your skin was a heady feeling. “Oh god, please give it to me.”
"God's got nothing to do with it, sweetheart," Gator grunted, his hips rolling into a particularly heavy thrust that made stars swim in your vision, "s'all me. Gonna give it to ya real fuckin' good.”
His head hung between his shoulders for a moment, lips kissing along the curve of your breast. But his thrusts never quit, his cock thick inside of you as your cunt squeezed around him. His blunt head deep enough that you could have sworn you felt him in your guts. But that didn’t matter to you, because he was nudging against your sweet spot and it felt like fireworks were going off inside you. You whimpered, a wanton and pathetic sound that caught Gator’s attention. When he met your eyes again, his fingers dug into the plush of your cheeks to push your lips open.
“Tongue out, baby doll,” Gator murmured lowly, breath hot against your lips. “C’mon, lemme see it.”
When you obeyed, tongue poking out, Gator gathered the saliva in his mouth and spit it onto your pink tongue, letting it seep out past his lips slowly until it gathered there in a slick little pool.
“Mmnnh—“ You moaned, tingles running down your spine from the dirty act.
“Swallow f’me.” He commanded, and when you did, your half-lidded gaze meeting his, a grin stretched his features. A low, heated chuckle fell from his lips, so full of lust that butterflies fluttered in your stomach. “Thereee we go… That’s a good girl.”
I need that gator idea to be a fic or blurbs. Or something. Because wowwwowww- your guys keep talking about and… my legs can only spread so much- ANYWAYS
just imagine after all that reading she finally does decide to give him a small little taste. Not fully giving herself. But a small little kiss. Or hear me out. She makes Gator confess all his dirty sins to be clean of sin (but in reality she just wants to hear them) and he’s so whiny and embarrassed but says what he thinks of her. And it’s too much for him. The way she is just looking at him so patiently and innocently as he speaks such sinful thoughts. He just cums in his pants. YUMMMMYYY
Okay yes yes yes
This has been going on for weeks and weeks at this point, this back and forth between you two where gator obsesses night and day over you and you pretend not to notice (you’re also doing the exact same thing)
And you’re just waiting for him to make a move to progress this, you haven’t even ever seen each other outside of church. Every Sunday he seems to leave as quickly as he can politely get away with like he’ll explode if he gets too much of you (he probably would)
So one time you grab him before he can slip out, you grab him by the bicep and you don’t let go while you speak. “Gator, will you help me pack this away, I need a big strong man to help me move these tables.”
You’re fluttering your lashes at him and squeezing his arm. God if only you knew what you do to me he thinks, if only he knew you knew exactly what he was thinking.
Against his better judgment, he agrees.
The next hour is….nice. He helps you pack up while you chat about anything and everything. The sermon, his job, your favourite baked goods (of course gator just says his favourite is anything you make). It’s so easy and gator thinks he wants more than just to fuck you, he wants to take you out for dinner, make you laugh and kiss you slow just for the sake of it.
Now gator doesn’t want to ever leave so even after you’ve finished packing up, he stays to help you brush up in the chapel, collecting the bibles left in the pews. Eventually you settle down, gator sitting in one row, you in the pew in front. You lean over the back of the wooden pew resting on your elbow as you look back at him.
“Thanks for helping me gator,” you say softly. “It’s really nice of you, especially seeing as you don’t seem to like me very much.”
Gator’s eye widen in disbelief. “What? Why would ya think that?”
“Maybe because every week you rush out like you can’t get away from me fast enough.”
“I-- I don’t mean to make you feel like that sugar, I’m just, uh, busy ya know…”
“So you do like me?”
“Yeah, yeah I like ya.”
“What do you like about me?”
Every thought gator has ever had about you seems to rush through his mind at that moment, it’s all so much that he just stays quiet for an embarrassing amount of time so you speak before he can.
“I mean, I already know you like my boobs.”
Gator chokes on his own spit, taken aback by your forwardness, and hearing you say the word boobs. All he can do is laugh to himself and admit with a tint in his cheeks “yeah that’s true.”
“What else?” You ask sweetly sitting up on your knees and leaning over the back of the pew to be closer to him. He can see right down the neckline of your dress and you know it.
“I, um, your face.”
You laugh (god that laugh) “my face? C’mon gator, I know you can do better than that.”
“I like that, the little laugh you do when I say somethin I shouldn’t.”
There it is again
“You do say some funny things gator, but I bet they’re not half the stuff you really think, isn’t that right?”
“What are you talkin bout.”
“I’m not an idiot, I know what goes in on in that head of yours.”
Gator swallows thickly and he’s relieved he’s holding a bible in his lap, concealing the way his cock thickens under your intense stare.
“You can tell me, it might make you feel better to confess your sins.”
“A pretty little bird like you really don’t need to know the things that go on up ‘ere.” Gator pats his gel covered head.
“Are they really that sinful?” You lean over to him more, your face inches from him. Gator lets out a subtle whine. “The things you think about me while you touch yourself.”
Gators hip jolt up just slightly into the heavy book on his lap. You probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it wasn’t for the creak of the wooden pew beneath him.
“Sugar– I–“
“Why do you call me that?”
“Huh? I dunno, just, it’s just a name and you’re sweet and your muffins taste so good and–“
Suddenly your hand presses down on the bible and he moans at the pressure on his cock.
“Fuck, and you’d taste so fucking good too”
“Where? My mouth? Or my pussy?”
“Both.”
You release your palm from the book and calmly get up making your way to sit next to gator. He looks scared, like he can’t predict your next move. And he’s replaced your hand with his, pressing the bible into his crotch, his hips ever so gently grinding into it for some relief.
“Why don’t I give you taste…”
You oh so sweetly place a chaste kiss to his lips. Your lips are gone before gator really has time to enjoy it but the spark the moment ignites in him is enough to have him coming completely undone right there.
It’s all just so unexpected. The realisation that you’re not the innocent little thing he thought you were overwhelms him.
And you notice. He lets out a pathetic groan and his body momentarily stiffens.
You laugh that little laugh again as if he’s made an inappropriate joke and not just come his pants in church.
“I’ll see you next week,” you say as you get up and walk off, leaving gator wet and reeling in the pew.
L&L is officially allllllllll uploaded onto wattpad!!!
this is the perfect time to go reread, especially now that there is the ability to comment on each section - let me know everything 🤪 (also, since this is a new platform for me, i would really appreciate the support - genuinely blown away already! it’s been a DAY!!!!)
