×͜× ACT ALIVE!! PART EIGHT ‘ carol says. ’ -> Gator Tillman x Reader
WC: 3.2K
<- PART SEVEN
Warnings: soft smut, nothing too serious. drug use. jokes about aneurysms, Gator being a bit of a creep, mentions of a stroke.
×͜×DAY THREE
If it wasn’t for Gator Tillman and his suspicious supply of drugs you wouldn’t have gotten any sleep this week.
It was only because of him that you were able to get any sleep now. He had advised you to take another fifteen milligram half of a pill to help you sleep since you were so bent on going to the library the next day.
“If ya wanna do that then ya need to get some sleep.”
“But-”
“Nonnegotiable.” He had said and you huffed.
“Fine.” You agreed and he dropped another halved pill on your tongue followed by another extremely heated kiss.
“Payment” as he liked to call it. You didn’t just let him, oh no, you kissed him back. Gator was starting to mean something to you too. Which, mind you, was a dangerous game to play right now.
You were dying, lest you forget. In four days Gator would still be here and you would be decomposing in the earth. There was no happily ever after for you, you weren’t written in the stars, you were written in an obituary with your name as the deceased and Gator’s as one of the lucky survivors of your tragedy. Unpublished, but ready to be hot off the press the second your days ran out.
It was cruel.
It wasn’t fair.
So you had to make what you had here and now count because you wouldn’t be able to kiss Gator Tillman like you meant it much longer.
So when he slipped his fingers between the two of you and touched you in way that made you gasp, you let him. You let him do a lot more than just touch you.
He positioned you on his lap this time and made you do a lot more than just gasp.
“Better for your head this way, pretty girl.” He had whispered to you in between kisses and swift movements of his hips. “Prefer you riding me anyways, now I get t see that pretty face.”
Pretty? Had he lost his mind? You couldn’t have looked much better then you did that morning. Bags under your eyes, your skin starting to pale. Your hair may have been clean but that didn’t fix the features of your dying face.
“Pretty?” You echoed the words and he slowed.
“Yeah, darlin’. Real pretty.”
“Not pretty.”
“Don’t say that.”
“How can I be pretty to you? ‘m dying.”
“So’s a tree in the fall time.”
“What?”
“Fall trees, y’know? People always talk about how pretty they are.”
“You’re… comparing me to a tree…?”
His hips stopped completely, twitching inside of you, he ran his hands up and down your sides.
“Sure.” He replied, smug little grin on his face. “Nothing wrong with that. Trees can be real pretty, just like you. Prettiest right when they’re dyin’.”
“That’s… such a weird thing to say.”
“Says you.” He critiqued with a scoff. “You’ve hardly said anythin’ that ain’t morbid this entire time.” You rolled your eyes. “Not a bad thing to be compared to a tree, is it?”
“No. Just wasn’t expecting it. Especially not from you.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t think you thought like that.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno. Didn’t think you made connections like that.”
“I know how metaphors work.”
“Analogies, Gator.”
“Whatever.” he grumbled. “Just take the compliment like how you’re taking me so well right now.”
That made you blush. His hips sped right back up.
“Not so snarky now are ya?”
“Sh-shut up.”
“Mhm. such a pretty thing on my lap ridin’ me like a champ.”
“Gator.”
“How’s that song go? Save a horse-”
“Gator.”
“Ride a deputy.”
So maybe it wasn’t just the pill that made you pass out. Maybe it was also Gator Tillman and his exceptional skill with his third leg. He was right, this position didn’t hurt your head as much as the last time you had sex. Either way, it still wore you out.
Especially paired with the oxy and how much blood you were losing daily.
Yeah you slept really well that night. You woke up the next morning, shocked to see that Gator wasn’t in bed with you. You shifted your weight, trying to stand and that’s when you noticed it.
The numbness in your arm.
Thank god it wasn’t in your dominant arm, no that one still seemed to be all there. But as you sat up and stared at your other arm, well, it might as well have not even been there.
You couldn’t feel it at all. You tried to move it. You willed the thing attached to your shoulder to move.
It didn’t budge.
You grabbed your wrist and lifted your arm into the air and when you let go, your arm dropped right back to your side with a soft thud on your bed.
Great.
Looks like you could cross paralysis off your list of aneurysm symptoms.
You did your best to climb out of bed with just your dominant arm available to you. That's when you smelled something. Something burning?
Oh shit were you about to have a stroke?
Was that on the list of things you should be worried about? You racked your brain but you couldn’t remember.
“Gator!” You shouted, now worried your time had come early thanks to a stroke.
“Gator!” You called again, voice growing tense and cracking at the last syllable of his name.
“Gator!”
Footsteps. He burst into your room.
“What?” He demanded. “What is it?”
“Do you- do you smell something burning or is that just me?”
His face fell. “Oh that’s just mean.”
“What?” Your face scrunched up in confusion.
“Here I am trying to do a nice thing for you and you’re-”
“What are you talking about? I’m trying to figure out if I’m having a stroke.”
“A what?”
You blinked.
“They say you smell toast or a burning smell when you’re having a stroke.”
“I’m making you breakfast. What are you talking about? Why would you be having a stroke?”
“Same reason I can’t feel my arm.”
“You can’t feel your arm?”
You did the same trick as before, grabbing your wrist, raising it, and dropping it. Your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. Gator’s eyes widened.
“Oh shit.” He muttered. “The aneurysm."
“Seems carol has decided to be a real bitch today.”
“Did… did you name your aneurysm?”
“yeah.” You replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Seems I’m going to be spending a lot of time with her in the last few days of my life. She might as well have a name.”
“Oh my god you are so weird.”
“This isn’t news.” You replied. “Now what about this breakfast you’ve apparently burned?”
“I did not burn anything.”
“No?”
“No.”
You pushed past him and coughed. There was smoke. Thank god none of your other roommates were home and thank god he had somehow managed not to set off the fire alarm.
“Gator… jesus… were you trying to burn the place down?”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Were you trying to get a head start on cremating me?”
“Oh come on!” You laughed. “I’m kidding, alligator.”
“I was trying to do something nice. Since you’re dyin’ next time I just won’t bother.”
“No no it’s nice, Gator.” You tried again. “Real nice, thank you.”
“Whatever.”
“What did you burn anyways?”
“I didn’t burn anything!”
“Gator…”
“Okay fine. The bacon may be a little… well… burnt. But some of it is totally fine, completely edible.”
“Okay Gator, I believe you.” You replied. “And for the record, please don’t cremate me. I’d much rather to be in box floating down the river.” He rolled his eyes.
“Weird!”
“And yet you still hit it.”
“Ugh.”
“Twice!”
“Shut up!”
So, yes, the bacon was burnt as was the toast but the rest wasn’t bad.
You had never thought that Gator would be a bad cook. You never thought about him cooking at all and maybe that’s why he was a bad cook. He never did it. Seemed like it was something that was always done for him. Not necessarily in a privileged nepobaby way… well.. Except yet it was exactly in that way.
There had always been a woman of some kind around to fix food for the Tillman men. That’s probably where Gator would be now if it weren’t for you. At home, eating whatever breakfast someone else had fixed for him. It was more sad to you than it was privileged.
Gator was perfectly capable of learning this life skill but because he refused to ever leave the shadow of his dad he would never learn.
Gator would always eat whatever scraps were tossed at him if it meant living in service to his father. And that made you real sad.
What made you even more sad was that there was absolutely nothing that you could do about it.
Sure you could dote on him for now, show him that not everything was about his dad, that there were other ways of living that didn’t involve hiding in the shadow of Roy Tillman, doomed to repeat his mistakes. But what did it matter?
You were so incredibly temporary.
Would Gator even remember anything that you could try to teach him? Would any of it even matter in a couple of days? Probably not and that’s not what you needed to be focused on right now anyways.
Your clock was ticking, remember? You don’t have the time to be worried about the conduct of Gator Tillman’s life, not when yours was on a time crunch.
Crunch.
There was that word again.
It was supposed to be the last thing you ever heard. Still could be, depending on how exactly you decided to go out. It could happen at any moment, you know, the count down was never an exact science. Oh what a strange thought, and it too could be your last. The last thought you could have could even be about the unpredictability of your own death.
How devastatingly ironic.
You couldn’t think about this anymore and the crunch from each bite of barely edible bacon that Gator had fixed for you made things even worse.
Reminded you of that horrible sound of your skull being bashed in as you bit a cookie. It really could have been the last thing you ever ate. But now that could be Gator’s bacon.
Suddenly you weren’t so hungry anymore. You looked at Gator who didn’t seem to mind the fact that half his food was burnt as he munched away.
He’s used to scraps, you thought. A sad thing to think, really, to know, which made it that much worse. Would he ever get the chance to sit at a table and eat food made especially for him? Not in your lifetime, it seemed. It made you sick to your stomach. You pushed your plate away.
“All done?”
you nodded.
To your surprise he took your plate away. When he came back you looked up at him.
“Gator?” You called. You did not want to ask this. Not because it would require you to become really comfortable with Gator really fast, but because it demeaned you. It reminded you that you were not only dying but that it was taking away your basic ability to function as a human being.
“Can you… can you help me get dressed?” His eyes widened.
“Uh… yeah… I guess… um… why…?”
You nodded to your paralyzed arm, no matter how many times you looked at it or tried to move it, it still denied the authority of your mind.
“Carol won’t let me do it on my own.”
He had touched you, fucked you, damnit he had even seen inside of your head when he replaced your bandage. Why was this awkward? He had done worse, seen worse. So why was Gator Tillman looking at you like you were a science experiment and he was none the wiser?
“Do- do you want me to just… like… take your shirt off now?” He asked hesitantly.
“Well obviously.” You replied as the two of you settled back into your room after a meager breakfast of mostly burnt food. “I certainly can’t do it on my own.”
“Have you tried?”
“Gator I have one functional arm.” You retorted. “How am I supposed to take my shirt off and put another one on with one arm? Just the one.”
“Uh.”
“You’ve undressed loads of girls-”
“Woah okay now that’s an assumption.”
“Is it wrong?” He was quiet. “Exactly. How is this any different from all those other girls?”
“Because when I undressed them it was for sex.”
“Gator, we have had sex. Twice.”
“I know but usually when I undress a girl-”
“It’s to get in her pants?” A nod. You sighed. “Just don’t over think it. Just don’t think at all. That shouldn’t be hard for you.”
“Says the girl with half a brain.”
“Gator.”
“What? You started it.” fair point, you thought.
“We’re wasting time.” You finally said. “Time that me and my half a brain can’t afford to lose.”
“Okay okay.” He gripped the hem of your shirt and pulled it up over your head and- his eyes widened.
“Oh wow.”
“Focus.” You hissed.
“Can I touch ‘em?”
“Gator.”
“What? Just appreciatin’ the female form.”
“Gator.”
“Ugh.”
Next were your shorts which you were able to shimmy out of on your own with your singular working hand. Gator whistled.
“Damn.” He groaned and you couldn’t stop yourself from blushing despite yourself.
“Gator please stay focused.” You begged him.
“How can I when you’re all naked just for me to see.”
“Gator. This isn’t sexual. I need you to help me get dressed. Please.”
“I know… you’re just so…”
“So what?”
“Pretty.” He grinned and the color on your cheeks became brighter.
“Shut up.” You walked over to your closet and picked out clothes for the day. Stuff that would be easy for him to put on you that required the least amount of touching possible. A pair of loose shorts, an oversized tshirt, panties that you would put on yourself, and the least confusing bra that you had with two clasps in the back. You put on what you could by yourself, shorts and panties, and then looked at Gator for help.
“Oh you’re kidding.” He grinned.
“What?”
“I get to help you put your bra on?”
“Gator.”
“What? I’m happy to help.”
“You’re being weird.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Please, I am not bein’ weird. That’s you. Now come here and let me help you, darlin’.”
You gagged. It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched you before, he had, quite a few times in the last week, but this wasn’t meant to be like that. You just needed help. You wanted to get dressed and get on with solving your murder, the one thing that you wanted to do this week before you- you know. And if Gator kept looking at you like that and talking to you like that, then the only thing that you may be getting done this week would be each other.
“Gator please I really really need you to focus. I am on a time limit here. You may not be but I am. You can see boobs any time, but my boobs have somewhere they need to be.”
Gator laughed at your persistence. He took your bra and helped you lace your arms through the straps.
“I know pretty thing but I have a time limit to see these boobs.” He helped you put your breasts into the cups, making sure to give each one a good squeeze that made you groan.
“So I gotta enjoy them while I can.” His fingers lightly traced down your back, breath on your neck, as he gently picked up the clasps of your bra.
“Now lets see if I can figure this thing out…” You couldn’t help but laugh softly. Of course clasping a bra would stump him. Unclasping it would be like second nature to him, but clasping? Forget it.
He fiddled with it for a few seconds before he let out a huff.
“They don’t make these things easy do they…” You giggled again.
“Hush.” He scolded you.
“Is it hard, alligator?”
“I’m trying to be helpful. You want me to quit?”
“No, no I’m grateful for your help.”
“That’s what I thought. There. I got it.”
“Thank you Alligator.” You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “My hero.”
“Whatever.”
“Here.” You put a shirt in his hands. “Help me with this and we’ll be good to go.”
“Can I do the wee-woos this time?”
“No.”
“Gatoooor.”
“I said no.”
You frowned from the passenger seat of his cruiser.
He had to help you buckle your seatbelt too.
Goddamnit there wasn’t anything that you didn’t need his help with anymore. You hated asking him to help you constantly. Made you look useless. And you weren’t. Dying maybe, but useless? Not while you still had half a brain.
“Fun sucker.”
“What did you call me?”
“A fun sucker.”
“What- what does that even mean?”
“Means you suck the fun out of everything.”
“Becuase I won’t let you turn on the ‘wee-woos’?”
“Yes.”
“Those are for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency.” You pointed with your thumb to the back of your head.
“I’m literally dying.”
He called your name this time, warning tone.
“What? It’s true.”
He called your name again, getting tired of this.
“If you have a grievance with it you’re gonna have to take it up with Carol.”
“Oh my god you’re so weird.”
“That’s rude. I’m telling Carol.”
“You’re telling your aneurysm… that I’m rude….”
“Carol says you’re a little bitch.”
He couldn’t help it now. He laughed. It was just a short chuckle but a grin tugged at his lips as he drove.
“Why are you like this?”
“I’m dying. Gotta at least try to make a little fun out of it, right?”
“I guess.”
He pulled into the library parking lot. He parked “illegally” by pulling right up to the curb.
“Aren’t you not supposed to park here?”
“I’m a deputy. I can park wherever I want.”
“Hmmm.”
“What now?”
“Isn’t that for emergencies only?”
“Thought you said this was an emergency?”
“Oh so now it qualifies as an emergency?” He rolled his eyes.
“Here we go.”
“Wasn’t an emergency five minutes ago.”
“That was under different circumstances.”
“Carol says you’re fake.”
“I’m what?” He turned the car off. You unbuckled. Thank god you didn’t need his help for that.
“Carol says you’re a fake ass little bitch.”
“Oh my god can your brain anerrusym shut the fuck up.” You laughed. Snorted even as you hoped out of the car, following him up to the library.
“Carol says-”
“I don’t care what the fuck Carol says. You can tell her that I said that she’s a lil bitch.”
You giggled.
“Oh Carol is not gonna like that.”
Masterlist
PART NINE ->
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telling a woman shes the only person you have left while she leaves because you turned out to be a fucking rapist has to be the lowest thing max fucking hastings had the audacity to do
