I am!!! Life’s been an ass and I had to take a step away from the chapter for a second because i wanted to get a clearer head. I’m actually working on it as we speak!!!
Laughing my ass off thinking about Steve wanting so many kids so badly, but it's Eddie who has a baby first. And what's more, you and he have two by the time Steve even finds the woman he wants to marry.
Later on, Steve makes a huge deal over the news: his wife finally agreed that they can start trying. Eddie's just snickering, begging you to let him say it.
"I'm not cleaning up any cuts or bruises, so it's on your neck," you shrug, avoiding Steve's questioning eyes.
"We're pregnant!" Eddie yells, already falling halfway out of his chair, laughing at his best friend's shock.
Fuming, Steve shouts, "Oh, my God! Get off of her!"
Warming(s): mentions of abuse, kidnapping plot, angst w/no happy ending, mentions of fear, Roy mentions, misogyny??, reader doesn’t fuck around, reader is Gator’s soulmate, therapy!!, not proofread
A/N: hehe hey… sorry about this one. I had this idea since before Written in the Stars and decided to finish this Drabble before continuing the series! I am so Joe pilled right now I’m so serious, it’s a problem. Anyways enjoy and please PLEASE send in requests I’m actually begging
masterlist
Spacer by @saradika-graphics
The impossible can happen in life. For Gator, it was being in love and being loved in return. A genuine love too, the type that he thought was only part of the cheesy rom-coms that his old hookups would put on before being completely ignored for more stimulating activities. Your love was kind and pure and golden; something that changed him in the best ways. He grew into himself, not needing the approval of anyone else when he had the world on his arm.
Being loved wasn’t impossible anymore. What took its place was something darker, something he didn’t ever want to think about. It would only happen in his nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat with images of an empty bed, an empty apartment, and you nowhere to be seen. That paired with Roy’s laugh, that cocky laugh that made him think that he could do nothing right. On those nights, he’d wake with a shaking hand and bleary eyes before they found your figure curled up next to him. His peace, his other half. Hell, his soulmate.
That realization came a year and a half ago, six months into your relationship.
“Can’t believe y’got me believin’ in tha’ shit, honey.” Gator once sighed, the signature Gator chuckle that’s barely registered. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder as you sat somewhere on the outskirts of Lehigh, halfway between the privacy of your apartment and the hell that was the Tillman Ranch. The winter air nipped at your nose as you pulled your side of the blanket closer to yourself, earning a playful scoff from the man as the comforter’s corner fell from him. “Now d’ya wan’ me freezin’ t’death?!”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Gators do better under heat.” The witty response made him shake his head with a loud laugh and visible grin, perfect white teeth on display in a manner that made your stomach go to summersaults. A feeling that distracted you from the sinking feeling both you and your boyfriend felt.
It was a rare night he’d have to go home, a family meeting happening in the morning that he couldn’t miss lest he wants to be disowned by Roy. At this point, he wouldn’t mind it. Your apartment was equally his at this point of your relationship, at your eager pleas, that is. Seeing his family dynamic, your blood had drawn cold at any mention of Roy. Especially after the backhand you’d seen delivered to your boyfriend’s cheek when he brought you to meet his family a month into dating. Going home reminded him of who he used to be before you. Who he strived to be for his father.
Someone who he wasn’t anymore. His room being a time capsule to the toxic masculinity pushed onto him. The shame he felt when he confessed that he didn’t want you to see that side of him. You understood, truly. You knew of the rumors and saw the strife that the Tillman name carried, more so on the ranch.
“Just, come home after, okay?” Breaking the silence, your voice shook as you looked at him with wet eyes. The knowledge that he was going back to a place he wasn’t safe tearing you apart.
“‘m coming home, doll. I’d have lost m’god damn mind if I don’come back.” Offering a smile, Gator’s hands ran up and down your sides before a kiss was placed to your forehead. Stubble tickled your skin, his voice softer, less sheltered.
“Always gon’ come back t’my soulmate, yeah?”
-
Two years together, two beautiful years with the expected ups and downs. Being with someone with a tumultuous upbringing, with a father like Roy, walls coming back up in the beginning. Shattered pieces of self turned into the beautiful mosaic of a man growing, realizing that the ‘truths’ he grew up with were actually just beliefs Roy had and held strictly. That he wasn’t a fuck up and that the way he was treated wasn’t acceptable. You taught him that the first month in, holding him, rocking him after another case gone ‘wrong.’
-
A year in, Gator showed up at your door unplanned. Stubborn tears hiding upon his lash line that wanted to spill. Yet, he was afraid to look weak. The moment that he saw you, however, all walls fell down and arms wrapped around your being for comfort.
“My love, you know that is not true. In any regular case, you did exactly what you were s’pposed t’do, yeah?” soft voice drawling into a coo, fingers ice skating up and down the column of his spine.
“But it’s alw-”
“No. Just because it has always been like this doesn’t mean it’s right, Gator. It’s his fucked up perspective in life because one minor inconvenience is making him actually do his elected job as a sheriff.” Your voice firm, yet filled with a kindness he hadn’t heard since he was a teenager. Nadine had told him the same thing years ago after a lost football game. After Roy’s red-faced screaming, calling him a fuck up over and over. It was hard for him to forget the treatment he’d endured, harder for him to push of the way you slowly pushed him into realizing as such.
That night, he moved into your apartment fully. The next morning he found a therapist towns over so he could escape the possible HIPAA violations.
-
Since then, you’ve seen Gator’s change. You’ve seen his confidence grow the less time he spent on the ranch. The rough around the edges man that you initially fell in love with has grown into a strong, caring, confident man who you admire everyday.
And you remind him of that. Little notes in his jacket pocket or in his lunchbag that you made every morning before going to your job in the city. He loved it, basked in it, actually. The guys would make fun of him for being so ‘pussy-whipped’ but he didn’t care because he had you, had his sweet, lil’ honey.
He was the luckiest man in the world, filled with love and a future he was looking forward to everyday. Twenty-seven and he just now found his purpose in life. He didn’t care that it took him this long to figure it out. Didn’t care that his father called him weak and effeminate, that was about to change.
Heading to work, you had sent him off with a kiss and a promise of having his favorite meal ready for dinner to celebrate. He had decided on telling Roy to fuck off, to take him out of his will and consider himself without a son. He was done being a fuck up in his eyes, done being a pawn in this cult-ish game, and done being called a bitch for realizing it was okay to be soft. It was okay to let his walls down, to feel raw, hard emotions.
Yet, that conversation changed, everything changed. Those rough edges coming back up and you were none the wiser.
Gator had come back home that night a little more tightly wound, though you expected as much. You assumed Gator had gotten chewed out, stomped on, and screamed at, hence why he was glowering into the steak that was on a plate in front of him.
”Baby, if you keep glaring at it, I think it’ll cook more.” Smiling, you tried to crack a gentle joke just to be answered with the screeching of his knife against the plate as he cut through the meant. Flinching, Gator noticed and softened. Apologies pouring from his lips like water down a waterfall.
“Ya. Roy got on m’ass. Said you were makin’ me a lil’ bitch.” He drawled, hand pushing his hair back from his face. That was only a half truth, the full story would have had you breaking down.
“I want Nadine back. Her prints are in the system. She’s in Scandia, Minnesota. Get ‘er and bring ‘er back.” Roy hissed, pissed from Gator’s declaration of ‘freedom.’ “Do this and then you and your little bitch can be free. Y’just won’t be no son of mine.”
-
“Just gotta finish the cases on my workload, then I’m free from his shit. I promise baby. I’m safe.” Gator comforted you over the phone, barely concealed stress lacing through his voice. “Yeah baby, ‘m okay. Just got a lotta shit in this one. I’ll see y’later, yea? Wear that pretty pink set f’me, ‘kay?” You could hear his smirk, your eyes rolling though a smile burst out across your face.
“M’kay, Gates. I love ya. Please be safe, for me?”
“Always honeybee. Always f’you. Love ya too. Gotta go, see y’tonight.”
Shoving his phone into his back pocket, his eyes caught something in the distance. His stomach dropped, fearing what was about to be delivered but quickly hiding that fear behind the walls he built.
-
“Gator, where are ‘ya? It’s 10pm and y’haven’t called me back..” Tears streaked your face, voice raw and watery from crying. He was supposed to be home five hours ago but no such luck. ‘Maybe he got caught in a case, deep in the paperwork to not realize the time.’ You had thought, but that was the first hour. Now you were scared he was hurt, scared he was dead somewhere no one could find him. A new wave of tears bubbled up at that thought. Gator curled up in a ditch, desperate for help but unable to reach anyone.
Just as your shaking hands began to unlock your phone to call him again, the door cracks open. Your heart stuttered and fell to your ass at the sight. Covered in mud, Gator stumbled inside the apartment looking worse for wear. There was something new about him, too. A blue cast dawning his right forearm.
”Gates, baby. Oh my god!” Rushing forward, you immediately wrapped yourself around him and he around you. The plaster hard against the small of your back making him huff into your hairline. After the day he had he just wanted to feel you under his palms, but even that was too much to ask.
“”m so sorry, honeybee. Somethin’ happened at the ranch in relation to a case and.. and my phone died while I was gettin’ all fixed up.” His voice wavered as he saw the mascara stains on your cheeks and the pretty silk robe that held your figure. The image of you fretting, panicking, over him not being home plagued his head, heart shattering as a cry of relief registers.
“Oh m’baby.. shhh. Shhh. I’m okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry..” Gator’s left hand cradled your head to his chest, soothing your hair back and pressing kisses on your hairline. “C’mon baby. I’ll start one of those fancy baths y’like. Stupid lil bath bomb ‘n al, yeah? Jus’ grab me a plastic bag s’ I can wrap my arm.”
-
You knew something was up, you felt it in your bones. Usually, you were the type to let things live and let die, pushing it down and away until the truth came out. But this time the person hiding something wasn’t a friend or a coworker. I was Gator. He began to ice you out again, ditching you on date nights and staying up late just to ignore you until you went to bed.
You were tired of it, tired of the false promises and the apologies that were half baked. The Gator you fell in love with was never like this, not even in the beginning. This Gator was a different breed and you had to investigate. Tonight was the night that you dug for more clues.
The clues, however, weren’t clues. They were flashing red lights with neon writing that said ‘look here!’ As soon as Gator was fast asleep, you wriggled out from under his arm and quietly made your way to the kitchen. Gator’s laptop was wide open and unlocked for you to see.
You started with emails, eyes scanning ‘Nadine Tillman’ in the subject line of a chain from the end of September. Clicking on it, your eyes went wide. It was a dossier on Roy’s wife, or rather, hostage, whom had run away years prior. Her address, her husband’s name, her kid’s name and school, her mother-in-law’s name and business. It was all there along with any of her contact information.
You thought that was it. Thought that maybe, just maybe, this was Gator looking for the one person from his past who understood some of the abuse he went through. Yet that was proven wrong when a text notification popped through on the screen.
‘Got everything for Halloween. Roy’s gonna have his little Nadine back, finally.’
’Thank god. Gator, how’d you even find that Munch guy? If you used our resources, this would be done by now.’
’It’s gator, what’d we expect? Roy calls ‘I’m a fuck up for a reason.’
‘It’s a 8 hr drive. We got everything prepped. Gator’ll meet us at the ranch at 10 s’we can grab Nadine by nightfall.’
You were about to be sick, your eyes fixated on past conversations and texts Gator had sent back. They were going to kidnap Nadine, well, Dot, now and take her back to the ranch. Closing anything you opened and clearing the internet history for the hour, all you could do was stand there in shock. This wasn’t your Gator, this wasn’t the man you were planning on marrying, that you wanted to have a family with. This was the Gator that was a dealbreaker.
”Honeybee?” His groggy voice filled your ears as he called from the bedroom. “Where y’at?”
”Just getting water, Gates. I’ll be back in a second.” You cooed, pushing through the disgust and heartbreak you felt overwhelm your system. Grabbing a glass, you filled it with water before chugging it down. Maybe it’ll wake you up, maybe this is all a bad dream.
-
But it wasn’t. Just like his texts said, Gator was out of the house by 9:30 on Halloween. With a kiss to your forehead, he apologized for cancelling on the party last minute. ‘Have’ta work overtime. Today’s the last day, then we can move wherever you want, honeybee. Start our life together.” You wish you could believe him, his voice full of hope as he mumbled into your hairline. He didn’t know that there was no party, that you set that up to see if he’d stay. He didn’t know you knew he was about to commit a felony across state lines. He didn’t know you had a plan.
-
Hours passed and he had failed. Gator had failed AGAIN. At this point he’d never be free from his father’s deadly grip. At least he had you, his safety, the love of his life. Pushing through the door of the apartment, Gator was holding plastic bags of Halloween candy he got on discount from the local Dollar General.
“Honey, I’m home!” He sing-songed, putting on a chipper facade as he locked the front door behind him. “I bought some of our favorite candies, we can have our usual Halloween horror movie night today. I’ll order us your favorite take ou-“
Stilling in the living room, Gator’s blood went cold. Your soft throws and fancy pillows were gone, the speaker you kept on the kitchen counter was gone, your shoes by the front door were gone. Rushing to the bedroom, he felt his heart hammering in his chest. No, no, no, no. The closet was open, only his clothes hanging neatly and his shoes tucked on the rack. Your pillow was bare, perfume and makeup gone from their spaces on your vanity.
He tried calling you but to no avail. The dial tone beeping in his ears like an omen, like his heartbeat. No, there’s no way.
Gator was frantic, tearing apart the apartment for any sign of you, for any sign of a struggle, for anything that said you didn’t leave on your own terms. With tears on his cheeks, hazel eyes stormy with fear and a new emotion he couldn’t quite place, he sunk on the couch.
With his head in his hands, Gator pulled at his hair. His cast heavier than usual, his body not allowing him to process the reality of his situation. Not until his glassy eyes landed on a piece of paper on the media console. Scrambling off the cushions he rested against, Gator practically ripped the paper open. His eyes scanned your neat handwriting, smudged at the edges from your tears.
Gator
I thought you were different. I thought you had changed. Why did you lie to me? Lie about finishing up at the department? Lie about your cases? You’re taking a mother away from her child, a husband away from the woman he loves. You’re tearing a family apart for a man who will just kill her, have you no shame? You aren’t the man I fell in love with because even that Gator wouldn’t claim this version of you. By doing this, not online are you subjecting Nadine to a fate that is her death, but you’re ending a relationship here. Don’t contact me, don’t try and find me. I want nothing to do with you.
The words stung, tears hitting the parchment and mixing with the smudging letters from where you had cried. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were right, he couldn’t even deny that. Gator was a monster, he ruined the good things he had in life just to gain approval from his father.
That feeling Gator couldn’t name hit him again, making itself known. Dread mixed with bitter realization. Realization that he was alone, that his volatile actions pushed you away. But most importantly, Gator realized the one thing that hurt him the most.
This wasn’t one of his nightmares, this wasn’t something he could just wake up from and be in your arms. That all the times he woke up in a cold sweat, clinging to you and promising you that he wouldn’t let Roy tear you two apart, were in vain.
Gator’s nightmare wasn’t just a nightmare. They were a warning, an omen, a prophecy. Yet, instead of breaking the cycle, he fell into it.
Gator’s biggest fear came to fruition, clutching the note to his chest.
Twenty-two
Six years after you left the Tillman ranch, you found a way back.
&&
pairing: gator tillman/f!reader
wc: 23.3k
tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, domesticity, slow burn, smut (oral sex [m receiving], vaginal fingering, vaginal sex)
a/n: not-so-casual reminder that this is canon compliant. please enjoy, i hope you love it!
&&
part 1 • ao3 link
“Hey, you’re, uh, from North Dakota, right? Dickinson?”
You froze, highlighter poised above the report you were currently reviewing at work. “Excuse me? I mean—what?”
“You graduated from Dickinson High School in North Dakota?” Your coworker, Jerry, was holding a manila folder, looking down at the papers in it. Extremely casually you might add, considering he just brought up a part of your past you preferred never to think about.
“Yeah,” you answered, finally, and he stepped closer, flipping the folder shut. He sat on the edge of your desk, one leg propped up as he faced you.
“You ever heard of the Tillmans? Owned a cattle ranch in Lehigh?”
You swallowed thickly and turned your face back to your own papers, but you were staring at the file Jerry held out of the corner of your eye. “Rings a bell.”
Jerry chuckled derisively. “Check this out when you have a minute. Fuckin’ psycho shit.” He continued speaking, but you couldn’t listen. Tillman was a name that you’d tried to forget for six years, since you and your parents drove away. You’d purposely avoided looking him up, kept away from social media, scrolled away from any articles that featured news from North Dakota as a whole. After a minute or two of unresponsiveness, Jerry realized you weren’t paying attention. He tossed the file to your desk, off to the side, so as not to impede your current work, not realizing how big of a draw it actually held.
But you. You were nothing if not disciplined. You’d listened to your parents' warning for well over 10 years. That file remained exactly where Jerry had tossed it until you finished reviewing the ballistics report your other friend, Catrine, had asked you to go over just as a second set of eyes.
Once you returned the ballistics paperwork to Catrine’s inbox, you sat back down at your desk. It felt like every person in the room was looking right at you, watching, waiting for you to open the file and be accosted by the devils of your past even though a quick glance around proved that to be false.
Your work brought you close to the FBI on rare occasions, the expertise you’d come to hone in the years since you had left North Dakota helping you in countless ways. But looking back at those years, at that place, was something you tried at all costs to avoid.
This was indeed an FBI file, heavily redacted, few enough sheets of paper to have a staple in the corner rather than a clip of some kind. But you recognized enough of the names and information. Roy Tillman. Nadine Tillman (alias: Dorothy “Dot” Lyon). Karen Tillman.
Gator Tillman.
You flipped through the pages, wondering why this had come across Jerry’s desk. Your memory supplied the answer—he’d told you when you hadn’t been listening attentively. “New collar I’m helping with had some connections to their…organization. Came across this and thought you might get a kick out of it. Your old stomping grounds.”
You turned back to the beginning of the packet. The first page of what was clearly a larger dossier, it covered the main players. You didn’t need the personal details, but seeing the photos brought you back and it hurt, even seeing Roy.
Nadine caught your attention—or rather, you should say, Dot, if that was what she went by now. You couldn’t blame her, leaving and changing her name.
You turned to the second page, a surreptitious look over your shoulder, but no one was paying you any mind. You wiggled the mouse of your computer to wake it, tapping in your password and checking your emails quickly. A few unread in your inbox, but nothing that needed immediate attention.
You locked your computer, stood up, grabbed your phone, badge, and the file and headed outside to the sticky sun of an Arizona afternoon, carrying the papers with you.
You worked freelance most of the time, a private forensics firm signing your paychecks and coordinating jobs for you, back in your home state of Arizona. After you’d left the Tillman ranch six years ago—apparently only a few days before the shit hit the fan big time, if the dates in this dossier were anything to go by—your family had relocated back where you’d moved from. A new house, but the same neighborhood. It was the relaxed environment you’d needed after being surrounded by the structure of Roy’s influence.
You exited your office building’s atrium and headed outside to the small courtyard between the entrance and the parking lot, sitting on the bench where you usually ate your lunch on nice days. Today was not a nice day: It was too hot and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. You were already sweating by the time you sat down. But what a day like this would provide you was privacy that the air conditioned office wouldn’t. You wouldn’t have to worry about Jerry asking any follow up questions or Catrine popping over about the ballistics report and wondering what it was you were working on now.
Settling the manila folder in your lap, you opened it again. The sun bleared off the white pages, the heavy black lines where information had been removed sticking out even more fiercely in the bright daylight. You skimmed it again, just in case you missed anything on the first page, but no. This was just a detailing of the major players, notable locations, and significant dates in question.
You flipped to the next page. A photograph of Roy—much more recent than you’d expected—was clipped to the page. It was a mugshot. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit and he looked pissed. You glanced at the charges he’d been served. Murder. Manslaughter. Forgery. Racketeering. Human trafficking. It went on and on, and your hand began shaking, just a little. There was no way your father had known about this when he took the job. Right?
But—he couldn’t have. The list of names included some, but not all, of the ranch workers, so there had to be some innocent bystanders there, like your family. There were even names on the list you didn’t recognize as ranch hands, so if Roy’s network even extended off of his own property and those people were in here, then your father would have been caught had he been involved.
You turned the page. Karen Tillman was next, and you pursed your lips at her mugshot as well. She looked a bit worse for wear, not as bad as Roy but unhappy. That tracked. She’d never really been a happy person, as far as you could tell. Mentions of the girls being taken and put into foster care would explain why she was so pissed. You wondered if she’d gotten them back in the interim six years that had passed.
Third page. Gator. You skipped it without looking further.
Fourth page: Nadine. You touched the photo of her, clipped to the leaf of paper. Unlike the other photos, this one wasn’t a mugshot. It actually appeared to be a candid photo, her with a man and a little girl. The page it was attached to featured their names, but they were redacted. You smiled at the photo. They were a cute family.
Part of you wanted to flip ahead in the dossier, the other knew you had to go back to the third page and see him. You were sure his list of charges would be similar to Roy’s—he was complicit in many of the acts even if he didn’t know the full extent. Did he know the full extent?
You flipped Dot’s page back, and gasped, a short sound, your breath sticking in your throat. You leaned a bit closer to the paperclipped photograph, just to be sure you were seeing what you thought you were seeing.
Gator’s picture was a mugshot as well, but…
He had a thick, white bandage wrapped around his face, his mouth open in a grimace. He wasn’t looking head on at the camera, like he didn’t know where exactly to turn toward and that was the best approximation he had. You placed two tentative fingers on the lower edge of the picture, narrowing your eyes at it, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. You lifted the photo up to read any information available, but again it was only a list of charges that had been brought against him. You saw part of a sentence about a plea deal that was mostly darkened over and concluded with “…for statements made against his father.” So Gator had flipped on Roy. That thought put you slightly at ease. What the hell had happened to his head to cause such a severe amount of bandaging?
You continued flipping through the papers, looking at profiles of some other men you knew, most you didn’t. One entire page was covered in straight black lines, the entire thing stricken and confidential. You closed the folder and bent at the waist a little, resting your face in your hands and exhaling before straightening up. This wasn’t something you ever wanted to know. This wasn’t part of your life anymore. Roy was serving a life sentence—if it hadn’t been commuted already, somehow, since that man was the luckiest son of a bitch you’d ever met—but Karen and Gator seemed to be serving less time. Gator had presumably taken the plea deal—it probably wouldn’t be hard to find out any details. If the FBI was involved, this would have been a national news story. It was a testament to your dedication in avoiding it that you knew nothing.
&&
The first thing you’d done upon going back inside was to give the folder back to Jerry. The second thing was to text your mom and ask if she and your dad minded having company for dinner. Now 30, with a pretty good job and the means to support yourself, you had your own apartment, but still lived close enough to drop by to see your parents every once in a while.
Of course sweetheart. It would be great to see you!
xoxo Mom
It made you smile and roll your eyes every time, but she still put that stupid signature on her texts like you didn’t know it was her or that she was always going to send you hugs and kisses.
The third thing you’d done was tell your boss that you were going home early. You picked up your laptop and shut down your station, grabbing a stack of paperwork you had to get through—promising that yes, you’d report to the lab tomorrow as promised, you weren’t sick but just felt a bit like heatstroke—and went out to your car. You started it and leaned against the trunk with the doors open to let the air conditioning begin to work before you even dared get in.
Three different times you pulled your phone out of your back pocket, three different times you had begun to search “tillman ranch north dakota” before realizing that you didn’t want to do this in your office parking lot. You didn’t want to do it at all, but you knew you would, eventually. You just wanted to talk to your dad first.
The right thing to do would have been to tell your parents what you wanted to see them for. Your mom probably just thought you were popping by for a nice chat and some homecooked food since she was always on your case for ordering takeout at minimum two times a week. But no—you had a mission now. Sorry Mom.
You firmly shoved your phone into your bag, knowing you’d never be able to pluck it out of the jumble of crap you had in there with anywhere close to the same ease you could remove it from a pants pocket, and walked around to the passenger side of your car, feeling the cool air pouring out. You swung the door shut, then rounded the hood to get in on the driver’s side, sinking into the vinyl seat (never leather, not in Arizona). You let the cold air wash over you for a long moment, shivering a little as it attacked the beads of sweat clinging to you, the rapid temperature change giving you a chill.
You buckled your seatbelt, shifted the car into drive, and headed to your apartment, mostly to clear your head before going to your parents’ house. The drive was uneventful, or at least you thought so, because you were operating on autopilot—something you tried never to do, because you’d done forensic investigations on auto accidents before—but you pulled into your assigned spot at your building with nary a scratch.
Heaving a sigh, you clutched the steering wheel, hands together at 12’o’clock, and rested your forehead on them. Every time you closed your eyes, you just imagined Gator again, that white gauze wrapped around his head. You made the decision to leave your phone in the bottom of your bag, because you were honestly afraid to find out what had happened.
A swig of wine, some Kraft singles, and three hours later (what you perhaps delusionally thought of as girl pre-dinner), you felt ready enough to face your parents. You changed out of your work attire—khakis and a smart button-down—into a much more casual old Steely Dan t-shirt you’d liberated from your dad. When you went into your closet to figure out what bottoms to wear—a flowy, plain-colored skirt, or maybe even the pair of shortalls you’d recently picked up—you shifted a slew of hangers to the side to browse and—
It wasn’t that you’d forgotten it was in there, but seeing it today, of all days… Gator’s leather jacket. The duct taped sleeve. The scent of apples had faded long ago. You reached out a tentative hand toward where it hung, unworn, untouched even, for years except for when you’d unpacked it at your parents home, then packed and unpacked again when you’d moved here. Instead of letting your fingers graze the worn leather, you pushed the hangers back into place, grabbed the first bottoms made of denim you saw, and closed the closet.
&&
“Hey, sport!” your dad said, pulling you into a bear hug as soon as he opened the door. He’d been waiting—you hadn’t even gotten to knock. You’d lifted your hand and then suddenly the door was no longer where it had been, thrown open to reveal your dad’s beaming face.
It was hard to stay solemn around him, and you cracked a smile, hugging him back as he picked you up, letting you kick the door closed behind you. Once your feet were back on the floor, you handed him the box you were holding—containing a blueberry pie for dessert—and led him into the kitchen to see if your mom needed any help cooking.
“Hi there, sweetheart,” she said as you rounded the kitchen door, the pleasant smell of her cooking greeting you. “How was work?”
“Fine,” you said. She stirred at a pot on the stove, waiting for you to continue, but you didn’t. “Well, if you didn’t have a bad day at work, to what do we owe the pleasure?”
You shrugged and leaned on the counter. “Can’t I just want to hang out with my favorite mom and dad?”
“Very funny,” she said, deadpan. “That’s how I know you get your sense of humor from your father.”
“Hey! I’m very funny,” your dad interjected.
“Funny lookin’, maybe,” you quipped, giving your mom a high five while your dad frowned at you both.
“For that, you’re not getting any of my blueberry pie,” your dad said.
“I bought that pie,” you protested.
“And handed it to me,” your dad said. “Now go set the table.”
Laughing to yourself, you crossed over to the cabinet where the plates were kept—“Grab bowls too, honey, I have a salad,” your mom said—you pulled out enough for three place settings, set them out, and then returned for glasses and cutlery.
You moved to your mother’s side just as she was finishing dressing the salad, and carried the large wooden bowl over to the table while she fished around in the pot for a piece of pasta.
“How’s this?” she asked your father, who took it from the spoon and popped it into his mouth even though it was still steaming.
“It’s extremely hot,” he said after a moment of consideration.
“Cooked?” she asked, rolling her eyes at his “sense of humor.”
“Yeah, it’s done,” he said, and she turned off the stove while he picked up the pot to strain the water.
“Go sit,” your mom said, and you did, taking the same spot you’d occupied at every kitchen table your parents had ever owned: the one on the long left side, opposite your dad, to your mom’s right.
Your mom brought over a pitcher of water and a bottle of pop—you’d grown up calling it soda, but once you got to Lehigh, calling it pop became a hard habit to break—and your dad plunked the serving bowl of pasta on the table beside the salad.
“Looks good, Mom,” you said, as your dad spooned heaping helpings of pasta onto each of your plates. You helped yourself to some salad, and then spent the rest of the meal answering (or dodging, in some cases) questions about work, waiting for the opportune moment to ask about the apparent FBI raid on your former home.
After your plates sat empty for a few minutes, your dad asking after “Catherine” (no matter how often you corrected him to Catrine), your mom went to stand up, reaching for your bowl.
“I’ll get them, Mom,” you said, hurrying to your feet before she could. You fit the bowls together, placed them on top of the plates, then walked the stack over to the sink.
Your parents exchanged a look, amused, then your dad spoke. “So, you need something, kiddo?”
“Nope,” you said—what you needed was intangible. Not a thing at all. You stopped at the oven on your way back to the table, setting it to preheat so you could warm up the pie. “Is there ice cream?” you asked.
“With your father’s sweet tooth? Honey, there’s a whole Safeway in the freezer,” your mom said.
The oven beeped and kicked on. “Ok,” you said absently.
Your parents exchanged another look, this time clearly concerned.
“Is everything ok?” your dad asked. You sat back down at the table and slid your glass of soda closer to you, both hands ringing around it.
“Yeah,” you said. “I just got some…really bizarre news at work today.”
“I knew something happened at work,” your mom said, but you glanced up at her and she quieted.
“I, um… One of my coworkers is working this case. I don’t know too much about it, but he brought me some papers relating to it, he thought I’d get a kick out of them, I guess?” You kept your face angled down, your pinky nail tapping the glass, the sharp sound muted a little. “Um…I guess the ranch got raided after we left?”
It was their reaction to this statement that told you they already knew. Your parents looked at each other again, your mother’s expression laced with worry, your father’s resigned. Like he was finally going to have to tell you a ton of shit he never wanted to have to.
“Yes,” he said, sliding his palms over the table. “I had heard that.”
“They all got arrested?” you asked, voice cracking. God damn it, you didn’t want to get emotional about this, to let them know you had anything more than a passing interest.
“Last I heard. Roy is in prison and as far as I know will stay there for a long time. Karen was able to pare things down to some lower charges—I think she got some sympathy because of the girls,” your father said. He stopped. Waited a long moment before continuing. “Some of the other hands got wrapped up in it too. They—the FBI was gracious enough to schedule their interview with me when you weren’t home, which I greatly appreciated.”
You blinked, not having expected that. The FBI was here? They interviewed your father?
“How—what? Why did they talk to you?”
“Honey, I worked with the man for fifteen years,” your dad said, reaching out to take your mom’s hand; she gave it to him without comment, holding it tight in both of her own. “But I never got myself involved with his…extracurriculars. I wasn’t a cop, I didn’t…do any dirty work for him.” You breathed out a huge lungful, glad to hear that. “I was there for the paycheck. I think he wanted me to buy in to the whole…” He trailed off, gesturing with his free hand in a large circle. “But I looked at you girls and I just—I didn’t want to be a part of that. I didn’t want you to be a part of that.”
“What happened to Gator?” you asked, and to your parents’ credit, they kept their faces impassive.
“He was arrested too.” Your father’s voice was steady.
You kept your eyes on his, calmly waiting for him to continue. He didn’t, so you turned to your mother, who faltered under your look. She sighed.
“We know you liked him, sweetheart,” she said, and your heart skipped a beat or six. “He was a handsome boy. But…it was right that you never got involved with him.” Her voice was gentle, a cool hand on a heated brow, a soft kiss on your forehead. “He—he wouldn’t have been any good for you. And neither is finding out about this whole mess.”
They didn’t know. They didn’t know you’d actually had—whatever you’d had with him. Somehow, that felt worse.
“We never wanted to tell you,” your dad said, “unless you asked.”
Well, you were asking now.
“What happened to Gator?” you asked again, slightly emphasizing the second word. Your mother’s shoulders slumped just a fraction of an inch, and your father took a deep breath, covering his eyes with his hand for a moment, rubbing his temples with his thumb and middle finger. Just as he opened his mouth, the oven behind you beeped, indicating it was at temperature.
All three of you stilled, looking at the oven for a beat, then you stood and crossed to the counter where the pie box lay. “Saved by the bell,” you muttered to yourself, opening the box and carrying the pie over in its tin. You set it onto the rack and leaned against the counter after closing the door, crossing your arms and your legs at the ankle, facing your parents down. “Please tell me.”
“He—from what I know, he took a plea deal. I think he served something like three years. Would’ve gotten out…” He paused to count. “Last year, after the trial and actual time served. The Tillman name still carried a little weight even if this was a federal investigation. And after…he was very helpful to the FBI. Gave them anything they asked for.”
You glanced at the oven beside you as it kicked on, sustaining the temperature after you’d opened the door.
“What happened to his face?” you asked.
Your dad shook his head a little, uncertain. “I don’t know.” You opened your mouth, but he spoke over you. “I know what you mean. But I don’t know. Just that it was something with his eyes. They could have had mustard gas in that place, backfired on him during the raid, it could be anything, knowing Roy. I have no idea, sweetie. I don’t know what happened more than that.”
You thought about Gator awash in a cloud of yellow gas, eyes and lungs burning. Did he try to use it? Did Roy? Someone else? You let yourself get so consumed with the possibilities that you were only shocked out of your reverie when you felt your mother’s hand on your shoulder.
“Let me get the pie,” she said, her voice low, guiding you away from the countertop. She opened a drawer and removed a couple dish towels before opening the oven, removing the pie and setting it on top of the stove. It smelled amazing, some of the filling bubbling out of a crack in the crust, melting over the sanding sugar. The idea of indulging in it now made you feel sick to your stomach.
“I’m gonna head home,” you said, to your mother’s dismay.
“Oh no, honey, don’t go!” She turned off the oven and left it open a crack to cool. “Please stay. I don’t want you to go if you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” you said, already heading for the kitchen door. You were upset, but not about what they thought you were upset about. “I just need to get home. I forgot I—have a bunch of work to prepare for the lab tomorrow.” This was true, but it wasn’t so much work that you had to leave when the clock had barely struck 7.
Your mom followed you to the door while your dad trailer behind.
“Honey, just—” he started to say. You stopped in the middle of toeing your shoes back on, glanced over. “You’re not gonna like what you find. Just be careful.”
&&
You went home and finished that bottle of wine.
It had been chilling in the fridge, initially saved for another time, but, well, the time was now. You left your work laptop where you’d placed it on the couch earlier, grabbed your personal one, stripped out of your clothes save for the t-shirt and underwear, and settled into the covers of your bed, propped up against the pillows.
You opened your laptop, swigged the wine straight out of the bottle, and pulled up a search engine to delve into this shitshow.
“tillman ranch north dakota” popped up, and before you even hit enter, you saw the suggestion previews.
-tillman ranch north dakota video
-tillman ranch north dakota livestream
-tillman ranch north dakota location
-tillman ranch north dakota leaked reports
You backspaced that and typed in “dorothy lyon,” tapping enter and watching as the results populated on the screen. Countless news articles about Nadine—no, Dot and her family were there to peruse.
Many of them told you details you already knew: Roy was as corrupt as they come, his son, ranch hands, and other police officers were implicated for many of the crimes he committed, his wife was arrested and his daughters were taken into state custody. Dot was to be the victim of a kidnapping carried out by—your stomach turned—Gator, and other assailants, but she managed to escape with her husband and child. Their house burned to the ground and it was suspected that arson was involved.
You took another large gulp of the wine. Jerry had been right: This was real psycho shit. You can’t say that you’d known Gator all that well, but you’d known him for a long time, and he had been under Roy’s thumb perpetually; even when he had acted sweet on you, there was another side to him, the side that wanted to do what Roy asked, holding out for that validation that it seemed now that he would never get. Maybe a good thing—a great thing. The best thing that could have happened to Gator was Roy getting caught.
And he’d flipped—given up information in exchange for a shorter sentence. Jesus, with Roy’s contacts and the scope of his network, you wouldn’t be surprised if the guy had gone into witness protection. He might be so far from your reach now that you’d—never find him.
When you lifted the wine this time, it was more of a guzzle. Some dripped out of the corner of your mouth, but you just wiped it away with the back of your wrist. Maybe disappearing was a good thing for Gator too.
&&
You trudged into the lab the next morning with your eyes barely open. You were only assisting today, thank fucking god, only there as a backup for Catrine before you headed into the office for the afternoon.
After you’d polished off the mostly-full wine you’d proceeded to have the worst fucking sleep of your life, hearing men and women and children—and Gator—screaming as toxic gas blew around a battlefield littered with corpses, their eyes burning out of their sockets as shrouded soldiers approached the ranch on foot from a distance. You’d seen some of the footage from the civilian militia who’d showed up to “defend Roy,” like a man such as Roy Tillman needed defending, and that turned your stomach too.
Catrine didn’t ask for much assistance from you—maybe she could tell something was off, and just let you sit in the corner double checking her spelling on forms as she completed them.
“Hey, Catrine,” you asked suddenly, and she glanced up at you before finishing jotting something down and then straightening up.
“Yeah?” she asked, fixing her ponytail and goggles.
“You ever see any kind of head injury that would cause bandages to be wrapped, like… all around?” you asked, gesturing in a circle around your head. “Like, including your eyes.”
She frowned. “I mean, no? Unless there was some trauma to the eyes too. Like a foreign object or some kind of impalement, or something.”
The thought made you tighten up. “So not like a chemical burn?”
“Chemical burn?” She hummed to herself. “No. You wouldn’t bandage that, you’d need to flush it immediately with water. Depending on what you got in there, for a pretty long time. Like, at least fifteen minutes. But if it’s something that bad, you’d need to go to a hospital.”
“Yeah,” you said.
“I mean, I guess depending on the extent of the damage, after you attempted to clean it, you could bandage it?” She shrugged. “Is this like a training question or a hypothetical?”
“I was just picking your brain,” you said. “I saw some photos yesterday in one of Jerry’s files and I—”
“Ohh!” she said, suddenly understanding. “You mean that Tillman guy! He showed me those. Did you know him?”
You swallowed to buy yourself some time. “I did actually.”
“Oh, shit,” Catrine said, sobered, not expecting you to say yes. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” you said, then wondered what the hell you were thanking her for. You had known Gator. But you didn’t anymore and hadn’t for six years. You couldn’t accept any condolences on his behalf. You cleared your throat, a small, pathetic sound to change the subject. “Anyway, sorry. I was just wondering your thoughts.”
She looked at you, studied you through the lab goggles she wore, then hummed quietly. “Happy to help,” she said, returning to her paperwork. She let you sit undisturbed until it was time for you to head to the office proper.
After work, you were right back on your laptop, looking into any other contacts you might be able to make. Part of you considered asking your father if he had any way of contacting anyone from the ranch, but before that thought even formed fully you knew it was a terrible idea. He wouldn’t have kept in touch with any of those men, nor would he want to them now. Nor could he, if they were imprisoned or worse.
Your thoughts drifted a couple of times to the one person you thought might be able to help, but—
Involving her again felt unnecessarily cruel. She appeared to have a new family, a new life, something she had built on her own. You didn’t want to be the one who dragged her back into the Tillman mess.
That didn’t stop you from poring over social media, trying to find a profile or page, without a single hit on any of the sites. You didn’t blame her—she wouldn’t have been able to be exposed like that after she’d left, with Roy clearly searching far and wide for her, and after that shitshow was over, the very nature and state of things like Facebook or Twitter didn’t exactly inspire the warm and fuzzies.
You decided to just—let it go. It wouldn’t do anything for you to dwell on it, and fixating would just upset you more. Roy was in prison, Gator was in the wind, and you had your own life and career to worry about. You’d had your time together, that one night in another life, but that was six years ago.
&&
“Are you opposed to traveling for work?”
You held up your hand, one finger pointing straight up to indicate you just needed a minute—you were wearing your headset for a reason, damn. You had been speaking to a new hire about papers that she swore had been filed correctly but you’d been unable to find, and were reminding her of the particulars of your office’s digital file naming conventions. After she found where she had filed them and updated the names for you, you thanked her and then looked over at who had spoken to you.
It was your boss, George, and behind him hovered Jerry.
“Travel? Where?” It wasn’t unheard of for you to visit neighboring towns or, in rare cases, New Mexico or Texas for work, but given the furrowed brow on your boss’ face, you didn’t think this particular destination would be something just around the corner.
“Fargo,” George said, and your stomach dropped.
“What?” you squeaked out, mostly to buy some time for yourself so you didn’t freak out in front of two senior staff members.
“Fargo, North Dakota. Jerry tells me you’re familiar with the area.”
That was extremely generous. You’d never stepped foot in Fargo, never been further east than Lehigh and further west than Dickinson, except for when you were driving into the state from Arizona and then back out.
“I’ve—Not the Fargo area, no.” You paused, swallowed. “I haven’t been there in years. I’m sure things have changed.”
George nodded, turning to Jerry, who nodded, then back to you. “Well, the field office is in Fargo. Jerry’s been requested to assist with the investigation in the area called Lehigh, near Dickinson. I understand you know the place.”
You felt trapped, suddenly, but at the same time like possibilities were open to you. Nadine’s—Dot’s—file had indicated that she lived somewhere in Minnesota, and Fargo was a lot closer to Minnesota than Lehigh.
“I mean, I did,” you said. “It’s been six years.”
George nodded. “I understand there has been a request for a couple of analysts who know the case,” he indicated Jerry, “and the area.” He indicated you.
It no longer felt like you were being given a choice in the matter. You sighed.
“When do we leave?”
&&
A benefit of being an employee of your firm was that you had access to things that others didn't. You couldn’t get the redacted files for the Tillman ranch situation, but what you could get were some of the people involved in the investigation. Especially considering that you were being provided to them by your employer, because you had supposed expertise in the area—not quite, but whatever—it was easy for you to chat with the right people in the Fargo field office and get some more details about Dot Lyon, previously known as Nadine Tillman.
It took a few tries, but you were with the firm after all, were sort of working the case, so when you explained that you had a few follow-up questions for the witness named Dorothy Lyon, you were given a phone number that may or may not still be in service.
It was better than the nothing you had to go on before.
You had a couple of days in Fargo before you were heading out to Dickinson, so you needed to make the most of the time you had before sheer geography and distance would take you too far from your goal to make any difference. When you arrived at your hotel room that night, you'd placed the torn-off piece of legal pad paper on the desk, Dot's phone number staring at you as you paced back and forth, trying to figure out what you needed in that moment. Food? A shower? Sleep? No, you needed to call Dot as soon as possible, and you knew that the moment you were even somewhat horizontal you'd just drift right off; traveling and working in the same day always exhausted you.
You picked up the hotel room phone and dialed down to the front desk, ordering a room service cheeseburger and a can of beer, then sat at the desk and stared at the phone number some more. It was unnerving, to be this close to someone from the ranch again, even though she'd been absent from it for just about as long as you'd lived there.
Chewing absently at the inside of your lip, you closed your eyes, thinking. You didn't have to use this number. You didn't have to get involved. You didn't have to remember the way Gator kissed you, the way you'd signed his cast, the way he'd held you the entire night before you left, neither of you sleeping, just being together, pretending that everything outside of his bedroom was vastly different than it was. A different life. You didn't need to wonder about his motivations for trying to kidnap Nadine. Dot. Whoever. You didn't have to think that he'd done any of those things because he wanted to, not because his father told him to. You didn't have to pick up your phone and dial that number.
But you did.
“Hallo?” Nadine answered the phone, and you felt your eyes moisten just a little at the sound of it. You couldn't speak right away. “Hallo?” she said again, drawing out the word a little longer, impatient but neverendingly polite.
“Hi,” you managed, and to her credit, she didn't hang up.
“Hi there,” she said, cautious but still chipper. “Who's this?”
Quietly, you whispered your first name, then after a beat, your surname. There was dead silence on the other end of the call. Then: “Well, I'll be.”
“I'm sorry to call you out of the blue like this,” you said. “Nadine, I—No, sorry. It's Dot now, right?”
“Dot’s fine, sweetie,” she said, the nasal tone something you hadn’t heard in years—decades, almost—and yet still remembered like you’d spoken yesterday.
“I'm, um,” you said. “In Fargo.”
Again, silence. Then she spoke. “Can I ask why?”
“My job,” you replied, reaching out to place your fingertips on the paper that featured her phone number. “Um, I do forensics. One of my cowor—” you stopped yourself, wanting to sound more professional than you felt, “—colleagues, he's working a case connected to... to the ranch. They think I know the area so they sent me too.”
“I see,” she said, clipped.
“N—Dot. I don't want to drag you back into this but I just found out about everything. Everything that happened after I left.”
She paused, then you heard her voice, muffled and speaking to someone else. “No, it's fine, honey. Just an old friend. Yuh-huh. No, everything is fine, I promise. I'll be right there.” Then, to you, “I'd rather not talk about this on the phone, if that's all right.”
“Yeah, that's—that's fine.”
She hummed quietly. “Can you meet me tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,” you agreed. “Whenever.”
“All right. You have a pen?”
Harried, you looked all over the desk where you sat, finding one next to the lamp once you turned it on. “Yeah, I got one.”
She spoke slowly, giving you the address of a coffee shop in Minneapolis. “I'll meet you there at 7 tomorrow morning.”
“Y-Yeah,” you agreed. “Ok.” You'd have to drive straight through the night to get there, but this was something you needed to do. For yourself, for Gator—you weren't even sure anymore.
“Have a good night, sweetie,” Dot said. Then, before you could hang up, “Glad you're all right.”
&&
Your GPS told you that the trip from Fargo to Minneapolis would be roughly three and a half hours, which meant you needed to leave around 3AM to meet Dot at 7, barring any unforeseen delays.
You'd eaten your cheeseburger, downed the beer, and promptly threw yourself face down onto the bed, setting an alarm for 2:30, just to give yourself enough time to shower and grab a granola bar from the hotel's shop downstairs before heading out.
The “just in case” key to the rental car Jerry had given you the day before was burning a hole in your pocket as you readied yourself for the trip, like Jerry would somehow be awake at 3AM and catch you using the rental car on which you'd also been listed as a driver. He'd be pissed, surely, but it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.
The highway was empty, and while you didn't want to push your luck too much, you did press the pedal down a bit harder than you normally might, like getting to the coffee shop sooner would also make Dot arrive earlier than planned.
You were able to find street parking a few blocks away given the early hour, and walked over, pulling your jacket a little tighter around you. You weren't cold—just nervous. You checked the time on your phone—6:32. You'd made good time on the road, but now you had too much time to kill to remain collected. Entering the shop, you looked around, double checked the address, looked around at the patrons to make sure you hadn't missed Dot, then sidled up to the counter, looking up at the menu.
Coffee and croissant acquired, you chose a two-seater out of the way to wait for Dot to arrive, your phone out on the table so you could tap the screen every few minutes to check the time. Finally, at 7:00, on the dot...
There she was. Hair a little windblown, boots that didn't totally match the cute dress she wore, eyes darting around the place like she'd never learned how not to need a way out of every room. She saw you, and you saw recognition flicker over her face, her features soften. She made her way to you, slid into the seat opposite.
“Waitin' long?” she asked, and you shook your head.
“No.” Your coffee was mostly empty, but she didn't need to know that. “Just a few minutes.”
She studied the empty paper bag that had held your breakfast, as though she was assessing whether you were being truthful, then shifted so her bag was on her lap, arms wrapped around it. She took a deep breath. “How you been, honey?”
You tapped the bottom rim of your cup against the table, then took a deep breath. “Fine.” She looked like she almost believed you but wanted a bit more than that. “No, I've...I'm ok. I...” You weren't sure how to proceed, what to say. “Um. I found out about...the ranch through my job.” You looked up at her; her eyes were locked on you, piercing, like she was staring through you and into your soul. And maybe she should be. How could you reasonably ask this woman to help you find the man who was fixing to take her from her family and home and bring her back to the ranch? Your home, her prison. Maybe yours too if you hadn't left.
“I'm sorry,” you said. “I shouldn't have asked you to meet me. This isn't right, it's not fair to you—”
But even as you readied yourself for her to agree, to chastise you for letting your curiosity get the better of you, thinking with your heart and not your head, she only smiled a little.
“You're wondering about Gator, aren't ya?”
And that stopped you dead where you sat, your hand squeezing your coffee cup, the other clutching your thigh below the table. “What?” You swallowed. “I mean, how did you—?”
Dot laughed a little, just a short amused sound. “Well, he only used to talk aboutcha all the time.”
You felt like you might be sick. “What?” you repeated.
She licked her lip, considering how best to answer the question. “What all d'ya know about what happened? After you left.”
You shook your head. “Not—not much. I know Roy's in prison. And Gator, too? Or, he was.” You bit back the rest of what you were going to say, deciding to start at the beginning. You told her about what happened leading up to your father's decision to take your family away from the ranch, and you told her about moving back to Arizona. About finding a job, getting your own place, the kind of conversation you'd have with an actual friend. You told her about Jerry's file. How she was in it, along with the Tillman family. How you thought she might be your best bet at getting any answers. And, since she seemed to have seen Gator at some point after the raid, you told her about some details in the file.
“The photos in the file,” you said, and she looked down at your hands, like you might have the file somewhere. “They were all mugshots. And Gator's...” Talking to Dot again, talking about Gator, being so close to Lehigh, it was making you feel more than you ever wanted to again, for this place—for him. “His eyes were bandaged. Just—just gauze all around his face.” She held your gaze. You paused. Then, just asked. “What happened?”
She gave you a look then, one you remembered from your childhood, when she was mothering you even though you had your own. The look that was meant to be a comfort, soft but a little stern anyway, because she had to do or say something you wouldn't like—clean a scraped knee, or tell you that you couldn't play on the fence near the barn. So you knew whatever it was that she was about to say, it wasn't going to be pretty.
“There was a man that they asked to come find me,” she said, and you knew that whatever the real story was, she was making it sound much nicer than the truth. “He did. But I was able to get away from him. Then Gator tried his hand.” She smiled sadly, and you knew that part—her home burning, her escape with her family. “After that...well, Gator didn't like that the man was allowed to just...leave. So he tried his hand to fix that, too.” What she was saying was louder than what she meant. He failed. “The man,” she went on, voice even softer now. You had never known Dot, even as Nadine, to shy away from gory details or beat around the bush in lieu of being as honest as she could be, but this—whatever she was going to say—gave her pause. She steadied herself, placing her palm flat on the table, sweeping away some of the crumbs from your croissant that must have fallen from its paper bag. “The man cut his eyes out.”
She said it with all the immediate sharpness of pulling off a band-aid, and even though you heard the words, it simply did not compute for at least a few seconds, until you were shaking your head in shock. “His eyes?”
“His eyes,” she said, quietly.
“I, I don't—” you stammered. “I—”
“They've healed now,” she said.
You looked up at her. “You've seen him? Recently?”
She smiled at you. “Once a month. He's not in Lehigh anymore. Lives somewhere else now.” She gave you a wry smile.
You just looked at her, lips slightly parted. “Oh.”
Her eyes dipped down to your hands, still wrapped around your paper coffee cup. “Do you want to go see him?”
“Now?” you squeaked out. You were not prepared to see Gator now. You were not prepared to see Gator later today, even. You weren't sure if you were prepared to see Gator again, period. “I don't—I'm supposed to be working today, I'm not even supposed to be here.”
She fell silent, like she did sometimes when she wanted you to come to your own conclusion about something. You stopped protesting and just looked at her, unsure, wanting her to mother you again and decide for you. But you knew she wouldn't, not for this.
“I ca—I can't. Not today.” Her expression remained impassive. “I've got today in Fargo, then three days in Dickinson, if things don't get stretched out. Can I—can I call you then?”
“Sure thing,” she said, after a moment's silence. “I won't tell him about this so you can surprise him. How's that?”
You nodded, grateful that she was giving you time to figure out what you wanted.
On the drive back, you realized that it wasn't even a question what you wanted. And now you had to wait four more days for it.
&&
Dickinson looked exactly the same as it had the last time you'd seen it, which didn't help the painful nostalgia you felt as you traversed the same roads you used to know, specifically the ones Gator had used to drive you to high school your senior year. You'd kept your hands folded in your lap, staring down at your knees as you sat in the back seat of the car, Jerry driving you and a couple of the other field agents in the car. Your days in Dickinson were a blur, filled with meetings, reviews, work calls and work dinners, paperwork and test results, and every night when you returned to your motel room you were so exhausted that you didn't have time to think, only to turn down the bed and sleep. Then you did it again the next day, and the next.
You called George the morning you were set to fly out of Fargo and explained that there was actually something you needed to take care of in Lehigh, an old family thing that had come up. He granted you the extra time off no problem, let you know he'd try to extend the rental car for another week, and told you to let him know when you were ready to book your flight back home to Arizona.
Then you called Dot.
“I figured you'd want to see him,” she said, after you'd explained that you were able to extend your stay.
“I can be out by you in a few hours,” you said, and she laughed, the kind of laugh that said she knew something you didn't and wasn't that just too bad for you? “What?” you prompted.
“He isn't in Minnesota, sweetheart,” she said, and you frowned; Dot had absolutely said that she visited him once a month.
“Ok?” you said. “Then where is he?”
She giggled again, and when she spoke again you understood what, exactly, was so funny. “He's in Fargo, hon.”
Your fingers tightened around your phone. “He's been in Fargo this whole time?” you asked. “You made me drive to Minneapolis just for him to be in Fargo?” Half of you felt angry, the other half felt foolish. Like she'd been poking fun at you. But the woman you had known would never do something like that, so she must have had her own reasons.
“I wanted to see you,” she said, “to make sure that...that the both of you could handle something like this. He's still fragile, just like he was as a boy. If I thought you were going to do anything that might hurt him further I wouldn't have told you anything. But I had to see you to do that.”
You snickered. “So I passed?”
“You passed,” Dot said. “I'm going to be leaving to see him in a few minutes. Would you mind waiting for me? Then we can go together.”
You felt your chest squeeze at the idea of seeing Gator in only a few short hours. “Yeah,” you managed. “Yeah, I can—I'll wait. Not like I can find him without you.”
Dot chuckled quietly. “You found me,” she said, and you understood that it was less of an innocent comment and more like you'd done something a little sinister—which, maybe you had, asking for the phone number of a woman who'd been stalked and kidnapped.
“Sorry,” you said, and she laughed again.
“I'll call you when I'm in the city.”
Then it was simply a matter of playing the waiting game, wiling away the time in your hotel room until Dot called. You rattled off the address, met her downstairs, climbed into the car, and looked at her while you buckled your seatbelt. She felt the force of your look, turned to you.
“Somethin' wrong?” she asked.
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Almost shook your head, almost wanted to forget it. But you spoke instead.
“Why do you see him?” you asked. “He—I mean, he was going to... Bring you to Roy.”
Dot shook her head a little, lowering her eyes; she smiled, but it was short-lived. “You knew him,” she said, “as a boy. Well—young man, I should say. He was trying. He's still trying now. You could see it in his eyes, he wanted to be good.” She looked up at you, her eyes meeting yours, and you understood what she meant. “But more than that, he wanted to be like his dad.” That was true too, you remembered. You remembered how hurt Gator had been when Roy stopped tasking him with anything. All he had wanted was to be a good son, a good deputy, but Roy had never given him a real chance. Your father had explicitly told you to stay away from Roy, almost more vehemently than Gator, but that had never been an issue because you'd always been a little scared of him anyway. Gator had been the one your parents had been more concerned about. Maybe, rightfully so.
You met Dot's eyes, unsure of what to say, or how to say it.
“I know Gator just wanted to do what his daddy told him,” Dot said. “Gator wanted so much from that man that he'd never get.” She turned to look out the windshield again, starting the car and shutting off the blinking hazard lights, shifting into drive. “He just wasn't capable.”
Dot pulled away from the sidewalk outside of your hotel, merging into traffic and driving up north, heading out of the city proper to the suburbs. The longer you were in the car, driving toward Gator, the more nervous you felt. What if he didn't want to meet you again, after six years passed? What if he hated you for leaving, when he arguably would have needed someone on his side the most? What would your parents think if they knew you were in a car with Nadine Tillman, being taken to see Gator Tillman, the one thing in your whole life they'd ever forbidden you from?
You closed your eyes, trying to imagine what you would say to him, what you would do in his presence. If he would be receptive. Should you have tried to find him before this? Would it even have made a difference?
Before you could rouse yourself from your thoughts, Dot had stopped the car, reaching over to place one hand on your knee. “We're here,” she said.
Opening your eyes, a little embarrassed that you weren't sure if you'd fallen asleep in her car or not, you inhaled deeply and looked around. The house was something you'd never have envisioned for Gator, ever. It was one story and small. There was a yard, with a garden, and a white picket fence in front of it. If you hadn't known better than to laugh, you absolutely would have. Gator Tillman in a little brick-facade house, in a quiet neighborhood, with flowers below each window. It made your heart ache. Another life. If Dot saw your lips curve into a hollow smile, she didn't acknowledge it.
She let herself out of the car, and you followed suit, waiting for her in front of the gate as she moved to the back door of the car, taking out a plastic container and a few shopping bags. You watched as she looped the bags over her arm, the thick paper rustling as she did, and held onto the container with the other hand. You motioned to her to indicate that you could help her carry something; she waved it away and opened the gate, stepping through first to lead you up the walkway.
Your heart was pounding in your throat with each step you took. There was no way he wouldn't remember you, but part of you thought he might have chosen to forget, like you did.
Dot said he used to talk about you all the time, you thought, fighting with yourself.
But who knows how long ago that was? your brain snapped back at you.
You were saved from having to tell yourself to shut up when she knocked on the door. She turned to you and gave you a small smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners just like you remembered from when you were a kid. You smiled back but it felt more like a grimace.
There were a few moments before you heard footsteps approaching the door from the other side, and you bit your lip to keep yourself quiet, or maybe wanted the slight pinch of pain to keep composed.
The door opened, suddenly, like he had been waiting for the person outside to knock again, but when they didn't, he reached for the knob.
“Hallo Gator,” Dot said, while you remained silent, unsure if you were supposed to speak.
“Hey,” he replied, and your stomach clenched at the sound of his voice. He was wearing thick black sunglasses. Not like the kind he used to wear, but the kind that covered his eyes completely. His hair wasn't slicked back like you'd assumed it might be, and you could still see the ghost of a scar slashing down through his lip. You only noticed it because the gash had been present in his mugshot. He was wearing the maroon hoodie you'd left in his room, and you had to look anywhere but at him.
“You have a visitor today, Gator.” Dot reached out to put her free hand on your back, ushering you forward, and the sound of your footsteps turned Gator’s attention toward your direction, though he aimed his face back at Dot.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, sounding exactly the same as you remembered. “What, I finally win the Publisher’s Clearing House?”
You almost laughed, because god, that was the exact kind of joke he'd make. You tried not to miss him even though he was standing right in front of you.
“Not quite,” Dot said, and this time she stepped forward to enter the house. Gator moved to the side to let her in, then turned toward where he'd figured you were standing.
“Well?” he said. “While we're young.”
“Hi, Gates,” you said, and the reaction was instantaneous.
His head snapped to you, the angle exact: the pinpoint accuracy of a man who had had to learn to accommodate his other senses and fast. It was like the opposite of his mugshot, how he hadn’t yet learned where to look, how to figure out the direction a sound had come from.
“No,” he said, mostly to himself, like he imagined your voice. “No fuckin’ way.”
“It's me,” you said, and your voice caught in your throat. Behind Gator, you heard what sounded like cabinet doors slamming closed, then the lid being popped off of the container that Dot had brought inside with her.
“Why?” Gator asked, then, “I mean, how?”
“Um,” you intoned, not sure where to begin. “I—”
“Gator, honey,” came Dot's voice. “Why don't you invite her in?”
Gator cleared his throat, his face still trained on you. “Come in,” he said, stepping back, his fingertips finding the door to his right and pushing it open more fully so you could also step past him. You entered the house, making sure not to accidentally brush him as you did. Once you were past him, you waited for him to close up the front door, and then he led you further into the house, into the kitchen. You watched as he trailed his hand along the wall, though the impression it gave you was that it was just a habit, and not something he needed to do. His steps were sure, no trepidation. He'd navigated this house for a year and it was obvious.
“Are you hungry, Gator?” Dot asked, and he just grunted, which both you and she took to mean he was. “I made those cookies you like,” she said.
“You always do,” he said, tone flat, but you watched as he made a beeline for the countertop where she must always put the container.
“Uh-uh,” she said, tapping his hand as he reached for the open container. “You'll spoil your appetite.”
“I'm a 33-year old man,” Gator said. “I can eat a damn cookie if I want to.”
“One,” Dot said, turning to the refrigerator to find something to fix for him to eat. You watched him take two cookies, then leave the kitchen as she fiddled around in the fridge. You followed him into the next room. He was sitting on a loveseat sofa, tucked into one side, with plenty of room for another person beside him. You opted to stand.
The carpet had muffled your footsteps, so when he spoke, you were almost surprised. “Ya follow me in here?”
“Yeah,” you said, your voice still tight.
He took a bite of one of the cookies. “How'd you find her?” he asked.
“Work,” you said. “I can...I have access to information, sometimes.”
He quirked an eyebrow; you saw it over the upper frame of his glasses. “You a cop?”
You couldn't help it—you laughed. You saw his lips curl up on one side, almost a smile. “No,” you said. “Forensic analyst, remember?”
He shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth. Chewed, swallowed. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Gator, I—”
“No,” he said, and you clamped your jaw shut. You'd been right. He was giving you virtually nothing, but then he broke the second cookie in half and, lifting it to his mouth, said “We ain't talkin' while Dot's here.”
“Like...at all?”
He turned toward you and even though his eyes were obscured by the dark lenses, his expression was completely readable. “I know you're smarter'n that, little lady.”
Your throat closed up and you had to squeeze your eyes so as not to cry in Gator fucking Tillman's goddamn suburban living room.
“You just gonna stand over there or you gonna sit your ass down?” Gator said.
“I was gonna stand,” you said, and Gator smirked, amused. He ate half of the cookie.
“Suit yerself.”
You were still standing awkwardly in the corner, leaning back against the wall, when Dot entered the room, holding a plate with a sandwich on it for Gator; she looked at you strangely, but then sat next to Gator on the sofa. She placed the plate on his leg. “I couldn't find any chips,” she said.
“Ain't got any,” Gator said, eating the second half of his cookie while Dot looked on, pursing her lips.
“Do you need me to go grocery shopping for you?”
“No,” Gator said.
And so it went, Dot asking questions and telling him about her family, updates over the last month since she'd last seen him. Most of his responses were one-word answers or even just hums of acknowledgment, and you and Dot made eye contact more than a few times that told you this was how he normally acted.
It wasn't how he'd always acted with you, but it was akin to how he was when you'd first moved to the ranch.
You weren't sure how long you'd stood against the wall before you sank to sit down, legs bent at the knee, observing the way Gator listened to Dot, answered her questions with as few words as possible, and managed to finagle another couple of cookies out of her, but once you saw the sky darkening outside, the room dimming as well, Dot stood up.
“Long drive back home,” she said. She reached out, her fingertips grazing Gator's shoulder for a moment. He seemed to nod a single time, tipping his head in her direction, so she lifted her hand and smoothed his hair back over his forehead. “I left the clothes on your bed.” That must have been what was in the shopping bags. “Let me know if they all fit. I'll see you in a few weeks.”
“Can't wait,” Gator said, but there was a fondness in his voice that you understood his words to be genuine, as did Dot; she smiled, then turned to you.
“I'll be in the car,” she said, and you pushed yourself up to stand. By the time you did, Dot had swept from the room, her skirt disappearing around the corner into the kitchen, and you were alone with Gator—really alone once you heard the front door open and close.
“It's late,” Gator said. “You better get goin'.”
“...Yeah,” you replied. “She drove here. So.”
“You back in Lehigh?” he asked. “Or Dickinson,” he added, as an afterthought.
“No,” you said. “I'm—I live in Arizona. I'm here for work.”
Gator nodded, turning away from the sound of your voice. “Leavin' soon?”
“In a week,” you said.
“Ah,” Gator replied. There was a long pause. “You're prob'ly busy then.”
You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “Actually I—I'm not.” The real reason you were here for another week was too much to get into, with Dot waiting on you to leave.
“Job sounds like a cake walk, then.”
“Can I come back tomorrow?” you blurted out, and he looked relieved that you'd been the one to ask.
“Please,” he said, then coughed. “I mean, yeah.” He stood from the couch, crossed over to the door. “C'mon. I'll walk y'out.”
You followed him through the dark kitchen and hall to the front door, waiting for him to open it for you, but he didn't. Instead, he leaned against it, facing you.
“You got a phone?” he asked, and you laughed a little.
“Yeah,” you said, pulling it from your bag. “Obviously.” You dialed his number as he gave it to you so he'd have yours too.
“A'right, so call me tomorrow 'fore you head over. I'll get chips.”
You couldn't help but smile at the stupid comment. “Wow, chips just for me?”
“Yeah.” It wasn't playful like the initial comment; the singular word had heft to it, weight. He meant much more than he was saying with just the one syllable.
The lump in your throat was back. You had to leave, but you wanted to do nothing less. “I'll see you tomorrow,” you said.
“Yeah,” he said again, and reached behind him, groping for the doorknob for a moment. He twisted it, stepping away from the door as he opened it, but then let it go. “G'night.”
“Goodnight, Gator,” you said, reaching for the doorknob to pull it open the rest of the way.
As you did, his hand found your wrist in the dark of the foyer, hands no longer rough and callused like they had been once, his fingers wrapping around your forearm.
You turned to him, not pulling away, but tensing up—you hadn't expected him to reach out toward you even, much less touch you. “Wh—?” you started to ask.
He let go of your arm just as suddenly as he'd taken it in hand. You heard the smirk in his voice. “Just had to make sure y'were real. I've dreamed about this before.”
&&
Dot didn't press conversation with you as she drove back into the city, and you were grateful for it. Part of you was desperate to know what Gator had said to her about you, but the other part was almost scared to know. When she pulled up in front of your hotel, you thanked her for the ride and then practically leaped out of the car, waving at her from the automatic doors before stepping inside. She lifted a hand in response, then merged back into traffic and you were alone again.
Back in your hotel room, you readied yourself for bed, then pulled up your recent calls and just stared at the list for a minute. Before last week, everything had been normal. George, Catrine, Mom a few times, Dad once. And then... Dot. George. Dot again.
And now Gator.
You stared at his name in your call log, then locked the phone and tossed it to your bed.
Even after your shower, you couldn't shake the feeling of his hand on your wrist, the way he'd been eager for you to come back, the words he'd spoken to you. “Had to make sure you were real,” he'd said. “I've dreamed about this before.”
It was a tough pill to swallow, knowing that not only did he talk about you in the past, but he kept thinking of you even after he, presumably, stopped talking to Dot about you. And you'd tried your damnedest to never think about him, to push him out of your thoughts like he didn't deserve to be there, like he wasn't something important to you, like you weren't important to him. If that was the case, then he deserved better than your thoughts of him and his thoughts of you.
It was a rough night's sleep, not particularly restful, but you managed to drift off and it seemed that you'd only just closed your eyes when you were awoken by your alarm.
You laid in bed for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if you should even call him. It felt wrong that you were just coming back into his life like this, after everything he'd ever known had been ruined and taken from him, you included. That, maybe, was the reason why you rolled out of bed, readied yourself for the day, and then picked up your phone to call him. Back then neither of you had had a choice; he'd been steered by Roy, you'd left because your family did. You were both adults now, real ones, unbeholden to anyone else. You could line your pieces up back with his.
“Hello,” Gator said, his voice monotone, like you'd heard him speaking to Dot yesterday.
You took a breath before replying. Why was this so hard? “Hey, Gator. It's me.”
“Hey,” he said, after a moment's hesitation. “So, you comin' or what?”
It almost made you smile, but the nagging thought that he was just lonely kept you from it. “Yeah, you told me to call first, remember?”
“I still got a brain,” he said. “Yes, I remember.” His words were clipped.
There was a pause, a lull, but it was an uncomfortable silence. “I'll be there in an hour.”
“Can't wait,” he said, but when he said it, it was so far removed from the way he'd said it to Dot—even though he'd ultimately sounded like he was looking forward to it, he'd still said it with that flat tone. To you, though—the words exuded warmth, so much affection still lacing them that you had to squeeze your eyes closed and will yourself to stay composed. “Drive safe,” he followed it up with, and you whispered a soft “See you soon” into the phone before hanging up.
You'd marked his address with a pin in your phone before Dot had driven away the night before, so you were able to easily navigate back there. You pulled up to the front of the house, still thrown by the quaint little fence and actual flower gardens in the yard, but parked and hopped out of the car anyway. You made your way up the walk, moving slowly to admire the flowers, and when you turned your attention back to the front door, ready to head up there and knock, you saw that it was open, and Gator was standing there, watching you.
No, that wasn't right. He was listening to you, your footsteps crunching on the gravel of the path to his porch, as you had to move off the stepping stones to look at his plants.
“Assumin' that's you, little lady,” Gator said, and you cleared your throat.
“Yeah, hi,” you said, heading over to him. “I was looking at your garden.”
“Oh, yeah?” Gator asked. “How's that comin' along?”
You felt trapped, but swallowed the lump in your throat. “It's nice. Beautiful.”
“I'll take yer word for it.” Again, you fell into a silence that felt oppressive, thick. But then he was speaking again. “You wanna come in?”
“Yeah,” you said, and he stepped back to hold the door open for you, letting you pass him. As you did, you felt his fingertips graze the back of your hand, and you peered down. It appeared that he had been holding his hand out to try to get another glancing touch of you, and you curled your hand into a fist. This was not going to be easy for either of you.
“You can head on inside,” Gator said, closing the door behind you, once he could hear your footsteps were past him. “Have a seat.”
You kicked your shoes off into a pile beside the door, pushing them toward the wall to make sure he wouldn't trip over them, and then led him into his own living room. You sat on the loveseat on the side closest to the kitchen door, letting him take the other spot, where you assumed he usually would sit, as it was the same spot as yesterday.
“Nice day out,” Gator commented. “Not too hot.”
You blinked. Was this really what you were going to talk about, the weather? You opened your mouth to ask him exactly that, and then promptly chickened out. “Yeah, it's sunny today. Only a few clouds.”
He hummed. “What kind?”
You considered. “Like cumulonimbus, or...”
“Fuck you sayin' to me?” Gator asked. “What d'they look like? Cumulonimbus, shit.”
“The little wispy ones,” you said, trying to suppress your laughter at his reaction.
“All right,” he said. “I 'member those. The little wispy ones.” He smiled faintly, then took a breath. “We really gonna talk about clouds?”
“You started it,” you countered, and he just scowled.
“And then you busted out 'cumulonimbus,'” he retorted.
“Ok, no, I didn't come over to talk about clouds,” you said, but when you thought about why you did come over, what brought you here, you found it almost impossible to get out.
He gave you enough time to speak again, but when you didn't, he did. “So, work got you comin' out here? What for?”
That was still a little too close for comfort to the topic you simultaneously didn't want to and had to talk about, but you couldn't get away with not answering his direct question. And, you figured, it was better to just...do this now, and if things didn't go well, you could leave before you got back in too deep.
“Well,” you started, shifting yourself a little on the couch. “So, I work for a forensics firm...they have a field office here in Fargo. Um, they requested a couple of analysts who know the area for a case.”
“'Nd they picked you? I only ever brought ya to school,” Gator said.
“Yeah, that's—I tried to tell them that. But no, they didn't need me here in Fargo. They, um. Wanted someone who actually knew the Dickinson area. And Lehigh.” You watched him, saw the way he tilted his head like something had just clicked. But he said nothing. “One of the, um, suspects,” you said, not really sure how much you could or should divulge, knowing you were already in real danger of crossing the line if you hadn't already, “was associated with Roy.”
At that, he stiffened up.
“I'm not here about that, though,” you said, and despite that, his shoulders didn't relax. “Gator, I'm not.”
“Then why are ya here?” he asked, and you sighed heavily.
“I—” You took a shaky breath. “I only found out about the raid a couple weeks ago. I didn't know, and I—I never even thought to look.”
“Yeah. Why would ya?” Gator asked, his voice low, maybe even bordering on angry.
“Because you were—we were—” you cut yourself off. “I just thought it would be easier for both of us if we didn't talk again. After I left. It's not like we could have been together, Gator, I was moving back to Arizona—”
“'Nd I was gettin' my shit rocked,” he said. “So I can see why you'd want to stay away.”
“I didn't know that, Gator,” you implored. “I swear, I didn't know about anything that happened. I just learned about all of this from the case file.”
He held his tongue, and you watched him trying to keep his breathing even, same as you. You'd come here to find him again, to talk to him, but this wasn't going like you'd hoped.
What did you even hope? You didn't know anymore.
“I just—I'm so sorry, for everything,” you said, and you could feel your eyes stinging, could hear the tears in your words even though you were desperately holding them back. “I left. I left you and—”
Incensed, Gator interrupted you. “Fuck yeah you left me. You had to. Fuck you talkin' that nonsense for? If you'd'a stayed I don't even wanna think about what woulda happened to ya.”
“Gator,” you tried, but he kept going.
“Listen,” he said. “There was a lotta fucked up shit goin' on when you were there, shit you didn't wanna get mixed up in. Shit you shouldn't'a got mixed up in. I—” He stopped himself. “How much you know about everything?”
Dot had asked you the same question, but hadn't really told you anything besides about what happened to Gator's eyes, and even then, it was vague.
You sniffed, cleared your throat. “Some. I avoided news coming out of North Dakota for—for years. I just... I know that you—you were gonna kidnap Dot.” He lowered his face a little. “I know that you helped the FBI with information about your dad. I know what—what happened to your...”
He waited for you to say it, but you didn't. “That all?”
“I know you served time,” you said, quietly.
He snickered. “As I shoulda.”
You reached out a hand toward him, to take his, to touch his arm, you weren't even sure, but you stopped yourself. “Maybe.” He turned toward you, face screwed up like he was wondering what the fuck you meant by that. “I just mean—that wasn't you. Your dad—”
“No. First thing I learned in therapy is I gotta take accountability for my own shit. He mighta guided my hand but he didn't make me do half the—half'a what I did. The part'a me that you seen wasn't all'a me,” Gator said. “I was a real scumbag.”
“Gator...” you began, and he let you speak this time. You sighed but went on. “For all I know, that's true. I—I saw the charges they hit you with.” He recoiled a little at that, surprised, maybe, that you knew the extent of it. “But I think—I think cooperating with the investigation, helping them—I talked to Dot, I know that Roy was never a real father to you, and he—”
“You don't get ta say that,” Gator said, and he sounded angrier than you'd ever heard him. “He was all I had for a long time 'fore I had you. After, too.”
“I know that he hurt you, Gator,” you snapped back at him. “Someone who loves you wouldn't hurt you like that.” You meant it when you said it, but it also fell flat. You could see reflected in his face that you had hurt him like that. And you weren't sure if it was better that it either meant you hadn't loved him, or that you did and hurt him anyway, even though you didn't have a choice. You didn't have to pretend he didn't exist for six years. But you continued, pushing on to fill the silence. “I know that when you broke your wrist and he stopped sending you out to do shit for him, that broke the rest of you. I was there, I saw you.”
“You saw what I wanted you ta see,” Gator said, guarded now, distant. “That's all.”
You stood up from the couch, pacing away from him—this was going so, so poorly, and you had no real idea of how to salvage it. You wanted him, wanted to reconnect, to—try and be his again, maybe, but you weren't sure if you could now. Maybe you were both too different. Maybe your mom was right: He wasn't any good for you.
You stood in the middle of his living room, one hand on your hip, the other cradling your forehead, trying to compose yourself, trying to figure out what to say to him now. You'd touched a nerve when you brought up Roy—and he was right, wasn't he? His mother, Dot, and then you—had left him. All he had was Roy. Not that it did him any good. But who were you to comment on it when he'd only let you in for a couple of years anyway? It was self-preservation that he was holding back, that he had been holding back. He only really let you in when he'd learned you were leaving anyway. Only really let himself be free with you once you were already halfway gone.
His voice broke the silence, quiet, like if you weren't in the room, he didn't want you to hear him. “You still there?”
You loosed a sigh and turned back to him, and you saw him visibly relax knowing you hadn't left.
“I came to see you because I saw your picture in that file and it made me sick to think that I wasn't there for you when it happened, Gator. It made me sick to know that I just—I could have—I could have helped you.”
“How?” he challenged. “Helped me how?”
“I don't know!” you shouted, and he jumped a little, startled at your sudden loudness. “I don't know, Gator.”
He stood up, facing you where you stood. “This ain't about you. If ya came here 'cause you got survivor's guilt or somethin' I don't wanna hear it. I got enough pity from Dot 'n everyone fuckin' else. Heard your voice yesterday 'n I thought—well shit. Someone who ain't gonna make me feel this fuckin' big.” He held up his thumb and index finger a centimeter apart. “'Nd now here y'are, belittlin' me.”
“I'm not—”
“Ya are,” Gator said. “I don't think ya mean to, but fuck, yer killin' me here.”
“I'll go, then,” you said, wiping at your eyes because this was a nightmare, actually. “I'm sorry I came.”
Gator huffed a short laugh. “Just 'cause everything ain't rainbows 'n sparkles for all of us, don't mean ya gotta fix it, little lady.” And this time, for the first time, that felt derogatory. It felt like a slight. “Sometimes things can just be what they are, 'n that's what they are.”
“Can you just let someone feel something for you?” you asked, stepping toward the kitchen door, revealing far more than you wanted to. “Or do you always have to let your pride win?”
You left the room, your footfalls heavy as you hurried down the hall toward the front door. You slipped your shoes back on and left the house, slamming the door behind you. You were in your car before you saw the front door open, Gator standing there. He didn't call for you, didn't say anything. But he was listening, you could tell. Waiting to hear your car start up, hear you drive away. So you started it, and pulled away from the curb. You watched in your side mirror as he closed the door, closing you out. Or rather, letting you close yourself out.
&&
By the time you got back to your hotel, you felt absolutely miserable. You had been the one to fuck that whole thing up, you knew that. Presuming you knew how Gator felt, that you were right in your assumptions. You really didn't know shit about Gator and Roy, you only knew what you'd seen firsthand on the ranch—which wasn't much—and what Dot had told you. You'd overstepped. And then you'd left, like a coward.
You called him. He had every right to refuse your call, to ignore you, but he answered on the fourth ring.
“Yeah,” he said, and you felt your chest clench.
“I wanted to apologize,” you said.
“For?” He didn't sound nearly as hostile now; you'd both had an hour to cool off.
“For making it about me,” you said. “I really have nothing to do with it.”
“Mm,” Gator hummed. “That's partly true.”
“Partly true?” you echoed.
“Yeah,” Gator said. “See, most of it ain't nothin' concernin' you. But what I was thinkin' of, when I realized how bad I fucked up, when I thought it was over fer me, when he had that fuckin'—that fuckin' thing and was comin' at me with it.” You closed your eyes, listened to the waver in his voice, the fear that was audible just from talking about it even six years later. “I was thinkin' how if I had another chance I'd'a just...let it go. 'Cause I had somethin'...well, kinda had somethin' anyway, that was more important than the money or my pride or who was right or wrong, me or my dad. 'Nd if I'd'a just let it be, just...stopped bein' so fuckin' proud, maybe I'd'a left the ranch too. Could'a followed you ta Arizona. And maybe I'd'a still got locked up but maybe things'd be different anyhow. Even if I got locked up. 'Cause I missed you somethin' awful. But Dot 'n everyone, they said to just let go of the past. Of you. I think Dot just got tired of hearin' me yappin' about ya all the time. So I stopped yappin', but I didn't let ya go.”
You let yourself smile at that a little bit. “I missed you too, Gator.”
You heard him take a shaky breath. “Ya keep callin' me Gator.”
Quirking an eyebrow, you replied, “That is your name.”
“Yeah,” he said. “What happened to Gates?”
“Oh, I...” you said, trailing off. “I don't know.”
“'At's all right,” he said. “We ain't those same people no more anyway.”
You didn't reply, just breathed slowly, trying to regain some composure. The fight and now clearing the air—it was taking a lot out of you.
“Would ya come back tomorra'?” he asked.
“You want me to come back?” you asked in return.
“Wouldn't'a asked that if I didn't.” He paused, waiting for your reply. “Will ya?”
“Are you sure that's a good idea?” you asked.
“Yeah,” Gator said. “You ain't?”
“We sort of had a screaming match earlier,” you said.
“I don't think I'd qualify it as a screamin' match,” Gator replied, sounding amused. “Y'ain't heard a screamin' match if ya think that was one.”
“I'll come back if you want me to,” you said, wondering if it really even was a good idea. “I just—when I saw that picture of you, I...” You paused, needing a moment to admit it even to yourself. “I wanted to hold you again. Make it better.” You worried having said that, since he'd specifically said that you couldn't fix everything, but he didn't flare up again.
Instead he hummed quietly. “Not too many people rarin' ta even come near me these days.”
“Gator,” you said. “Did you—did you want to do all of it?”
He didn't answer for a long while, so long that you checked to make sure the call hadn't dropped without you realizing it. But no, it was still there, counting up 3:35. 3:36. 3:37. He didn't speak until the time on the call reached 4:00, nearly a full minute of silence having passed. “Honestly?” he said. “Some of it, yeah. I wanted to get Dot—'cause I thought Roy would chill the fuck out if I did. I wanted ta—I wanted to kill that fucker who fuckin'—fuckin' ended up ruinin' my goddamn life. Killed someone else instead. Not...on purpose, but it still fuckin' happened.” You felt your blood running cold, and yet there was still part of you that held onto the idea that he was doing it all for a larger reason. That wouldn't excuse it—but it could help you cope, at least. “The rest of it was 'cause I was bigger'n my britches. Thought who I was, y'know? Thought 'cause I was a Tillman I was untouchable.” He chuckled morosely. “Now Tillman means fuck all. Just another word fer piece a'shit. And I can't even say it's wrong, 'cause it's true.
“You know,” he went on, your silence like an invitation for him to bare everything. “That night y'came over, before ya left? I was planning to go 'n deal with Munch that night.” You didn't recognize the name—it hadn't been in the file—but it had to be the man who'd been after Dot, who'd blinded Gator. “I didn't go 'cause...you were more important. But then the next day you left, so I went that night instead.” He cleared his throat. “'Magine if I just let it go? Might—mighta been able to live a good life. 'Specially now that I got you back in it.”
You sat on the edge of your bed, covering your face with your hand. It felt like you were in a movie, the tragedy of what had happened to Gator, whether his own making or not, felt like a capricious all-powerful being had sculpted this path for him.
“Yeah,” Gator said after you remained silent. “I wouldn't know what ta say ta all this shit either. Same time tomorrow, ok?” he said.
“Ok,” you answered.
“See ya then,” he said. “Y'ain't gotta call first 'less ya want to.”
&&
You wanted to call, but you didn't, mostly because it felt crazy to call him and plan your day after the conversation you'd had the previous afternoon.
You pulled your car up to the curb outside his house again, slamming the door and rounding the hood. This time, he was waiting on the porch for you when you opened the gate. He was wearing a pair of loose black jeans and your hoodie again, and you wondered if he even realized it, and if so, whether he was wearing it on purpose.
“Hi,” you said, sheepish, and he nodded to you.
“Hey,” he said back, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorjamb. As you approached, your footsteps nearing him, he stepped back to let you in. This time, you closed the door, placing your shoes off to the side and padding behind him as he led you into the kitchen. He'd put out the Tupperware of cookies and had two mugs sitting on the counter.
“You like, uh, coffee or tea?” he asked, and you saw strewn on the countertop was a box of teabags and some coffee pods for the coffee maker he had on the counter. You wondered if Dot had gotten it all for him or if he'd planned it himself, going and getting the options for you.
“Either,” you said. “Whatever you're having.”
“Coffee it is, then,” he said, and you watched as he reached for the pods, missing on the first pass but grabbing one successfully the second time. You'd stepped closer to do it for him, but he'd gotten hold of one before you could intervene—which you thought might be for the best. Gator wasn't the type who would want help, even from you.
“I'm sorry about yesterday,” you said, as he picked up the container of Dot's cookies and held it out toward you, shaking it a little. You took one, and once he felt the container lighten a little, dropped them back on the counter.
“Ain't gotta 'pologize,” he said, getting the coffee ready for you. “This shit's fucked up. 'N you prob'ly shoulda stayed away. I'm sure your folks don't want you mixed up with me.” He slid your coffee mug closer to where you were standing, turning back to fix his own coffee. “Milk's in the fridge.”
You cleared your throat, biting your lip, not moving toward the refrigerator. “I don't care what they want anymore.”
Gator's shoulders rose with amusement, but he didn't laugh outwardly. He removed the used coffee pod from the machine, dropped it wetly onto the counter, and put the second one in for himself, positioning his mug beneath the spout. “Did you ever?”
“Yeah,” you said, and he pushed the button on the coffee machine, turning to face you.
“Coulda fooled me.”
“I was supposed to stay away from you,” you said. “That was all they ever told me. 'You stay away from that boy.' I did for a while.” You smiled, but it wasn't a happy one.
“Roy told me the same shit,” he said, lifting his full mug carefully to his lips, drinking it black and piping hot, because of course he did. “Then he told me ta drive ya to school.”
“I didn't want you to,” you said.
“Yeah, I fuckin' remember. Looked like a deer in headlights when y'saw me in the cruiser.” He smiled a little, and you did too. “Fuckin'... Flurry Fête.”
It made you laugh, hearing him say it after so long—you'd all but forgotten about the name of your school dance, and his expression changed as you did. His smile grew larger, his cheeks rounding up; he seemed lighter. “I can't believe you remembered it.”
“I still got some'a the French you taught me rattlin' around up here.” He tapped his head with his free hand and sipped his steaming coffee with the other.
“Oh yeah?” you asked. “As far as I remember it was just a lot of vocab.”
“You taught me some very important anatomical terms,” Gator said, grinning at you over the rim of his mug.
“Yeah, hand, back, and shoulder were really crucial for a deputy sheriff in the midwest to know,” you said, laughing a little, and he snickered too.
“I got a few more I'm interested in,” Gator said, placing his mug carefully down on the counter, stepping closer to you.
“Like what?” you asked.
“Well, first lemme see if I 'member the other ones,” he said, and his kitchen suddenly felt a few degrees warmer as he stepped closer to you. Your hoodie clinging to his chest, his arms, his loose hair falling down over his forehead, your own terrified but curious face reflected in his dark glasses. He reached a hand out, palm up, and instead of trying to grope around for your hand, said, “Main?”
You placed your hand atop his, and the surprised expression on his face made you realize that maybe that wasn't what he had intended. But you were doing it now, holding Gator's hand; in an effort to save face, you replied, “Oui.”
“Shit, French immersion?” he asked, and you laughed. You changed your hand's position, holding it properly for a moment before he slid his fingers up your arm, making you shiver a little. His hand faltered for a split second, and you wondered if he could tell, could feel the small tremor of your body. He reached the curve of your shoulder, cupping it, his thumb moving over your collarbone. “Épaule.”
“Mhm,” you said, and he reached his arm further forward, letting his hand skim over your back, holding you.
“Easy,” he said. “Dos<.” He said with the S sound at the end; two, in Spanish.
You laughed. “No, it's dos<,” you corrected, pronouncing it the correct, French way. “Close though.”
While you were speaking, he lifted his free hand between you, fingertips brushing over your cheek. His hand was shaking, you could feel it; you said nothing.
“Well?” he said, his voice wavering just like his fingers.
“Joue,” you said.
He nodded, dragging his fingertips in a barely-there touch to the side, letting them glance over your lips. You parted them just enough that you were sure he could feel it.
“Lèvres,” you managed to whisper.
He repeated the word softly, like he was committing it to memory.
“Should we really be doing this again?” you asked, your voice soft but asking the hardest question you could.
“Fuck if I know the answer ta that,” Gator said, lowering his hand from your face to rest on the counter beside you, the one on your back moving to your hip. “All's I know is you came back and I ain't about ta let you get away from me again.”
“After everything?” you asked. “After I—we left?”
“Thought we covered that already yesterday,” Gator said, a slight edge to his voice. “You had no choice. 'N honestly? I wouldn't'a wanted you there. Seein' all that. Seein'—seein' me like that.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Quit it with the guilt trippin',” he said. “I don't wanna hear it no more.” He leaned in a bit closer to you, not to start anything, but just to feel your presence. He smelled like coffee and laundry detergent, and when you turned your face up to look at him—apples.
You closed your eyes, holding back the sob—you hadn't smelled that shampoo in six years, and it wracked you to think that he was buying it or having Dot buy it for him even now.
“You know you're wearing my hoodie,” you said, in lieu of anything more meaningful, maybe trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah,” he said, which you didn't expect. “Wasn't on purpose the other day, but today, yeah.” It meant a lot more to either of you than he was acknowledging, and you also both knew that. “You still got my jacket?”
“At home,” you said, and he seemed as surprised as you were that he had kept, and still wore, your sweatshirt. “Still got the duct tape on the sleeve, too.”
He laughed, loose and easy, and you thought fleetingly that you'd never seen him so carefree. You'd asked him once, if he thought after he got Nadine back to the ranch would he be able to relax, and he'd said no. Turned out he'd been wrong.
“Ain't that some shit,” he said, still chuckling a little. “Duct taped sleeve 'n all.” He was still standing close to you, too close, face angled down toward yours, still focused squarely on you despite not being able to see you.
“I can bring it back, if you want,” you said. “Next time I come visit.”
“Next time?” Gator said. “Y'ain't even left yet.”
“I'm just being forward-thinking,” you said.
“Y'just got here,” he said. “I don't wanna think about ya leavin' again.” His hands, both this time, were back on your hips, not moving you, not pulling you closer, just holding you there.
“Ok,” you said. “Then don't.”
He had to feel your body move beneath his hands, the stretch as you lifted yourself onto your tiptoes. You weren't sure if he was expecting it, even after your hands moved to his biceps, curling around his arms to steady yourself, because when your lips met his you felt him tense before melting into it, kissing you back, soft and tentative, afraid to move too fast or sharp and shatter it all again.
His hands slid to your lower back and pulled you against him then, properly, turning so his back was against the counter and you were pressing him into it, your bodies lining up as well as they could with the slight height difference. Your nose brushed his as you tilted your head a little to the side, parting your lips against Gator's as you begged entrance to his mouth and he let you in with no hesitation. Your tongue swiped against his and you felt him smirk a little between kisses as he let his hands rove lower, down from your hips to your ass, palming you through the denim.
“Still the exact same Gator,” you muttered, and he only smirked wider, even cheekier, bumping your cheek with his lips as he lost track of exactly where your mouth was. You didn't hesitate in righting it, kissing him again, slower this time, your arms wrapping around the back of his neck to let your front stretch against his.
Slowly, gradually, his hands moved lower on your ass, snapping you back to the first and only night you'd spent together, when his fingers had teased you from behind then too. You gasped a little as you felt him pressing against your slit, even through the denim.
“Gates,” you whispered, mouth against the underside of his jaw, and he tilted his head slightly away from you, letting your lips press soft kisses to him there.
“There it is,” he said, “missed that. Only had it that one night, but ev'ry time I thought'a ya since...thought about ya callin' me Gates. That stupid?”
“No,” you said, lifting a hand to push his hair back off his forehead; he flinched a little as you touched his face near the glasses, but you didn't make a move for them, wouldn't unless he gave you some indication you were allowed. “Why would that be stupid?” You kissed his neck, lips dragging over his Adam's apple as he answered.
“'Cause really—everythin' considered—we shouldn't'a been anything to each other. Just a—what's the phrase. Two ships or somethin'?”
You smiled into the crook where his neck met his shoulder. “Two ships passing in the night. We weren't that.”
“You don't think?” Gator asked, his hands still squeezing at your ass, but you were getting the feeling that things wouldn't move further than this, at least not right now.
“No,” you said. “We knew each other for sixteen years. We had—we were something for a long time, even if it took sixteen years to get there, you know?”
He paused, cocking his head to the side, hands no longer moving against you, just resting there. “Yeah, I—I guess we did.”
You leaned up again, pressing his back into the edge of the counter as you kissed him one last time. “You wanna go sit down?” you asked, and Gator nodded, leaning in to kiss you wherever he reached—this time, your eyebrow—then released you, letting you step back. He started for the living room, but then turned as he heard you start to follow him.
“Bring those damn cookies.”
&&
You passed the rest of the afternoon on Gator's couch, cuddled up beside him as the TV played across from you, ignored, eating the entire remainder of the oatmeal raisin cookies Dot had made and kissing lazily every few minutes, talking about nothing and everything you hadn't gotten to share with each other for the last six years. Once it got to be dark out, you stood from the couch, helping Gator clean up the unconsumed coffee that was now cold on the counter, rinsing Dot's Tupperware in the sink and telling Gator where you were leaving it so he could give it back to her next time she came.
You were in your hotel room before it was too late, already thinking about heading back the next day, to see him one more time. You still had a few days left in Fargo thanks to George extending the rental, but otherwise—you were getting a little homesick. Homesick for Arizona, homesick for your own bed. And you knew when you were back in the blazing heat, you'd be homesick for Gator too. Having his jacket was a poor substitute when you knew that it only smelled like worn leather and he still smelled like apples.
The next morning, you woke and readied yourself to visit Gator again, but your phone rang before you could. You expected it to be your mom or dad, maybe Catrine, but it was George.
“Hey bud,” he said, which he only ever said when he had bad news and didn't know how to really break it to you. “So, the higher ups got wind of you still in Fargo and, uh, you know. Don't want to expense the hotel and rental car for that much longer.”
You rolled your eyes—the “higher ups” he was referring to was one person, and that was his wife, who was the company bookkeeper and, for all intents and purposes, George's boss, even though he was the owner of the firm. “George, you can just tell me that I need to come back sooner.”
“Yeah... that's the thing. Today, actually. Your flight's booked for 4PM. Can you make it?”
You pulled your phone from your ear. It was already almost 11—you wouldn't have time to see Gator again and still make it back to the airport. Fuck.
“Uh, yeah,” you said, tone flat. “I can make it.”
“Great,” George said emphatically. “Fantastic. See you Monday!”
“See you Monday,” you echoed, hanging up and sighing heavily. You blinked a few times, then scrolled down to Gator's number, calling him. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, little lady,” he said, and you shook your head.
“Hey, Gates,” you said quietly. “Listen...bad news.”
He took it with grace, you supposed, as much as a man could have when you were leaving him all over again, with no warning, again.
You drove to the airport, returned the car, climbed aboard, and were back in Arizona before you felt like you'd even exhaled.
&&
Your parents were outside in the backyard when you pulled up a week later. Your dad was barbecuing and your mom was hanging some laundry outside; you were surprised it was still wet, with the sun blaring down on everything. It would have it dry in no time.
“Look who it is!” Your mom beamed as you walked through the fence, allowing her to hug you tight as your dad flipped a couple burgers on the grill.
“Didn't know you were coming, champ,” he said. “Let me go get another burger.”
“No, that's ok,” you said.
“Dog then,” he said.
“Dad,” you groaned. “I didn't come for lunch.”
“What's wrong, sweetheart?” your mom asked, hand rubbing your arm. “Is everything ok?”
“Yeah,” you said. She led you over to the patio, all but pushing you into one of the wicker chairs. You hummed, knowing that they would disapprove of your impulsive decision, but it wasn't permanent anyway. “You know I was in North Dakota last week for work?”
They both nodded, but you caught the way your mom looked over at your dad for a moment, which you took to mean that they weren't happy about it.
“Well I—the field office there, in Fargo. I put in a temporary transfer request.”
Your dad nearly flipped a burger into the decorative ferns your mom had lined the yard with, while she gasped out loud. “You did?” she asked. “How come?”
“I ran into an old friend out there, who...needs a friendly face around more often,” you said, knowing it was stupid and impulsive and they would hate that you did it, but you thought you might be able to win some points back by confirming that it was, indeed, temporary. Three months minimum, with the option to extend to six months if you liked it enough. Or more, but that wasn't really on the table yet.
Your mom looked bewildered. “And that means you need to move to a completely different state?”
“No,” you said. “But it's short-term. I'll only be there until fall, probably. I don't want to deal with the snow. It's just—a change of scenery. Of pace.”
Your dad came over, the spatula still in his hand. “I don't blame you for that,” he said. “But Fargo? Isn't that a little too close to Lehigh? Didn't think you'd ever want to go back up there.”
“I won't be going to Lehigh again,” you said. “I'm not working that case anyway—they just needed me for that one time.”
Your mother sighed. “Well, as long as you're coming back before long.” She stood up. “Let me get you some iced tea.” She walked to the back door of the house, then turned back to you. “Who's this friend, anyway?” she asked. “Someone we know?”
You only smiled, secretive. You'd tell them, when you were settled in Fargo. “You wouldn't recognize him.”
&&
You kept the lease on your apartment, but still packed as much to bring with you as you could. Gator's jacket was the first garment you packed, piling the rest of your clothes in and making sure to bring as much of your warmer clothing as you could. As it was you might still need to buy some things when you got there.
Catrine saw you off at the airport, already crying about how she would miss you too much and you had to come back after three months because she just couldn't do six without you. You hugged her and laughed, then kissed her goodbye on the cheek and headed to security.
At the airport in Fargo, Dot met you. You'd found an apartment to sublet, in the northwestern part of the city, and she was doing you a huge favor bringing you there. You were also planning on using her to give you a ride to Gator's after you lugged your suitcase up to your new home for the next few months, but she didn't know that yet.
While you lugged your two suitcases, Dot helped you by carrying your laptop bag up the fourth floor walk-up, depositing it on the dresser in the bedroom where you indicated she could put it. You'd gotten incredibly lucky—you were subletting from a young woman was spending the semester abroad, and thus was letting you use her furniture while you were here. You'd be long gone by the time she came back. Dot straightened up the kitchen, despite you telling her she didn't have to, while you spent some time unpacking. You noticed a Tupperware container of oatmeal raisin cookies tucked beside the microwave on the counter and smiled, even though she didn't say anything.
“Can I ask one last favor from you, Dot?” you asked, and she looked at you like she already knew what it was. She was particularly astute like that, and she only nodded.
“'Course I'll drive ya, honey. It's been a month since I last saw him anyway,” she said, and it was almost like she and Gator had planned it that way. You smiled to yourself, knowing they probably had.
An hour later, each of you laden with a bag, Dot was leading you up the walk to Gator's house, the gate squeaking a little as you shut it behind you. You made a mental note to oil the hinges next time you came over—now it was the last thing on your mind.
Dot knocked on the door and it opened almost right away, Gator clearly waiting for some aural confirmation that there were two people on his doorstep. “Hello, Gator,” Dot said.
He looked at her, then turned to her right, waiting for a second voice.
“I'm here, Gates,” you said and he beamed.
“For good?” he asked, and you laughed.
“For three months, you know that.”
“You say that now,” he said, and Dot eased her way past him, trekking right to the kitchen to start fixing dinner.
You stepped closer, reaching out for his arm; he let you take it for just a moment, and then pulled you closer, curling down over you. He let the back of his hand trail up your front until he reached your chin; then he cupped your cheek and let his thumb move over your face so he could find your lips. Once he did, the pad of his finger moving over them, you kissed his thumb softly. You saw him smile, then lean down even closer and kiss you, moving his thumb out of the way just in time.
“Come in,” he said, and you did, following him to where Dot had already turned the oven on. She had brought in an entire insulated bag of frozen food, and was sliding a casserole into the oven to heat back up. She gestured to you, then the freezer, so you piled the rest of the dishes in there, even though Gator had tried to hold you back, his hand wrapped around your wrist. Having you back in town for a definite period of time had lifted his spirits more than you thought you'd ever seen him, even back on the ranch.
Dinner was calm and quiet, even though Dot had scolded Gator for spoiling his appetite by eating some of the cookies she'd made for him too, before dinner was even ready.
She left the two of you, giving Gator a kiss on the forehead and you a knowing look, then a wink, as she left. You closed the door behind her, then returned to Gator—or, you thought you were going to, but the living room was empty when you got there. You turned around—so was the kitchen.
“Gates?” you called, but there was no answer. You tried again, louder. “Gator?”
“Yeap,” you heard him call, from the hallway that you'd only ventured down when you needed to use the bathroom. There were were a couple other doors off the hall, that you knew led to the laundry room, a closet, and Gator's bedroom. Assuming he wasn't putting up a load of late-night laundry, you grabbed the tote bag you'd brought with you and continued to the last door on the left, peering in to see his room.
It was sparsely decorated, the closet door not open but completely missing, clothing on hangers with a laundry basket below it. The curtains were drawn, some cologne bottles on the dresser. He was sitting on the end of his bed, and it was unmade, the same as his bed had been back at the ranch. Your feet scuffed quietly over the carpet, but he still heard you, turning toward you when you walked in.
“I have something for you,” you said, and he pushed himself back onto the bed, crossing his legs in front of him and tucking each foot under the opposite knee.
“What's 'at?” he asked.
You approached the bed, placing the tote bag down on it and reached in, pulling out the bundle. You placed it into his outstretched hands, and he tipped his head down at it, like he could somehow see what it was: His old leather jacket.
“Jesus,” he said, recognizing it by feel alone, slowly standing up off the bed after holding it for a moment, then letting it fall open from how you'd folded it. He clutched the collar in one hand, sliding his hand down the right sleeve, loosing a choked laugh when he felt the duct tape still there, just like you'd said it was. “Why'd you bring it back for?”
“It's yours,” you said.
“Looked better on you,” Gator said. “I'd be willin' to bet it still does.”
“Debatable,” you said, stepping closer to him, your fingertips trailing over his broad back, shoulder to shoulder, tickling him through his shirt.
“Bullshit,” he said. “I know fer a fact this thing was made for you. I just had to wear it in for ya first.”
“If you say so,” you said.
He turned to face you, tossing the jacket to the foot of bed and taking hold of you, his hands landing on your waist after a moment's search. “I do.”
You didn't wait longer for more banter, not wanting to squander your time anymore. You'd wasted enough of it already. You leaned up to take his lips in a searing kiss, tongues moving together. He wrapped his arms around you, moving you both sideways until your knees hit the bed, and then he was sitting, pulling you down with him, getting you both horizontal as soon as possible.
It felt so easy to move with him, to be like this again, but without worry or pressure weighing down on you, no one telling you to stay away from each other anymore. He let you roll on top of him, straddling his hips, your hands skimming up his front to tug at his shirt as best you could while he was laying down on it. He moved to palm at your thighs, feeling you through your leggings, sliding down toward your knees and then back up.
You pressed your core down against his hips and he groaned, tugging at the hem of your shirt now. You laughed, pulling it off, smiling faintly down at him until he spoke.
“What are you—tell me what you look like?”
Your chest clenched; you sat back a little on his thighs. He pushed himself up to sit as well, you on his lap, your front nearly flush against his. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, then reached out to put his hands on you. They tentatively moved over you, cupping you through your bra.
“Lace,” he murmured, and you hummed to the affirmative.
“White lace,” you said, and he groaned again, biting his lip a little. He rubbed you through the bra, feeling your nipples harden below his palms.
“What else?” he asked. You lifted your hands to his bare chest, touching him, fingertips gliding over his skin, the thick patch of hair, his collarbones, the column of his throat and his shoulders.
“I have—matching panties,” you said, shy just like the first time with him but for a different reason.
Gator's hands dipped down to your waist, then your hips. “Lace too? Or just white?”
“Both,” you replied, and he inhaled, surging forward to kiss you—you met him in the middle, licking into his mouth as you reached down, rolling your leggings down as much as you could. You pushed him back, one hand flat on his chest, following him down until you were on all fours above him, shimmying out of your bottoms as quick as you could. His hands stayed on you, feeling your sides and back, down to your ass, pulling at the hem of your lace underwear, slipping a finger between it and your ass, tickling the back of your thigh.
You slipped the button of his jeans, tugged at the zipper; he let you undress him fully, taking his underwear with them as you bared his body where he lay on the bed.
“Ain't got no lace, sorry,” he said, and the laugh bubbled up out of you. He grinned too, reaching out a hand for you; you laid down beside him, letting him wrap you up in his hold as you pressed yourself against his side, palm flat on his stomach, following the thin trail of hair down to his cock.
“This ok?” you asked, fingertips nudging the base of his length, and he nodded.
“Long as ya kiss me while ya do it,” he said.
“Easy,” you said, drawing forth another smile from him as you kissed him, barely touching your lips to his in a few teasing pecks, your hand wrapping around him. You stroked him slowly, and he rolled his hips up into your hand. You kissed him a bit deeper and he sighed against your mouth as you kept your strokes even, firm, coaxing him to hardness at your touch.
It didn't take long before he was breathless beside you, brow furrowed as you jerked him off, the tip slick with precome; you felt it as you curled your thumb over it, then broke your kiss and pulled away.
“Where ya goin'?” Gator asked, and you just managed to catch the note of concern in his voice; he hid it well.
“Right here,” you said, settling between his legs, hands on his thighs. He exhaled shakily, nodding a little. “This ok?”
He nodded again. “Yeah.”
You wrapped one hand around him, holding him upright as you parted your lips, tongue flicking over each to wet them before you slid your mouth down on his length. He groaned loudly above you, the sound punched out of him, and you continued moving down on him until your mouth hit your fingers, twisting around the base of his dick before you slid off all the way.
“Keep going?” you asked, teasing.
“Pl-please,” he said, “but—”
You hesitated, waiting to see what he was going to say. He reached out a hand toward you, fingers splayed open, and you fit the fingers of your free hand between them, holding his hand. He gave it a little squeeze, and you lowered your mouth back on him.
“Just wanna—wanna know ya got me,” Gator said, low. You glanced up at him, and his face was turned away, like even though he couldn't see your reaction, he didn't want you to see his face either. You squeezed his hand, saying it to him nonverbally instead.
You swallowed around his cock, taking him in further, saliva coating him as you bobbed your head, easing the slide down around him. You tasted precome as you pulled off a little, and you let the tip of your tongue tease his slit as even more leaked from his cock, the burst of salty-sweet on your tongue making you moan around him.
Gator squeezed your hand even tighter; you felt his cock twitch against your tongue.
“I'm—” he gritted out, pressing his head back against the bed. “I'm gonna—”
“Mm,” you hummed, encouraging him, undulating your tongue against the underside of his cock and stroking your hand over the part that wasn't in your mouth. His hips kicked, giving you warning, but he didn't finish just yet. You felt the fingers entwined with yours tighten—your next warning—and you had just pulled off of him a little bit when he groaned your name loudly, his free hand coming to fist in your hair, hips bucking up into your face, driving his cock back into you. His come flooded your mouth and you swallowed around the head of his cock, your eyes fluttering shut as you tasted him at his basest level, taking him in as he broke apart beneath you.
His chest was heaving just a little, and he let his hand down to rest against the side of your face, cupping your cheek, some strands of hair still tangled around his fingers. You leaned your face into his hand, swallowing again, still tasting him in your mouth.
“Bet you look so fuckin' gorgeous right now,” Gator said, and you closed your eyes, turning your face just a little into his hand to kiss his palm, the spot under his thumb. He smiled a little, and you stretched up and over him to kiss him softly on the lips. He let you in, wrapping his arms around your back, pressing you tight to his front.
“Not as gorgeous as you,” you whispered, “your face when you—when you finished.” You spread your legs to either side of him, straddling him as you lay on top of him. “So hot.”
“Shut up,” he said, but you could tell he liked the praise. “So hot, my ass.”
“Oh, that too,” you said, laughing quietly, pressing your lips to the side of his neck, the front of his shoulder.
“A'right, now I know you're fuckin' with me,” he said, and unclasped your bra, easing the straps down your arms and pulling it out from between your bodies, reveling a little in feeling your naked chest against his. “I might'a had my moments once but I ain't no match fer you.”
“I'll be the judge of that,” you said, arching your back against Gator as his hands explored the newly bare expanse of skin, his palms warm against you as he reached down your body. He let his hands slip inside your panties, squeezing your ass.
Gator fell silent as he slid you a little up his body, his hands wrapping around your thighs, one finger dipping between them to tease your slit. His voice was even quieter when he spoke. “Mind stayin' like this?” he asked, and you bowed your back to kiss him, understanding now that he needed the contact, the constant feel of you against him, wanting to be sure you were still there with him, present.
“No,” you said. “I think I'll like it.”
He hummed, then pressed two fingers against you, both moving inside you shallowly as he began to finger you slowly from behind, your legs still open above, around him. With the way he'd positioned you, you were a bit higher up than you normally would be, your clothed pussy above his bellybutton, tits hovering over his face. You bit your lip, then—as both his fingers moved into your wet cunt, scissoring inside you, pulling a short sigh from your lips—you leaned over him a little further. You had no idea if it would be hot to ask, if he would even want to, but you spoke, your voice husky, laced with arousal.
“Want my tits in your mouth, Gates?”
You felt his fingers curl into you as you asked, sinking a little deeper inside as he nodded, parting his lips, tongue sticking out to lick his plush bottom lip, wetting it.
“Fuck. Yeah, give 'em ta me,” he said, and you arched your back, hand guiding his face up, until he was able to suck at your chest, lower lip brushing your nipple as he tucked his chin down, sucking on it, licking the tip and groaning quietly as it hardened between his lips.
He kept his fingers fucking into you, not in short bursts, but rather long strokes, letting them explore every inch of you that he could as he turned his head, seeking your other nipple, wanting to feel that one perk up against his tongue too.
You sighed softly as you shifted your weight the other way, resting atop him as he moved his hand against you a bit harder, his wrist curled as he pulled his fingers out and then slid them back in; you were so wet you could both hear it over your haggard breathing, the way it sounded when his fingers pressed back into you only turning you on even more.
“Gates,” you moaned, hand curling into his hair. His free hand traced over your thigh for the barest moment before he moved it between you, where you were rocking your front against him, the ridge of his cock not quite beneath you, but you didn't need it to be—not when his fingers were searching for your clit, his lips ghosting over your pebbled nipple, breath hot on your already flushed skin.
“C'mon,” he said, pressing two fingers against your clit, feeling you slip a little against him as your pussy soaked his hand, his front. “Use—use m'hand, darlin', lemme feel ya.”
You rolled your hips forward against him, moving back and forth between the hand below you, teasing your clit, and the hand behind you, two fingers deep in your cunt and a third entering you as you pushed back.
“Fuck,” you whined, curling yourself over Gator, your body coiling on top of him, split between the slick fingers circling your clit, winding you up, and the three he had stuffed inside you, stretching you around them. “Gator.”
“Lemme hear ya,” he said. “Wanna—wanna hear all ya got, please—”
It hit you, as he asked, that it was obvious he would want the affirmation that way, that you liked it, that he was giving you what you needed—you nodded and exhaled heavily, before whimpering a little, pushing yourself back on his hand, his forearm tucked against the back of your thigh as he fingered you, deeper, harder.
“It feels so—so good, Gator—Gates, ah, fuck,” you moaned. Your cheeks burned, self-conscious, but he deserved to know how good he was making you feel, how you were on top of him, so close to him, in every way that mattered. “You're so—” you gasped loudly as he moved his index and middle fingers slightly apart, framing your clit on either side and sliding them back and forth around the swollen bead.
“So fuckin' wet,” he said, almost to himself. “I can hear how fuckin' wet ya are, it's—fuck, it's makin' me—”
“Fuck me,” you managed to ask, almost demand. “Please, Gates, I want it. Need you inside me—” Now that he'd asked you to be vocal, now that you'd started, you didn't think you could stop yourself. Any bashfulness was dispelled, now you had just one single thought in mind: Gator.
“Got fuckin'—fuckin' rubbers in the—drawer,” he said, jerking his chin toward his bedside table. You were in the better position to grab them; all you had to do was lean over a little and tug it open, reaching in and feeling around until you felt the foil wrapper, the circular shape it held unmistakable.
“Got—one,” you said, voice weak, as Gator's fingers slipped wetly out of you, smearing your own arousal on your thigh. He kept weakly pumping his fingers against your clit, but you stood on your knees above him, moving away from his hand, and then backed up a little so you could see him laid out before you. “God, Gates,” you mumbled. You saw him turn his attention toward you, listening, wanting to know if you'd continue. “You're—perfect,” you said, huffing a little laugh as you said it. It sounded silly, it sounded trite, but you meant every syllable.
He didn't contradict you, either, which felt like a win. “Guess I can't argue with ya when ya sound that serious.”
You folded yourself over to kiss him, softly, his whole body turning toward you when you did like a flower facing the sun. You caressed the side of his face, then spoke. “Ready?” you asked, tapping his hand with the condom so he'd know what you meant.
“Yeah,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows. “Ya want me like this?”
You bit your lip, surveying him, the way his cock was hard again, flagging over to one side, draped over his hip, beading precome at the tip again. “Yeah,” you said, smoothing your hand over his chest. “Want you just like this.”
Gator reached out, feeling along the bed until his fingertips touched your leg; he let them curl around your ankle, holding onto you just a little as you rolled the condom onto him, then slung your leg back over his hips.
“I got it,” he said, his other arm laying across his abdomen as he held his cock for you. You ducked your head, looking down between you as you lined yourself up; once you felt the head press against your slit, Gator hissing quietly as you lowered yourself just enough to let him move inside, you bent your knees the rest of the way, sinking down onto his length, feeling him fill you up, stretching you a bit further than even three of his fingers had.
You sat on him, squeezing your pussy down on his length and listened to him groan out your name, followed by some tight sounds, unable to do anything other than just lie there and take it, take you. You leaned forward, your hands splaying out on his chest, one sliding to his shoulder to grip him there, the other flat against him, your palm curving down over his side. You lifted your hips and slid back down onto him, and the both of you loosed moans, feeling like you did six years ago, feeling like everything might be ok this time.
You lifted off him again, fucking back down, taking him in quick and deep, and it was your turn to toss your head back as he groped at your thighs, holding onto you.
“Y'sound so—” Gator started to say, trailing off as you moved again, fucking yourself in earnest now, bouncing on his cock and touching your own clit, but slowly, not wanting to come so fast, so soon. It was precarious, but you could wait.
You didn't hold back, though, letting every whimper and soft mewl and honest-to-god sob out, letting Gator know how fucking good he was making you feel. Your pussy was hot and wet around him, his hands moving closer and closer to your cunt as he inched them up your thighs, and then he was teasing you with his thumbs, both of them slotting into the space where your legs met your abdomen on either side of your mound, and suddenly—it was all a little too much. You ripped your hand from your clit, knowing it was just a matter of time; somehow, Gator could tell your hand was gone, no longer feeling your folds moving from either side where his hands were.
“Close?” he asked, and you nodded, lost in it for a moment before you remembered.
“Yeah,” you breathed, hoping he could tell you answered and didn't just sigh. “Y-you?”
“Oh yes, little lady,” he choked out. “I'm real fuckin' close.” His voice sounded strained, like he was the one holding back where you weren't. “You're so fuckin' tight, god, I can't—”
“Gates,” you cried, hands tightening your hold on him—your cunt clenched, throbbing, his cock so fucking hard inside you, and you felt it when he came, his hips twitching up into you from below, a few quick thrusts up as you ground down on him, your own orgasm hitting you just after. Your muscles tensed, spasming around his pulsing cock, riding it out together, your bodies melding; you were so fucked out, it was impossible for you to tell when you come down, Gator's hands on your waist, gently lowering you down to rest on top of him while your breathing evened.
He stroked your hair softly, kissing you wherever he could reach. His nose brushed your ear and you smiled, giggling absently.
“Y'ok?” he asked, and you nodded. “Mind moving your elbow outta my ribs, then?”
You did it quickly, not realizing that you were digging into him with the point of your arm.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, and he only laughed too, quietly.
“I guess I can forgive ya,” he said.
You pushed yourself up, looking down at him, then kissed him softly. “I'll be right back.”
He looked for a moment like he didn't want you to go, but knew that you had to.
You let your touch linger on him as long as you could, until you were up and off the bed, and then you headed to the bathroom, flicking on the light. You cleaned yourself up, returning to Gator with some wet tissues for him as well.
By the time you got back, he had the condom off and tied (sort of, mostly). You took care of wiping the come off him, gently, making sure not to be too rough on his sensitive skin. He looked pensive, his lips pressed into a thin line, so you just took the condom and the dirty tissues and left again to toss them out before climbing back into the bed; he had gotten under the covers by the time you returned. You settled against his side, one of his arms around you, his hand on your thigh as he kept you close.
Minutes passed. It was quiet in his room when he took his glasses off, reaching over to the side and placing them on the nightstand. He didn't say anything, but he knew you were looking—he could just tell. You weren't sure what you expected; it was jarring, a little uncanny, but ultimately it was still Gator. You leaned over—he flinched away, but you didn't even consider taking it personally—and pressed a kiss to his cheek, hard and wet, and big ol' smack, and you felt his chest kick and you didn't mention that either.
“Re-remember after the first time,” Gator said, “when y'were holdin' me 'nd...well, you prob'ly don't remember. I had my face in yer neck.”
“I remember,” you said. It was your first time. How could you forget?
“Did ya hear what I was sayin'?” he asked, and another memory pinged back into your brain. He had been talking, so quietly you couldn't hear him. You folded your arm behind his back, between his freckled skin and the pillow; you covered the nape of his neck with your hand, just as you had back then, but shook your head.
“I didn't,” you answered, rubbing his skin softly, tenderly.
So he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I was sayin’ that… I think I loved ya.” He huffed a little, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Ain’t that somethin'.”
You carded a hand through the hair at the back of his head. “It is,” you said, leaning your forehead against his temple, his hair tickling you a little.
“'Nd you know what else?” he asked.
“What?” you whispered.
“I think I still do.”
You blinked away the tears, turning his face to yours, kissing him hard then soft. “I still love you too,” you said, and he held you even tighter.
Modern AU! Steve Harrington x Reader, past Eddie Munson x Reader, past Steddie
Word Count: 10.4K
Warnings: angst, Eddie’s a dumbass, Steve is also a dumbass, reader is 25/26, takes place in 2025, mentions of past sexual encounters, reader is a guitar and bass player and guitar tech, past Eddie + Steve, past reader x Eddie, cheating???, did I say Eddie is a dumbass?, OC mention named Bex and Kennedy, stalking kind of, famous Eddie, I didn’t think finding Eddie photos that fit would be this hard, hurt comfort, friendship beginning, slow burn, etc. etc. let me know if I missed anything
A/N: I wrote this in a fugue state, please forgive me. This isn’t beta read at all and I’m not 100% sure if the timeline I’ve created lines up but oh well I got it down now! Also, formatting is weird, tumblr when I get you… I don’t really like writing RPF (personal preference! Nothing against my divas in christ doing their thing) so this is the closest I’ll get to that. I lowkey blacked out writing this over 2.5 days so please be nice! Imagine this as a pilot to a tv show.. she will be a bigger work! Love y’all and please don’t hate me that it isn’t heavy on the Steve x Reader right away! I’m tryinggg to make it a slow burn but I am weak. We’re also close to 600 followers so once we get there y’all will get a special Drabble of multiple characters!
Based off of Talk by Lucy Dacus. Listen while reading the end half-ish!
Wristwatch by MJ Lenderman is also mentioned but not crucial.
Masterlist || Request
Spacer by @saradika-graphics
This was crazy, absolutely batshit insane. The leather of a forgotten guitar smacked your leg as you thanked the driver immensely, tears of anxiety subsiding and now washed with relief. How the hell does someone leave their guitar at their hotel when they’re about to record their demo?
‘Unprofessional, I’ll tell you that..’ your thought broke through your relief as you pushed through the recording studio doors. Bex Hartley, producer extrodinaire, had reached out to you the day before. His words were a jumbled amalgamation in your head now though some breakout descriptors were ‘raw talent,’ ‘musical genius,’ and ‘Apollo incarnate.’
“Dude you HAVE to come hear him. Munson said he’s an old friend from Indiana, something something whatever, you know? I thought he was just doing a favor for a person beggging for a chance at fame. But no, this guy’s actually really good. Like…scarily good for someone who’s from a family of lawyers and uninterested housewives.” Between bites of food, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, Bex rambled on and on while the sounds of the bustling city filtered through the speaker of your phone.
“Bex, get to the point.” A half laugh left you, hanging the Danelectro Longhorn bass back up to the spot a customer had taken it from moments before. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Well, you get off in like…twenty, right?”
“Ye-“
“Good!” Cutting you off, crinkling of keys and plastic now filled the small space you called your ‘office,’ though it was just a small closet with the computer for orders and shipments and a chair. “Sorry, yeah, just.. meet me at Rouge Records as soon as you get off. You need t’hear him.”
That’s how you ended up here, a stranger’s guitar in hand after another frantic call from Bex and his team broke the ambience of your walk. Rogue Records was small, compact, but a staple. Known for recording Grammy winning albums and introducing the ‘next hot thing.’ When Eddie recorded his solo album two years prior, it had been at Rogue.
Now he was fresh off his world tour and riding in the afterglow of multiple Grammy nominations, you had seen such on his social media. Especially on his private, ‘incognito’ instagram where he had been shit posting about the many nominations since he had found out. It was fun to see someone you call a friend succeed, even more so when he refused to take all of the credit. Taking a mental note to text Eddie back, your spine makes contact with the door to the control room. With a huff, you walk into the room backwards and totally unaware of the figures in the room with your friend.
“Okay Bex I’m here! I have the guitar.” Holding the case vertically so it wouldn’t hit the door as it closed, it took a moment for you to look up and realize that it wasn’t just Bex in the room, but a familiar ball of fuzzy brown-black hair and round, brown eyes that sparkled.
”Hey sunshine!” Eddie hummed, a smirk crossing his face as realization crossed your features. A giga-watt smile overtook your face, shoving the guitar case into Bex’s arms with a bit of force before your arms wrapped tightly around the taller man. Pine, leather, and petrichor filled your senses. Something that felt like home.
“Jesus, Eddie! I thought you were back in LA? What’re you doing here?” A fondness laced your voice, one that was reserved only for those closest to you. And Eddie? He was as close to you as anyone had ever been. Though both of your lives had been busy as of late, there was this unspoken understanding that both of you were there for one another. Any time of day, just call and either would be there in a split second no matter where in the world you may be.
What you two have is complicated, to say the least.
-
When Eddie came into Rogue the first day of recording his solo album, you had been there as a stand-in bass player for Bex’s first artist booked that day. You were everything and more, a marble effigy of some goddess he’d never know the name of but lord knows he would check out every book online to figure out the Mythos. To him, you were the definition of a dream come true. A being he SWORE he saw in his dreams before, genuinely. Dressed in soft cotton and a pair of jean shorts, hair pulled up off your neck to allow the A/C to cool you down, sun-kissed skin glowing from the day before when you had spent the day out at Rockaway Beach with some friends. Sunscreen long forgotten, resulting in a glow that no makeup could ever replicate. There you stood, talking into the microphone that fed into the control room where Eddie stood. God, you weren’t just stunning but your voice was like a melody that unlocked something deep within Eddie’s soul. His breath was taken away, ears ringing, and he could feel the drool pooling at the corners of his lips waiting for any moment to drip out.
He didn’t realize Bex was trying to get his attention before a decorative pillow was thrown his way, the plush item narrowly avoiding his head which snapped him back to reality. Red flushed Eddie’s pierced ears, brown eyes wide as he stammered an apology and introduced himself to Bex. Looking back to the glass, you had disappeared which gave him some relief. Able to focus on the discussion with Bex, he was finally in the zone.
Yet, his mind kept falling back to you. You and the soft material of your shirt, the graphic old and worn off. How the glow of the sun tan made you look ethereal, now understanding the meaning of sun-kissed. No one in his life was like you, or..well, what he saw of you. No girl in Indiana, no girl in LA. The only other person he was this taken aback by was… no longer someone he could chase or yearn over. That time of their lives was closed out, outgrown. Not in a bad way, but in the way similar to growing out of your favorite shoes or piece of clothing as a kid when you hit a growth spurt. Natural, fondness, adoration, yet knowing that relationship was not going to flourish.
He couldn’t think of that, so he thought of you. Every single time he showed up to Rouge, he prayed you were there. Prayed you weren’t separated by glass and a microphone.
Then that day came.
-
From your perspective, you remember the first day you saw Eddie. Long limbs defined with muscle and dark inked art. Stretched and pierced ears, a silver nose piercing to boot. You had seen him on the cover of Alternative Press magazines before, yeah. But it never occurred to you how attractive he could be in person. You weren’t a huge fan of his band’s music, just not your personal forte, but you always could appreciate good art.
Sitting upon the stool in the recording booth, you remained collected as you talked to Bex through the microphone about what’s to come next for this client’s record. Idle chit-chat while writing into your schedule what days you’d be at the studio after work or late at night. You didn’t want to address the brown eyes boring into your soul, you didn’t want to address how instead of feeling like stabbing pins, the stare felt like molten honey. Warm, sweet, slow. Under the vent, you were trying to cool off from the summer heat but Eddie politely ogling you made you feel warm, sticky, sweet. Looking at him, though, you didn’t mind this feeling either.
The photographed confidence wrapped in leather was stripped down to bare basics. Slumped shoulders and an old graphic band tee, silver chain necklace kissing against his skin while his brown curls were pulled into a bun. Bangs clung to his face, sweat slicked endearingly, eyes wide when you catch him staring but you don’t think he registers it. Cute. Eddie, at the core of himself, was woefully delectable and down to Earth. It was easy to tell by the way his shoulders were relaxed but hunched, the confidence that he had on stage was just a ploy. You could tell.
Days had passed since your first kind-of encounter with Eddie and you were torturing yourself. Scrolling on his instagram to try to get a feeler out on what he was actually like but everything was meticulous. Controlled by a social media manager, each post was perfect and filled with just enough personality that a fan would think he actually wrote the caption. Yet it was devoid of any true personality. To you, Eddie was an enigma.
Until one night you got a call from Bex just as you were about to call in an early night, pajamas on and skincare routine completed. Comfort was calling to you from its place in your bed like a mistress seducing its partner. Yet you were called away.
An emergency.
The guitar tech for Corroded Coffin was stuck in the UK on a delayed flight and couldn’t find anyone to cover their spot. Eddie, in a panic, called Bex asking for help. They were all tuned for the show but they wouldn’t be able to have such a turn around while the actual performance was happening. They NEEDED help.
Enter you.
Ushered backstage, a nervous tour manager kept thanking you over and over while security guided you to the side stage where all the guitars rested. This was purgatory.
You were in charge of at least seven separate instruments, each tuning and which guitar was used was written next to the song on the setlist. That eased your turning stomach as you hooked your in ears up to the comms that were used backstage. Able to hear the tour manager, back of house lighting, sound, and anyone else talking, you turned to focus on the guitars and bass that were slated to be used in the first song.
Picking away silently, the tuner popped up G. Tuning that back to an E, you repeated the process meticulously until each string was cohesive and sounding like a dream.
‘One down, six to go.’ You mumbled to yourself, hands wiping on the front of your black cargo pants. You didn’t immediately register the taller man next to you. Hell, you didn’t register him until a ringed hand wrapped gently around the neck of the BC Rich Warlock you just tuned. About to snap, you glare up at the hand’s owner before your facial features softened.
Eddie.
He had come to tune his own guitar, not realizing you had made it.
“Oh my god, you’re the one Bex called?” He sounded exasperated. A flash of hurt must have come across your face because that was immediately followed by a gasp and a slew of apologies.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I’ve just been so stressed today. Thank you so much for being here at such short notice, sunshine.” The nickname rolled off Eddie’s tongue before he could stop it. It’s the one he gave you in his mind the first day he ever saw you.
You took in the way his black lined eyes widened first, then how the blush creeped up his pale neck and tinted his cheeks. He was about to speak when you introduced yourself properly.
“But I like sunshine, it’s cute.” You started, a little smirk on your lips that you didn’t even register. Your whole body was mindlessly flirting with Eddie. Slow fluttering lashes, that soft smirk, even the way your hip slowly jutted out to the side, it was all a natural movement that you didn’t register.
“Oh uh thanks yeah! Okay sunshine.” He was taken aback by your forwardness but it was even more attractive than he had thought. Usually, any woman or man who was so forward to him would give him the ick but…not you. He registered quickly it was probably because you weren’t doing it on purpose, he could tell by the way you went on with tuning the instruments.
Usually, in his experience, if someone wanted to truly flirt they would be all in. Tasks forgotten, surroundings not important. Yet here you were, apparently flirting yet more focused on your job. God he was going insane.
“I’ll see you in a minute then.” You piped up, smiling wide as you set his guitar on the stand you had grabbed it from before. He was so focused on you, he missed the way Gareth grabbed his arm and guided him back to the green room for the pre-show ritual.
“Is that her?” Gareth asked, your ears faintly picking up the conversation as they walked away.
-
After that night, you and Eddie were practically glued at the hip when he was in New York. Rogue Records became your late night hang out space on recording nights. There were days spent incognito at museums or The Film Forum to catch an old movie, nights where one of you would spend the night at the other’s apartment or penthouse suite.
Many paparazzi photos came out of those days out, rumors beginning to flood the tabloids and fandoms. Who was this woman? Where’d she come from? Some fans even took it to extremes trying to find out your name and place of work but nothing ever came to fruition.
And if it did? The owner of the small instrument store you managed would bask in the publicity. More eyes on his store means more visitors means more purchases. You weren’t at risk of losing your job if that was to happen but maybe your sanity.
That was the topic of the takeout dinner date at your small Brooklyn apartment, Thai food containers on the coffee table now forgotten as some movie autoplayed in the background.
”It’s just funny that they keep trying to find out who I am, Eds! That’s all!” Your voice was soft, a giggle following as he rubbed a large hand over his scruffy jawline. Eddie had always worried about your safety the more he was seen out with you, aware of what some fans online said about you and your appearance, how they’re ’better than’ you. Which was odd because they didn’t even know your name, let alone how amazing of a person you were.
Yet, you just shrugged it off, not a care in the world for others reactions or opinions to you just existing. That’s another reason why he was so enamored by you, the way you took things with no true care for it.
“water off a duck’s back!” You once said to him when a fan had gotten close to figuring out that you were the mystery girl on Eddie’s arm.
But you two were just friends! Just platonic and nothing else!
He would totally fly out a friend to Paris to be his plus one to fashion week events and to Los Angeles for album release parties he was invited to! He would totally drop anything for a friend when they had no one at their job and were bored. And Eddie would DEFINITELY send his friend ‘good morning darling’ texts and ‘sweet dreams xx’ sign offs everyday without fail.
Eddie was down horrendously and truthfully, so were you.
-
Months of this back and forth happened between you and Eddie, torn between wanting to just ask him to make it official and keeping it what it has now become.
A lavish, unspoken, friends with benefits situation. A ‘situationship’ as your friend Kennedy put it. God, you hated this. You wanted to be with him, to be with the man who had a heart of gold.
So one cool spring night, you did it. You dialed Eddie’s number, fueled by glasses of wine and a need that surpassed anything remotely human. Your heart needed him, your soul needed him.
When Eddie picked up you immediately heard the muted music of a club, oh yeah.. it was almost 2 AM in London. Shit..
”Sunshine? You there?” Eddie asked, words tender and full of concern. It choked you up, in a way. How he always cared for you past the normal friendly check ins and morning coffees. How he would stop the whole world just to see you smile or to make you feel good.
”Yeah, yeah! ‘M here. Forgot how late it is there.” You pursed your lips, words looser in your mouth while you lay on your bed. The one pillow still smelt like him and his aftershave, haunting you like a welcomed ghoul.
”You alright, darling? What’s goin’ on?”
”nothin’ Eds. Kennedy jus’ left and I missed you.” Your pout was evident in how you spoke, a soft whine curling from your chest as you recall the events of the day before he left. Hands roaming one another’s bodies, entangled limbs, whispered confessions.
Confessions.
”Did you mean it, Eddie?” The words tumbled out looser than you wanted them to, filter falling as the alcohol in your system settled in your bones.
”Mean what, darling?” Confusion etched in his voice, though you couldn’t blame him. He’d been in the United Kingdom and all over Europe for the past week. He had more important things to worry about. He had his career to worry about. Always.
”Tha’ you love me.” The words are foreign on your tongue now, mouth dry while your heart stutters. This was a risky dance, one you would have never started while sober. Now you continued your crossing of the tightrope, the one that connects ‘just friends’ to ‘relationship.’ Having rested on the side closer to ‘just friends’ for so long, that changed into the perfect middle when Christmas happened.
The first time you two slept together, the beginning of all of this.
The other end of your call was silent save for the muffled bass of the club and passing cars.
“Eddie?”
”Yeah, I’m here.”
”Did I fuck up by asking?”
The unsure tone in your voice, the one you had when you were scared, broke Eddie a bit. Eyed bleary as he fished a cigarette an lighter from his leather jacket’s pocket. Sparking up, he took a deep inhale and puffed out the smoke.
”No no, honey. You didn’t.” A beat, a metal door opening, familiar laughs mixed with girls laughter, “I meant it, yeah.”
But before you could respond, a shrill voice filled the speaker. “Eddie, y’said you’d take me back t’yours. Said y’wanted see what else I could do.”
Whiny words, filled with lust and heavy flirting. Your breath halted so much that Eddie heard it. Fuck, fuck. God why did he listen to the guys and agree to come out?
“Honey? Hey Hey no it’s not what it s-“
”Forget it Eddie. Have fun.”
-
You were bitter, you were hurt. You were mourning a relationship that officially never was but unofficially, it was the best time of your life. The almost year you both were close, annoyingly so? It was heaven and you just wished you never called him then.
Wished he never picked up.
And he wished the same. Wished he never picked up, wished he never agreed to go out.
Wished he never flirted with a girl who looked just like you without the radiating aura that only you seemed to possess.
-
Slowly, overtime, Eddie wormed his way back into your good graces. But it wasn't like before. No more flirty conversations, no more hookups, no more ‘too-close-for-comfort’ public moments. Everything was strict and set, something he agreed to just to see you again. To see you smile, to hear you laugh.
You were grateful for him, grateful for the respect he extended. Extremely grateful for the ways he made it up to you for hurting you, though it was rough at first. all you wanted to do was be engulfed by him like before. To forgive him and go back to before. But the image of Eddie telling you he loved you while above you, forehead resting on yours, entangled with the random woman’s voice from the call.
In your 25 years of life, you had promised yourself that this was the year you stopped being a pushover. Sadly, that included Eddie in this situation.
-
It was all for the best though, now best friends with Eddie while seeing him flourish, talking to some guy named Hudson. Seeing how happy he seemed to be with him, it made all of the hurt worth it.
“And what? Miss the opportunity to see you and watch my friend from home rock your socks off?” Eddie smirked, nudging your arm with his elbow. Rolling your eyes, you shrugged and plopped down in the rolling chair next to Bex’s.
“Who even is this guy? And where is he?” Bex cut through, reading your mind like always. Pointing at him, you nodded in agreement. “Yeah, what Bex said. How do you know this guy again?” Emphasizing Bex’s comment, you tucked your feet under yourself while facing Eddie.
”It’s complicated.” A groan escaped you as you spun the chair, eyes rolling before they landed on Eddie. Another sharp point, you playfully scowled at him.
”Edward Munson.” Huffing, you watched your friend roll his eyes and cross his arms at you using his full name. “No, don’t do that. I am just worried that if this is someone you don’t know well, if they’re using you for opportunities that otherwise would not happen for them!”
”Hey! That happened once!” Eddie gasped, hands over his heart like you had just shot him. “But fine! If you must know,”
”His name is Steve, we went to high school together.” Scratching his head, Eddie was planning out how to break it to you that you weren’t the first person he’s scorned romantically before. Biting his plump lower lip, he continued.
”He actually was a complete ass in school but I guess he had some huge character arch after his ex girlfriend dumped him? I don’t know, the details are still foggy there. But my friend Dustin was friends with him and so was this girl Robin. They helped me out in a really dark time for me, y’know?” Crossing his arms now, Eddie was sort of pacing in the control room before plopping on the large sectional that was tucked into the cut out on the wall.
“We hit it off and became best buds, honestly. He’s the reason I stuck around Hawkins as long as I did. Then I went out to LA and the rest is history.”
The way he sped through it was what you caught first, how he was avoiding looking at you. How, when he did, you saw the glassy, longing look in his eyes that had also been reserved for you back when you and Eddie started to mend things. That’s all you needed to know.
Before Bex could add in any commentary, the door opened and in walked a new man. One who was like sunshine in a bottle.
Rigid edges blurred out into soft, approachable smiles. Beauty marks and hazel eyes that reminded you of a baby cow’s or a deer’s. This man was that of Grecian influence. Like he was a marble statue of a god that came to life.
You were seeing of this man, what Eddie saw of you that fateful day when he first walked into Rogue Records.
”Steve!” Eddie smiled wide, hugging his friend tightly before wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Speak of the devil, guys. This is Steve Harrington.”
With a wave, Steve offered a toothy smile and a ‘hey guys’ to you and Bex.
“Thanks for getting my guitar, I’m so sorry. This is my first ime out of Hawkins in a few years so I’m a bit…discombobulated.” Shrugging, Steve’s eyes stopped on you. A realization overtaking his features.
You. You were the mystery girl in the paparazzi photos. You were the girl that Eddie would never stop talking about. You were the one who is ‘so genuine’ and ‘so loving’ and ‘sooooooo talented’ according to Eddie. God, what was this feeling in his chest?
Offering a smile, it was almost unperceptive how Steve’s jaw clenched, how his eyes scanned you like prey. How you felt.. off.. by the way he looked you up and down.
”Yeah, it was no problem. Bex had someone send for it and I was the one who made sure it got here.” Offering a hand out, you gave Steve a friendly smile before introducing yourself. An awkward half laugh escaped you as Steve hesitated in shaking your hand for a split second.
Maybe you were hyper aware, everyone else didn’t seem to notice this shift towards you. But you couldn’t just brush it off, it was visible that Steve’s jaw ticked, that his smile almost faltered before he caught himself, his relief and gratefulness strained when you had informed him that you were the one who made sure his guitar got to the studio safely from the driver who delivered it.
”She’s all tuned up, by the way. Checked it the moment I grabbed the case from the car.” Your own eyes now scanned him, your turn to take in the man who you had heard about in passing once or twice before. Seeing him shift under your gaze, a smirk bloomed on your lips before adjusting back comfortably in the swivel chair you deemed yours.
Eddie clapped his hand on Steve’s shoulder, pointing to the guitar and gently shoved him forward. “C’mon Harrington! Don’t leave us hanging!” Dramatically tapping the watch on his wrist, you couldn’t help but laugh at Eddie’s normal semantics. He was always so dramatic with his movements, especially when he was comfortable.
“Has he always been so impatient?” You look over to Steve, his guitar strap now slung neatly over his shoulder before shrugging.
“Shouldn’t you know? You spent like…a whole two years with him, yeah?”
You could hear a pin drop, your mouth opening and closing in awe. Confused as to why he was acting like this. You literally had JUST met him and for some reason picked that he..didn’t like you? Eddie’s face resembled the simmering feeling you felt layered under the confusion, dark brows furrowed as he glowered at his friend. “Man what the fuck?”
Stuttering, Steve’s eyes rounded in shock like he just registered what he said, shame crawling up his spine and holding at his neck. Funny how it was easy for him to slip up and say something he’d regret but difficult for him to stutter out an apology.
”I’m so sor-“
”Just get in the sound booth.” Your words rigid, eyes not even looking to him as he scampered through the door like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Eddie stumbled into place behind you, hands hovering around your shoulders before they settled to just fidget with his own rings.
“See… he can be an asshole..” Eddie tried to crack a joke as he looked into the sound booth, watching Steve nervously fumble as he connected his guitar to the amp and sliding the large headphones onto his head.
“Yeah yeah, it was totally out of order. But whatever, he’s here.” Avoiding looking at Eddie or Steve, you practiced your breathing before looking over to Bex who was adjusting the controls and directing Steve through the microphone that fed right into his ears. Speaking into his own microphone, Steve’s voice filled the room. Casual yet still nervous. Maybe that’s why he snapped, nerves. You got the same way, you couldn’t blame him. The anger you had felt simmering underneath was trying to work its way out, but quickly it was muted by the gentle strumming of a guitar filling the room.
All eyes snapped to the man, focus now only on Steve. Pride was written on Eddie’s face as Steve’s voice carried through the speakers next. A cover of Wristwatch by MJ Lenderman, a personal favorite that was always on repeat. Awe came over your features, hooked on the sound of his voice mixing with the sound of his guitar. Jesus, Why did he have to sound like an angel? You now knew what Bex meant by saying he was ‘scarily good,’ he was more than that. It was almost like he was playing a prank on you and Bex, one that Eddie was in on and this guy was already discovered and going for something new. But no, he was the real deal. Unsigned, raw talent that was filling two of your senses.
“Christ, he is like an Apollo incarnate.” tilting your head back, you groaned playfully before looking up at Eddie. Squinting at him, a smile broke out at the sight of pride overcoming his features once more. “See…worth it.” Pointing to his friend, you shrugged while accepting faux defeat.
“Yeah yeah yeah. You were right.”
-
Another hour passed of Bex just recording vocals of an original song Steve wrote, Eddie adding in notes like he had done this for him before. Intoxicating laughs rang in your head, hand now caressing a cup of tea.
“Bex, I’m gonna smoke out front for a sec.” Notifying your friend, he nodded before you made your way back to the busy city streets. With a cigarette placed between your lips, you sparked the lighter before inhaling heavy. The relief you felt was temporary as you rested your back against the brick wall.
Disappearing in the sounds of the cityscape, you ignored the way the studio door opened and how a shadow was blocking the sun from your eyes. You knew who it was just by the warmth that followed them. Casual, familiar, kind.
“Yes, Edward?” Attempting a sardonic tone, you peaked through one eye to watch your friend light his own cigarette before his shoulders shrugged.
”Listen, I am really sorry about him. You know?” Eddie started, the way Steve had talked to you wasn’t sitting right with him. It gnawed at his stomach like a rabid animal thrashing against an unwanted cage. It puzzled him on why Steve thought it would even be okay to be so rude to a stranger though he’s usually a huge sweetheart.
In fact, Eddie thought Steve would hit on you immediately. You were not only Eddie’s type, but he knew you were Steve’s as well. He knew damn well that something was up but for him, one plus one wasn’t equaling two.. what the fuck was happening?
”Eds, did you ever date Steve?” Your question was a glass of freezing water to his heart, eyes snapping wide open and body going rigid immediately. That was all you needed to know.
“Did you tell him that we used to, you know..? Because if you didn’t tell him, I get why he’s pissed.” A groan ripped from Eddie’s lips along with the smoke from his cigarette, his hand running down his face.
“Fuck, I didn’t think of that.. but we didn’t date! It was an on and off situation like 7 years ago! We both grew out of that and it was all good! I talked about you before, too! So he had to know!”
”Had to doesn’t mean he put together I was the girl in the photos, you know? That I was the one you were dropping everything for!” Stomping out your cigarette, you look to him exasperated with a shake of your head. Putting the butt of the cigarette back into the empty carton you now had, you threw it away in the garbage outside before looking back to a dumbfounded Eddie.
”Sometimes you really are clueless.”
”Maybe.. but I also came out here to invite you to dinner with us. It’s Steve and I and our friends from back home. Robin, who I told you about, Nancy, and Jonathan. You’ve met him before!” Hope beamed in Eddie’s eyes, the groan you were holding in your throat died at his expression though. Along with hopeful eyes, he was pouting and playing with one of his rings while his cigarette hung from his lips. It was his way of wordlessly pleading with you, begging with just a simple expression change.
Sighing, your shoulders slump and any tension they held fell to the floor. “Yeah okay. Fine.” Exasperated, you pulled the door to the studio open before looking over to him.
“Just a heads up though. Bex and I are recording when Steve is done for an hour. You guys can go to the hotel and get ready if you need to.” Stepping inside, you didn’t wait for the look Eddie gave you or his ‘wait, what!?’ He was muted by the door shutting behind you, navigating to the halls back to Bex’s control room.
The mixture of Steve’s voice, exasperated and almost…pathetic.., filled your ears first. Though his words were muffled, Bex’s voice cutting through next as you were about to enter.
“No dude, you did come off as a dick but I get why. You really didn’t know she was the girl Eddie was with for like.. a year and a half? Really?”
”No, really,” Steve groaned, hearing a plop onto the leather of one of the couch cushions, “I’m still an ass, even if it’s understandable. My past hurt doesn’t mean I can hurt others, you know? I used to be that guy. The one that would hurt people because he was hurting and that’s not who I want to be, you know?” Running his hand over his face, groaning at the stupid, vile words he threw your way.
“If it makes you feel better, he had her pretty fucked up when he pulled the shit he did.. like I don’t think I’ve seen her in that much of a fog before. She’s a badass, comes off as someone that may be hard to get through to but..” turning to look at Steve, he could see how confusion and intrigue sparkled in the man’s eyes, “she really is chill. So to see her so broken over some guy killed me and everyone here.”
Steve was shocked, not hearing about this from Eddie. Of course, this would be a repeat situation almost, history repeating. Yes, Eddie and Steve grew out of whatever their half-baked relationship was. However, after they parted ways romantically, the two still gravitated back to one another like magnets. Running back to one another time after time, Steve had hope after their second time hooking up after their break up.
-
Slowly, as Eddie left Hawkins and moved to Los Angeles then New York City, he faded away again while Steve was left to move on from the only stable source of comfort he had (romantically, at least). Fame fit Eddie and the guys in Corroded Coffin well, star shine encapsulating the bunch he’s known since a bit after high school. Of course they played phone tag, texts being left on read, and questions being answered by ‘yeah, we need to catch up! Let’s FaceTime tonight?’ Only, that never came to fruition until a week later. In those calls he’d rave about the music scene, how he made new friends, how he needed to meet this girl.
Eddie seemed ecstatic then, Steve wanted to scream. ‘Do you even think about me?’ That would echo in his head with each call but those words never came out, instead he smiled and asked Eddie to tell him more.
Over time, contact with Eddie turned minimal. Seeing him was on a limited schedule when he returned to Hawkins for holidays or birthdays was something he was used to. It was the territory he lived with growing up, having an absent father.
Those years had passed similarly to how nails on a chalkboard felt and soon enough, Robin was calling him asking if he was okay. Confused, Steve had no room to ask her what she was talking about when texts from his other friends with photos of you and Eddie hand in hand, too close for just friends. He felt half relieved and half sick.
Yeah, he’s moved on. He’s fine. But the dating scene in Hawkins was becoming a hellscape. Not Molly, not Fiona, Not Danny (definitely not Danny). It all turned into fizzled out flings until something better came along.
And now he had the single moms at the little league games he coached but that was always quick, a one time thing. That’s the thing about Steve, though. He craved intrapersonal connection and stability, quickly becoming a nihilist when it was a hookup over hookup. When that happened, he was convinced he wouldn’t find his person, that he should’ve stuck it out with Eddie. At least that was real, sustainable.
Now he was staring at these photos with bleary eyes, a war erupting in his body. He was happy; happy for his friend, happy to see him happy. Yet on the other hand, he was jealous and he didn’t know where to put that energy. So he decided to hate the random girl on the screen, at least that was not as tiring as hating himself for not landing a date.
-
“Hey, y’guys finished in here?” Walking in, you broke up the conversation Bex and Steve were having. Steve, coming back to reality after living in the memory of his finding out, stood quickly.
“Hey,” saying your name softly, Steve finally made his way over to you, “I am so sorry for how I talked to you, you know? I..I guess I was surprised is all? But that’s not an excuse. Just.. I know sorry’s only get you so far but I’d like to start over.” God he was sounding like Robin. Offering his hand out for you to shake this time, you looked at him skeptically.
His nerves were frazzled the moment your hand slipped into his. Small, sweet, and calloused. The type you get from guitar strings and consistency. But what got him was the teeny spark he felt there, internalizing it and pushing it away like he does best.
”I got the mix set for you, whenever you’re ready.” Breaking the moment, you gazed from Steve over to Bex before clearing your throat. Returning to your lukewarm tea, you finished what little was left of it before looking over to the man you just met. His confused look was adorable but,like him, you would internalize that thought and push it down.
“You can stay, if you want. I’m just laying vocals for the last hour.” Eddie walked through the door as you offered that to his friend, confusion on his face which turned to realization. Happy to see his friends interacting positively, you disappeared into the booth.
You couldn’t see what Eddie said to Steve or what Steve said back, just the tempo clicking of the song you and Bex had been working on through big headphones. The reverberating whistles mixed with acoustic began filling your ears, the drums and light bass coming in soon after.
In the control room, Steve was hung onto every word that came from your lips. Lower register, words cutting deep in a way that was poetic. He was in awe.
Beside him, Eddie went stiff. His eyes widening at the realization on what you were singing about. Going pale, his hand clenched the back of the empty swivel chair while hanging onto every word you sang.
’Your body looming like a spectre, hungry as a scythe.’
’If you come reaping, I’ll come running. I still know what you like.’
It was like he was in the middle of traffic, stalled as cars came at him full speed. Slowly, Eddie felt Steve’s attention flicker from you to him. Understanding blooming in the man’s chest as to just what his friend put you through.
’I could not love you the same way two days in a row.’
Bex’s fingers worked the controls, focusing on you and not the two men behind him. If he was, he’d see the slack jaw Steve had while staring blankly at Eddie. and how Eddie looked ashamed, eyes avoiding him and you while realization dawned on him. The pain he inflicted on you.
Then the bridge hit. It was like a bomb went off in his heart. Higher register now, belting the words you felt deeply. Eddie saw the way your hands moved, shaking. It was the same way they moved when you really felt the words you were singing. He saw it once before when you helped record something for him when everything was..normal. When he was in love with you, when he didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t in love with you still.
Staring through the glass to where Eddie stood, your eyes met as you delivered blow after verbal blow. The violin in the mix popping through at the perfect time with the guitar picking up pace. Anguish. Hurt. The unwanted climax of a failing relationship he knew all too well.
‘Do I make you nervous, or bored? Or did I drink you to the last drop?’
The look on your face from that night was haunting Eddie now. Tear-stained, reddened cheeks with a trembling lip. Voice rasp from hours of crying that turned into a ringing as he realized he was actually losing you. How his love for you was reciprocated intensely and he had fucked that up. It was like it had happened yesterday, his heart shattering all over again hearing you belt out those words. It came over him in waves, not letting him up to breathe.
He should have listened earlier when you said he should go get ready for dinner because now your heartbroken face was plaguing him all over again. Like the film in a VHS tape was stuck and looping over and over on one of the worst nights of his life.
’Why was our best sex in hotels and our worst fights in their stairwells?’
Pain blossomed in your chest as you ran the memories back to back in your head. How every time Eddie was in the city, before he found an apartment and was living in fancy hotels, he’d invite you over. How, as you two got closer, it devolved to the most heated, passionate sex you both ever experienced. And how those same hotels became war grounds, screaming with tears on your face when Eddie caught you leaving the penthouse with your things after that fateful night. He had gotten an early flight home to explain himself to you.
Yet he found you there, shoving your shirts and bras into a bag. Your makeup already packed away and the perfume he gifted you pushed away in a corner like it was poison. Crazed, you ignored his presence, skirting around any barrier he made with his body in an attempt to get you to talk to him.
You snapped in the stairwell, elevator broken down. Carrying as much as you could down the steps, you finally lost it when your tote bag’s shoulder strap snapped. Eddie had stumbled to help you but you pushed him away.
“Don’t come near me. Don’t touch my shit. I want NOTHING to do with you Eddie! How can you tell someone you love them not even a week prior then..”
You didn’t realize tears were cascading down your cheeks as you remembered how raw your throat was from screaming at him, how volatile you felt. It was your worst moment but it was also your first true, heavy heartbreak.
‘I was by your side, eye to eye, when you thought you were living in a private hell.’
Steve was in awe, the pure anguish on your face and in your words had made everything click to him. This wasn’t an ongoing thing, this wasn’t a will they won’t they. You and Eddie were done romantically. Burned to ashes and it wasn’t you who lifted a match to the wood.
It was Eddie.
It was always Eddie.
Your lower register filled both men’s ears as the song came to its conclusion. Eddie, ashamed, walked back towards the exit just waiting for the ‘recording’ light to pop off to leave and cool off. Steve, though, was planted in place. He needed to know what happened from your perspective.
There were secrets Eddie was keeping, not telling the full truth to any of his friends minus the guys in Corroded. Was it out of embarrassment or shame? Who knew.
‘I didn’t mean to start talking in the past tense. I guess I don’t know what I think till I start talking.’
The ‘recording’ light popped off and Eddie quickly exited the studio, head hanging and emotions raging through him but none being anger. On the other side of the studio, Steve waited for you or Bex to speak. He was astonished and confused, yet he genuinely understood the pain you were in. He felt that same pain because of Eddie too.
“That was amazing, oh my god.” Bex complimented through the microphone, equally as amazed at the talent his close friend possessed. Like he didn’t already know.
“Do you want to run the backtacks?” You asked, looking at the time on your phone between sips of tea. “It’s simple, just ooo’s and aaaa’s, you know?” Laughing, you quickly rubbed at your cheeks to remove any indicator of the emotional distress the memories put you through.
Steve had already noticed.
He always noticed the smaller details, even to his own fault.
-
Finishing up with Bex, you were surprised to see Steve still there as you exited into the control room. You would have thought he’d have left with Eddie after the first take. Yet there he was, sprawled on the couch with no care in the world. Looking up to you, he smiled gently and waved. Waving back, you began to pack your bag with your lyric book and water bottle that had sat next to you in the recording booth.
“You waited? How sweet!” Your voice was playful, eyes sparkling as you shouldered the straps and pointed to his guitar. “Don’t forget that this time.”
Steve felt his face warming, eyes rolling back at you as he let out a flippantly sarcastic ‘ha-ha.’ He genuinely was about to, though he wouldn’t admit that. Hoisting himself up from the couch, he walked over to his guitar and packed it up.
The silence that filled the control room was comfortable, if not tolerable. Gentle clicking of metal clasps opening and closing, rustling of Bex turning off the table after making sure everything was saved and backed up. It was a surprising turn of events but a welcomed one.
“Can’t believe Eddie left..” Bex finally broke the silence, bringing up the only source of miniscule tension with it. Rolling your eyes, you look at Steve like ‘can you believe this guy?’
A stifled laugh came from the man, shrugging in response. As if he was saying ‘hey, he’s your friend. I just met the guy.’ It was your turn to laugh, as the three of you left the studio. The heat hit you first, groaning that it still hadn’t cooled down as the sun lowered in the sky. Flicking out another cigarette, you offered one to Steve knowing Bex doesn’t smoke anything with nicotine.
”No thanks, I quit a while back. Thank you, though.” Apologizing immediately, Steve waved it off with another casual shrug. “Hey, y’didn’t know. It’s okay!” Walking shoulder to shoulder with you and Bex, Steve racked his brain on how to ask you what exactly happened between you and Eddie. That was answered for him quickly, though.
Saying goodbye to Bex as he stopped at his bus stop, you continued walking with Steve to the subway station a few blocks up. Slow drags of your cigarettes punctuated the need for stress relief.
“God, dinner’s gonna be awkward, huh?” Your words caused Steve to almost stumble as you laughed at his reaction. “What! It’s true!” Shaking your head with a huge grin, you faltered for a millisecond as his hand cupped your shoulder while sputtering laughing.
”Jesus! Yeah, maybe. He’s a big boy though.” Steve huffed, wiping his eyes as he returned to his normal pace next to you. The two of you had just met, already bristled some feathers, and just as quickly as that happened, it was mended. Now it felt like you two had been friends for ages, only remnants of awkwardness hung in the air (though holding on for dear life).
A buzz broke you from your little giggle fit, hands fumbling with your phone as you snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray as you walked by a park.
Eddie: Hey, sorry I left like that
Eddie: I’m a fucking ass for that
It’s fine. What did we relearn today?
Eddie: That ur always right.
Eddie: Should’ve gone back to the apt to get ready. U w Stevie boy?
yeah, about to get to U Square station. Idk if steve knows how to ride the subway yet :(
Eddie: I’m such an ass.
yeah u are lol
joking, want us to drop by yours? He’s got his guitar still (yay)
n then we can go meet with your friends for dinner?
Eddie: god yes please, got the key still?
yup, d’ya gotta buzz me in or did Fred fix the door finally?
Eddie: fixed! :D see u soon!
Looking over to Steve, you laughed to yourself as he kept apologizing for his guitar case cutting through other people walking by. Stopping, you shoved your phone in your pocket before taking your bag off your shoulder.
”Switch.”
”huh? No, no! I got it!”
”If you keep apologizing to everyone, someone’s gonna snap at you. Let me carry it. I do this every day.” Handing him your things, you grab the case and begin to weave through the crowded street with precision.
Jogging to catch up with you, Steve huffed with a faux pout. “Okay show off! I get it!” Shaking his head, his perfect brown locks almost gave way. A strand curled on his forehead perfectly and you could just roll your eyes. He was like if they made a Disney prince real and stuck him with a personality and true moral compass.
”Can I ask you something?” The words were finally choked out of him, hazel eyes gleaming under the setting sun. “What actually happened between you and Eddie?”
That halted you for a second, emotions flickering through you quickly before gazing up to this nearly-stranger. Searching his face for any sort of deceit, you found genuine confusion and concern instead of the meddling you were expecting.
”You really don’t know…huh?”
“Nope. He didn’t really even tell me you were the girl he was seen with so-“
”Yeah, he told me. He’s an idiot for not telling you, especially given your past.” Now it was his turn to halt, turning to look at you like ‘what the fucccccck?’ Rounded eyes wider with surprise.
”No he didn’t tell me but, like Scarface said, ‘It’s all in the eyes.’” Quoting one of your favorite movies, you see Steve beam temporarily before calming himself down just a bit. Keeping pace with you, he defended down the stairs by your side and followed your lead to the turnstile. Whilst he tapped his phone to the screen, you scoped the station and jumped the gate without being caught. A feat with a guitar case to be accounted for but you refused to pay the stupid $3 fare. Steve couldn’t be shocked at the actions, the city was expensive and a livable wage was non-existent.
”S’what happened if you don’t mind me asking?” Steve tilted his head, curious to know what Eddie wasn’t telling anyone. Following you like a lost puppy, his eyes found yours once you found a less crowded spot down the station.
“We were in a ‘situationship’ basically,” adding airquotes, you scoffed at yourself for using that word, “but like five days before he went away to do press for the Corroded Coffin album and announce his solo project, we slept together.” Bringing your fingernail to your lips, you resisted the anxious tick to bite the length off before watching Steve shift to his other foot.
”He told me he loved me. I was his muse. Gooood he’s so fucking corny. I was so excited at that moment, even when we were both so far gone.” Laughing at the memory itself, it came with a dull sting and a pull at your heart.
“S’one night I called him. I was tipsy and my friend Kennedy had just left after an emergency girl’s council meeting.” Steve couldn’t help but chuckle, imagining you and a friend gossiping over drinks and a show, “It was mandatory, don’t laugh!” Playfully scolding him, you hit his chest with your hand gently. At that moment, the L-Train to Brooklyn arrived and you got on with Steve right behind you.
”I asked him if he meant it, he said yes, it was amazing.”
Then you paused, Whether it was for yourself or dramatic affect, you couldn’t decipher. All you could do was adjust your fingers around the handles of the case before continuing.
“A girl’s voice came through. Telling him to take her back to his because he had ‘wanted to see what else she could do.’ I just hung up then. Didn’t want to hear the excuses. I know we weren’t exclusive but he had admitted in passing right before this happened that he doesn’t do hookups.”
”Yeah, he doesn’t.” Steve spoke, sullen at the reminders of the few times between their break up and when Eddie first met you. He was the only ‘hook up’ Eddie had in recent years and he knew that, they both did.
”See! So I kind of spiraled. Because how are you going to tell me you love me, text me that more casually, too, might I add, then go to a different country and find the first girl you can on your only night out? Not only that but also still sleep with her!?” You were frazzled even now. That was the one fact you could not understand.
How Eddie was texting you apologies, begging you to call him back, leaving desperate voicemails, crying on the phone. Yet at the same time, still went back to his hotel with the girl who was your carbon copy that got jammed in the printer one too many times. Different nose, different eye shape, different height, but still good enough for Eddie to replace you.
Not to put her down though, but rather point out that Eddie knew exactly what he was doing. You pointed those facts out to Steve while pulling your phone out, bringing up the press photos of the girl and Eddie out at brunch the next day.
Bite marks on her neck on the same spots he’d leave on you, her eyes wide and ‘lovestruck’ and not hidden behind sunglasses like he had always prompted you to do. Shame curled back in your stomach at that detail, eyes rolling as you shake it off as best as you could. Steve could see how much it still hurt you, how much this was affecting you and, fuck, he couldn’t blame you.
“Y’know, you’re so much stronger than me.” Steve finally spoke up, the softness of his voice like a blanket on a cold day. It warmed you up and snapped you from feeling that dread you had gathered from what happened. “If that happened to me like the way it happened to you? I would be certifiably insane.”
”No, actually, I’d be worse.” Steve didn’t laugh, didn’t try to fill the space with jokes. Instead, he gave you that look. The one where his eyes rounded a bit more, somehow. Almost like he was giving space to the understanding he had and wanted to show you. His perfect lips turned to a frown and his brows furrowed together while he swiped the photo off your safari tab. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you couldn’t help the sigh of relief that came from you.
”Do you believe he tried to say that because we weren’t formally together, I shouldn’t be ‘this upset?’ Hence another fight in the hotel he was staying at. God that staff must’ve HATED me..”
“Nah, if all of this lines up to him moving into his own place, they definitely loved you. Housekeeping never gave him towels after you stopped coming around and once they actually took two pillows away.” Steve mentioned that in passing, a smile crossing your face at that, feeling vindicated in some weird way.
About to speak, the doors of the train slid open at the stop you had to get off at. Pulling Steve out with you, your hand held his for just a millisecond too long before you dropped it. “Northwest corner, this way.”
Leading him up the right stairs, you emerged to the streets of, what Eddie lovingly calls, DUMBO. “Did Eddie give you his whole, “welcome to the circus, baby’ line yet?” You asked, exaggerating the ‘baby’ like he would too.
”Nope, why the fuck does he call this a circus?” Looking around, Steve was taking in all of the buildings. Old warehouses that were now art galleries, music venues, or overpriced loft apartments.
“DUMBO, Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass.” Pointing to the Manhattan Bridge that was situated just above you two, you guide him down the street to Eddie’s building.
“Did he..” you began, fumbling with a gentle way to ask, “did we ever overlap?”
”No, god no. We were almost four years out of our relationship at that point.” Steve’s shoulders almost slumped with that question, relaxing at it. “I don’t think we’d even make it this far. I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did.”
”Why do you think that?” You were the cat that curiosity killed, slowing your pace the closer you got to Eddie’s. You didn’t want to cut this conversation short or risk Eddie overhearing it either.
”We were, are, two different types of people, you know? At that point, at least. And I was a bit of a closet case then too.” Matching your pace, his hand momentarily brushed yours.
”I wasn’t out to anyone but my friends yet and Indiana in 2016 wasn’t..well, isn’t, the safest place to be an openly queer individual. That’s why Robin got out as soon as she graduated and Eddie a few years later.” Looking over to you, he saw the look in your eyes, calculating timelines.
”We dated from early 2017, when I was 18 and he was 20, until 2018. Then he left for LA like a month later. Struck it big in 2019, kept that going through the pandemic, and the rest is history. You met him in…what year is it again?”
”Met him in 2022, maybe early 2023, it’s blurred.” You inform him, the timeline making more sense now for the both of you. Stopping in front of a taller building, you exchange hands with Steve, you with your bag and him with his guitar. Fumbling for the keys in your bag, you pick out the one that had a diamond keychain with a clown painted on it and bubble lettering that read ‘funny farm.’
Trying the front door with the larger key, the door gave way which you thanked god for.
“This shit’s been broken for MONTHS. Fred finally got on it, thank god.” A laugh left Steve as you then take the second key on the ring and prepare it for Eddie’s door. “Ready to experience your first six floor walk up?”
”God if I have to..”
”Nah, you don’t,” pointing to the elevator shaft, Steve rolled his eyes at your shit eating grin before repeating the same playfully sarcastic ‘ha-ha’ from earlier.
“C’mon, farmboy, hop in.” Pressing the up button, you then enter the elevator with a huffing Steve following behind you.
”I didn’t live on a farm! We didn’t live on farms!” Protesting the playful statement, you couldn’t help the chesty laugh that left you. Head thrown back, true laugh where you bordered on snorting. God, it was music to Steve’s ears. He’d pay money to have that sound rep- no. He can’t think that. Not now, not ever. Jesus, what was he doing?! Blaming his lack of luck in the dating division, he tried to push that back down while admiring the way you beamed up at him.
”You fuckin’…Jesus..” Wheezing, you couldn’t look over to him without breaking out in a secondary giggle fit. “Your voice got so high.. Jesus Christ..”
Ting. The older elevator doors rolled and squeaked open, exposing the rather desolate hallway. With only one door with an apartment number on it, you press the smaller key in and turn.
“Welcome to Eddie’s abode. Don’t mind the mess, he refuses to clean most times.” Stepping in, you were met with a calmed down version of a category three hurricane.
”Hey.. better than most of the days. You can put your guitar by his stuff.” Pointing to the nook with Eddie’s desk setup and commonly used guitars, you throw your bag onto the couch before calling for him.
”Eds we’re here? You ready?!” Looking up the half spiral staircase, you don’t dare venture up to the lofty room.
“Yup, they’re already near the restaurant but are waiting for Robin to pull up. Ready guys? Lyft is almost here.” Descending the stairs, Eddie stood perfectly between you and Steve who was on the opposite side of the room as you.
@sunriseinhawkins gave me a prompt to help me practice writing drabbles 🥹
“Keys walking in on you showering after getting a new roommate”
pairing: keys/f!reader
wc: 510
tags: none, just fluff
a/n: i AM taking SHORT prompt requests, like the one above! please nothing too detailed, i need practice writing shorter pieces 💜
You’d just pushed the curtain to the side, dripping water from your shower, when the bathroom door opened to your left.
“Oh my god,” Keys said, at the same moment you yelped “Jesus, Walter!” and your shout scared him out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
You had told him, countless times, if the bathroom door was closed, all the way, latched, not ajar, it meant you were in there. It was actually the first thing you’d told him upon agreeing to let him move in with you, because the bathroom door lock was broken and your landlord was taking his sweet time replacing it, since it wasn’t a priority.
Priority, your ass. Which Keys had just seen, probably.
“I’m—uh, sorry!” Keys called through the door. “I didn’t see anything!”
“Keys,” you said, pinching your nose. “Let’s just forget it happened, please?”
You’d been friends with Keys since you were kids, thus the full name treatment when you were flustered or annoyed. You’d seen a lot of each other, been through a ton of shit right at his side, but never had you ever hooked up.
He was cute enough, you supposed, but there had never been anything there that really gave you that push. And now the idea that he’d seen you naked, even for a split second—you were mortified.
Not…entirely opposed to the idea, but the circumstances could have been better. Like, on purpose, maybe.
“Yeah, we can—sorry, again, I’ll just forget…what I saw. Not that I saw anything!” He paused. “Are you almost done though? I have to pee.”
“Keys!” you said again, clipped, and you heard him scamper away.
You grabbed your towel, dried yourself, then wrapped your body up in it before opening the door to peek out. Keys was nowhere to be seen, so you hurried down the hall to your bedroom, closing the door. As you dressed yourself, you heard the bathroom door close quietly, and you had the insane idea to go burst in on him just to get even.
But no—you weren’t that kind of crazy. You just tucked your towel into your laundry basket and meandered out into the living room.
Keys joined you shortly after, his work laptop in his hands; he was tapping away as you held your Playstation controller, debating what game you wanted to play.
“Hey, um, can I ask you something real quick?” Keys said, and you turned toward him. He was watching you, work forgotten.
“Yeah?” you asked.
“Would it be out of line to say…I’m totally ok with making out and ruining the friendship?”
“Walter…” you began, but really thought about it for a second. Some of his dark tawny hair curled down over his forehead, his hazel eyes were soft behind his glasses, his lips hung just a few millimeters apart and looked so stupidly kissable that you put the controller down. “Actually? No,” you said, and he practically threw his laptop to the coffee table, half-tackling you on the couch instead.
the whole steve/reader/gator idea is still getting to me!! actually it is consuming me ha ha so have some thoughts about the way they’d treat ya 🥰
nsfw mdni && good stuff under the cut.
f!reader/gator tillman/steve harrington
short but (not so) sweet
steve likes to edge you, because he loves to draw it out, make you feel every single inch of his fingers inside you, go slow and steady and let it take as long as he can to finally get you to come; you’ll finish so hard that you can’t speak and your legs are trembling after. his name languorously falling from your lips, whispering to him to please let you finish, you’re so close, but he just whispers back, lips on your temple—if you can hold on a little bit longer it’s going to be so good, babydoll
while gator, on the other hand—he wants you to come as many times as possible before you’re spent. he gets off on overstimulating you, fingers rubbing your clit a mile a minute to get you off fast and hard and when you finish, he doesn’t stop, working you over again, getting you to come repeatedly within minutes, multiple orgasms what he wants from you. two, three, four if he can get you there. get you screaming his name before he even fucks inside you, your pussy worn out and wet, dripping before he even takes his cock out
and the two of them together.
you’re absolutely no match for them tag teaming you. gator likes to take control because that’s just the kinda guy he is, but steve’s known you longer, steve’s been your boyfriend for a couple years and warming your bed for longer, he knows every single one of your tells, the one that means you want it harder, softer, less, more
and at first he and gator had a fun little rivalry going, a little competition to win you over to their side, but it didn’t take either of them long to figure out things were just so much better if they got over the dick measuring contest and combined their efforts on what mattered: you
steve teaches gator how you like to be touched, your sensitive little spots and the words that give you a little extra kick, make you squeeze down a bit harder on him when he’s fucking you deep
hearing gator call you babydoll or steve drawl out a darlin’ makes your gut kick each time, both of them exchanging an identical smirk as you stammer through both of their names interchangeably, four hands on you, taking such, such good care
pairing: gator tillman/f!reader
tags: mentions of abuse, slow burn, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, nipple play, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex
wc: 7.6k
a/n: you know, if you told me when i started writing a series about gator being a virgin it would become a fix-it fic i would probably have believed you because i cannot keep myself in check at all. i had a lot of fun writing this, and i hope you all had a lot of fun reading it. gator truly just wants a hug of that i am sure.
ao3
Gator’s girl.
You, apparently.
Krissy nearly wet herself when she caught you walking in later that evening, neck sprinkled with lovebites and the stupid Stark County Sheriff hat on your head, because even if your hair hadn’t looked awful earlier that morning when you’d left, it did now.
“Have you been out with Gator?” she enthused, trying to keep her voice down and failing. “All day?”
“Krissy,” you started to say, but then the rest of your roommates all poked their heads over the railing at the top of the stairs, and you almost turned right back around and walked out. Gator would surely let you stay at the motel with him.
“Guys,” you continued, bending down to untie your boots to carry them upstairs to your closet. “Can we do this tomorrow?”
“No,” Gwen said. “You had him over the other week and now you were with him all day.”
“So?” you asked, slipping past Krissy and climbing the stairs. She followed you.
“So,” Gwen continued. “As hot as he is, you know how fucked up the Tillmans are. What are you getting yourself into?”
That was certainly the question, wasn’t it? You weren’t entirely sure, and a couple months ago when you’d first hooked up with Gator you wouldn’t have entertained anything more than a quick fuck (…so to speak). But now, things were different. He was different. Or, maybe the truth was, you were helping him to show who he really had been the whole time when he wasn’t allowed to be genuine.
“I’m not getting myself into anything,” you said, stalking past Gwen and your third roommate Maritza, leaving Krissy standing on the stairs behind you, closing your bedroom door with a loud bang.
I’m getting him out of something.
—
talked to roy today
The text was waiting for you when you checked your phone after work. It was a Monday, and the universe had decided not to give you a break, because why would it?
You saw the text after you’d walked out to your car, but decided not to reply until you were home. When you pulled up to your house, parking at the curb, you took your phone out of your bag and texted him back.
How’d that go?
bout as good as youd expect i guess
Still a deputy?
for now
smoothed shit over with him but hes still ridin my ass and i just dk if i want to deal with it anymkre
anymore*
So what does that mean?
donno
You waited for another message, but none came. You inhaled deeply, then put your phone away, gathered up your things, and headed inside to see if you could bum dinner off of one of your girls or if you had to fend for yourself. Sometimes you got lucky and Gwen and Maritza cooked enough to feed all four of you.
By the time you got inside, putting your stuff down in your room, you’d felt your phone buzz another few times.
if i quit i donno what i could do
all i ever been was a deputy
how could i start over now
It’s really easy actually. You’re still young, and there are options if you don’t want to try to go to back to school.
i’m almost 30 i ain’t goin back to school.
I’ll help you. You don’t have to figure it all out right this second.
He didn’t reply, and truthfully you didn’t expect him to, with how stressed and upset he seemed about whatever his conversation with Roy had been about.
Later, as you were putting your phone on do not disturb before you went to bed, you saw a notification you’d missed earlier. Gator had reacted to your message, a red heart floating above it in a little thought bubble.
—
After the initial conversation, you didn’t bring up Gator’s career path again, wanting to let him think about it and figure it out on his own time, knowing that he could and would come to you for help if he needed to. You met him at the diner again for dinner later that week, avoiding the coffee this time, then headed to the bar afterward to meet your friends.
Gator was nervous, but trying not to let you know—the problem was he was extremely easy to read; he wore his heart on his sleeve more than he wanted to, and his sunglasses when he wanted to really try to hide—his biggest tell.
“It’s night time, Gator,” you said, reaching up to try and pluck the shades off his face, but he dodged you. “You gotta take those off.”
“I do not,” he said, leaning away from your grasping hand.
“You look like an ass,” you said.
“If the shoe fits,” he replied, and you laughed.
“You’re calling yourself an ass?” you asked, and he shrugged.
“If the shoe fits,” he said again, and you laughed but tugged him back by the elbow.
“Look, I know they make you more comfortable,” you started, and you saw him stiffen up just a little, guard rising again in a way that it hadn’t around you since the Sunday at the motel. “And I won’t ask you to take them off if you really want them on. But…you know how some people around here think of your family.” The ‘of you’ was unspoken but didn’t need to be. “I just want to…temper your expectations.”
“So they already think I’m a piece’a shit,” Gator said.
You opened your mouth, closed it, then shrugged one shoulder. “I wouldn’t say that. But you’re a Tillman. That…kind of makes some people uneasy.”
“Not you,” he said, and it almost felt like a challenge.
“Not anymore,” you said. “The—the first night at the bar, I wasn’t expecting this.” You slid your palm down from his elbow to his hand, taking it. He let you. “And now I know you’re much more than your last name.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said, but he pulled his sunglasses off, meeting your eyes, and you could see that there was a touch of genuine sincerity to it, even though he’d sounded sarcastic. He held the sunglasses out to you and you took them, understanding that this was a gesture, one that meant he trusted you with his insecurity. You wouldn’t let that trust be misplaced.
“You ready?” you asked, reaching up to smooth his hair back, even though it was already perfectly coiffed, the pomade holding it securely like always. He had styled his hair as he normally did, but had let you decide on what he would wear to meet your friends—thank fucking god. You’d settled on a pair of black jeans, unfortunately the nicest pair of pants that he owned; a black button-down shirt; and because he otherwise only had dirt-covered boots from working on the farm, his black uniform police boots. He looked kind of like he was trying too hard, but at least he didn’t have the sunglasses on anymore.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, waiting for you to slip his glasses in your bag and then lead him over to the bar. Gator was waved right in, fully recognizable even without his vest and badge, and because you were with him, they didn’t card you either.
Your friends cheered when you walked in, Krissy hurrying over to kiss you on the cheek, happy to see you—and squeezing your hands as she eyed Gator over your shoulder, who was eyeing her right back.
“Hey,” he said, and she smiled up at him.
“Hi, Gator,” she said, drawing out his name.
“Hi Krissy,” you said, shutting her down right away. You stared at her, giving her a look, and then turned to your other friends, exuding Be Normal Or Else vibes toward them.
“Pleasure,” Gator said, reaching out to shake Krissy’s hand. She hesitated but took it.
“Don’t just stand there!” Maritza called. “Get over here!” She lifted her beer bottle to her lips and took a sip, watching as the three of you approached. Gwen nodded to you, her girlfriend Thora beside her.
Suddenly you had no idea what had possessed you to bring Gator here to meet your friends—there was no way this would go easy, your friends were already predisposed to dislike him. You were putting him into a shitty situation and—
Your thoughts were interrupted by loud laughter, your friends giggling together as Gator looked proud, chest puffed up, a smile on his face too.
“Ok,” Gwen was saying, “he’s funny.”
“He can stay,” Thora said.
Gator met your eyes, giving you a small smile, this one just for you, and your concerns over the evening spent with your friends melted away.
—
“Have you thought any more about a…permanent solution?” you asked.
It had been another couple weeks of Gator living in the motel, spending time off the ranch, spending time with you; currently, you were curled up beside Gator on the motel bed.
He sighed. “Kinda.” His hand was cradled in your lap, and you were tracing the lines on his palm with your index and middle fingers.
You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. This time, you did press him. “And?”
“College’s a no-go,” he said. “I ain’t goin’ back to school.” He paused, like he was waiting for you to contradict him, but you didn’t. So he continued. “Thought about somethin’ else like you said, trade school? Could join a union.”
“Roy seems very anti-union,” you said.
“Roy’s very anti-Gator,” he replied. He glanced over at you, then away, still unable to own his emotions half the time. “Seein’ that now thanks ta you.”
You slid your fingers between Gator’s, holding his hand properly, your other hand cupping his from beneath. “So what were you thinking?”
“Iron worker, maybe. Or weldin’, somethin’ like that.”
“Couldn’t be worse than sheriff’s deputy for Roy Tillman.”
“I’m sayin’,” Gator said, and after a moment, laughed. “Jesus. Woman comes inta your life, takes over, makes everything better.” He looked over at you for real this time. “Didn’t see that comin’.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you said, amused outwardly, but inside actually a little touched that he felt that way, even if he was joking about it. “You can thank me later.”
He pulled his hand from yours tugged your skirt up your thighs, slotting his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy through your underwear. “I could thank ya now,” he mused, and with a kiss to his lips, you agreed.
—
You should have known that, like anything involving Roy Tillman, it was too good to last.
The motel was a safe space but it was short-lived. You were at work when the other deputies showed up, but Gator was there, fielding questions that he knew had to come from Roy—How long was he planning on hiding out in his little pussy palace? When was he gonna introduce his pretty little piece of ass to the rest of the guys? And the one they thought was most amusing: How much for the night?
Gator had agency in that he was able to go where he pleased when he pleased, but Roy sending his other deputies out after Gator, and finding him so quickly—and who knew how long Roy had actually known about the motel—just lit a fire under him. If he wanted out—and part of him really, really was starting to think he did—he would need to just bite the bullet and tell Roy sooner than later.
He couldn’t disappear on you for two weeks this time, not like before.
—
Commanding pounding woke you on yet another Sunday morning, the front door of your apartment rattling on its hinges.
Your landlady—the owner of the house who lived on the lower floor—had seen Gator Tillman coming and going at all hours lately, and had pulled you aside after Krissy gave it up that you were the one he was seeing.
“I appreciate a little…danger every now and then, just like the next girl,” she said. “But can you please keep those Tillmans away from my property?”
You’d only just promised to try, because it was just the one Tillman and, these days, he was the preferable one.
So when the loud knocking sounded throughout the house, you shot up like a bat out of hell and sprinted down the stairs, still in your underwear and tank top, bathrobe forgotten on the back of your door.
You pulled the door open, revealing Gator, who looked immeasurably relieved that it was you who answered, and stepped inside.
“Gator,” you breathed, glancing over your shoulder at the door behind you, the one that led to your landlady’s house proper. “You have to text me next time before you come over—” You stopped when he took off his sunglasses and you saw the purple bruise on his cheek, spreading up toward his temple and eye. “Gator.” His name was a question in itself.
“I talked to Roy,” he said, like that explained it. It kind of did. “He—” he started to say, but stopped himself. “I told him I’m thinkin’ ‘bout quittin’.”
You blinked, disbelief thrumming through you. “Quitting?”
“The force,” Gator said. “I’m fuckin’ done livin’ under his thumb.”
“What are you going to do?” you asked, putting your index finger to your lips to indicate he should lower his voice, then motioned for him to follow you up the stairs. He did, neglecting to remove his boots, so his footsteps echoed around the quiet house. Once you were in your bedroom, you closed the door behind him and returned to your bed. Gator began circling the room, pacing in random patterns.
“For now I—I don’t know. Ain’t nothin’ around here that ain’t got my dad’s hands in it somehow.”
“Gator,” you said, but he kept circling. “Gat—Gator,” you said, more forcefully. He stopped and looked at you. “Please. Come here and sit down.”
He hesitated, then crossed to your bed, sinking on top of the covers. Besides the boots, he was wearing his camo pants as usual—which made sense if he just came from work, even though it was still godawful early—and a green hoodie underneath his leather jacket, no hat, his hair loose and falling around his face.
“You could leave the county,” you suggested, sitting on your knees beside him, helping him to remove the leather jacket, at least.
“Leave—leave Stark County?” he echoed, sounding lost, letting you peel the jacket off him. “God, fuck—god, what the hell did I do?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, resting his forehead on the heels of his hands. “He ain’t—he don’t even think I’m useful as a deputy, but ‘s the only reason he even keeps me around. ‘Cause I follow orders. What’ll he do t’me if I quit for real?”
You reached out to take Gator’s hands in yours, turning him to face you, eyes raking over the purpled skin on his face. “Breathe,” you said. “Look at me.” Reluctantly he lifted his eyes to yours. It felt crazy even to say this to him, to acknowledge the rumors and even crazier to even consider that there was any truth to them, buy Roy Tillman was a host unto himself. There was a reason your landlady didn’t want Gator in her house. “People would notice if you went missing, Gator.” Saying it out loud felt like a fever dream.
“But would anyone do anything about it?” Gator asked.
You didn’t have an answer for that. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t—it was that they couldn’t.
“Didn’t you say that he thinks you’re doing a bad job lately anyway?” you asked, and Gator scoffed.
“Salt in the wound, babe,” he said, sarcastic.
“I just mean—wouldn’t it be better for him if you weren’t screwin’ things up?” you asked, raising your eyebrows to lead him down the path.
“I get what yer goin’ for but damn if you ain’t hurtin’ me ta say it,” he said, smirking, and you laughed. You smoothed a hand over his hair, brushing it back.
“Let it be his decision,” you said. “Or let him think it was, anyway.”
He shrugged one shoulder.
“Did he…” you began. “Your face. Is that because you want to leave?”
Gator lifted a hand to his cheek. “Sure is. Told me not to disrespect him by sayin’ stupid shit like that again.” He lowered his eyes. “No one ever seen me like this before you.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued.
“I don’t mean all banged up. I mean—fuckin’… Fuckin’ open and shit.” He turned his body on the bed, shifting to look at you. Vulnerable. “Pathetic. I hate it if I’m bein’ honest.”
You gave him a small smile. “I don’t.” You left it at that, and for a moment, he just looked at you. Then he leaned over toward you, his head sinking onto your shoulder, hiding the bruise on his face against you, nose brushing the side of your neck.
“I hate it but I don’t hate you. Guess that counts for somethin’.”
“I think so,” you agreed.
—
It was summer when it finally happened. You’d been spending your time worrying over Gator, even though your relationship was still mostly undefined. You were “his girl,” you were together, in whatever sense of the word worked—but with the Roy situation it seemed like Gator was afraid to progress things any further. Maybe it was unfair to you—Krissy, Gwen, and Maritza certainly thought so—but you didn’t need to be called girlfriend. What you had with Gator felt deeper than that. It kind of had since the trip to Bowman months and months ago.
Your phone rang at work, which didn’t ever happen because nothing important enough occurred that anyone needed to call you twice in a row to break through the DND shield. But Gator did. Your phone vibrated on your desk, the screen illuminated with his name and you swiped to answer it before even picking it up.
“Hello?” you whispered, standing up and heading outside.
It was hot—mid-afternoon sun beating down on you, so you stuck close to the building where at least there was shade, though not much of it.
“Roy wants me gone,” he said, and you froze where you stood. That could mean wildly different things depending on a variety of factors.
“What?” you asked, urgent.
“Said he wants my gun and badge by the end of the day,” he said. “Said—‘n I quote, sorry—‘Seein’ that little bitch is makin’ you soft, son, you ain’t cut out for the job no more.’ Said he’ll find me somethin’ else.”
“Gator,” you said. Lately his name felt like you were turning it into a word that could mean anything if you just said it with the right inflection.
“I know,” he said. “But I been keepin’ on my toes. I ain’t been fuckin’ up, been doin’ the job right. Just tried ta do what you said, distance myself. Think it’s workin’. I mean—it did work. He’s lettin’ me go.”
“How can you be sure?” you whispered. “Your dad—”
“I know what my dad’s capable of,” Gator said. “More’n…more’n most. Seems like he finally had enough.” He cleared his throat. “‘S another deputy here he’s been favorin’ ‘stead’a me. Guess he found himself another lapdog.”
You hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“No,” Gator said. “But for now ‘sall I can do.” You listened to the silence from the other end of the call, scuffing your shoe against the sidewalk. “Can I see ya tonight?”
“Yeah,” you said, smiling a little. “Motel?”
“I’ll pick y’up at 8.”
—
For a long time, since Gator started coming to your house—well, since he’d started making appearances inside, he would usually text when he was outside, ready for you to come out. That night was no exception. Your phone buzzed and you left—dressed up, hair styled—to the catcalls and wolf whistles of your roommates.
“I’ll be back tonight!” you protested as you descended the stairs. “I have work tomorrow!”
“We won’t wait up!” Maritza called, more raucous laughter following you as you slammed the front door.
Gator’s truck was parked across the street, and he was standing outside of it, leaning against the hood. When you approached, heels clicking over the pavement, he stood up straight and reached out his hand for yours. You took it.
“Y’look nice,” he said, taking one last pull on his vape before pocketing it, shrouding you both in strawberry-kiwi vapor for a moment.
“Thank you,” you said, letting him lead you around the truck. He opened your door for you and helped you step up, making sure you were in before closing it behind you. Once he climbed back up into the driver’s seat, he put the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it.
You looked over at him, waiting, and he lifted his hands to the wheel, then dropped them back down. It brought you back to the parking lot at the Bowman police station.
“Ain’t a deputy no more,” Gator said.
Your heart leapt to your throat. You really had thought that he might not go through with it, or Roy wouldn’t allow it, or any myriad other things that could go wrong.
“Ain’t a Tillman no more either.”
“What?” you asked, distracted, not necessarily meaning to—you would have preferred to ask a bit more elegantly.
Gator loosed a short bark of a laugh. “Pops took my badge and gun, ‘n just looked up at me sittin’ at his desk, but he was still lookin’ down his nose at me, y’know how people do that?” You nodded, but he wasn’t looking at you. “He took my badge and my gun and he said, ‘Thanks for your service, kid. Ain’t a deputy no more. Ain’t my son no more.’ Just like that.” He laughed, but there was not mirth in it.
“That’s…” you said, trailing off. “He didn’t mean it.” But even as you said it, you couldn’t help but think it was better for both of them if he did.
“There was more,” he continued. “If ya wanna hear it.”
You didn’t think you did, but he went on.
“Jus’ kept lookin’ up lookin’ down at me and said, ‘Givin’ up this badge means givin’ up yer namesake. It means you’re not a Tillman anymore. You’re a Tillman in name only and barely that.’ Believe that shit? No perks, no privileges. Like I want ‘em if it means—bein’ associated with him.”
You reached over the console and took Gator’s hand in yours, ready to speak, but he continued on.
“He’s gettin’ me somethin’ else, though. Construction. Just for now, still got my dad’s hands in it but it’s better’n nothin’.”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “Better than nothing.” The entire thing put you ill at ease, but if Roy was going to do anything outright, he would have done it already, you were sure. Roy wasn’t the kind of man who tolerated anything he disliked even a little. Gator’s dissention had been simmering for months now—Roy had known his retirement from the sheriff’s department was coming—but perhaps he thought that a peaceful exit for his son was a better look than something more sinister.
“You hungry?” Gator asked.
You waited a beat before replying. “No. You?”
“Nah.”
You rubbed your hand over his leg. “Wanna go?”
“Yeah,” Gator said, turning the key in the ignition.
The drive over to the motel was quiet and, thankfully, short. He parked outside of the room and led you to the door, opening it and letting you step inside first. It was tidy, still, but you noticed more personal touches than before—things he probably kept in his room at the ranch and had brought here, not wanting to leave them behind. A framed photo of his twin half-sisters was settled next to the TV; a photo of a young boy with a blonde woman who could only be Gator and his mother propped up behind it, the glass cracked in one spot and never replaced; behind that, laying flat on the TV stand and not displayed prominently, a framed copy of his certificate for completing the police academy. He closed the door after entering the room, drawing you out of your reverie.
“Grabbed some shit from h—the ranch, before they ran me off the property,” he said.
You spun around. “They ran you off—”
“Nah.” He was smirking. “Got you though.”
You scowled, but your heart wasn’t in it. “Are you—are you even sure this is what you want?”
Gator tugged the curtains closer on the motel window, checked the chain on the door, then took his boots off. “Honestly? I got no fuckin’ clue. ‘Sall I ever knew. My daddy’s been sheriff since I was a kid, ‘n all I ever wanted to be was like him. It’s kinda hard to think about not doin’ it.” You let him work out what he wanted to say without interrupting. “But it don’t feel like I made a wrong choice. Not yet anyway.” He kept his face lowered but looked at you with just his eyes, hair falling over his forehead. “Feels right bein’ with you.”
“Well that’s a plus,” you said, and Gator wrapped one arm around you, then both, not quite holding you but almost carrying you over to the bed, diving down onto it with you still in his arms.
“Don’t wanna think about what’s out there,” Gator said, sighing and pressing his face into your chest. “Rather think about this.”
You curved your hand over the back of his neck, letting your chin rest atop his head, before joking, “My tits?”
You felt Gator laugh against you, but then he spoke, the deep drawl licking into you, getting you a little excited. “Yeah.”
He rolled you over onto your back atop the sheets, picking himself up just enough to begin tugging your top up over your stomach, revealing the black lace of your bra. “Future’s lookin’ pretty bright, come ta think of it.”
“Pig,” you said, and he laughed, pushing your shirt up even further and dipping his face down to kiss you between your breasts.
“Can’t say that,” he replied, “I ain’t a cop no more.” He slid one hand up over the swell of your breast, curling his fingers into the lace and pulling it aside. He wasted no time in taking your nipple between his lips, sucking at it as he teased the tip with his tongue, closing his eyes as a sigh fell from your lips. With his other hand, he felt behind your back, deftly unfastening your bra with a quick pinch of the clasps. He pulled off of your nipple for just long enough to shove the cups of the garment up and off your tits, then dove right back in. His tongue laved over your perked bud again, his hand flat on the other one, massaging it as you arched up into him.
“Gator,” you sighed, hands curling into his hair, and moving down to the back of his neck, his shoulders as he surged up to kiss you on the lips. You tugged his shirt up, bunching it in your hands as you tried to slip it over his head while he was still kissing you; it stuck on his arms and he pulled away, chuckling at your eagerness as he pushed himself up over you, the shirt falling from your grasp. He pulled it off himself, while you shucked your shirt and bra off as well, tossing them aside as he lowered himself back flat against you, settling in between your legs—one mostly below him, the other bent at the knee, angled to the side to let him fit right into your hips.
His lips found yours again, your hands cupping his face as you leaned up toward him, deepening the kiss, tongue swiping against his lower lip to taste him, wanting him closer. He snaked one arm beneath you, holding your chest up against his while his other hand skimmed down your side, fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your skirt and tights before foregoing that completely and just pulling up the hem of your skirt.
“These fuckin' things,” he muttered against your mouth as he tried in vain to touch you through the tights, clinging to you as they were. He settled for palming at your thigh as he kissed you again, taking his time with it, like he was savoring it, savoring you, tongue moving against yours as your hands explored his bare back.
“Take them off,” you gasped out as he gripped a handful of your leg, his fingernails catching the nylon as he groped your thigh. He sucked your lower lip into his mouth before pushing himself back and up, looking down at you below him, legs spread, skirt flipped up over your stomach, runs in your tights already from where he'd handled them too much.
He moved a bit down the bed, taking what you said at face value—he knelt between your legs and reached down, fingers curling into your tights and tearing them open at the crotch, not even bothering to try to tug them down; they tore easily, and then his mouth was on you, kissing and sucking at the exposed flesh of your leg, nosing at the crux between your thigh and your pussy, still covered by your underwear. His hand came up to palm at you, thumb moving over your slit through the fabric.
“Like that?” Gator asked you, and you nodded, one hand settling on your chest to cup your own breasts, teasing your nipples in turn; you stretched your other arm down your front to fist around the hem of your skirt, holding onto it like some kind of lifeline.
“Like it,” you said, pushing yourself up a little so you could lean against the pillows and headboard, looking down your own body to watch what Gator was doing.
He only smirked at you before leaning down again, laying flat on the bed and curling his first two fingers into the side of your panties, pulling them over to expose your cunt, already slick and dripping for him.
“That's my girl,” he said, using his thumb to part your lips and hold you open for him. His tongue found your clit easily, licking a stripe up and over it before flicking back down, and you pressed your hips up before grinding back down onto his face, the hand on your chest squeezing your tits, fingers rubbing over your nipples, giving yourself a little extra as Gator licked your pussy.
“Fuck,” you whimpered, mostly to yourself, watching as his mouth moved over you, sucking at your clit now, slow, so agonizingly slow, before he tipped his chin down and then he was fucking you with his tongue. “Oh my god,” you groaned, head leaning back against the headboard.
He tugged your panties further over to the side, letting them go. The two fingers that he had used to hold them, he now curled into your cunt along with his tongue, slipping it between his fingers, fucking you with them all at the same time, scissoring his fingers open every few strokes just to give you a little bit more.
“Come—god, come here,” you said, lifting your hand from your chest and carding your fingers through his hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging at it, pulling him away from your cunt.
He moved with you, laughing a little at the way you manhandled him, before dropping his weight beside you, kissing you softly, letting you taste yourself on him; he kept his fingers pumping in and out of you, shallowly, slowly, and you shifted just enough to move your hand from your skirt to his front, palming him through his pants.
“Let me,” he tried to say, but you chased his lips as he tried to speak, swallowing his words, not wanting to let him get away. “Let me—” he tried again, to no avail.
It took you a moment, but you were able to slip the button of his pants and move the zipper enough to accommodate your hand moving into them, cupping him through the cotton of his boxer briefs, feeling his chubbed up cock and rubbing it through his underwear. He moaned softly into your mouth, both of you too worked up already to think this through, to undress further or, really, make any of this easier on you. He kept fingering you, adding a third digit beside the first two, rubbing at your clit with his thumb, and you only spread your legs further for him, stroking him a bit more firmly through his briefs.
“I'm gonna—gonna come,” you whispered. And then, to your complete dismay, he let his fingers slip out of you, trailing your wetness over your thigh as he did. “Wh—Gator,” you gasped, “what—?”
His hand found your wrist, and tugged your hand out of his pants. “Wait,” he said, and your eyes met his, pupils blown just like you were sure yours were. Your eyes traced his face, looking for what was wrong, what was upsetting him, what had happened. “Not like this.”
He kissed you one more time, soft, sweet, almost too innocent considering the way he'd been sloppily fingering your cunt moments ago. And then he was back between your legs, two fingers delving back inside of you, curling upward to try to coax you to the edge. His lips took your clit between them, sucking softly, the way he knew you liked. His fingertips curled upward, twitching just a little, over and over until your lower half kicked, and he knew he'd found your g-spot. He rubbed it slowly, tonguing your clit, working your orgasm out of you—it didn't take much longer before your hips were pressing up into him, ass lifting off the bed with the force of it, thighs trembling as you came against Gator's mouth, his fingers inside you, squeezing down on him, your hands fisting the sheets on either side of you until you came back down, panting quietly, eyes opening again and looking down at him, watching you, hazel eyes locked on your face. He pulled away from you with a smile, placing a wet kiss to your thigh.
“So glad you decided you liked that,” you said, breathless and weak, and he chuckled.
“Nothin' like it,” he said. “Never seen you look more beautiful.”
You exhaled deeply and shakily sat up as Gator knelt beside you. You reached for the zipper on his pants, ready to remove them for him, but he took hold of your wrists and shook his head. “I was thinkin'... maybe we could try somethin' else.”
You looked up at him, preemptively nodding before you even knew what he was suggesting. “Ok,” you said. “What?”
He lifted his clean hand to cup your cheek, leaning his forehead against yours. “Think I'm, ah...ready. Y'know. For ya.”
You knew what he meant, but it took you a moment to catch up. “Oh!” you said, realization dawning. “Oh. Are you sure?”
“I'm sure,” he said, the side of his nose brushing yours as he moved in the rest of the way to kiss you. “Bought rubbers this time 'n everything. I’m a fuckin’ boy scout: Be prepared.”
A smile curved your lips and you kissed him again, hand coming to rest on the nape of his neck, thumb carding over the soft hair there as you lingered against his mouth for a long moment.
Slowly, easily, you parted. He stood up off the bed and undressed himself the rest of the way, and you followed suit, unzipping your skirt and wiggling out of it along with your ruined tights and underwear. You settled back, leaning on your elbows, propping yourself up and tucking your legs up as well, knees bent and feet flat on the bed, curling yourself up as you watched Gator’s silhouette cross the room. He moved to the dresser, tugging open the top drawer with a wooden squeak, then heard cardboard tearing and the crinkle of foil. He stood still for a moment, then closed the drawer and turned back to you. You couldn’t really see him in the dimness of the room, but you could feel his apprehension.
Slowly, he padded back over to the bed, kneeling on it with one leg, shifting his weight. You felt the mattress dip and his hand on your leg, sliding down from your knee to your calf, then to your ankle, before he lifted it and pressed it palm-flat against your exposed pussy, his middle and ring fingers pressing against your wet slit.
You sighed in pleasure and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, a faint smile on your face, one you could see he was mirroring now that he was close enough.
You reached out to take the condom from his other hand and let your legs fall open, his fingers delving between your folds, rubbing at you for a moment longer before you sat up. With your free hand, you trailed your fingertips down his front, feeling the muscles jump a little as you inadvertently tickled him on your way lower; you took hold of his cock, already half-hard, stroking it slowly as you leaned further toward him, placing kisses and lovebites on his front. He sighed above you, flexing his hips into your hand as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tousling it as your lips traced over him.
Your thumb curved over the head of his cock, smearing precome as you did, and then you let go of him, using both hands to tear the wrapper of the condom you held. You glanced up at his face as you readied it, keeping hold of the tip as you slowly stroked down his length, unrolling it down onto him. He loosed a shaky breath; you touched his hip softly.
“All right,” he said, so quietly you thought it was only for himself.
“Come here,” you said, taking his hand and leaning back, helping him down on top of you, letting him settle between your legs, his cock pressing into your thigh. You took his face in your hands, taking his lips with yours before you reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his cock. He lifted his hips when you did, moving with you as you guided the head of his cock between your folds.
Your thumb brushed over his lips; he kissed the pad of your finger as you angled your hips up into him, and then he was slowly pushing into you, pressing his cheek into your palm, eyes fluttering closed. He made a soft noise in his throat as his front finally settled against yours, bottoming out inside you, fully seated and overwhelmed.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mumbled, dropping himself to all fours, hands on either side of your shoulders. He licked into your mouth, ravishing you with his tongue until you rolled your hips up into him, and he faltered, whimpering against your lips as you did it again. He let out a guttural groan, his stomach clenching, and then he braced himself and pulled out of you, slow, trembling, just enough to snap his hips back in.
You felt it as his legs tightened up, pressing into the backs of your thighs as you lifted yours higher, framing his hips as you wrapped them around him.
“Fuckin’…” Gator whispered, his face pressing into your cheek, nuzzling you absently as he began to move in earnest, rocking his hips in and out of you at first, familiarizing himself with the feeling of it, your tight heat around him, squeezing down, grasping him deep within you.
“Feels good,” you said, not sure yourself if it was a question or a statement, your voice pitching up just because he had started fucking you for real, a little faster, a little harder.
“Does,” Gator said absently, his face pressed to the front of your shoulder, kissing you there, across your collarbone, up to your neck, his hips continually moving against yours, length sliding in and out of you easily. You rolled your hips with him, bucking up to meet his thrusts each time, his skin slapping against yours, his pace growing more and more erratic as you clung to him.
You felt his breath hot on your neck, flushed skin and eyelashes brushing against you, before he spoke again, and this time you could tell it was intentional, not hollow pillow talk or fucked-out rambling.
“Love y-you,” he stuttered, gasping a little as he said it, his face hidden in your neck, audible even over the slight creaking of the bed, the smack of skin-on-skin, your own labored breathing.
Your chest tightened, warmth coiling in your abdomen, between your legs where the two of you were joined. “Love you too,” you sighed, and he moaned as soon as he heard you say the words.
He fucked into you with renewed vigor, his knees pressing points into the bed, tucking himself as close to you as he could, pushing into you as deep as possible, barely even pulling out before shoving back in, not so much fucking you anymore as just grinding his front against you, your walls clenching down on him with every movement.
“Gator,” you mewled, and lifted your hand to try to touch yourself—but he beat you to it, his palm tickling you as he let his arm slip between your bodies, tense muscles trapping him there, but he didn’t have need to move it anyway—it was exactly where you both needed it to be.
His first two fingers skimmed over your slick clit, swollen and throbbing, your entire lower half kicking up against him when he touched you, even though his weight was holding you down into the bed. He did it again, and again, until you were groaning with the effort of holding yourself together, a futile attempt to hold on as long as possible—
But you were gone, a long, loud, drawn-out moan torn from your throat as you came, hard, clamping your eyes shut. Your toes curled and you vaguely registered Gator’s frantic movements against you speed up and then stop as he finished too, cock pulsing inside you, his hips twitching forward in little bursts from the force of his orgasm. He kissed you, half-missed, mouth landing on the corner of your lips, and you tried to right it but in your afterglow made it even more misaligned, your lips catching his nose.
You laughed and so did he, both of you too hopped up on each other to bother trying to get it right a third time.
You reached up, letting your fingers push through his hair, caressing down to the side of his face as he reached down, making sure the condom didn’t slip off as he eased himself out of you, then untangled your legs from around him and gently laid them down on the sheets. He stepped off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment. You heard the light click on, cold white pouring out and illuminating that part of the room, then water running and some paper tearing. You adjusted yourself to lie more comfortably before the light clicked off and Gator emerged, holding a washcloth.
“Spread ‘em,” he said, tapping your hip, and you laughed quietly.
“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you said, letting him wipe between your legs with the warm cloth as he threw a smirk up at you.
“Still got the cuffs y’know,” he said, his fingers gently working the cloth over you, taking care to clean every inch of you.
“Next time,” you said, and when he glanced at you, you winked. A grin spread over his face.
“Next time.”
&&
“Y’know,” Gator said after a while, his voice quiet in the dark, muffed a little where his cheek was pressed against your hair. “I been thinkin’ about gettin’ my own place.”
“Yeah?” you asked, rolling onto your side, still cradled in his arm. “No more motel?”
“Nope. Thinkin’ maybe out in Dickinson nearer ta yours.” He rubbed your arm. “Could get ya a toothbrush.”
“Ooh,” you teased. “A toothbrush.”
“Yup,” Gator said. “An’ a drawer. Would ya like that?”
“One drawer? Wow. You really do love me.”
You heard the smile in his next words. “Yep, one drawer. Maybe a coupla hangers in’a closet too.”
“Gator. You’re so generous, I’m touched.” You draped one arm over his front, taking hold of his arm on his other side. You moved one of your legs over his, hooking your ankle around his knee and resting your cheek on his front, eyelashes tickling his skin as you closed your eyes.
“An’ a key to the place,” he said, voice low. Serious. “If ya like.”
He felt your lips curl into a smile against his chest.
tags: skinny dipping, smut (oral sex [f and m receiving], vaginal fingering, vaginal sex), fluff. big fluff.
wc: 6.6k
a/n: what's that? another idea i had that consumed me until i wrote it down? yes, that's exactly what happened. learning to swim with steve :')
they are both over 18 even tho it’s vaguely high school adjacent and also steve is a golden retriever boyfriend. like he's down so bad in this.
ao3
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Steve said. “Whoa.” You waited for him to stop repeating the word before turning your attention back to him, looking at him blankly.
“What do you mean you don’t know how to swim?” he asked, swooping his hair back over his forehead. “You know how to drive. You got accepted to college. How is it possible that you don't know how to swim?”
“I just never learned,” you said, shrugging. “We’re in Indiana. It’s landlocked.“
“It is not landlocked,” he said, and you wanted to tell him that yes, ok, technically there was some shoreline up north on Lake Michigan, but before you could acquiesce, he had shot up off the couch.
He crossed to the sliding glass doors and gestured out of them to the blue water of his swimming pool, shining beneath the sun. “Not landlocked. You see that right? That’s a pool. I can teach you right now.”
You felt your cheeks warm. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”
Without missing a beat, Steve shrugged. “Suits are optional in my pool. Bathing suits are a parental rule, and as there are no parentals currently present, they’re optional. Running though, that one stands.” He paused. “As a matter of fact, since you’re gonna be learning to swim, it’s probably best you don’t wear one—” He dodged the decorative pillow you threw at him as he kept speaking “—just in case I have to perform CPR, there won’t be any restrictive clothing in the way.”
“Ok, all right,” you said, laughing as he picked up the pillow you’d thrown and dove back onto the couch with it, not quite starting a pillow fight but maybe daring you to. “If we go pick out a bathing suit, you can teach me.”
Steve grinned up at you, his cheeks a little flushed from play fighting himself with a pillow. “I’ll drive.”
&&
“I’m not getting that, Steve,” you said as he approached you with yet another string bikini.
“Remember what I said about the restrictive clothing? This would be a good opt—”
“Weren’t you a lifeguard?” you asked, taking the bikini from him and replacing it on one of the racks nearby. “Why do you seem so confident that I’m going to drown in your pool?”
“All right, fine. Point taken,” Steve said, stepping away from you to go browse the one-pieces. You sidled up to him, both of you comparing cuts and patterns before you finally decided on one that you liked. You pulled it off the hanger and held it up. It was a deep purple at the bottom, slowly fading up into an ombre of dark blue, then light blue, finally to pink at the straps and chest.
He considered it, taking in the criss-crossing strips on the back, then nodded. “Pretty cute. You’ll have some crazy tan lines, but, you know, your call.” He reached out to take the suit from you. “I’ll get it for you.”
You pulled it back, giving him a look. “Steve, what?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “This was my idea, I’m… kinda making you learn to swim, so. Least I can do is buy you the suit.” He stepped closer and you again tried to keep it out of his reach, but he wasn’t going for it, he was going for you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Please? Let me spoil you rotten.”
You knew that Steve had a strained relationship with his parents, his dad’s credit card, and a loose grasp on the value of a dollar, so in the end, you agreed just because it was easier than arguing in the middle of the store.
He led you back to his BMW, opening the passenger side door for you before rounding the hood and opening the driver's side and climbing in as well. Once you were buckled and on the road, Steve reached over to your seat, resting his hand on your thigh, squeezing it for a moment before turning it palm-up so you could hold it, and of course, you did.
The drive back wasn't long, and before you'd even settled on a radio station, he was pulling the car into his driveway and parking. He leaned over and pressed a rough, playful kiss to your temple, grabbing the bag containing the bathing suit and then bolting out of the car to go let you back into the house.
“You are a child!” you called after him, laughing mostly to yourself since he had disappeared inside already. It was actually making you a little more excited than nervous, seeing how much he was clearly looking forward to this.
Once you were inside, he led you to the bathroom, pushing the bathing suit into your hands and then zipping upstairs to his own room to change as well. In the solitude of the bathroom, you were able to take stock a bit. Steve was absolutely unable to be corralled when he was this excited about something, but at least it was something that would benefit you in the long run and not something stupid like it usually was (like the time he took you on a wild goose chase to find a cotton candy machine for rent just because he wanted to try to make his own one afternoon).
You stripped out of your shorts and t-shirt, leaving them in a small pile on the sink along with your underthings and socks. The bathing suit was cute, and looked even cuter on, with your back almost totally visible save for the crossing straps at the back, a little bit of your sides even peeking out just by nature of the way the suit was cut. It was more revealing than you'd realized, but it was just you and Steve, and he'd seen you in much less.
When you opened the door, poking your head out first, you saw Steve waiting for you by the sliding glass doors, a pair of orange swim trunks on and practically tapping his foot with how eager he was. He was incorrigible in the best way, and god damn it, you loved him so much sometimes.
“Ready,” you said, and he turned to look at you, stilling once you came into his sight. A faint smile drew his lips up at the corner of his mouth as he drank in the way you looked in the bathing suit.
“You look beautiful,” he said, and you rolled your eyes a little.
“You always say that.”
“It's always true,” he replied easily. He reached behind him, opening the glass doors behind him and stepping outside, letting in a huge swath of hot, summer air. Even though you'd just been out in it, it still felt like stepping into a sauna, maybe because you knew you were about to go into a nice, cool pool.
You followed him outside, grimacing a little at the heat of the brick patio, but as you tiptoed your way across it to the stairs leading down into the pool, Steve reached for your hand and guided you into the water.
You paused ankle-deep, watching as he stood in the water, still holding your hand.
“Something wrong?” he asked, concern visible as his brow creased, though it was probably at least partly from the sun shining directly onto his face.
“It's cold,” you said, and he just splashed at you a little, getting your legs. “Steve!”
“Oh, come on,” he said, letting go of your hand and pushing himself backward to float away from you. “You'll acclimate.”
“Acclimate,” you repeated, scoffing, but you took another two steps down into the pool, now up to your knees. Steve dove under the water like it was nothing, swimming a couple of laps while you slowly ventured the rest of the way into the pool, the water now up to your bellybutton. You crouched so everything was underwater save for your head, and then, while you were waiting to acclimate to the temperature, Steve burst through the surface of the water right beside you, shaking his head like a dog and spraying you with water.
“Steve!” you half-shouted, splashing him in revenge. He only spit out a mouthful of water like a fountain.
“Ready for the first lesson?” he asked, taking your hand, his thumb sliding over the backs of your knuckles.
“Yeah,” you said, sounding more confident than you felt, eyeing the deep end of the pool.
“First you're going to learn to float,” he said, keeping his hand loosely atop yours as you walked around the pool a bit. “Come here.”
You stepped closer to him, and he moved his other hand to your back. “Relax,” he said gently, leaning in to kiss you on the temple again, much sweeter than he had in the car. “Lay back.” You took a deep breath, as though he was going to just abandon you after this whole charade was his idea, and then tipped yourself back. Sure enough, his hand remained on your back, keeping you from sinking into the water, helping you distribute your weight until you were no longer rocking side to side, steady with his hand beneath you, still holding your hand. “That's...that.”
You exhaled and closed your eyes. With the water up around your ears, you could only just hear him, but you didn't mind—sound through water was muted and yet calming, in a way.
“I'm gonna let you go,” he said, and your eyes flicked up to his face. “I'm not going anywhere. You'll be fine.” First he let go of your hand, and then, slowly, you felt his fingertips leave your back. Your body resisted the lack of support for a moment, but then—you stayed floating. You found his face again, hovering over yours, and he was grinning just as widely as you were. “Great job,” he said, stepping away from you so that you could try to push yourself one way or another. You did—very tentatively. You moved your arms, barely enough to move yourself, but you did propel toward the side of the pool a little. You laughed—you weren't quite swimming yet, but you were floating, and once he helped you stand upright again, you leapt at him with a great splash, hugging him, positively gleeful.
&&
The rest of the lessons went...passably well. He went over the rest of the steps the same way he'd teach a kid learning to swim: Blowing bubbles (which felt silly but helped you get used to the sensation of being fully submerged), how to start floating on your back on your own, and then even floating face down, holding your breath and making sure you didn't accidentally inhale water. Except for a couple of accidental watery breaths, you felt like you might get the hang of it if you kept at it for the entire summer.
You stopped your lessons after a while, instead letting him corner you against the side of the pool, your shoulders and heads the only thing not underwater. Your arms draped over his shoulders while he kissed you soft, tasting of chlorine, his hands sneaking inside your suit to cup your tits. You shivered a little as his thumbs brushed both your nipples at the same time, teasing them slowly, your mouths moving together languidly.
“Should we go inside?” you whispered against his lips, letting him kiss you again before he pulled away.
“Are you cold?” he asked, removing his hands from inside your suit and fixing the sides, adjusting them back to fit around you properly.
“And pruney,” you pouted, showing him your raisin-like fingertips.
He laughed, then gave you one final peck on the lips before stepping around you and hauling himself out of the pool, no ladder needed. “Be right back, stay in or you'll get even colder.”
It had been mid-afternoon when you'd begun this little escapade, and now the sun was starting to move lower in the sky, the air not chilly by any means, but cooler than it had been. You waited, watching as he entered the pool house and emerged a couple minutes later with two fluffy white towels. Holding them under one arm, he extended his hand to you, helping pull you out of the pool and then wrapping you in one of the towels, trapping your arms, and even going so far as to pat you dry through it. You let him for a moment, then took over, taking care of yourself while he dried himself with the second towel.
You lazily made your way back inside, dripping water all along the floor as you did; Steve told you to call and order a pizza while he got you something to change in to, so your suit could dry off “before tomorrow's lesson.” You ended up in a pair of Steve's sweats and a hoodie, lounging on the couch with a pizza, as the sun set outside.
&&
“I'll be right back,” you whispered, and Steve, half-asleep on the couch, only nodded. He nearly drifted off completely watching The Italian Job on TV, until he heard your bare feet padding back toward him through the kitchen, and when he turned to look at you he was suddenly very wide awake.
You stood in his kitchen, holding your towel from earlier, but your bathing suit was nowhere to be seen. He cleared his throat, nearly having choked when he inhaled so sharply.
“What are you—” he began, but you stepped closer, the towel swaying at your side, covering absolutely nothing.
“I thought we might go for a night swim,” you said.
“You're—naked,” he said, trying very, very hard to look at your face. And failing.
“You said bathing suits were optional.”
It was not very often that Steve Harrington was at a loss for words, but you'd finally found a way to get him to shut up: Stand naked in his kitchen and ask him to go skinny dipping with you.
After a minute, his brain restarted, and he just nodded. “No, yeah, you're so... so right. Hundred percent.” He was up and jumping over the back of the couch, untying the drawstring of his own sweats while simultaneously trying to take off his shirt, not managing either as you made your way calmly to the sliding glass door, pulling it open and stepping out. The night that had fallen outside was much cooler than the afternoon, but you ignored it as you crossed the patio, moving to the stairs that led into the water. You dropped your towel on one of the chairs, taking the first step down, your hand draped over the railing, as you looked back over your shoulder at your boyfriend. He was still standing in the doorway, his arm caught in his shirt for a moment before actually tearing it off, shoving his sweats down and stepping out of them, leaving them in a mess on the patio. His boxers followed, and then he was hurrying toward the pool.
“No running,” you reminded him.
“I'm not running,” he said, and to his credit, as soon as he said it, both his feet left the ground as he jumped into the pool, a massive splash thankfully missing you where you stood, but the resulting waves lapping up and over your legs.
The water was warmer than the air, giving the illusion of a heated pool, and you let your body sink into its warmth, sighing contentedly as Steve made his way to you, drawing you close to him without any reluctance or hesitation. Your bodies pressed together, swirling trails of bubbles under the surface following each time you moved your hands to his sides, or he hooked his leg around yours to fit you tight against him. Your hands slicked his hair back, pushing it off of his forehead as you smiled against his lips, kissing him as he moved his hands down to your ass, squeezing it.
“This is almost like swimming,” you said, and he laughed, breath warm against your cheek in the cool evening air.
“Think you're ready to learn the breast stroke?” he asked, and you groaned, laughing only because he was grinning like that was clever.
“I'm telling everyone you said that,” you said. “What a terrible line.”
“You haven't complained yet,” he said, and you just circled his neck with your arms, elbows resting on his shoulders, and kissed him again, your hips pressing against his, feeling his length pressing into the front of your hip.
“Give it time,” you joked, and he smirked at you before lifting you easily, fitting your legs around his waist as he held you closer, tilting his head back to kiss you at the new angle.
“I can prove it to you,” he said, tucking his face against your chest to mouth at your breasts. “Just gotta get you back on dry land.”
“But we just got here,” you said, not really protesting.
“Ok,” Steve said. “Lesson two: more floating.”
“All right, fine,” you said, laughing and running your hand through his hair, which still looked impeccable, even wet with pool water. He ferried you through the water as best he could, until it became too shallow for him to carry you, and then you climbed out on your own, toweling off while he stood there dripping. You hung onto the towel for a long moment, watching him as he stared at you with those sad puppy-dog eyes, and then you finally held the towel out for him. He snatched it from your hand before you could change your mind and dried himself off, then led the way back into his house, picking up his strewn-about clothing as he did. He insisted that you each take a quick shower, just to rinse off—“Trust me, we both taste like chlorine. Everywhere. I mean everywhere”—and then you were padding back into his room. He'd beaten you back, using the shower in his parents' bathroom, and was lounging on his bed back in the sweats he'd had on before. You closed his bedroom door behind you, wrapped in yet another towel, this one clean and dry. He had just a small lamp on, dimly lighting the room, and he beckoned you over to his bed. You stepped closer, stopping when the front of your knees hit the mattress, and he sat up, kneeling before you, reaching up to loosen the towel from where you'd secured it and letting it fall to the floor at your feet.
This time, he was able to hold eye contact, his hands rising further to cup your face as he stood on his knees to kiss you, his thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks.
“You're so beautiful,” he breathed, and you smiled, closing your eyes and kissing him again, deepening it while your hands moved over his chest. Neither of you moved for a long few moments, his tongue licking into your mouth while you slid your hand to the side of his neck, fingers tickling at his nape, and then he had taken your waist in his hands, pulling you toward him, backing up as you knelt on the bed just the same, trying in vain not to break the kiss, but that was not to be. He placed one hand behind your head, the other holding your hand, as he laid you down against his pillow, stretching out beside you, kissing your lips, your cheek, your neck, down your chest to your bellybutton, then further, further... “Can I?” he asked.
You nodded, curling one hand into his thick hair, still a little wet from his shower, and then his hands were between your thighs, pushing them open and up, your pussy on display for him.
“God,” Steve said, his eyes moving from your core to your face, a shy smile gracing his lips, before lowering his gaze back between your legs. “Luckiest man alive.”
“Steve,” you said, just this side of embarrassed; you were never used to all of the praise he gave you.
He reached up, taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as he settled himself down between your legs. You could see him clearly, and yet he pressed a chaste kiss to each of your thighs before splaying his hand out on your leg, pressing you open a bit further, then leaning in and licking a stripe up your slit, tongue flicking when he reached your clit. You gasped, squeezing his hand, and he only gave it a squeeze back before he licked at you again, sucking your clit between his lips before moving his hand, swiping his thumb over it. Your hips bucked up just a little against him.
He pulled back, licking your arousal from his lips, and then dove back in, letting the pad of his thumb lazily circle your clit as he licked your slit, his whole tongue flat against you, wide, long laps against your cunt. Above him, you were breathing out his name, your own thumb moving over his hand in the same pattern his was moving against your clit, and he felt his heart thrum in his chest.
Steve pulled back, looking up at you just to check on you, how you were holding up; your eyes were glassy, your free hand cupping your own breast, fingers teasing your nipple, and he had to close his eyes for just a second so he didn't start humping his bed at the sight of you like a horny teenager—which, even though at 18 he technically still was, he didn’t have to act like it.
He kept his eyes closed and leaned back into you, his tongue moving over your slit again before delving inside you, drawing a loud gasp as he entered you, not stretching you by any means but it felt so good anyway, Steve fucking you with his tongue; you pulled a little on his hand, propping yourself up on your elbow to look down at him between your legs, watching him eat your pussy like he’d rather do nothing else on the planet.
“Steve,” you whimpered, rubbing at your chest, your nipples hardening as your hand moved over both, little pops of pleasure as you pulled at them, pinching and rolling them between your fingers just to make your whole body feel lit up.
Steve hummed against you, his tongue sliding in and out of you, and then he moved his hand down from your clit to swap it with his mouth; he angled two fingers inside you along with his tongue, moving them in tandem, then opposite each other—in with his tongue, out with his fingers, out, in, in, out, and your hips curled up without you meaning them to, head tipping back just a little.
You stretched your arm down over your front, two fingers slipping over your clit, rubbing it in slow, even circles, as Steve buried his face in your core, meaning to have you finish on him, not stopping until you were done and he was drenched with you.
You whined out his name, high and desperate, your hand gripping his impossibly tight as he leaned up, replacing his tongue with a third finger and nudging your hand out of the way with his nose—he drew your swollen clit between his lips and—sucked a wet kiss to it, hard and oh—god—oh, fuck, you were done—
Your orgasm broke over you with a loud cry and stuttering legs, toes curling with the force of it as Steve fingered and licked you through it, not stopping until your hand fell slack in his and a heavy sigh hollowed your chest.
Waiting a moment to let you come down, Steve pushed himself up, stretching his body over yours and lowering himself down on you to kiss your lips, softly. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you arched your body up into him, wanting him as near as possible.
He moved with you, tangling one hand in your hair, the other stroking your side, lazily kissing you as you hooked a leg over his too, pulling him tighter against your front.
You felt his cock pressing against your hip, stiff and wet at the tip; you knew he wouldn’t complain about it, wouldn’t ask to move on until you initiated something else, and you let your arm slip down beside you, hand cupping his cheek. “Roll over,” you whispered, and still he lingered, kissing you a few more times, soft and slow, before he shifted off of you, his hand still on your side, needing to be touching you in some way.
Steve lay on his side next to you, your leg still tangled with his, but you moved to face him, holding his gaze as your hand snuck down between you, your knuckles grazing his stomach until you could wrap your hand around him, stroking his cock, your fingers circling his length. He tried, really tried, to keep his eyes locked on yours, but his lids fluttered closed as you moved your hand over him, a sigh falling from his lips. You leaned in to kiss him gently, barely even a kiss at all; your lips grazed his as the muscles in your arms flexed, jerking him slowly.
He whispered your name against your cheek, and then you were gone, sitting upright to settle yourself lower down his body, the expression on his face turning from blissful to abandoned, already missing you even though you were still right beside him. The hand that had been resting on your side occupied the empty space on his bed where you’d just lain, his eyes following your movements.
“Like this,” you said, pushing on his hip so he would lay flat; he let you, moving onto his back, but staying propped up on his elbows so he wouldn’t miss any of you or what you were about to do.
Tongue flitting out over your upper lip, just the briefest peek of it, Steve exhaled heavily, watching you. You knelt between his legs, leaning in close, then opened your mouth to take his cock between your lips. It was laying against the front of his hip, the head rosy and the slit wet, and you angled it upright with a couple fingers hooked around it to ease the slide into your mouth. You inhaled through your nose as you took him as deeply as you could, tongue pressing against the vein on the underside, the head brushing the back of your throat. You kept your eyes closed tight, holding your breath to let him feel the way your throat constricted around him before you pulled back off, this time not taking him as deep as you bobbed your head, sucking him as you did.
He gasped above you, letting himself fall back to the pillow, no longer balancing on the points of his elbows. One hand fisted into the sheets, and the other skimmed back over your forehead, the wet strands sticking to his fingers as he tried to push them into your hair. He couldn’t quite manage it, instead grabbing a gentle handful and holding it as you went down on him.
You used your hand on the part of him that wasn’t in your mouth, still slick with your spit and easy to stroke; with your other hand you played with his balls just a little, rubbing your thumb over the seam before hitching your hand up, now pressing against the base of his cock. Your hands moved over him in different spots, different pressures and different rhythms, but Steve still dug his heels into the mattress, trying to keep his hips still, trying not to fuck further into your mouth, but even as he rolled his hips up, you were ready—he always did this—and you moved with him, suckling at the head with your hand moving up and down over the rest of him. A hot spurt of precome landed on your tongue; you swallowed it, humming encouragingly, wanting more, wordlessly asking him to give it to you.
He flexed his hips, whimpers falling from his lips as you slid your mouth back down on him. Your saliva slicked his velvety skin, hot and wet beneath your palm, your other hand cupping his balls, squeezing them gently, barely even at all, just enough for him to know how bad you wanted it from him, how bad you wanted him to let you taste him.
“You gonna—?” Steve breathed out, chin tucked to his chest as his shoulders pressed flat into the bed, hips rolling up into you. You knew, because he’d told you after the one time you questioned the way he seemed to contort himself sometimes: He always wanted to keep his eyes on you, wanted to see you pleasing him, or the way you looked when he was the one taking care of you.
“Mmhm,” you hummed around him, the vibration kicking straight to his abdomen, and you felt his balls contract a little in your hand, tightening up as you swept your tongue over the slit in the head, tasting another burst of precome.
Steve groaned, swore—he mumbled a few unintelligible words; even though you knew what was coming, he managed to get the warning out. “I’m coming, I’m—fuck, please, I—”
To his credit, he did tell you; a bit less so, he said it almost exactly as his come flooded your mouth, the taste of him making you shut your eyes—heady, musky, a touch bitter—you swallowed even as you felt another spurt come after the first few. You kept your mouth on him, even when some of his semen escaped from the corners of your mouth, staining your chin, rolling back down the side of his length. You pulled off once you were sure he was done, rubbing his thighs with both hands as his cock flagged to the side, back over his hip where it had rested before your ministrations. Another weak dribble of come collected on his stomach, and he huffed a laugh mixed with a sigh, grunting a little as he sat up suddenly and pulled you to him, kissing you hard, the fingers of both his hands sliding into your hair successfully this time as he moved you to lay on top of him.
“What did I do to deserve you?” Steve mused, and you smirked, your cheek resting against his shoulder.
“Taught me to float,” you said.
“Yeah. Ok,” Steve replied, amused, playful. “What are you gonna do to me when you can actually swim?”
You rubbed your hand over his chest, sliding down to his side and then up to his shoulder, finally to his neck to curl into his hair, a bit thicker than yours, still damp from his shower too. “Want a preview?”
He met your eyes, close as you were to him, a disbelieving grin slowly appearing on his face, eyes bright. “For real?”
“For real,” you said, tone teasing, pushing yourself up using his shoulder as leverage.
“Luckiest man alive,” he said, punctuating each word with a little fist pump close to his chest, and even though you were opening his desk drawer because you knew that was where he kept your condoms, you turned to look at him over your shoulder.
“I could still change my mind,” you teased, even as you were reaching into the drawer.
He pulled a face, then looked pointedly at where your hand was, and you just laughed, withdrawing the condom from the drawer.
“Ok, shut up,” you said, flicking it at him; he caught it midair easily. “Assuming you need a minute.” You crossed back over to his bed and he scoffed, just a little, but turned stoic right after.
“Yeah,” he said, defeated, and you laughed quietly as he tugged you back onto the bed beside him. You fell against him easily, hands framing his face as you kissed him lazily, carding your hand through his curls. His hands moved to your back, sliding down to hold you just above your ass, settling his palms against your lower back. After a minute or two, he broke the kiss and trailed his mouth down your neck, making you shudder from the barely-there sensation of his lips moving slowly, eagerly, with purpose. He kissed the curve of each of your breasts, taking one of your hands in both of his and kissing first your wrist, then your palm, each of your fingertips. He worked you over with his mouth, letting it carry him wherever he fancied while he slowly lowered his hand to touch himself too, working himself back up to hardness gradually, easily, and after he tickled you twice, unintentionally, you pulled his face up to yours again.
“I was already in the mood,” you said, punctuating every couple of words with a sweet, sensuous kiss. “You didn't have to try to seduce me.”
“Untrue,” he said, kissing you again, the side of his nose brushing his. “That's half the fun.”
“And the other half?” you asked, leading him, watching as he felt around for wherever he'd let the condom disappear to; he found it half-underneath your hip.
“You're about to find out,” he said, tearing the foil and rolling the condom on, keeping the tip pinched between his first two fingers.
Instead of moving between your legs, he stretched out beside you again, not kissing you but holding his face close to yours; he looked into your eyes as his hand skimmed across your front, down between your legs, sliding two fingers back inside of you and you sighed. He kissed the corner of your mouth when you smiled, then spread his fingers a little inside you, withdrawing them after you just nodded at him and muttered that you were ready.
He moved down the bed, kneeling below you, then reached down and wrapped your legs around his hips, balancing himself above you on all fours. You reached down, taking hold of his cock as he inched closer, the tip pressing against you just for a brief moment before he pushed in easily and you both groaned at the feeling, the fullness and the pressure.
Your hips arched up as you kept your legs locked around him, and he moved up, not quite folding you in half but pushing you up on yourself, his hips starting a slow rhythm, cock dragging out and slipping back in, his pace even, for now.
You bucked up into him, small noises leaving you with each thrust of his hips, each rise of yours to meet him. He lowered himself as close as he could to you, wanting his front to be flush with yours, your bodies pressed tight together, not knowing where his ended and where yours began. You helped him, wrapping your arms around him and arching your chest into him, his hips slapping into yours, faster now, still a solid rhythm, and you felt him fill you over and over each time he fucked back into you.
He sighed your name into your ear, nuzzling your temple for the briefest moment until he reached back to hook his hand beneath your thigh, pulling your leg up just enough that he could change the angle at which he entered you; you moaned against his neck, a choked sound as he increased his pace, fucking you faster but not harder, not yet—he was waiting to really let go, wanting to make sure you were close too, wanting to take care of you before even thinking about his own release.
“Steve—” you gasped, your voice rising in pitch as he stopped moving on an upstroke, pressing his front against you, grinding his hips into the back of your thighs, making sure you could feel him, how deep inside you he was. Your pussy clenched down on him unconsciously, muscles rippling around him and he couldn't hold it anymore—he straightened, still holding your leg, and once he was no longer holding himself up with his hand, he pressed it down between your legs, feeling for your clit, his wrist tensing as he flicked at it with his thumb. You practically cried out his name—everything felt so intense, his hips pistoning into you, hard, fast, his weight on top of you, his heat inside of your own, you felt everything and nothing but Steve on top of you, and him rubbing your clit just made you feel it all tenfold.
“Go ahead,” he said, his own voice strained, thumb leaving your clit for a moment as he lifted it to his mouth to lick you off of him, to wet his finger with his own saliva, the extra slick making you even easier to touch, his finger moving even quicker over you, pressing against you harder. “Come for me, come for—” he said, his voice breaking as he came first, stuttering just a little against you, but he kept fucking you, wanting you to finish right after him.
“Steve,” you whimpered, reaching up for him, and without any hesitation he laid flat on you, letting you kiss him, his arm trapped between you but still teasing your clit. His cock inside your cunt, his thumb coaxing you over the edge—finally, your release came too, the force of it having you press your head back into the pillow, your legs squeezing him even closer to you, pushing his cock in deep, deep, like before, both of you joined as you rode out your orgasms together, your afterglows overlapping.
Breathless, you opened your eyes to look at him as he gently eased himself out of you, off of you. He rubbed your thigh as he did, and then reached over the side of the bed for the towel you'd dropped there. It was still a little wet from your shower, but the slight chill to the fabric felt nice against your heated skin. Steve wiped softly at your thighs, taking care to clean every bit of you that needed it, before folding the towel to a clean spot and wiping over your face, too, your breasts, just to make sure every bit of you was cared for.
After settling you beneath the covers of his bed, he stood and cleaned himself up, tying off the condom and then tossing the towel in the laundry basket. He turned off his desk lamp, and finally took his place beside you under the covers. He sidled up next to you, arm thrown over your stomach beneath the sheets.
“Think you're ready for lesson two tomorrow?” he asked. He leaned in to give you a kiss on the cheek.
You smirked. “Does lesson two end like lesson one?” you asked.
“Absolutely,” he said, tickling your side a little.
You curled yourself into him, half face hidden in the pillow, but your smile was all he could see, could hear it in your voice when you spoke. “Then I can't wait.”
