It's Complex 🐊
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
About: You are a young, successful doctor in Stark County, and have agreed to an arranged marriage to the Sheriff, Roy Tillman (even though you're only 5 years older than his adult son, Gator). Things get complicated when Roy changes the details of your arrangement, and your feelings for Gator start to turn into something...complex.
Gator Tillman x stepmom!reader; smut, fluff, angst; mild-plot, no spoilers as of now
Warnings: 18+ MDNI; pseudocest (reader is Gator's stepmom); mentions of domestic/sexual abuse (not graphically described, but Roy Tillman is a cunt); graphic sexual encounters; graphic language; etc. etc. Toxic Tillman Family blah blah
"Please welcome to the stage, our youngest Chief of Medicine ever at the Walter Mondale Care Center!"
The host gestures towards you and says your name, but it takes a moment for your brain to register that it's you he's talking about. The maiden name you've worn with pride for nearly 32 years has been stripped away and replaced by the name of your new husband - Sheriff Roy Tillman.
You were immensely proud of this achievement; it's something you'd been working your ass off for since you got this job fresh out of medical school, and despite hierarchies, unfair internal systems, and plain-old misogyny, you clawed your way up to CMO; the youngest in your hospital's history, and a woman, no less.
It was just slightly bittersweet that you had to take on the role as Dr. Tillman.
Roy, seated beside you in his usual pearl-snap button down and dark-wash "church" jeans, reached over to grip your hand when you didn't immediately stand. He played it off as a loving, celebratory gesture, but the squeeze was a little too hard and his smile didn't reach his cold, lizard-green eyes.
Known for your bedside manner, however, you smiled back at him warmly and kissed him chastely on the stubbly cheek before standing to collect your award.
It wasn't anything crazy, just a little Stark County community leader recognition thing, but the small banquet hall was packed and people were even standing in the back to see your big moment. It genuinely warmed your heart.
One man stood out amongst the nicely dressed crowd, clad in his camo work pants and Sheriff's vest, hair slicked back and sunglasses on indoors. He lifted them up and onto his head when he caught your eye, and smiled at you with a wink. It was Gator Tillman - your 27 year old stepson.
You gave him a small wave and he stuck two fingers in his mouth to let out a blistering whistle amongst the applause. You felt the blush creeping up your neck and hoped your modest black dress would cover most of it.
You reached the podium to accept the small plaque and there it was again, etched in gold -
Dr. Tillman, CMO.
A woman you were pretty sure you knew quite well, but it still felt slightly wrong to see it spelled out.
You gave a nice little speech; thanked your attendings and mentors, colleagues and support systems. You thanked your parents, who had passed away years ago but always supported your dream to become a doctor. You thanked God, of course - you knew that would go over great with this crowd, regardless of the strained relationship you personally felt with Him sometimes. Then you swallowed the lump in your throat and looked down at the front row to thank your husband, Roy.
Because without Roy you'd probably never have this fucking job. Because you're a woman, and no one wants a woman in charge. Women should be domestic, "barefoot and pregnant", that's what they'd all like to see. But Roy saw in you two things - a spark and an opportunity.
He had offered you this deal of marriage as a beneficial arrangement for both of you. Good money flowing on both sides, seats of power in the community; he could offer you safety and a powerful ally, and you could offer him a stronger public image for his campaigns and a foot in the door to hospital board meetings and the like.
It had taken him about 6 months to whittle you down until you finally agreed, now here you are.
You don't want to know if Roy pulled strings or made threats or other seedy dealings to get you this job, it would kill you if you knew. The thought was always in the back of your mind, but you decided to swallow it down and just be the best damn CMO possible to prove your mettle.
The crowd roars at the mention of Roy's name, and he smiles at them waving his hands in a falsely coy 'Oh, stop it, y'all' gesture. You could tell he loved it.
Then you glanced over to Gator, who was applauding with the rest of them but just barely. He was still focused on only you. You leaned into the mic and added, "And a special thanks to our son, Gator."
The applauds staggered, a few polite claps still echoing across the banquet hall mixed with some murmuring. Roy's smile faltered while Gator's spread wider.
"We love ya, honey. Hope your ol' Ma could make you proud. Goodnight everyone!"
The crowd cheered and clapped some more, some awkward laughs scattered throughout, and you stepped off the side stage feeling a rush of endorphins.
Roy was going to have something to say about the cheeky "ol' Ma" comment later. You were only 5 years Gator's senior, and had actually babysat him once when you were in high school, so it was always a hot topic. But right now you didn't care about that. The crowd was loving you, you were loving you, and you knew somewhere your parents were loving you.
That was enough.
•°•°•
Years ago...
Gator's mom had just left the family (no one asked too many questions about why) and Roy hadn't yet taken another wife, so naturally he needed someone to look after Gator as he worked long nights.
You were 16 and trying to save money for college. Gator was 11; you had thought he was cute, with a bowl cut and a little gap-toothed smile, but was also the most annoying, hyperactive, talkative thing you'd ever met.
He, on the other hand, thought you were an angel sent straight down to earth.
On the first night Roy hired you to babysit you'd brought over some board games, a little shaved ice maker, and a couple of Spongebob Squarepants DVDs your little brother loved for some entertainment. He had never been showered with gifts and attention like this, not even on his birthday, and that night he thought he may have fallen in love with you.
You both ate far too many cherry snow-cones and played Sorry! and Clue, and when it was technically time for him to go to bed he had begged to stay up a little later and watch TV with you on the couch. His dad wasn't meant to be home for a few hours yet, so you'd shrugged and said why not.
20 minutes later he was passed out and snoring on your lap, so you had carried him up to tuck him into his Looney Tunes bedsheets.
"See ya later, alligator." You'd whispered before closing his bedroom door.
•°•°•
It was 2 AM and you still couldn't fall asleep. Whether it be from the excitement of the award night or the aching bruise on your rib from where Roy had reprimanded you for slighting him in front of the crowd, you couldn't be too sure.
You slipped out of your side of the bed, wrapped your thin cotton robe around your shoulders, and trudged to the kitchen for a late-night snack.
You didn't mind the nighttime. It was quiet, nobody expected anything of you, and you could have just a little moment for yourself. Who needed sleep, anyway?
When you entered the kitchen you were surprised to find Gator sitting at the counter, shoveling the last bite of a bologna sandwich into his mouth. He stiffens up when he sees someone walking in, but softens when he realizes it's just you, chewing slower and leaning forward onto the counter.
"Hey, Memaw."
"Oh, hey, Gator Tot."
He rolled his eyes, sneering at the nickname, but you decided that if he was gonna dish it he was gonna take it.
You chuckled under your breath, pulling out some bread you had baked yesterday and a stick of butter from the fridge. You cut a nice, hearty slice and covered the surface in butter, a simple treat that you've loved since you were a kid. It reminded you that times weren't always so challenging and difficult; sometimes they could just be easy-peasy butter-bread times.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
"Just got off m'shift. This is dinner."
"Mm. Of champions, looks like."
You gesture at the crumpled up Sno-Ball wrapper and the plate of crumbs from his sandwich, a half-drained can of Mountain Dew beside it.
"You're one to talk, you just eating a butter samwich?"
"Mm-hmm." You moan through a bite of your savory, buttery treat. He laughs, then winces like it hurt him.
"Y'okay?"
He grows quiet, pensive.
"Dad lemme have it a little. Wadn't s'posed to be at your award thingy tonight, but I swung by on my break."
"Aw jeez, lemme take a look --"
He pulls away from your fingers just before you can touch his face, but it turns him towards the light and you can see the black eye he's sporting on the left-side of his face anyway.
"S'fine, it was dumb to come."
You're not sure why, but that stings. Had you wanted it to be important to Gator? Guess it makes sense, it was your big night.
"I'm sorry he gotcha. Got me, too." You gently rub over your tender rib cage. Roy hits you where people won't see, he's been at this awhile so he knows the tricks. He didn't care if people knew he beats the shit out of Gator, but you had a reputation to uphold. "He didn't like my old-lady joke. I thought it was kinda funny "
Gator's jaw tenses and he nods slowly. You grab the dish towel off the oven handle and whack it once in his direction playfully. It breaks the melancholic spell, and he looks at you with a questioning smile.
"I'm glad ya came. Even if we both got our butts kicked for it. Thanks, Gator."
He smirks down at his empty plate, pushing crumbs around with his fingertips.
"Welcome."
The silence that settles over the both of you is comfortable. Here in this big, scary house in middle of the night with the boogeyman snoring in the upstairs master bedroom, you each felt tucked away in your own safe corner of the world; no rules to follow and no masks to wear.
That night was the start of a bad habit you two would soon form -
Seeking one another out in the dark.
•°•°•
3 Weeks Later
You rolled over to peek at the digital clock in your bedroom. It read 2:11 - you and Gator's witching hour.
You crept down the steps in your robe and Gator was already down there like he always was lately. He was in a tank-top and boxer shorts, hair tousled and free of his usual crisp slick-back. On the counter were two folded butter-bread sandwiches and two Cokes.
"You're taking forever, I was about to eat em both without ya."
He scooped up one of the sandwiches and tore into it with his teeth, chomping and smacking at the snack you had easily turned him onto. You nibbled at your crust and smiled at him, but it your mind was elsewhere tonight.
He had a smear of butter on his cheek, so you licked a thumb and leaned over to swipe it away. Your eyes met and lingered far too long for your comfort, so you cleared your throat and took a swig of your Coke.
You blurt out the first thought that comes to your head.
"Ya ever heard that awful joke, about the 'butterface'?"
"No?"
"Yah, you call someone butterface, it's like - someone with a good physique but they aren't so cute in the face? Everything's good, but her face?"
Gator blinks at you slowly. "Okay. You saying I'm ugly?"
"No, God no! Just uh - just thought of it cause of the butter, and. I dunno. Nevermind."
The silence between you tonight is static, charged up. You can't seem to sit still, shifting on your feet and picking at your bread instead of savoring it like you usually do.
"Hey, something bothering ya?"
Your eyes snap up to Gator and he's watching you with a concerned brow.
So, he hadn't heard anything, which is good. You didn't want word spreading, because then it might actually become real.
"Oh, I - uh, I don't really think I oughta bring it up with ya, Gator. Just some stuff I gotta figure out."
Truth is, you weren't in a good place mentally tonight. Nowhere, not even your little bubble of nighttime with Gator, could give you comfort.
Roy talked about trying to have a baby. That was never part of the deal, and you had initially rejected the idea outright: but, then he started talking about duty, image, respect, and somehow your job got brought into it. It was stupid of you to think Roy wouldn't dangle that over your head for the rest of your life, but you'd been blinded by ambition.
You and Roy had never been physically intimate in the 4 months you've been married. You slept in the same bed and pecked on the lips when you were in public, but he'd never initiated anything else and you sure as hell weren't planning to.
But now everything was different, and not only were you possibly going to have to have sex with your detestable husband, but you might have to bear his child, too.
The thoughts stormed in your mind, and before you could gather the strength to push all of the emotions back down behind an internal wall, you started to cry right there in the kitchen.
Gator perked up and crossed the kitchen island, taking your shoulders in his hands.
"Hey, what's the matter? He hit you bad?"
His worried gaze tracks up and down your body, checking for bruises or places your guarding, but the hurt Roy caused this time was all mental.
"Gator - your dad wants to - y'know." You make some vaguely sexual hand gestures, the words won't even form in your mouth.
His big hazel eyes grow wide with shock, then darkness.
"Well, I guess ya - yah, I guess you're his wife, huh?" He releases your shoulders and folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the counter beside you. "So you two ain't never...?"
You shake your head gravely, sniffling.
"Wadn't part of the arrangement. Never. But he said he's been thinking he wants to have a baby." A fresh wave of tears flows down your cheeks, and you try to paw them away with the sleeves of your robe. "I just - I don't wanna - I don't think I ever thought about bein' a Mom, and now...hoo boy, I'm honestly a little scared about this one, Gator."
You bury your face in your hands and sob quietly into them, shoulders shaking. You feel a pair of strong arms wrap around them, holding you steady. You nuzzle into Gator's chest and grasp at the thin cotton of his tank, crying a little harder at the gentle human contact.
"M'sorry, baby."
His stomach tenses as soon as the word leaves his lips, and you push back to look at him questioningly.
"Baby?"
"Don't mean nothing, just trying to get ya to stop crying."
"Hm. Guess it worked."
"Good. You're an ugly crier."
You snort. "Am not. Makes my eyes brighter, see?"
You flutter your eyelashes and he shoves your shoulder with his. Your teasing can only distract you both so much from the whole herd of elephants in the room.
"So, did he say...when? He wanted to - y'know?"
"Fuck?"
He grimaces and shakes his head vigorously. "Stop, that's my dad. Gross."
"Well, I'm your Ma."
"Not helping."
"No, he didn't say. I guess I'm s'posed to be thinking on it, but we all know what that means around here." You roll your eyes and sigh, taking another sip of your Coke. "Decision's been made, I just need to say I agree or get smacked around until I do."
"What's he threatening you with?"
"My job." You look at Gator with a sad smile. He nods, knowing that was something you weren't willing to compromise on.
"We could...sneak ya on some birth control? Or something."
You look at Gator in awe.
"Gator that's -"
"Bad, I know."
"No. It's evil genius."
You grin with all your teeth, and he smirks proudly at the praise. You pull him close to you without warning, wanting to feel him against you once more time.
"Thank you."
He rubs a small circle on your lower back, breathing the clean, floral smell of your hair.
"Sure."
•°•°•
It's been 3 weeks, and Roy hasn't brought it up again. You've been taking your self-prescribed birth control pills anyway, just to be safe.
You made some lasagna for dinner tonight and you, Roy, and Gator sit around the table holding hands to pray.
"God, we thank you for this meal. We ask you for our household to continue to bear fruit and be plentiful. We ask you to watch over us, and keep us. Amen."
Gator squeezes your fingers ever so slightly. You peek through your lashes and he's doing the same to you, and you share a small smile. When you turn back to Roy to say Amen, he's watching you both closely.
He begins to dig into his lasagna without another word, and you both follow dutifully.
"How was work, Roy?"
"Same shit, different day."
Gator huffs in agreement. You look at him, curious.
"Anything interesting?"
Gator clears his throat, looks to Roy briefly, then at you.
"Nah, nothing really. Just - catching bad guys."
You smile warmly at him, then focus on your lasagna.
"Well, good. I feel safe then."
Roy stabs his fork harder than necessary through the soft pasta and you jump, keeping your eyes down.
"What about you, Mama? Good day at the hospital?" Roy asks, glaring and chewing slowly.
"Mm-hm, real good. Nobody died, so that's always a good day in my book." You give him a shy twitch of your lip and stuff your mouth full of cheesy sauce.
"Slow down, little lady. Don't want you too full for dessert."
"Oh, I - I'm sorry, I didn't make any -"
He places a rough, calloused hand over yours and leans forward like he's going to tell you a secret, but speaks loud enough for everyone to hear.
"No, but I'll have something sweet for ya later."
Bile climbs your throat, burning and stinging your nose. Gator was sipping a glass of iced tea and starts to choke.
"Jesus, Dad."
"What, son? Man can't be intimate with his own wife in this house?"
"S'cuse me." You push back from the table and nod towards them both without meeting their eyes. You hurry to the small bathroom down the hall lest you puke your guts out all over the dining room carpet.
You lean over the sink, dry heaving and trying not to keel over. Tonight's the night, and there's no time to prepare an excuse. Maybe if you vomit on him he won't want to have sex, but that was a long shot.
At the dining room table, Gator has completely lost his appetite. Roy pulls your plate over and finishes off what you didn't eat with a smirk.
•°•°•
When Gator comes down the stairs that night at 2:07 AM, he finds the kitchen light on with a slice of bread with butter and a can of Mountain Dew waiting for him on the counter. You aren't in the room, but the faint smell of cigarette smoke draws him to the front porch.
You're rocking gently back and forth on the porch swing, one leg curled under you and a cigarette between your fingers.
"Hey, Ma." He says under his breath, plate and drink in hand. He comes to sit on the other end of the swing with you. You greet him with your usual smile, but your eyes are puffy and tired.
"Hey, Gator Tot."
"Y'alright?"
"No. M'not." You take a long drag from your cigarette and blow the smoke up into the night sky, watching the stars twinkle. The moon is full tonight, washing everything in cool, blue tones and turning men into wolves.
Gator hangs his head and puts his snacks to the ground, not interested in them right now. He holds his hand out expectantly, so you pass the cigarette to him. He sucks in deeply and hands it back to you, breathing smoke through his nostrils like a dragon from one of your old fairy-tale books. You smile fondly at the thought and fill your lungs with more tar.
"He hurt ya?" He chokes out. You almost don't hear it.
You shake your head. "Nah. Went quick. Won't go into detail though. Spare ya the therapy."
"You don't gotta joke about it. You can be angry."
"Oh, yah. I'm angry. I'm real fucking sad, too. But I'll also be alright. Woman's gotta be tough or the world will chew her up and spit her out. If I gotta lay there for 5 minutes and zone out while my husband flops around on top of me to keep everything I've worked so hard for? Well, that's my cross to bear, I s'pose. Sure people got it a lot worse than me." You take a puff and for some reason can only focus on the fact that Gator's lips were just on the filter. You keep the butt in your mouth and let the taste linger a little longer, tasting him in secret.
"Such fucking bullshit."
You look him up and down and see how tense he is. You don't imagine there is a single unclenched muscle in his body right now.
"Gator, we don't gotta talk about it. I know it's your dad, you don't wanna hear --"
"I don't care that it's my dad, I care that it's you."
His eyes meet yours, and they're glassy. Your heart somersaults in your chest. You carefully pull the cigarette from your lips and stamp it out in the ashtray beside you.
"Oh yah?" You're already feeling breathless. "Why's that?"
He chuckles. "I s'pose y'know. I been in love with you since I was like, 11?"
Your jaw hangs agape. He nods sadly.
"When you'd babysit me, God. Best nights a'my life as a kid. You were the only one who's ever nice to me. And beautiful, Christ. Most beautiful girl I ever seen in my life. Still are."
His hand has crept over to just barely nudge your pinky with his own. You nudge it back, and twist your digits together.
"Why didn't ya ever say?"
"What, like the big shot doctor would be interested in a loser cop she used to babysit in grade school?"
"Maybe she'd been. Maybe she is now, anyway."
"Yeah and she's married to my fucking dad. Go figure."
"Life's a real bitch ain't she?"
"Absolute twat sometimes."
His lips are on yours by the time the final word escapes them. The kiss is soft and tenative, smoky and warm. You stay there still for a moment, bubbles and butterflies turning in your belly, cheeks tingling.
Then he brushes your hair behind your ear and you lean further into his space, planting a hand on his lean, bare thigh to stabilize yourself. He's in nothing more than a t-shirt and boxers again, like any other night.
"We can't."
"No, we can't."
You whisper against each other, not breaking the kiss but rather deepening it. You card your fingers through his hair and grip the back of his neck. He takes your top lip between his, so you softly suck at his plump bottom one, brushing your tongue over it lightly.
He moans, and it stokes the flame building inside of you. You scooch closer, your thighs touching now, and he brings an arm around your waist. Now it's you whimpering into his mouth, tongues dancing gently now, tasting one another properly.
He just barely starts to pull your body towards him, be it a subconscious act or hesitancy, but you let yourself give in to the current. You throw one of your legs over his and straddle his hips, the porch swing gently rocking with the shifting weight of you both.
He gasps and looks your face over with his lovely honey-brown eyes, his pink lips parted and puffy from kissing you. His tongue darts out to wet them and you lean in and lick at it with your own.
The tiny gesture drives him up a wall, and he's crashing his lips into yours moments later. The delicate, polite kisses from moments ago are long forgotten, replaced with a furious, eager, clashing of mouths and tongues. He bites your lower lip between his razor straight teeth and you pull it back with a groan, grinding your hips in little circles over his barely-clad crotch.
You've only got on a nightgown and some little cotton underpants yourself, so there's very little left to the imagination as you rub against one another. Still, the idea of being so close to one another, and yet not able to touch - it was exhilarating.
Gator's cock slid free through the gap in his boxers and fit between the notch in your soaking panties. He begins to rut into the groove, gliding across the slick surface and swallowing your little mewls and whimpers.
Then he eases himself between the wet cloth and your pussy, still not inside of you but bringing the touch even closer to crossing the line. Gripping the waistband at your hips he ruts up into your underwear, sliding his girthy, turgid length against your swollen, sensitive clit.
He sucks a breath between his teeth and leans his head back against the swing.
"Oh, fuck, Mama. Just wanna fuck this little pussy."
"I'd love you to fuck me, Gator. I want you to fill me up, fuck me real slow but hard. Wanna feel every inch of you inside." You whisper shakily into his ear, licking and nibbling at the lobe as he fucks himself through your folds and into your panties.
"Christ, I'm gonna -"
He shudders and tries to push you away before he busts, but you rock down into him harder, letting him cum into your already-sopping wet underwear.
You hold each other for a few more minutes and let the swing gently sway you both in your little bubble, clinging tightly and breathing the other person in. Then you step back onto the porch and stand, pulling your panties down and sliding them off your ankles. You fold them into a nice little square and plant them in Gator's palm, closing his fingers over them. You give him a kiss on the forehead and move to the front door to head back inside.
"See ya later, alligator." You whisper, then return up the stairs to lay in bed with your husband.
A/N: Oops it's gonna be multi-parter, I decided I gotta slow burn ya. hehe later gators 🐊
