ThoroughlyMimi

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[thoroughlymimi]

hi! i'm Mimi <3

i use my degree to write fics on the internet, and i won't apologise for it. i have many obsessions and hyperfixations, so expect nothing and everything.

this is an 18+ blog

My Masterlist

Gator Tillman x Reader Series List

Beautiful Broken Things : Six Part Series

Memories of You : Sixteen Part Series

Four Winds : Ten Part Series

At The Heart Of It : Twelve Part Series [In Progress]

Gator Tillman x Reader One Shot List

Quietly

Graveyard Shift

Eddie Munson x Reader One Shot List

Morning Glory

I also upload to Wattpad, I'm @thoroughlymimi there too!

I have a Steve Harrington x OC! fic that is Wattpad only, if you want to read Close To You.

Emoji Anons Taken: 🍵

[thoroughlymimi]

At The Heart Of It : Part Eleven - Apex Cordis

Gator Tillman x Reader

18+ | minors do not interact

Word Count: 14555

Summary: A golden family birthday turns dark, pushing Ford to breaking point and leaving Gator terrified of losing you.

Note: One More Chapter to gooooo! I am loving everyone's interest in this series, all these lovely anons and questions- they make my day! So here we are, almost to there, enjoy my loves...Mimi <3

Masterlist

Apex Cordis                                     

Translation: The Apex

The ‘summit’ or ‘tip’. The lowest point that provides the most stable focus.

Sunday settled warm and golden across the ranch. The sky stretched clear and endless above the property, the sun baking heat into the gravel and porch boards.

You had woken tucked against Gator’s chest with his arm heavy across your waist and the soft morning quiet still wrapped you. Showered together afterwards, all sleepy touches and warm steam and Gator kissing your bare shoulder while you laughed at him for nearly slipping getting out. Then breakfast with the family spilling around the kitchen in various stages of awake. Josie smashing pancake into her highchair tray while Rhodes attempted to convince everyone that birthdays meant cake for breakfast. Presents in the living room after that, though Josie herself had lost interest roughly two gifts in, leaving Nicky and Rhodes to tear into tissue paper with significantly more enthusiasm than the birthday girl herself.

Now the celebration had drifted into the backyard.

Ford stood at the grill near the porch steps with a beer balanced beside him and smoke curling around his shoulders, one hand working the tongs. Brooks lounged at the long outdoor table with Noah beside him, Logan sprawled opposite chatting to Gator. Tucker had Josie sat happily in his lap while Walker repeatedly squeezed the little stuffed frog he had bought her for her birthday just to make her shriek with laughter every time it croaked.

Nicky and Rhodes tore across the grass wielding water pistols. Every few seconds one of them screamed dramatically.  Maggie moved steadily between the kitchen and porch carrying bowls, plates and cutlery, ever the hostess.

You came out through the back door carrying another handful of beers cold against your fingers, condensation already dampening your skin. The conversation rolled easily around the table as you passed behind the chairs, setting four bottles down near Noah to pass around. Then you headed toward the grill.

“You need any help?” you asked.

Ford glanced over at you, accepting the beer from your hands.

“I’m good, baby,” he said easily. “Go sit down, enjoy yourself.”

You narrowed your eyes at him like you still expected him to suddenly remember some task he needed doing, but he only took a sip of beer and turned back toward the grill. So you surrendered.

When you made your way back to the table, Maggie had settled herself beside Brooks, one leg crossed neatly over the other while she picked at something from a serving platter. Gator looked up the second you approached.

You barely had time to stop beside his chair before his hand found your waist. His arm curled around you and tugged gently, guiding you sideways into his lap without interrupting the conversation around him. You let yourself fall easily against him, folding your legs over one of his thighs as his free hand slid down your waist.

The skirt of your dress had ridden slightly higher when you sat and Gator’s large hand immediately tugged the hem back down over your thighs before settling firmly against the curve beneath it, keeping the fabric in place.

He leaned into you then, pressing a slow kiss against the side of your head beneath your hair.

“Love this dress,” he murmured.

You had opted for the summer dress. It’s white cotton, soft and light against your skin, fitted through the bodice before falling looser at the waist. The neckline dipped into a V low enough to expose most of your scar, which would usually have had you self-consciously throwing on a cardigan.  But after the way Gator had looked at you this morning there had been no space left for embarrassment.

You laughed quietly, leaning back against his chest.

“I know,” you said. “You told me. Several times actually.”

“Can’t help it,” Gator replied easily, eyes dragging over you again. “Y’look too good.”

You smiled and leaned over enough to press a quick kiss against his cheek before settling back into him properly.

Around you, the conversation carried on uninterrupted. The tension from the football game had faded. You knew Maggie had spoken to both Ford and Brooks privately sometime over the last couple of days. Neither of them had said exactly what was discussed, but things had eased afterwards.

For once, the whole family felt settled back into itself again, or at least as settled as the Heatons ever got.

Brooks leaned back in his chair, beer resting against his stomach as he looked across the table toward Walker.

“How are those ribs doing?”

“Turning a nice shade of yellow,” Walker grimaced. “Still hurting like hell.”

“That damn defender,” Maggie muttered. “Was a nasty play. You didn’t even have the ball. I’m glad Tucker pushed him over.”

“Ma,” Ford called from the grill without turning around. “Don’t encourage him. Needs to keep his head in the game, not his hands.”

“Bullshit,” Maggie replied easily. “You protect your brother, Tucker.”

“Language, Ma.”

Maggie looked over at Ford standing by the barbecue, then back toward Tucker across the table and winked.

Tucker snorted a laugh under his breath. Josie, still sat heavily in his lap, had discovered she could repeatedly smack the stuffed frog against his forearm with surprising force for someone with such tiny hands. Tucker looked down at her with long-suffering exhaustion.

“I know it’s your birthday,” he told her seriously, “but do you wanna quit hitting me?”

Josie answered by slapping him again. Brooks barked a laugh and leaned over to scoop her out of Tucker’s lap.

“C’mere, birthday girl,” he said, settling her easily onto one thigh. “You can hit Uncle Brooks.”

“Dad, how long on those burgers?” Tucker complained toward the grill. “I’m actually starving.”

Logan snorted into his beer.

“If there’s one thing you ain’t, Tucker, it’s starving,” he quipped.

“Ain’t you like two hundred pounds now?” Walker asked, looking his twin up and down.

“Two-ten,” Tucker corrected proudly. “And I can’t maintain this athletic physique if nobody feeds me.”

You laughed softly into Gator’s shoulder, unable to help it. The sound seemed to pull his attention back toward you instantly. His hand tightened slightly where it rested beneath the hem of your dress, thumb brushing once against your thigh before settling again.

And sitting there amongst all the noise and teasing and overlapping conversation, with the sun warming your bare legs and Josie shrieking happily in Brooks’ lap and Maggie arguing with Ford over absolutely nothing important at all… it felt good.

By the time evening began settling properly over the ranch, the sharp brightness of the day had softened into gold. The sun dipped behind the tree line bordering the property, streaking warm orange light through the pasture beyond the yard. The celebration had quietened with the light.

Josie had finally crashed about half an hour ago after a full day of attention, cake frosting and overstimulation. Ford had carried her upstairs half asleep against his shoulder while she rubbed exhausted fists against her eyes. Rhodes and Nicky had also migrated upstairs eventually; Ford, soft-hearted as always, had allowed them to stay up later than usual on the condition they chilled out and watched a film.

Out on the porch, the adults lingered around the long table with the comfortable looseness of people in no hurry to end the night. Brooks sat reclined in his chair beside Noah, still talking football with Logan, Gator and Tucker. Walker sat beside Maggie, occasionally wincing when he moved wrong and aggravated his bruised ribs. Ford remained nearest the grill, mostly because he kept finding excuses to pick at leftovers every time he passed it.

You gathered the empty beer bottles from the table into your arms and headed back into the house. You went to drop the empties in the trash but paused; full.  You sighed softly to yourself, tied off the garbage bag and hauled it out through the front door toward the large trash cans near the gravel yard.

The front of the ranch sat quiet compared to the backyard. The evening breeze moved gently through the trees carrying the distant sound of laughter from around the back of the house.

You almost missed the envelope entirely. At first you simply stepped around it on your way to the trash can. But on your way back, you stopped.

The envelope was thick. Bulging slightly at the centre.

You bent and picked it up, turning it over once in your hands. Blank, no writing anywhere. When your fingers pressed lightly against the paper, something inside shifted softly beneath the surface. Not paper, something thicker, fabric maybe.

You tucked the envelope beneath your arm, grabbed some fresh beers from the kitchen and headed back through the house toward the porch. The conversation outside continued uninterrupted as you stepped back onto the deck. You passed beers around the table one by one. Then you held the envelope out toward Maggie.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“I dunno,” you replied. “It was on the doorstep. No name. Figured it was for you.”

You settled back down into Gator’s lap beside her. His arm draped automatically around your waist the second you sat, hand spreading warm and heavy against your thigh beneath the skirt of your dress while his chin brushed briefly against your shoulder.

Maggie set her beer down carefully on the table before tearing open the envelope.

At first, nobody thought much of it. The evening still carried that loose, comfortable warmth that had settled over the ranch all day. Logan was halfway through some story aimed mostly at making Tucker argue with him.

Then Maggie pulled the contents free.

Photographs.

A thick stack of them.

The shift in her happened gradually enough that at first you only noticed it instinctively. The way her shoulders seemed to still. The way the lines around her mouth hardened. She lowered her sunglasses from the top of her head onto the table beside her beer and began turning through the pictures one by one in complete silence.

And the longer she looked, the colder her face became. You felt yourself straighten slightly where you sat in Gator’s lap.

“Maggie?” you asked carefully. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes continued scanning across the photographs, jaw tightening hard enough that you could see the muscle ticking beneath her cheek. Around the table, the conversation faltered piece by piece until it disappeared entirely beneath the growing weight of whatever Maggie was seeing.

“Ma?” Ford pushed.

Maggie finally looked up, but not at you. At Brooks. The expression on her face hollowed something cold straight through your stomach. Without a word, she handed the photographs across the table.

Ford took them from her. He barely looked at the top image before his entire expression changed.

“Tucker,” he said quietly. “Walker. Upstairs. Now.”

The twins froze. Tucker blinked once, confused enough to glance first at Walker and then toward you. Walker frowned slightly, clearly trying to gauge whether they were suddenly in trouble for something.

You gave the smallest helpless shrug because you didn't understand either. Neither boy moved quickly enough. Ford looked up from the photographs then, and the sharpness in his voice the second time made the entire porch seem to tighten around it.

“Now.”

Both chairs scraped back immediately. The twins disappeared through the door without another word, the porch falling quiet again as the door slid shut behind them. Nobody spoke while Ford waited for them to clear the stairs. Then he spread the photographs across the centre of the table.

You leaned forward automatically. Beside you, Gator shifted too, his arm tightening around your waist as everyone at the table looked down together.

Photographs, dozens of them. All taken from a distance. Ford stepping out of his truck in front of the construction yard. You and Maggie outside the shopping mall loading bags into the back of the Yukon. Brooks and Logan standing together at one of the oil sites. You and Gator walking hand in hand through Dickinson.

The angle of the shots made your skin crawl. Long lens photographs. Hidden photographs. Taken without any of you knowing.

But then your eyes moved further across the table and the air seemed to leave your lungs entirely.

Tucker and Walker stretching on the football field during practice. Nicky standing by the school gates talking to his teacher. Rhodes caught halfway down the slide at the park. Josie sitting in the sandbox while Ford stood blurred in the background behind her.

A horrible tightness began winding itself around your chest as realization settled properly over the table. The truck that had followed you before suddenly felt insignificant compared to this. That had not been random. None of this was random.

Someone had been watching the family.

You looked toward Maggie again, your face already tightening with panic before you could stop it. She still hadn't said a single word.

Instead, she lifted the envelope from her lap and gave it one sharp shake over the table. Something small tumbled out onto the wood with a soft plastic clack; a tiny panda bear keyring.

“That…” Your voice caught painfully. “That’s from Nicky’s school bag.”

You looked immediately toward Ford and suddenly the fear twisting through you sharpened into something else entirely, because you had never seen him look like this before. Ford was not simply angry.

It happened so fast your brain barely caught up with it. One second Ford was sitting at the table staring down at the photographs spread across the wood. The next he was on his feet.

His chair skidded violently backwards across the porch boards as he stalked toward Brooks with a fury so sudden and absolute it seemed to suck all the air out of the space around him. Brooks stood immediately too, instinct more than thought, shoulders squaring as Ford closed the distance between them.

Ford snatched one of the photographs from the table and slammed it hard against Brooks’ chest.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” he snapped. “You did this, asshole. Those are my fucking kids.”

The force of it shoved Brooks back half a step.

“You brought this on us. To our door.” Ford’s voice only kept rising, years of restraint splintering apart in real time. “You wanted to play the fucking big man? Come on then, big man, what you got? My fucking kids, Brooks?!”

Brooks caught the photograph where it had crumpled against his shirt and put it back down on the table with deliberate care.

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t think!”

Ford shoved toward him again and Brooks lifted his hands slightly between them, not aggressive just trying to hold space. Trying to calm him down before this tipped fully over the edge.

“You think I’d really bring your kids into it?”

“You already fucking did, Brooks!” Ford roared. “That’s Nicky’s. They’ve been near my boy.”

Brooks’ jaw tightened.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Well you didn’t walk away either, did you?” Ford shot back. “Didn’t deal with it like a fucking adult.”

“Blackridge started this,” Brooks snapped, frustration finally bleeding into his own voice now. “They brought all this shit to me.”

“And you brought it here!” Ford shouted. “To our fucking house!”

“I’ve got it handled!”

Ford laughed then, but there was nothing human in the sound. He closed the gap entirely until he was right in Brooks’ space, chest to chest, both men towering over the table now.

“Handled?” Ford barked. “Does this look fucking handled to you?!”

“It’s a scare tactic, Ford,” Brooks bit back. “They ain’t gonna do shit.”

“And my kids are worth that risk to you, yeah?”

“Can you calm down for one minute and try to see--”

“Calm down?!” Ford shouted. “Are you fucking serious?!”

“Just can we talk about this--”

“I am done fucking talking to you.”

Then Ford swung.

There was nothing wild or uncertain about it. He put his whole weight behind the punch, all the frustration and fear driving through his shoulder as his fist cracked hard against Brooks’ face. The sound of it made you flinch against Gator, sharp and sickening in the sudden silence that followed.

For a second, Brooks just stood there correcting himself from the impact, one hand brushing briefly across his mouth as he looked back at Ford with genuine disbelief. Then something ugly shifted across his expression, a sharp little smirk curling at the corner of his split lip before he swung back just as hard.

And all at once the porch exploded into movement.

The two brothers crashed into each other, fists flying, shoving and grabbing violently at each other as chairs scraped backwards and bottles toppled from the table. Ford landed another punch. Brooks drove him backwards into the railing hard enough to rattle it.

Then suddenly both of them stumbled off the edge of the porch deck entirely, boots tearing through the grass as they continued throwing punches into each other in the yard.

Beneath you, Gator moved instantly. You stood automatically so he could get up, his arm slipping from your waist as he surged to his feet. Across the table Logan and Noah were already moving too.

“Dad!” Logan shouted.

“C’mon, break it up,” Gator barked.

The three of them hurried down into the yard, trying to wedge themselves between two fully grown furious men who had absolutely no interest in stopping. Maggie climbed up from her chair too, fury cutting through her voice sharp enough to split steel.

“Boys!” she shouted. “Enough!”

Nobody listened.

Ford drove Brooks backwards again. Brooks grabbed a fistful of Ford’s shirt and swung hard enough to snap his head sideways. Logan tried grabbing Ford around the shoulders while Gator got between them for half a second before another shove sent everyone stumbling.

You stood frozen on the porch watching it all unfold and slowly, horribly, your body started betraying you. Your heartbeat had already been fast from the shouting, now it slammed violently against your ribs.

The sound of it filled your ears in heavy pounding waves that began drowning everything else out around you. thumpthumpthumpthump. So loud it almost hurt. The edges of the yard seemed strangely distant suddenly, the voices below blurring together into muffled fragments beneath the roaring pulse inside your head.

You pressed your palm hard against your sternum as though you could physically steady the rhythm beneath it. Heat crept clammy and sudden across the back of your neck. Your skin felt cold and hot all at once.

You tried to breathe, the inhale caught halfway. Another sharp flutter hit your chest. Your other hand wiped shakily at your neck. The ringing had started now too, high and piercing beneath the frantic pounding in your ears.

Below you, the fight still raged on in flashes of movement. Ford trying to lunge forward again. Brooks shoving Logan off him. Gator grabbing Ford around the chest, trying to drag him backwards while shouting something you could no longer properly hear.

Your vision blurred slightly at the edges, you squeezed your eyes shut hard, pulling another breath into your lungs. Too shallow. Another. Still not enough.

Ford and Brooks had become a tangled, violent heap in the grass by the time Gator managed to get properly hold of either of them.

Ford was on top now, broad shoulders heaving with rage as he drove punch after punch into his brother’s face with frightening force. Brooks tried shoving him off, landing blows where he could, but Ford barely seemed to feel them anymore.

“Ford!” Logan barked, grabbing at his shoulder.

Gator moved in beside him, both of them trying to haul Ford backwards, but the man felt immovable. Solid as concrete beneath their hands.

“C’mon, man,” Gator grunted, hooking an arm around Ford’s chest. “Enough.”

Gator had known Ford his whole life. Had seen him angry before. Overworked and exhausted and grieving. But never like this, never violent.

For one fleeting second, Gator found himself grateful the kids weren’t there to see it. Tucker and Walker were upstairs. Nicky and Rhodes too. He just hoped to hell they hadn’t heard the shouting and come looking. But then another thought hit him immediately after.

You.

You were still outside. You had seen all of this. The realization sliced through him fast enough that he let go of Ford instantly, turning sharply toward the porch just in time to see you collapse.

“Baby?”

The word tore out of him. Gator was moving before he fully registered it, boots tearing across the grass as panic detonated hard in his chest. You were crumpled awkwardly against the porch boards, one hand still clutched against your chest.

“Baby--”

He dropped hard to his knees beside you, hands immediately flying to your face. Your skin felt clammy beneath his palms. Fear hit him so violently it almost made him dizzy.

His fingers slid shakily against the side of your neck searching for your pulse while his other hand pressed instinctively over your chest. Your heartbeat slammed frantically beneath his palm. Not normal. Not even close.

“Baby?!” His voice cracked completely around the word now. “Hey--hey, c’mon.”

He cupped your cheek, shaking you lightly in pure panic. No.

No, no, no, no, no.

His stomach turned violently. He should have been watching you. Should have noticed. He knew stress could trigger your heart. Knew crowds and panic and too much noise… fuck.

“Baby,” he pleaded, both hands holding your face. “Please. C’mon.”

He didn’t know what to do, that terrified him most of all. Gator looked back wildly toward the yard where Logan was still dragging Brooks away through the grass.

“FORD!”

The desperation in his voice cut clean through the chaos.

Ford stopped instantly. One second fury still burned across his face, the next his eyes locked onto Gator and something in his expression changed so fast it was almost frightening. The anger vanished beneath immediate panic.

“Shit. Baby?!”

Ford shoved away from Brooks and sprinted toward the porch. Behind him Maggie was already moving too.

“Ma!” Ford shouted sharply over his shoulder. “Call 911!”

・❥・

You felt like you’d been dragged beneath a truck and left there. Pain sat heavy through your whole body when consciousness finally dragged you back up to the surface. Your skin felt damp and clammy against the sheets beneath you, every limb strangely weighted, like gravity itself had doubled while you slept.

You tried opening your eyes.

Harsh white light stabbed through your skull hard enough that you shut them again with a weak flinch, breath catching shallowly in your throat. Somewhere nearby came the low repetitive beeping of monitors, steady and clinical. Air hummed overhead. Beneath it all lingered that unmistakable smell; antiseptic wipes, rubbing alcohol, something sterile and metallic sitting unpleasantly at the back of your tongue.

Hospital.

Even half-conscious, your body recoiled from the realization.

You forced your eyes open again more carefully this time, blinking slowly against the glare until shapes finally began settling into focus around you. Pale walls. White ceiling tiles. Machines.

You tried to push yourself upright and hands were suddenly there at your side before you managed it.

“Hey--woah,” Gator said softly, leaning toward you so fast it was obvious he’d already been watching for movement. “Take it easy, baby. Jus’ stay there.”

You focused on him slowly as he leaned over the bed.

His hair looked messy, like he’d been dragging his hands through it repeatedly for hours, his jaw tight with exhaustion and worry. He looked pale beneath the fluorescent lighting; eyes fixed so intensely on you it almost hurt to look at him.

You lifted your hand weakly toward him, arm feeling strangely heavy. Gator reached for you before you made it halfway, wrapping both of his hands carefully around yours.

You tried speaking but your throat felt dry and raw.

“Fo-rd?”

The memory hit fully then; the photographs spread across the porch table, Nicky’s keyring, Ford shouting, Brooks swinging back. The monitor beside the bed immediately quickened its rhythm. Gator leaned forward at once.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice low and steady despite the concern breaking through it. “Imma need you to breathe for me, alright? Ford’s fine. Kids are fine. Everybody’s okay. Take a breath.”

You dragged one shaky inhale into your lungs, then another. Slowly, the frantic beeping beside the bed eased back down. You tried shifting yourself upright again, but the movement made your sternum ache heavily, like someone had dropped an anchor directly onto your chest. Your hand pressed weakly into the mattress beside you to help push yourself up, but Gator was there again.

“Easy.”

He slid one arm carefully behind your shoulders and helped guide you upright against the bed, adjusting the pillow behind your back until you were sitting more comfortably elevated.

Only then did you properly take in the room around you.

White walls. White sheets. White, fluorescent lighting humming overhead.  EKG leads stretched beneath the collar of the hospital gown hanging loosely off your shoulders, wires trailing from your chest toward the monitor beside you. An IV cannula protruded awkwardly from your arm beneath clear tape while oxygen tubing looped around your ears and across your cheeks.

You looked down at yourself for a long moment.

You hated hospitals, always had. People assume you’d become numb to them after spending so much of your life moving in and out of cardiology departments and observation wards, but the opposite had happened instead. Hospitals made you feel smaller somehow. Too bright. Too cold. Too clinical. Places built for healing that somehow always smelled faintly of fear.

Your gaze drifted back toward Gator.

“I don’t wanna be here.”

“I know, baby.” His hand smoothed slowly down your arm. “Needed the doc t’check you out first though.”

Before he could say anything else, the room door opened and Maggie stepped inside. The second she saw your eyes open, visible relief crossed her face.

“Oh, baby, you’re up. How you feeling, sweet girl?”

“I don’t wanna be here, Mags,” you admitted quietly, voice rough with exhaustion. “I wanna go home.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said softly. “I know you do.”

She reached for your hand carefully around the IV line, thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles in the same absent comforting way she always had when you were little and frightened after appointments.

“I know you hate hospitals. Doctor just wants one more test now you’re awake. If he’s happy with it, he’ll let us take you home.”

“S’that okay though?” Gator asked, eyes flashing to Maggie. “Shouldn’t they keep watch on her?”

“She’s better off at home, gets herself worked up in places like this. Always has.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the monitor beside the bed before returning to you again. “Just need the doctor to make sure it’s nothing nasty. They had to give you Adenosine.”

That explained why your body felt like you’d been hit by a jumbo jet.

“The doctor wanted twenty-four hour observation,” Maggie continued.

You immediately shook your head. Maggie touched your cheek before the protest could properly leave your mouth.

“I already argued with him. He agreed you could come home long as somebody stays with you for the next twenty-four hours and keeps an eye on you.”

Gator answered before either of you could say another word.

“I’ll do it. I’ll stay.”

Maggie looked across the bed toward him then, and for the first time since entering the room, the faintest knowing smile touched the corner of her mouth.

“I figured finding a volunteer wouldn’t be much of a problem.”

The next hour passed in a blur of doctors, monitors and exhaustion. The cardiologist had eventually returned to run one final test, wanting to keep you on the monitor long enough to make sure your heart rate stayed consistently below a hundred without further intervention. Maggie handled most of the talking while you sat tired and heavy beneath the hospital blankets, answering questions when necessary. Somewhere during it all, paperwork had appeared. Consent forms. Discharge forms. Instructions printed on crisp white sheets.

Through every second of it, Gator never left your side.

Even when the nurse disconnected the leads from your chest and peeled away the adhesive pads one by one, he stayed close enough that his knee brushed the side of the bed. When they removed the oxygen cannula from your face and the IV from your arm, he watched like he was worried they might do it wrong.

By the time you finally left the room, your body felt wrung out completely. Gator had insisted on the wheelchair despite your weak attempts to argue. The automatic doors slid open as you reached the front entrance, cool evening air brushing softly against your skin. Outside, the parking lot sat dark beneath the glow of overhead lamps, Maggie’s Yukon waiting near the curb.

You tried pushing yourself up from the wheelchair once you reached it, but your body protested, weakness dragging through your chest and arms hard enough to make you grimace.

Gator was there before you could properly struggle through it, hands slid beneath you carefully, lifting you up out of the chair like it cost him no effort at all. Your arms looped weakly around his neck as he held you against him.

Maggie reached for the wheelchair handles.

“Stay with her,” she said. “I’ll return the chair.”

Gator shifted you higher against his chest and opened the back door of the Yukon. Instead of settling you onto the seat beside him, he climbed in with you still in his arms and sat down first before easing you carefully into his lap.

Your head settled automatically against his shoulder as he pulled the car door shut behind you, cocooning the two of you inside the quiet dimness of the back seat. The tension in your body eased almost immediately at the simple familiarity of him. After the bright clinical misery of the hospital room, the enclosed warmth of the car felt safe.

You became suddenly aware of how ridiculous you probably looked still wearing the same white summer dress from earlier, now wrinkled and creased, your body clammy from hospital sheets and monitors and exhaustion.

Gator’s arms wrapped tighter around you anyway, like he couldn’t hold you close enough. He pressed a lingering kiss into your hair.

“Y’really scared me, baby.”

The roughness in his voice made you lift your head, his eyes met yours immediately and there it was, not just worry. Fear. Real fear still sitting raw beneath the surface. You raised your hand slowly to his cheek, thumb brushing softly along the stubble there. Gator leaned into the touch at once, eyes fluttering shut briefly like the contact itself grounded him.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

You heard everything underneath the words. I need you. Don’t scare me like that again. Please don’t leave me. Emotion tightened painfully in your chest; you stroked his cheek again gently.

“I love you, Gator.”

His mouth pressed softly against your palm before you let your hand fall away again, tucking yourself closer into the warmth of his neck. The steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek soothed something in you, you didn’t stay awake long enough to feel Maggie climb back into the driver’s seat.

The next thing you were aware of was Gator’s voice murmuring softly against your hair.

“Baby.”

Your eyes blinked open slowly. The inside of the Yukon sat dark now except for the porch lights spilling across the windows from outside the Big House.

“Back home,” Gator murmured. “You ready?”

You gave a small, tired nod. The passenger door opened beside you and cool night air drifted in as Maggie appeared.

“Ford let Nicky and the twins stay up,” she said gently. “They wanted to see you.”

Gator shifted like he intended to carry you straight inside again, but you pressed one weak hand against his chest.

“Let me walk.”

“Baby…”

“I don’t wanna scare Nicky,” you said softly. “I got it. Please.”

For a second he looked like he wanted to argue. Then slowly, reluctantly, he climbed out of the vehicle and lowered you carefully onto your feet instead. His hands lingered at your waist until he was certain you were steady and even then, he didn't move far.

Instead he held one arm out toward you silently, you slipped beneath it, curling yourself into his side while his arm settled securely around your shoulders.

Together you walked slowly toward the house. Every step still felt heavy, your body sore and exhausted beneath the lingering aftermath of adrenaline and medication, but with Gator holding you upright beside him and the warm glow of the Big House ahead, it already felt easier to breathe.

Maggie reached the porch first and opened the front door. The second you stepped inside, every head in the room turned toward you.

It was Nicky who moved first. The second he saw you standing in the doorway, he darted around the side of the sofa toward you so quickly that Maggie instinctively reached a hand out.

“Easy,” she warned gently.

Nicky slowed immediately, socked feet skidding slightly against the hardwood as he stopped in front of you. The worry on his little face made something ache painfully in your chest. His eyes were pink around the edges, curls messy.

You slipped carefully out from beneath Gator’s arm and crouched slightly to hug him. Nicky wrapped his arms around you at once, but gently. So gently it nearly broke your composure. Like he was frightened to squeeze too hard.

“I’m alright, Nicky,” you murmured softly.

You ruffled his curls lightly as you pulled back enough to look at him properly.

“You look exhausted, little guy.” Your thumb brushed beneath one tired eye. “Think maybe you should head up to bed, huh?”

He still looked uncertain, you smiled reassuringly.

“Tomorrow we can watch Scooby Doo and snuggle on the sofa all day if you want.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Are you really okay?”

You stroked your fingers gently through his curls again.

“I’m really okay,” you promised him. “Gator’s gonna look after me.”

Nicky looked toward Gator across the room, Gator nodded and it loosened some of the tension from Nicky’s little face. He stepped forward for one more quick hug, pressing himself briefly against you before letting go again.

“Night.”

“Night, bud.”

Maggie took his hand then and guided him gently toward the stairs, her palm smoothing once across the back of his head as they disappeared upstairs together. Behind you, Gator’s hand moved slowly across your back.

“M’gonna get you some water, ‘kay?”

You nodded tiredly and watched him disappear toward the kitchen. The second he was gone, Tucker and Walker appeared at your side. 

Both boys hovered awkwardly for a moment like they were unsure what they were allowed to do with you now. Tucker’s shoulders sat tense beneath his hoodie while Walker looked at you with open worry he clearly wasn’t trying very hard to hide.

You sighed softly.

“I’m fine. Stop being weird.”

Walker let out a breath and finally stepped forward first, wrapping his arms around you in a careful hug. Tucker joined a second later, both boys still handling you far too delicately.

“Glad you’re okay,” Tucker muttered.

Walker pulled back just enough to study your face.

“You don’t have to have surgery again?”

“No,” you reassured him gently. “No surgery. I just got too hot and probably didn’t drink enough water today. My heart got a little too quick and my body decided to shut itself down for a minute.”

Walker still looked uncertain.

“But the doctor ran all his tests,” you continued softly. “And I’m fine. Promise. Just need some sleep.”

The twins exchanged a look before nodding. You smiled faintly at them both.

“Go on,” you said. “Bed. You can all fuss over me tomorrow.”

Walker laughed under his breath and finally turned toward the stairs. Tucker lingered one second longer, leaning down to press a quick kiss against the top of your head before following after his brother upstairs.

The house quietened again once they disappeared, you turned slowly back toward the living room. Ford stood alone near the sofa now. For a second neither of you moved.

The damage from the fight sat stark beneath the warm lighting of the room. A bruise had already started darkening along one side of his face and there was a cut split open above his eyebrow. His knuckles looked raw and swollen. He looked exhausted too, not just physically but soul deep.

He pushed himself slowly away from the back of the sofa and walked toward you. The second he reached you, his arms wrapped around you tightly, carefully, pulling you into his chest. He buried his face briefly against your hair and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

You wrapped your arms around him.

“I was an asshole,” Ford continued, voice thick with guilt now. “I shouldn’t have-- Christ. I never meant… I should’ve been looking after you. I’m sorry.”

You pulled back enough to look up at him.

“Brooks?”

Ford exhaled heavily through his nose.

“Logan and Noah took him home.” A faint grimace crossed his bruised face. “He’s… yeah. He’s a mess.”

He rubbed one hand down his face before wincing when his fingers brushed the bruise near his eye. You couldn’t help the tiny, tired smile that pulled at your mouth.

“Probably could’ve handled that better, huh?”

“You think?” A short laugh escaped him.

“Go to bed, Ford,” you murmured softly. “We can fix the world in the morning.”

Ford’s thumb brushed slowly across your cheek, his expression still full of regret.

“I’m really sorry, baby.”

“I know you are.”

Gator appeared from the kitchen a moment later, a glass of water in one hand.

“Y’ready for bed, baby?”

You looked back toward Ford one last time, giving him a small reassuring smile before crossing slowly to Gator. The second you reached him, his hand settled against the small of your back, warm and steady as he guided you down the hallway toward your room.

By the time you stepped into your bedroom, exhaustion hit properly all at once, it rolled through your body in one crushing wave.

Your chest still felt tender and heavy beneath your ribs, your limbs aching with that strange hollow soreness that always followed an episode like this. The sticky residue left behind from the monitor pads still clung faintly to your skin beneath the neckline of your dress and you suddenly became overwhelmingly aware of how clammy and uncomfortable you felt.

Gator closed the bedroom door softly behind him. Then he came up close behind you, his arms slipping around your waist while his chin rested lightly against the top of your head.

“You sleepy?”

“Mhm.”

He pressed a kiss softly against your hair.

“C’mon,” he murmured. “Lemme get y’somethin’ t’wear.”

He started toward the wardrobe, but you caught gently at his wrist before he got more than a step away. Gator turned back instantly, concern already flickering across his face.

“What is it?”

You leaned tiredly into his chest.

“I feel gross. Sweaty and all sticky from the stupid hospital pads.” You grimaced faintly. “I want a shower.”

“Alright.”

You rested your forehead briefly against his chest, eyes slipping shut.

“But I’m tired,” you mumbled. “And achey. And I also kinda just wanna lie down right here.”

A soft chuckle rumbled through his chest beneath your cheek, his hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face gently upward toward his.

“Lemme do it,” he said pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Lemme take care of you.”

You closed your eyes for a second longer before finally nodding.

Gator scooped you up into his arms carefully and carried you through into the en-suite bathroom. He sat you gently on the counter while he moved around the room turning on the shower and quietly getting everything ready.

He tugged his shirt off over his head first before gathering fresh towels from the cabinet and folding them neatly onto the rail beside the shower. After that came his jeans, pushed carelessly into the corner alongside his shirt while the bathroom slowly filled with warmth and steam.

When he came back over to you, his attention returned to your face. Always your face first. He lifted you carefully down from the counter and steadied you against him before hooking his fingers gently beneath the hem of your dress.

“Arms up.”

You lifted them obediently and he guided the dress slowly over your head.

Your chest was bare beneath it, but Gator’s eyes never faltered, his attention stayed fixed entirely on your expression instead, watching carefully for any sign you weren’t okay.

The dress landed atop the discarded pile of clothes in the corner. You slipped your panties off yourself, nudging them toward the pile too while Gator’s hands found your hips and slowly, gently, he guided you toward the shower while he stepped out of the last of his clothes behind you.

Warm water hit your skin in soft waves the second you stepped beneath it. Gator stepped into the shower after you and you turned to rest your forehead against the warm skin of his chest while steam curled thick around the room.

His hands slid gently into your hair, guiding you back beneath the spray until warm water soaked through it completely. The heat running down your back loosened some of the ache sitting stubbornly in your muscles and you let your eyes close, breathing slowly against him while he held you steady.

You barely had the energy to think anymore. Only feel. The steady rise and fall of Gator’s breathing beneath your cheek. The warmth of his skin. The soft movements of his hands as he reached around you for shampoo and worked it carefully through your hair.

His fingers massaged slowly against your scalp, gentle and thorough, never rushing. When he rinsed the suds away, his hand stayed cradled at the back of your neck the entire time like he was afraid you might suddenly disappear if he let go. Then conditioner. Then body wash.

The familiar vanilla scent drifted softly through the steam as he worked the loofah across your shoulders and down your back in slow smoothing circles. Every touch was careful. Grounding. More about comfort than anything else.

He pressed a kiss against your damp hair before turning you gently around so your back rested against his chest instead. The loofah moved across your collarbones, your sternum, your stomach. His hand steadied your hip the whole time while you leaned back against him bonelessly, head tipped against his shoulder, eyes still shut.

By the time he finished rinsing you both clean, you felt half asleep on your feet.

Gator turned the water off and reached for a towel, wrapping it securely around you before loosely knotting another low around his own hips. He guided you back into the bedroom, one hand firm at your waist while he kissed softly at your shoulder.

The room felt dim and quiet after the bright bathroom lights. You sat on the edge of the bed while Gator dried you off properly, rubbing warmth back into your arms and legs before helping you into clean cotton panties and one of his hoodies.

He disappeared briefly back into the bathroom, returning in just his boxers and carrying your hairbrush in one hand and a towel in the other. You watched him quietly through heavy eyes while he sat beside you and gently worked the towel through your damp hair, squeezing water from the ends before brushing it out slowly and patiently. Every now and then his fingers would pause to untangle a knot by hand rather than pulling.

Once he was satisfied, he helped you back onto your feet and guided you around to your side of the bed. The duvet was already pulled back waiting for you. You climbed in gratefully. The mattress dipped a moment later as Gator moved around to his side. You took a sip from the glass of water he’d left waiting on your nightstand while he settled beside you, then rolled toward him once he lay back.

Your head found Gator’s bare chest, the familiar warmth of him easing something tight inside you. You breathed him in slowly; soap, clean skin, that quiet unmistakable scent that was simply him, while his hand moved lazily across your back beneath the duvet.

And finally, in the stillness of the darkened room, the day caught up with you properly. The photographs spread across the porch table. Ford and Brooks screaming at one another in the yard. Nicky’s little panda keyring dropping onto the wood. The panic in your chest. The hospital. The fear of it all settled heavily over you at once, quiet but crushing.

You didn’t even realise tears had begun slipping down your face until Gator’s hand moved gently beneath your chin, tipping your face up toward him.

“Hey,” he murmured softly. “Why you cryin’, baby? Y’hurtin’?”

You shook your head quickly and rubbed your face against his shoulder with a shaky breath.

“They came to the house,” you whispered. “They had Nicky’s keyring.”

Saying it out loud made it feel worse somehow. Who were these people? What did they want? Fear twisted hard through your chest all over again.

Gator shifted lower in the bed until he was lying on his side facing you fully. His thumb brushed slowly beneath your eyes, wiping away tears as they fell.

“I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to you.”

“I don’t understand what they want.”

“S’about money,” Gator said quietly. “Always is. Brooks has it. They want it.”

“Brooks is an idiot,” you muttered. “What was he thinking?”

Gator’s hand slid back into your hair, twirling absentmindedly at one damp strand.

“S’not just on Brooks,” he admitted after a second. “Was my dad’s idea to send me an’ Logan out there in the first place. Y’know what he’s like. Ain’t thinkin’ about anybody but himself an’ how he looks.”

“I’m just…” Your voice cracked slightly. “I’m scared, Gator.”

“We’ll sort it. Maggie’ll sort it. Tomorrow, yeah?” His hand smoothed slowly across your back. “Right now, y’safe. With me.”

And deep down, you knew he was right. Maggie would already be thinking three steps ahead of everybody else. She would know who to call, what to do. That was what Maggie did. She took control of things. She protected her family.

And until then, you had Gator. Your Gator. Gentle and careful and loving enough to hold you together when you felt like you might come apart.

“I love you.”

His arm tightened around you immediately.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “C’mere.”

He pulled you fully against him then, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while you settled into the steady warmth of his chest, listening to the slow even rhythm of his heartbeat until your breathing finally began to match it.

Gator kept his hand moving slowly across your back long after the conversation faded away. Eventually he felt the tension begin leaving your body bit by bit beneath his palm. Your breathing deepened. Your fingers loosened where they rested against his ribs. Every now and then you shifted slightly closer in your sleep, unconsciously seeking warmth and reassurance both.

But sleep never came for him. He lay staring into the darkness above the bed while his mind circled the same thoughts over and over until they became unbearable.

This had gone too far. Way too far.

Brooks and Roy had spent so long focused on pride and revenge and looking tough that neither of them had stopped to think about the fallout landing on everybody else around them. Roy especially. Roy never thought beyond himself. Never considered consequences unless they landed directly at his own feet.

And Gator had let himself get dragged into it. He thought about the night at Blackridge. Him and Logan rolling out there because Roy wanted to posture and Brooks wanted payback. None of them thinking far enough ahead.

Gator shut his eyes briefly.

He was angry at Brooks. Angry at Roy. But underneath all of it he was more angry with himself. Because he should have seen it. There had been a photograph in that envelope of the two of you walking through the mall hand in hand and he had never noticed anybody watching. Not one suspicious face. Not one car hanging too long behind yours. How the hell had he missed that?

And then tonight… He should never have left your side. Didn’t matter that Ford and Brooks were beating the shit out of each other in the yard. Didn’t matter that Logan was shouting or Maggie was trying to stop it. None of it mattered more than you. He should have stayed with you.

The image kept replaying anyway no matter how hard he tried to shove it away. You collapsing onto the porch boards. Your skin grey beneath the lights. Your body limp when he reached you. The memory hollowed him out every single time it surfaced.

Gator tightened his arm around you, pressing his face briefly into your hair as fear twisted viciously through his chest all over again. He couldn’t lose you. The realization sat stark and absolute inside him. You were the only person he had ever truly loved in his life. The only thing that had ever made him want more from himself than just surviving one miserable day after another.

And the thought of something happening to you? No. His hand slid carefully down your arm until he found your wrist resting against his chest beneath the blankets. Gently he turned his fingers against the inside of it until he found your pulse.

Gator focused on that rhythm instead of the thoughts trying to tear holes through him. The slow, constant beat beneath his fingertips.

Thump

Thump

Thump

And that was how he stayed the entire night, awake in the darkness with his hand wrapped around your wrist, too frightened to let himself fall asleep in case your heartbeat stopped without him noticing.

・❥・

You woke slowly, still tangled tightly against Gator’s chest beneath the blankets. For a few quiet seconds you stayed there half asleep, cheek pressed against the warm skin over his heart while morning light spilled softly through the curtains. His arm remained wrapped securely around your waist, the other stretched across the bed toward where your wrist rested between his fingers.

Only when you shifted slightly did you realise he was already awake, had probably been awake for a long time. You tipped your head back enough to look at him. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, hair rumpled from repeatedly dragging his hands through it during the night. There was a heaviness to him that had nothing to do with sleep. The second he noticed you looking at him, his fingers loosened around your wrist.

“Mornin’,” he murmured quietly. “How y’feelin’?”

You stretched upward enough to brush a sleepy kiss against his jaw.

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “I’m okay. Hungry.”

“Think Ford’s cookin’,” he said, leaning down to kiss you properly this time, slow and soft and lingering. “Y’wanna get up?”

You nodded reluctantly and rolled off him with a quiet groan. The second your feet touched the floor, your body protested. Everything still ached; your chest, your muscles, even your joints somehow; leaving you feeling wrung out and bruised from the inside. But you already knew everybody would be watching you carefully, waiting for signs you weren’t alright and you couldn't handle another day of frightened faces.

So you stood up, you pulled on a pair of flannel pyjama pants beneath Gator’s hoodie you’d slept in while he dressed quietly in yesterday’s clothes beside the bed. Together you walked out into the kitchen, Gator’s hand resting lightly against the small of your back as he guided you along beside him.

The smell hit first the second you stepped into the kitchen; bacon, coffee, something sweet underneath it all. Ford stood over the stove working through waffles and bacon at the same time, coffee mug balanced dangerously close to the edge of the counter beside him. He looked up immediately when you walked in.

The bruise along one side of his jaw had darkened overnight into blotchy shades of purple and red, the cut above his eyebrow crusted over now beneath a butterfly strip.

“Morning, baby. How you feeling?”

You pointed at his face instead with a small smile, determined to push the haunting concern out of his voice.

“Better than you, I bet. Looking good, Rocky.”

You crossed toward the stove, and Ford hooked one arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side to press a kiss against the top of your head. You tried very hard not to visibly wince when your ribs protested.

“Still hilarious, I see,” he muttered dryly.

You stole a piece of bacon from the plate beside the stove while ducking back out from under his arm. Ford swatted lightly at your hand.

“Oi!”

You laughed softly around the bite of bacon and retreated back toward Gator, who watched the entire interaction with quiet suspicion like he was still deciding whether he trusted you upright.

Together you drifted over toward the dining table while breakfast continued crackling and hissing warmly behind you.

Josie sat in her highchair at the end of the table, methodically squashing pieces of strawberry between her fingers while Tucker helped Rhodes carefully pour orange juice into a plastic cup beside her. Nicky sat curled over a bowl of fruit eating watermelon in sleepy little bites while Walker argued across the table with Logan and Noah about something that sounded unsurprisingly sports-related.

Brooks sat listening beside them, the sight of him made you pause. Ford’s bruises looked bad enough, but Brooks looked genuinely awful. His nose was swollen crooked across the bridge, both eyes darkening heavily underneath while bruises spread across the sides of his face beneath a split lip and cheekbone.

Gator pulled a chair out quietly for you beside him and the entire table looked up at once when you approached. Brooks opened his mouth first.

“How ya--”

You cut him off before he could finish, lowering yourself into the chair.

“No weird looks and asking how I am. I’m fine. If I stop being fine, I’ll let you know.”

Silence settled immediately around the table and instantly, a little guilt twisted in your stomach.

Because the truth was you did not feel fine. You felt exhausted and sore and fragile in ways you hated feeling. But you hated this even more; the careful voices and worried faces and everybody watching you like you might suddenly collapse again if they looked away too long.

Beside you, Gator sat down quietly while the silence stretched another second too long, then Logan broke it.

“Course she’s fine,” he drawled. “Only dropped because the attention wasn’t on her for five minutes.”

Three heads turned toward him immediately: Gator. Brooks. Maggie. The warning in all three expressions arrived at once, but before Gator could say anything, you rested your hand lightly against his thigh beneath the table.

“Did a better job breaking them up than you did,” you shot back easily. “Better get back down the gym, Logan. You’re getting weak.”

Logan barked out a laugh and just like that, the tension cracked enough for everybody else to breathe again.

Ford appeared from the stove carrying plates stacked high with waffles and bacon before setting them down in the centre of the table. He took the seat beside you while everyone finally started reaching for food, conversation gradually beginning to flow again around the room.

After breakfast, you escaped to the living room while the others cleared up. The huge sectional sofa slowly filled. Gator settled into the corner section and pulled you in beside him, your legs draped comfortably over his while Nicky tucked himself beneath your arm. When Brooks joined, he sat at one end with Noah beside him, Logan sprawled next to them a moment later.  On your other side Tucker sat with Rhodes perched sideways across his lap while Walker lounged beside them.

For a little while the room almost felt normal again. Rhodes eventually decided the sofa cushions were actually stepping stones across lava and started to climb over everybody in increasingly dangerous ways while Tucker tried half-heartedly to keep hold of him. Brooks got caught in the middle of it when Rhodes launched himself across Noah’s lap toward Logan and Tucker reached out at the last second, side-swiping him back by the waist before he could faceplant into the side table.

“Sit still for one minute,” Tucker groaned.

“I was jumping,” Rhodes argued.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Brooks snorted quietly into his coffee. Ford eventually joined with Josie balanced sleepily in his arms just as Maggie entered the room behind him.

The television remained dark. Maggie stopped beside it, arms folded neatly across herself as she surveyed the room.

“Right,” she said calmly. “As we’re all here, let’s get to it.”

Ford looked immediately toward the twins.

“Boys, take Nicky and Rhodes upstairs.”

Walker frowned almost instantly.

“But Dad--”

“Upstairs.”

“No,” Maggie intercepted smoothly. “Tucker and Walker can stay.”

Ford looked over at her sharply.

“Ma.”

“They stay,” Maggie repeated firmly before turning her attention toward the younger boys instead. “Nicky, be a good boy and take Rho upstairs for me.”

Nicky twisted around beneath your arm to look up at you, lower lip jutting out in a sulky little expression that made him look far younger than eight. Clearly, he knew he was being excluded from something important. You smoothed a hand through his curls gently.

“It’s okay, bud,” you said softly. “Take Rho upstairs and you guys can play driving games on the Xbox, yeah?”

That softened him instantly.

“You remember how to turn it on?” you asked.

“Yeah.” His eyes brightened slightly. “Can we sit in the special chairs?”

You hid a smile.

Upstairs, in what had become the den on the landing, sat two expensive black rocking gaming chairs that Tucker and Walker guarded like crown jewels. Nicky almost never got to use them and complained about this fact regularly. Honestly, you would have promised him the moon if it got him happily out of the room right now.

“Yeah,” you said. “You can use the chairs. Just don’t sit too close to the screen, okay?”

Nicky nodded, fully won over now. Then he grabbed Rhodes by the hand and practically hauled the younger boy out of the room with him toward the stairs before anybody could change their mind.

The second the boys disappeared upstairs, the atmosphere in the room shifted completely. The easy warmth drained away again, leaving something tighter in its place. Beside you, Gator’s arm slid more firmly around your shoulders, his hand resting against your arm while everyone’s attention returned to Maggie.

“I’ve texted Roy, Ma. He’s on his way.” Brooks muttered.

“Fine. I’ll talk to you two separately after. Right now, though, this concerns all of us.”

Nobody interrupted.

“Firstly, no more school. The kids can take summer early. I want them in this house where I can have eyes on them at all times.” She looked directly at Ford. “Call the schools and tell them.”

“Done.” Ford nodded.

“Tucker. Walker.” Maggie pointed lightly between the twins. “I want you helping out with your brothers. I don’t want them noticing anything’s changed.”

Both boys nodded as Maggie continued without pause.

“I’ve got people coming to watch the house. There’ll be a car parked at the front gate.” She pointed toward Ford again. “And that gate stays closed from now on. Another car will be running the perimeter. But nobody leaves this house.”

The finality in her voice settled heavily across the room. She looked back toward Tucker and Walker and motioned a small square shape in the air with her fingers.

“Inside. At. All. Times. I don’t want you boys in the backyard. I don’t want you sitting out on the porch. You stay inside this house. That goes for you too, Baby.”

You glanced instinctively toward Gator beside you before looking back at her again. If this conversation was supposed to make you feel safer, it was doing a spectacularly bad job of it. Still, you nodded.

Maggie turned her attention toward the other end of the sofa.

“Noah. Logan. I want you sticking together. If you can work from the Cabin, you work from the Cabin. If not, you go together. You see anything wrong; you come straight back here. Understand?”

They both nodded.

“And as for you two,” Maggie said, looking between Ford and Brooks now, “no more fighting. Work and then home. No screwing around. That front gate stays closed at all times and if either of you sees anything suspicious, you tell me immediately.”

Silence followed as Maggie looked around the room.

“Questions?”

Nobody answered.

This was Maggie in her element. Calm. Commanding. Taking control of the room so completely nobody even considered arguing with her. Family sat at the absolute centre of Maggie Heaton’s world and everybody in that room knew she would burn half of North Dakota to the ground before she let somebody threaten it.

Still, unease curled slowly in your stomach anyway.

Your thoughts drifted briefly toward the men she kept mentioning. The ones coming to watch the house. A security firm maybe. You wondered fleetingly if Roy had arranged it; deputies, officers, somebody official, but Gator had not reacted at all when Maggie mentioned them, so maybe not police.

Walker finally broke the silence.

“The car at the gate…” He hesitated slightly. “Are they… good guys?”

“They’re my guys,” Maggie replied.

An awfully vague response. Maggie had guys? The realization settled strangely in your chest and for the first time in a long time, you found yourself quietly wondering just how much you actually knew about your grandmother.

“And they’re gonna be there all day?” Walker asked.

“They’ll be there 24/7 until I’ve sorted this,” Maggie said calmly.

Then her gaze shifted deliberately toward Brooks.

“And I will sort this.”

You sank a little deeper into Gator’s side as the room finally fell quiet again. The exhaustion lingering in your body pulled heavily at you now, making your eyelids feel warm and slow every time you blinked.

Somewhere beneath the fear and uncertainty still hanging over the house sat a quieter feeling too. Trust. You did not know exactly how Maggie intended to fix this. But she would. The ship always felt steadier somehow when Maggie had hold of the wheel. Like everybody else could panic if they wanted to because she never did.

At that moment, a knock sounded against the front door. You opened your eyes again immediately. Across the room Tucker and Walker both looked up sharply, instinctive tension flickering across their faces, but Maggie barely reacted.

“It’s unlocked, Junior.”

The front door opened a second later and Roy Tillman stepped inside. Maggie fixed him with one sharp look before pointing toward Brooks and Gator.

“Office. Now.”

Then she turned and walked straight down the hallway without waiting to see whether they followed. Roy went after her immediately. Brooks pushed himself up from the sofa with a quiet sigh while beside you Gator looked down first.

“M’gonna be quick.”

He lifted your legs carefully from across his lap and settled them over Tucker’s instead before standing.

“Watch my girl,” he told Tucker, giving his shoulder a quick pat as he passed.

Tucker snorted softly and slid one arm around your shoulders.

“She was mine first, Tillman.”

You smiled faintly up at Gator as he disappeared down the hallway after the others. The second he was gone, Tucker pulled you a little closer against his side, one hand resting absently against your calf. Then his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down properly at the flannel pyjama pants you were wearing.

“Are you wearing my pyjama pants?”

A laugh escaped you.

“Tucker, you could fit two of me in a pair of your pants.” You rested your head more comfortably against his shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re Walker’s.”

Walker looked over from the other side of Tucker.

“Get your own pants, weirdo.”

You nudged him lightly with your toes.

“But yours are super comfy.”

Walker rolled his eyes while you continued poking at him lazily with your foot until he finally grabbed your ankle and held it firmly in retaliation.

“You sure they didn’t wanna keep you in the hospital?”

You gasped dramatically in mock offense, then used your free foot to shove at him instead.

“Stuck with me now, Walker,” you informed him smugly. “We’re all on house arrest. You’ve got me all day.”

Walker let his head fall back against the sofa cushions with theatrical despair.

“Kill me now.”

・・

Gator looked back over his shoulder before leaving the living room. You were still tucked against Tucker’s side beneath the blanket draped across the sofa, your head resting against his shoulder while Walker argued half-heartedly with Logan about something across the room. You looked calm, at least on the surface, but even knowing you were surrounded by family, every instinct in him still resisted walking away from you.

But when Maggie summoned you, you went.

So Gator forced himself to turn away and follow the others to Maggie’s office. For one brief second he considered simply continuing past it altogether, heading for your room instead and locking the damn door behind him. But he refrained and stepped inside.

Roy and Brooks already stood side by side in front of Maggie’s desk, the sight almost made Gator laugh. Funny how this was usually his position in Roy’s office, standing stiff-backed in front of the desk while his father talked down at him like a misbehaving school child.

Maggie sat behind the desk, legs crossed neatly, hands resting on the chair arms with the kind of effortless authority that made the entire room feel smaller around her.

Gator shut the office door quietly behind him and stayed near it, leaning back against the wall rather than moving closer to Brooks or Roy. The distance felt necessary. The second the latch clicked shut, Maggie began.

“Look at the two of you,” her voice was low and smooth and infinitely more dangerous for it. “Take your hat off in my house, Junior. Pretend you’ve got an ounce of respect.”

Roy removed the Stetson immediately, gripping it awkwardly in front of himself.

“Maggie, I wanna--”

Maggie lifted one hand and Roy stopped speaking instantly.

“You don’t talk. You two are done talking. Right now, you are going to listen.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair, gaze moving between the two men in front of her.

“You are two fucking children playing games you do not understand. We don't get involved in petty turf wars we can afford to make disappear just because you two wanna win some pissing contest.”

Neither Roy nor Brooks moved.

“You have jeopardised this entire family’s safety,” Maggie continued, voice tightening now. “The safety of my grandchildren. Because neither of you can keep your fragile egos in check. Neither one of you is capable. Left to your own devices, you’d burn this whole town to the ground just to prove you’re king of the ash heap.”

Gator kept his eyes fixed on the floor. Even Roy looked about seventeen years old standing there getting scolded.

“So here is the new world order,” Maggie said. “You do nothing without my approval. You don’t make calls, you don’t throw stones, you don’t so much as breathe unless I tell you to. From now on, every single thought that flickers through either of your dense skulls gets run by me. Every. Single. One. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Roy answered.

“Yes, Ma.”

“Sit.”

Both men obeyed instantly, lowering themselves into the armchairs opposite the desk. Neither relaxed into them properly. Brooks perched forward on the edge while Roy sat stiff-backed beside him, hat still clutched in both hands as Maggie continued.

“Now since you’ve both proven you can’t lead, you will follow.” She looked directly at Roy. “Junior, you can put that tin badge of yours to use. I want a full list of every worker, every plate number, every person who’s so much as mumbled the name Blackridge in the last six months. All of it comes to me and only me.”

Roy nodded.

“Double the patrols on the 22,” Maggie continued. “And add another around Brooks’ office.”

Then her attention shifted to Brooks.

“Brooks. Until this is sorted, I’ve got men providing security for your crews. Double the safety checks at every site. If anything looks remotely off, the pad closes. We can swallow the money. We cannot swallow another nineteen-year-old kid getting killed.”

Brooks visibly shrunk at the reminder.

“You coordinate with the security teams I hired,” Maggie said. “And yes, you’ll take orders from them because they know what they’re doing, and you are an amateur. You go to work. You come home. That’s it.”

The room stayed silent except for the quiet ticking of Maggie’s desk clock, then Maggie folded her hands together neatly.

“And next time you two feel the need to pull the trigger on some bullshit,” she said coolly, “do me a favour and just shoot each other instead. Spare me the fucking aggravation.”

Neither man spoke.

“Right now,” Maggie finished, “you both have jobs to do. Get out.”

Gator stared very hard at the floor as Roy and Brooks stood again. He deliberately avoided eye contact with both of them as they passed him on their way out of the office. When the door shut, Maggie clicked her tongue softly. Gator looked up and she gestured toward the now-empty armchair across from her desk. He pushed himself reluctantly off the wall and sat down.

Strangely, this felt worse than any conversation he’d ever had in Roy’s office. His palms felt damp against his jeans, and he realised with sudden clarity that he desperately did not want Maggie angry at him. But when she spoke again, her voice had softened. Not warm exactly, but not as sharp.

“Due to the fact your father and my son are both useless for anything beyond manual labour, I’ve got some cleaning up to do,” she said dryly, “Do you understand the position we’re in?”

Truthfully? No. Not fully. All he really understood was that the only person he cared about was sitting out in the living room frightened and exhausted, and he would burn himself alive before he let something happen to her.

“It’s a mess,” he said.

Maggie let out a humourless breath.

“It’s a huge fucking target painted on our backs. And I need somebody in this house who isn’t blinded by their own stupidity,” Maggie said. “I want you here until this is sorted. Keeping those kids safe. Keeping an eye on all of them. I’ll deal with Junior. I need you here.”

Something unexpectedly sincere settled across her face then.

“You’re good for her,” Maggie said simply. “You keep her calm. You keep her safe. Go back to the ranch and pack a bag. I want you here until I know this is finished; this is your priority.”

Gator nodded immediately and pushed himself to his feet. Relief threaded quietly through him beneath everything else. Because truthfully, there had been no chance he was leaving you here and going back to the Tillman ranch alone after yesterday.

Then his eyes caught on the edge of Maggie’s desk, the envelope sat there beside the stack of photographs. The top image was the one of you and him walking hand in hand through the mall. Gator slowed slightly, something tugging at the back of his memory. That day. The bakery. Your feeling of being watched.

He stepped closer and tapped one finger lightly against the photograph.

“That day, after this, we stopped t’pick up the cake.” His brow furrowed as he thought back. “An’ there were these guys. Two of ‘em. They were starin’. Didn’t notice ‘em at first. But she did.”

Maggie leaned forward.

“You get a plate?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Weren’t a truck. They were on bikes.”

“Bikes?”

“Harleys,” Gator said. “Both of ‘em. Wearing patches.”

He rubbed at his forehead, forcing himself to picture it properly. Leather cuts. Heavy boots. One of the men had been facing you and Gator hadn’t gotten a good look at the front of his vest. But the second one had turned slightly while walking away and Gator remembered catching sight of the patch stretched across the back of his vest.

A skeletal hand gripping a hangman’s noose and words stitched across the top. Gator’s eyes narrowed slightly as the memory finally clicked fully into place.

“The Hanged Men,” he said, looking back at Maggie. “S’what the patch said.”

Maggie immediately grabbed her phone from the desk.

“Good eye,” she said as she searched through her contacts. “I’ll check it. You can go.”

You were still curled across the sofa when Gator came back out of the hallway. The television had been turned on while he was gone, some football documentary playing low in the background while Tucker and Walker half-watched it between occasional comments to one another. Noah and Logan had already left for work and somewhere upstairs you could hear the faint thud of little feet and Ford’s voice carrying softly.

Gator stepped behind the sofa and pressed a kiss against the crown of your head. You tipped your face back over the cushions to look at him, still half draped across Tucker, blanket pulled over your legs while Tucker absentmindedly rubbed circles against your arm like you were one of the little kids.

“M’gonna go home real quick,” Gator murmured. “Get some stuff, ‘kay?”

The second he suggested leaving, your body reacted before your brain did. You shifted upright, turning fully toward him as your hand reached automatically for his.

“You’re leaving?”

“M’comin’ back. Jus’ need some clothes an’ stuff.”

His thumb brushed gently across your cheek before slipping beneath your chin, tipping your face upward so he could lean down and kiss the corner of your mouth.

“M’gonna be real quick,” he promised quietly. “An’ then m’stayin’ here with you. Alright?”

You nodded reluctantly. Gator kissed you once more before reaching over the back of the sofa to jab Tucker lightly in the shoulder.

“Look after her,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

“Yeah,” Tucker replied easily. “We got her.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed lightly at Gator’s chest.

“I am here, you know,” you informed him. “And technically, I’m the adult here. I’ll look after them.”

Gator cupped your face between both hands and pressed a kiss against your forehead.

“You jus’ got out the hospital an’ had me scared as shit. So you’re gonna sit here an’ let Tucker look after you, ‘cause I told you to.”

His mouth carried that familiar cocky little smirk, but the look in his eyes underneath it remained completely serious. You held his gaze another second before a smile finally pulled at your mouth despite yourself.

“Fine.”

Gator shook his head faintly, still smiling as he stepped away from the sofa and headed for the front door. You watched him leave before settling back down again with a tired sigh, curling into Tucker’s side once more beneath the blanket. Tucker glanced down at you briefly.

“You wanna watch something else?”

“Nah,” you murmured, letting your eyes drift shut again. “I’m good. Watch whatever.”

The ache sitting through your body had settled deeper now that the adrenaline was gone completely. Your muscles felt sore and heavy and your chest still carried that awful, bruised pressure like someone was sitting directly on your sternum. So you tucked yourself closer against Tucker’s side and tried not to think about it while the low murmur of the television carried softly through the room.

・❥・

You had barely moved from the sofa all day. Gator had left mid-morning to grab clothes from the ranch and returned less than an hour later with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, which he’d deposited in your bedroom before reclaiming his spot beside you in the living room.

And mostly, that was where the day had stayed. Curled together on the sectional beneath blankets while the rest of the house moved around you.

Tucker and Walker had taken the instructions regarding “looking after you” with alarming seriousness. Tucker had made lunch sometime around noon while Walker kept reappearing with glasses of water, tea or snacks you hadn’t asked for but inevitably ended up taking anyway.

By evening, Scooby Doo was playing across the television for what genuinely had to be at least the four-hundredth time in your life. Nicky and Rhodes sat cross-legged on the floor arguing over which monster they thought was best while Josie slept curled sideways against Ford’s chest.

It had been peaceful, strangely peaceful considering everything. Which was exactly why the sight of Logan and Noah stepping through the front door with Roy following behind them hit like a cold reminder straight to the chest. Because for one brief stupid moment, you had almost managed to forget why everyone was home in the first place.

Roy disappeared toward Maggie’s office immediately after stepping through the front door. He passed through the living room without more than a glance in anybody’s direction, boots heavy against the hardwood floor, and Gator’s arm tightened around you as he went by. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that you felt it. You made a quiet mental note to ask him later what Maggie had said in the office that morning.

Roy left again not long afterwards without speaking to anyone. The front door had barely shut behind him when the Scooby Doo credits finally began rolling across the television screen. Beside you, Rhodes blinked sleepily from where he was sprawled half across Walker’s lap. You pushed yourself up slightly.

“C’mon, Nicky, Rho. Bedtime.”

The second you started shifting forward Tucker patted your leg.

“I got it.”

Walker stood too, scooping Rhodes up easily before the little boy could protest. Rhodes curled against his chest with a sleepy whine while Tucker reached over to untangle the blanket still trapped around his legs. Then Tucker turned toward Nicky. Except Nicky had already shuffled closer against your side instead.

“I don’t wanna go to bed.”

“Nicky,” you said gently, “you stayed up late waiting for me last night and you’re half asleep already. C’mon, bud.”

But Nicky didn’t move. His bottom lip disappeared briefly between his teeth and when he finally spoke again, his voice had gone very small.

“I don’t want the bad guys to get me.”

Your chest tightened painfully. You sat up properly at once, turning toward him fully. His eyes looked frightened now in a way he’d clearly been trying hard to hide all day. Your hand slid gently against his cheek.

“Nicky, nobody’s gonna get you. You’re safe here,” you promised quietly. “We’re all here to keep you safe, bud.”

His lip trembled slightly. You looked helplessly back toward Gator for a second and then toward Tucker, who thankfully understood immediately.

“How about you come stay in my room tonight?” Tucker offered casually, resting a hand against Nicky’s shoulder. “We can have a sleepover.”

Relief softened through you instantly, you smiled brightly at Nicky with deliberate exaggeration.

“That sounds fun, huh? Sleepover with Tucker?”

Nicky looked between the two of you before finally giving a tiny nod, you ruffled his curls gently.

“Good boy. Better take your headphones though. Tucker snores.”

Nicky’s eyes widened slightly as he looked up toward Tucker who gasped in mock offense.

“I do not snore.”

You leaned closer to Nicky in an exaggerated stage whisper.

“He’s lying. Snores like a pig.”

Nicky finally laughed.

“Enough of these big lies. Sleepover time.” Tucker announced dramatically before grabbing Nicky around the waist and hauling him upside down over one shoulder.

Nicky shrieked with laughter. Tucker jogged toward the stairs snorting loudly like a pig the entire way while Nicky cackled against his shoulder. Walker followed behind carrying Rhodes. You watched them disappear upstairs before collapsing back against Gator with a tired sigh.

“I fucking hate this.”

“I know, baby.” He pressed a kiss into your hair. “But Maggie’s workin’ on it.”

“Hope she’s quick about it.”

You patted lightly at his arm until he loosened his hold enough for you to stand.

“Find something to watch,” you said. “I’m gonna pee and then make tea. You all want one?”

The question drifted generally toward Gator, Logan and Noah still sprawled around the living room. Before anyone else answered, Logan stood up.

“I’ll make tea. You pee.” He jerked his head toward the hallway. “C’mon.”

You headed toward your bedroom while Logan wandered into the kitchen. By the time you came back out from the bathroom, the kettle had just clicked off.

Logan stood at the kitchen island pouring mugs out while steam curled warmly through the room. You leaned tiredly against the counter beside him and he glanced sideways at you.

“Don’t bite my head off for asking, but… how you feeling?”

“I’m alright.” You shrugged slightly. “Bit sore.”

Logan studied you for another second and there was something surprisingly genuine in the concern on his face. No teasing, just worry and weirdly, coming from Logan, that made honesty easier. You stared down at the counter while you spoke.

“Keep finding myself listening to everyone else’s heartbeat,” you admitted quietly. “Like when I was lying on Tucker earlier or with Gator. I count it. Like I’m trying to make mine match.”

Logan stayed quiet while he poured water into the mugs one by one, just listening, giving you space to keep going.

“And I am fine,” you continued after a second. “Like… my heart’s normal. Well, my normal. Not normal-normal. But I feel like I can’t say that actually I’m achey and I’m tired because everyone’ll just freak the fuck out.”

“Surely it’s normal for you to be achey?” Logan said. “Didn’t they like… restart your heart?”

You huffed a tired laugh through your nose.

“That’s my point. It is normal considering.” You leaned heavier against the counter. “But it feels like I can either be completely fine or laid up in a hospital bed and there’s no in between because everybody assumes anything even slightly wrong needs intervention or panic.”

Logan slowly set the kettle back down. Then finally turned fully toward you.

“So how do you actually feel?”

You let your head tip back briefly.

“Like I got hit in the chest with a sledgehammer,” you admitted honestly. “I think I could sleep for a week. Even standing here my legs ache with the effort and I can’t tell if I’ve got a headache or if my eyes are just angry that I’m keeping them open.”

Logan nodded once, then immediately leaned over the counter and shouted toward the living room.

“Gator!”

You winced hard at the volume.

“You’re a little snitch.”

Logan shrugged unapologetically.

“He’s the only one besides me who ain’t gonna make you feel bad for being honest.” A grin tugged briefly at his mouth. “And I got a feeling you’d rather go to bed with him than me, so shut up and thank me for caring.”

Right on cue, Gator appeared around the corner.

“Y'good?”

“She’s been bullshitting all day,” Logan informed him before you could answer. “She’s aching and sore and needs her bed. You’re up, lover boy.”

Gator crossed the kitchen to you, one hand settling against your hip.

“Why ain’t y’said nothin’?”

“I didn’t want everybody freaking out the way they do,” you muttered. “And I was alright on the sofa. It’s not like I was doing anything.”

Logan reached into the cabinet overhead for the Tylenol before passing that and a water bottle toward Gator. Gator nodded a quiet thanks before guiding you gently toward the hallway.

“Y’meant t’be takin’ it easy,” he murmured.

Gator guided you gently down onto the bed, passing you the Tylenol Logan had sent with him and a bottle of water already uncapped.

“Here.”

You swallowed the tablets obediently and chased them down with another long sip of water before sinking back against the pillows with a tired exhale.

The room sat dim and warm around you while Gator moved quietly through it. He closed the curtains over the porch doors first, then flicked off the en-suite light, leaving only the softer glow of the bedside lamp behind. After that he crouched beside the duffel bag he’d brought from the ranch earlier and stripped out of his jeans and t-shirt, changing into a pair of loose grey shorts.

Something about the sight made you smile, the simple domesticity of it. His clothes in your room. His bag beside your dresser. Gator moving around the space like he belonged there.

You watched him climb into bed beside you and immediately rolled toward him, resting your head against his bare chest while his hand slid into your hair.

“I like having you here.”

His fingers slowed slightly where they stroked through your hair.

“Enough that y’didn’t tell me y’were hurtin’? We coulda been in here all day.”

“Everyone throws a fit when I say anything,” you sighed. “Like me being sore means my heart’s about to give out.”

“I ain’t everyone. Y’coulda jus’ told me what y’needed,” he murmured. “I woulda listened.”

And the thing was, you knew he would have.

Your mind drifted back to the night before. To him stopping when you asked him not to carry you inside because you didn’t want to frighten Nicky. To the shower afterward, when he’d listened when you said you felt gross and sticky from the hospital despite how exhausted you’d been. He never treated you like you didn’t know what your body was telling you. Even when he was terrified for you, he still listened to you first.

You curled a little closer against him.

“I know you would have.” Your voice softened. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just… used to putting the mask on.”

Gator was quiet for a second, then his hand slid gently beneath your chin until you tipped your face up enough to look at him.

“I don’t like the mask,” he said simply. “Y’can do it for them if y’want. But not for me. Promise?”

Emotion tightened quietly in your chest.

“Promise.”

That seemed to ease something in him. His hand moved back into your hair again, stroking once slowly before settling warm against your back while he pressed a kiss into the top of your head.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured. “Get some sleep.”

This time, when your eyes finally closed, you let yourself sink fully into the exhaustion instead of fighting it.

Taglist: [Comment to be added] @keerygirlie98 @mystickittytaco @imdjoverit @lofi-fics @kristywidget97 @janehartt  @ms-mountebank @eller41 @slutforpumpkins @roridemie

[thoroughlymimi]

I'm binging #10-12 at once when the last one comes out Saturday, I'm so fucking excited.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

That is a dedicated Saturday, these chapters are girthy 😉

I'm looking forward to everyone's thoughts! 🤍

[thoroughlymimi]

I'm so excited for chapter 11 today!! <3

Wooooo!! Should be with you in the next hour or so 🫶 I had a chance to do my final proof read earlier today so just have to get the post together and then I'm going to settle into episode 6 of Off Campus while y'all read 😘

Mimi <3

[thoroughlymimi]

How do you think bb reacted to gator having other girlfriends in highschool. Since he was a heartthrob obviously he took girls to prom and girls showed up to his game wearing his number right? In one of the chapters gator says “you hated me in high school” so I’m imagining her getting petty and kind of bitter.

I see it as in high school, Baby saw Gator as an extension of Logan.

She thought he was good looking, sure. She has this irritating little crush, but she wasn't telling ANYONE that. She just thinks it's because he's... there.

So, she treats him like she does Logan. With that teenage disdain you give to older brothers. They're annoying to her; when they're late to the car because of a flock of girls, she stands by the truck eye rolling. When friends or girls in her year would make comments about Logan or Gator being hot or whatever, she'd just scoff and be like 'shame, they're both idiots'.

I also see it that Logan is the resident f*ckboy. Logan lived for the attention from girls; new girlfriend every week, cheating on most of them. He wanted to play football because he knew it would bring the girls to him. Gator on the other hand, wanted to play football because he was good at it and he never felt good at anything. He mostly entertained girls because it was something to do, and he didn't want Logan to think he wasn't interested in girls. But they never fully had his attention, it was just him performing what he thought he was supposed to do.

It's as Baby gets older and realises that, the annoying little crush she had in high school never goes away and Gator is only getting more attractive and he is still always there. He becomes ingrained into her family because he's always with Logan, and because he gets on with all of the Heatons, there is more appeal to him because she's so family orientated.

The scene in the decoration store when the cashier is interested and her jealousy flares, she says how girls have always been interested in Gator but she'd never felt this possessive about him before. Because before she had filed him as someone she could never have. So in high school she tells herself she wasn't bothered about the other women, she was bothered about them making her and Noah wait around for them while they flirted with half the cheer squad. But now, in the context of revealed emotions she realises that actually it never really was about her having to wait around.

Does that make sense?

Mimi <3

[thoroughlymimi]

I’m so happy with the influx of asks you’ve been getting!! So well deserved. Love you Mimi <3

Ahhhh it's been so lovely getting them, makes me smile every time!!!

I love you too!!! 💕

[thoroughlymimi]

I was watching pretty women and I was like total four winds vibes!

Idk I watch movies now and all I can think of is how I can correlate it to your stories

-🍵

Pretty Woman is like one of my fave films! What a great movie 😍

Honestly imagine being in my head, my notes app is insane because I'll see like the tiniest thing and think that "would be a wicked scene". I even record voice notes to myself while I'm driving if I have an idea because my memory is crap 😂

I love that my stories have had this effect though, it's like the ultimate compliment that you're thinking about them even when you're not reading them 🤍🤍🤍

[thoroughlymimi]

What’s your most popular series?

Ummmm, I don't actually know...

I think Memories of You was probably the one that most people found me from and the one most people talk to me about 🫶

But if I solely look at like numbers, I think Beautiful Broken Things is the most 'liked'?

Mimi <3

[thoroughlymimi]

Josie’s birthday is gonna be so cute!! Hopefully Rhodes behaves lol, I can’t with him!!!!! Nicky is probably going to be stuck watching after him, I see how In a way they move like twins similar to tucker and Walker.

Nikki just wants to be helpful, he's learnt through watching Baby so he's always intervening and helping out. He does the same with Josie. I always think it's really cute when you see young kids holding babies 😭

They're good kids, I always seem to write dysfunctional families and I just wanted to write a happy, loving group. And I have a lot of siblings, I've got two sisters and two brothers, and maybe we don't necessarily get on quite so well, I love them to pieces!

Josie's birthday is definitely going to be.... Eventful 😉

Mimi <3

[thoroughlymimi]

Im like a boiling tea pot just jittery and excited for the next chapter! MIMI DID IT AGAINNN💯

Ahhhhh I LOVE YOU!!!!

I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Definitely worth the jitters I hope! 🫶

Mimi <3

[thoroughlymimi]

aww the shopping part was so cute!!!! I love when couples do domestic chores like that. Although I’m still a little worried about those bikers

Me too!! Normal cute sh*t; run errands with me baby boy, hold my hand 👏

Clock those bikers, they be creepin' 👀

Mimi <3

[thoroughlymimi]

My spidey senses are tingling…

I can’t wait for the next chapter I’m on the edge of my seat. So much suspense

-🍵

I can't wait til it's all out so we can talk!! I wanna know if your spidey senses are right!!

Somehow this all started as a 6-parter, then I started writing it and it just birthed itself and now it's like a 166k word demon 😂

Mimi <3

[thoroughlymimi]

At The Heart Of It : Part Ten - Systole

Gator Tillman x Reader

18+ | minors do not interact

Word Count: 10361

Summary: Somewhere between family chaos, shopping trips and quiet apologies, you and Gator fall completely in love.

Note: A little later than usual but your gal was scream singing karaoke in the car, just girly things you know? Two more chapters to go! And maybe a cheeky surprise. Anyways, enjoy babies!... Mimi <3

Masterlist

Systole

Translation: The Squeeze

From systellein, to draw together or contract.

Ford stood at the stove in a grey t-shirt and jeans, working through an impressive stack of pancakes, a celebratory breakfast for the champions. The kitchen smelled warm and sweet, butter and syrup and coffee. Josie sat in her highchair beside the island, happily smearing banana into her tray with both hands while periodically kicking one socked foot against the chair leg.

You sat on the counter near the coffee machine with your legs crossed at the ankle, nursing a mug of tea while Ford slid another pancake onto a plate.

Maggie crossed through the kitchen after opening the back door, letting a stream of fresh morning air roll through the house. She paused briefly beside the island, sunlight catching against the gold frames of her sunglasses where they rested on top of her head.

“This sun better stick around for tomorrow,” she said. “You could wear that cute summer dress, baby.”

Your mind flashed to the dress hanging in your closet, the one you’d bought with Maggie last week. White cotton, drop waist, lace hem, corset-style bodice, low neckline. And your scar, entirely visible.

You lifted your tea toward your mouth to buy yourself a second.

“Mh-hm,” you murmured. “Maybe, yeah.”

Thankfully, before Maggie could start in on the subject properly, heavy footsteps sounded overhead.

Tucker and Walker appeared at the top of the stairs a second later in sweatpants, hair still sleep-mussed, moving with the loose-limbed soreness of boys who had spent the previous night throwing themselves into other people at high speed for fun.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ford announced, “Dickinson High’s very own Regional Champions, Tucker and Walker Heaton.”

You burst into applause instantly, laughing as Maggie joined in. The twins groaned through their grins.

“Thank you, thank you,” Tucker said, waving one hand like he was accepting an award.

Walker moved carefully down the stairs, one hand briefly pressing against his ribs as he reached the bottom.

“How are the ribs, Walker?” You asked.

“Sore,” he admitted. “But the ice helped. Imma get another out the freezer.”

Tucker wandered behind you as Walker headed for the freezer and without warning, he dropped both arms over your shoulders and leaned his full weight against your back. You made a protesting grunt noise, slapping backward at his arm.

“Jesus Christ, Tucker.”

“How about you, huh?” he asked lazily. “How’s Gator?”

Ford barked out a laugh from the stove. You twisted and jabbed Tucker sharply in the ribs. He yelped and stumbled backward laughing.

“That’s enough out of you,” you said. “Gator’s fine.”

Tucker grinned to himself as he dropped into a stool beside Walker at the island. Ford slid two loaded plates across the counter toward them.

“What a way to start the summer, huh?” Ford said.

“Still got, like, three weeks of school.” Tucker spoke through a mouthful of pancake.

Walker pointed his fork at him.

“But Coach did buy us those hoodies though. Like winners hoodies. It’s in my-- Where is my bag?”

“I dunno,” Tucker said. “Ask Baby’s boyfriend.”

“Gator put it in the car,” you said. “You want me to go get it?”

Walker was already halfway through another bite.

“I can go.”

“Eat your breakfast,” you told him. “I got it.”

You pushed off the doorway and crossed back through the kitchen toward the key bowl, fingers sifted briefly through the familiar clusters before finding the Suburban keys.

The morning air felt warmer outside than it had through the kitchen windows, the sun already high enough to heat the gravel beneath your feet. Walker’s duffel sat shoved awkwardly in the back of the Suburban beneath a pile of football gear and Josie’s pram. You grabbed the strap and hauled it free, realising it weighed significantly more than expected.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, letting out a small grunt as the full weight dragged onto your shoulder. What the hell was in this thing? Bricks?

You reached up onto your toes to pull the trunk shut again and had just pressed it closed when the low growl of an engine rolled across the yard. A truck crawled up the smaller gravel road leading from the Cabin and came to a slow stop beside you. You glanced toward the driver’s seat long enough to meet Logan’s eyes through the open window before looking away again. Then you adjusted the bag higher onto your shoulder and started toward the Big House. The truck door opened behind you.

“Hey, wait up.”

You kept walking.

“What do you want, Logan? I’m in a good mood. I really don’t need you to ruin it.”

“Just gimme a second.”

A hand landed lightly against your shoulder. You stopped more out of annoyance than willingness and turned sharply toward him.

“Why?” you asked. “You got more names you wanna call me?”

Logan moved around in front of you before you could keep walking. For once, there was no grin on his face. No teasing glint in his eyes either. He looked uncomfortable in a way you had honestly never seen before.

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not… I wanna apologise.”

“You want to apologise?”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. About you being desperate. I just… I saw the jersey, his hands on you, I was just mad and…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I dunno. Fucking shocked, I guess.”

“So you decided to take it out on me?” you asked. “In front of everyone?”

The bag dug painfully into your shoulder as you shifted it higher.

“Yeah,” Logan admitted quietly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You’re saying sorry because Brooks told you to, or Ford, or Maggie.” You shook your head. “You aren’t sorry. You're an asshole.”

“Was Gator,” Logan said.

That made you pause.

“He’s the one who wanted me to apologise.”

You lifted one hand slightly like that proved your point entirely. Logan saw the gesture and pushed on anyway.

“But I ain’t doing it just ‘cause he told me to,” he said quickly. “I am sorry. I mean it.”

The weight of the bag finally became too much. You let it drop heavily into the gravel with a dull thud before looking back at him properly.

“Logan, you've been making your stupid little comments at me for years. Why do you suddenly wanna apologise now, huh?” Your throat burned unexpectedly. “Because this time you pissed off Gator? Someone you actually care about?”

There was enough venom in the words that you hated hearing it yourself. Logan’s face changed; his brows knitting together and in his eyes he looked… hurt?

“You think I don’t care about you?”

“Well do you?”

“You’re like my sister,” he said quietly.

His voice cracked slightly around the words.

You stared at him, caught off guard enough that you forgot to respond. Logan looked down briefly at the gravel before meeting your eyes again.

“Last night I was mad,” he admitted. “And I weren’t thinking, alright? Like… it was you and him. My cousin, basically my sister, and my best friend. Like that’s not… I just wasn’t… it was a lot.”

He let out a long exhale.

“I thought he saw you like I did,” he said. “Like our kid sister who we were allowed to poke fun at, but no other jackass was allowed to look at.”

You sighed heavily and dragged a hand across your forehead.

“And all the other times? All the comments about me, my fucked heart, you pulling my hair like we’re in second grade?”

“I dunno, I was just… messing with you.” He shoved both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t get to mess with Noah. He’s all serious and fucking… weird.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched slightly.

“And they all treat you like glass,” he continued. “I didn’t wanna…” He frowned, struggling for the words. “I dunno. You never said anything. You never told me it was upsetting you.”

You looked at him properly then, he meant it. The realisation settled strangely in your chest. Because when you thought about it honestly, Logan had always treated you differently than everyone else. Not cruelly. Never truly cruelly. Irritatingly, definitely. Insensitively sometimes. But refreshingly… normal.

Ford checked your pulse absentmindedly during hugs sometimes. Maggie could spot exhaustion in your face from across a room. Everybody around you adjusted instinctively, softened instinctively, watched instinctively.

But Logan never did.

If you were breathless, he made jokes until you laughed again. If you looked tired, he annoyed you until you snapped at him instead of sinking into yourself. Even after your second surgery in high school, when everybody else had hovered around your hospital bed speaking softly like you might shatter apart in front of them, Logan had shown up every day after school and acted exactly the same as always. Loud. Irritating. Normal.

You looked down at the gravel for a second before shaking your head slightly.

“I never thought about it like that.”

Logan tilted his head a little, watching you carefully now. A crooked smile tugged faintly at his mouth.

“So,” he said cautiously, “can you accept my apology?”

“Depends,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Are you gonna be weird about me and Gator?”

“Depends,” he shot back automatically. “You gonna keep eating his face in front of me?”

A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it, you shoved hard at his shoulder as you bent to grab Walker’s bag again.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Apology accepted.”

You hoisted the strap back onto your shoulder and started walking toward the house again. Behind you, Logan spoke more quietly.

“You really like him, huh?”

You glanced back over your shoulder.

“Yeah, Logan,” you said honestly. “I really like him.”

“He really likes you too.”

You arched one eyebrow.

“Yeah? He tell you that?”

“He ain’t gotta tell me,” he said. “I know him. He likes you. A lot.”

You held his gaze for a second before nodding once.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Then you turned and kept walking toward the front porch.

You didn't look back again, but a second later you heard the slam of his truck door and the low growl of the engine starting up again. Somewhere beneath the warmth of the morning and the weight of Walker’s stupidly heavy football bag, one thought kept circling quietly through your head.

Logan Heaton had apologised to you.

And he had actually meant it.

You stepped back into the Big House carrying the duffel over one shoulder. Cartoons still blared from the living room, Rhodes sprawled half upside-down across the sofa cushions while Nicky sat cross-legged beside him, utterly absorbed in whatever brightly coloured trash was unfolding onscreen. Neither of them even looked up as you passed.

You rounded the corner into the kitchen where the twins were still sat at the island with Ford. Maggie had now joined them, one elbow resting against the counter, coffee mug in hand.

“Walker,” you complained, “what is in this thing? It weighs more than me.”

Walker stood and crossed toward you, taking the strap from your shoulder before the weight could properly drag you sideways.

“I did tell you I’d get it.”

“Excuse me for being helpful.”

Walker grinned faintly as he hauled the bag up onto the island and unzipped it. A second later he pulled out a dark blue hoodie and held it up proudly for inspection. The Bears logo sat over the left breast. Regional Champions stretched across the right. His surname and number were printed across the back in thick white lettering. Ford gave an approving nod.

“Sweet. Coach sort them?”

“Yeah,” Walker said. “Apparently he ordered them before we even got to the Semi’s.”

“Well,” Ford laughed, “he has you two. Knew it was a safe bet.”

You crossed toward Josie’s highchair while the boys kept talking, lifting her easily onto your hip before grabbing the dishcloth beside the sink to wipe syrup and banana off her hands.

“Is it just the cake you need me to pick up?” you asked Ford.

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “Do we need balloons and stuff? She’s turning one. She doesn’t know it’s her birthday.”

Maggie cut him a look sharp enough to stop traffic.

“You sound like Brooks,” she informed him. “Miserable old man.”

Ford rolled his eyes, Maggie ignored him completely and turned toward you instead.

“I want it all,” she declared. “Balloons, banners, all of it. She gets the same fuss everyone else gets. Don’t care if she’s just a baby.”

She stepped over and pinched Josie lightly on the cheek before smoothing a hand over the baby’s hair.

“Still your birthday, ain’t it, baby girl?” Maggie murmured. “Want to see you in a pile of presents.”

You smiled and looked over at Ford, he sighed like a man who knew he had already lost the argument before it began.

“I guess we need balloons and stuff.”

Maggie moved behind him and reached straight into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Ma!”

She ignored the protest entirely, pulling his wallet free before flipping it open with expert efficiency. A second later she removed his bank card and handed it directly to you.

“Get whatever you think,” she said. “Find her a cute little dress too.”

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered. “Just rob me.”

Maggie slapped his cheek lightly with one hand before reclaiming her coffee.

“Quit whining.”

She wandered back toward the living room while Ford rubbed dramatically at the side of his face. You balled the damp dishcloth up and tossed it at him. Ford caught it one-handed without even looking.

“Uh-oh,” you teased. “Ford’s in trouble for being a grumpy old man.”

Ford answered by raising a middle finger toward you, though the grin tugging at his mouth ruined any real offence. You laughed and stepped closer to pass Josie over to him. Ford took her, settling her against one arm while she started grabbing for his beard.

“Seriously though,” he muttered, “she’s a baby. I didn’t buy her nothing. Mags is gonna kill me.”

“Well lucky for you, I know how to shop.” You patted your pocket lightly. “And I just so happen to have your card.”

“I don’t know if I like it when you two team up on me.” Ford groaned softly.

You laughed again before glancing toward the twins.

“Did you two get your sister anything?”

Tucker and Walker looked at each other, then back at you.

“Like… what?” Tucker frowned.

“Walker?” You sighed.

“I actually did get her something,” Walker admitted. “It’s already wrapped in my room.”

You pointed at him immediately.

“And the award for Best Heaton Man goes to Walker. Congratulations.”

Walker grinned smugly, Tucker shoved him hard in the shoulder.

“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve gone halves.”

“Watch the ribs!” Walker complained, shoving him back. “And why are we going halves? We’re not six. I just ordered something off Amazon. Not difficult.”

You shook your head fondly at both of them while gathering up the empty breakfast plates. The dishwasher door was halfway open when the front door opened and shut again behind you. Then came the familiar voice.

“Mornin’.”

You closed the dishwasher with your hip and turned. Gator stood just inside the kitchen entrance in a fitted grey t-shirt and dark jeans, sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt, backwards cap low over his hair. Tucker and Walker twisted around on their stools.

“Morning,” Tucker said. “You here to donate some more of your clothes to her wardrobe?”

“Probably best she keeps the jersey,” Walker added. “Won’t be worth nothing when I beat your record and make all-state as a sophomore.”

Gator barked out a laugh as he crossed toward the island and slapped a hand against Walker’s back hard enough to jolt him forward.

“Keep dreamin’,” he said. “You’re good but y’ain’t as good as me.”

Gator’s eyes had already found yours across the kitchen. His mouth tipped slightly at one corner before he winked.

“You ready, baby?”

The word still did something strange low in your stomach every time he said it. You nodded as you rounded the island toward him.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just need to put my shoes on.”

The second you got close enough, his hand slid around your back and pulled you gently into him, easy and familiar now in a way that still startled you. Both twins groaned instantly.

“Alright, we get it,” Tucker complained. “You love each other. Can you just do it somewhere else?”

Ford laughed loudly from behind the island. But your entire body went tense. Love. The word landed sharp and sudden in your chest. You hoped, desperately, that Gator either hadn't heard Tucker properly or hadn't thought anything of it.

Because even if it was true, even if somewhere deep down you thought maybe you did love him already. It was too early for that. Wasn’t it?

Gator felt you tense the second Tucker said it. You love each other. It had been tossed out carelessly, teenage teasing, nothing more than that. But Gator heard it and he knew from the way your shoulders tightened beneath his hand that you had heard it too.

The thing was, Tucker didn't know how right he was.

Gator had been thinking about it more than he wanted to admit over the last few days. Quiet moments mostly. Driving alone. Lying awake at night staring at the ceiling. Standing in the shower too long with his mind running circles around the same thought over and over again.

Love.

At first, he hadn’t even been sure he understood the word enough to apply it to himself. He didn’t really have much experience with it.

His mother was gone. Had been gone so long now that she barely felt real sometimes. He couldn’t say whether he remembered loving her or just remembered missing the idea of having one.

And Roy…

Gator’s jaw tightened instinctively even thinking about him. He didn’t love his father. Most days he barely even liked him.

Love had always seemed like one of those things other people got handed naturally. Families. Good homes. Mothers who hugged too long. Fathers who looked proud when they spoke to you. Gator had spent most of his life feeling slightly outside of all that, watching it happen around him without ever quite touching it himself.

He had never really felt loved by anybody and because of that, for a long time, he had quietly assumed maybe he just was not built for it either.

Then there was you.

Every road in his head always seemed to end there eventually. You and the feeling you gave him that he still did not fully know how to explain. Warmth. Relief. Want. Safety, somehow, even though he was twice your size and had spent most of his life believing he was the one meant to protect people.

It had to be love.

Because what else could it possibly be?

He thought about stupid things now with the kind of clarity that made his chest ache. How back in high school, when he drove you and the boys home, he used to put songs on he knew you liked just because he wanted to hear you sing softly in the backseat. How he watched for your reflection in the rearview mirror more than he watched the road some days.

How after your surgery, when you had been stuck at home recovering for months, he had gone back to his room every night and sat awake googling medical terms he barely understood because he wanted to know how to help if something happened. Wanted to know what to do. Wanted to know how to keep you safe.

How your contact in his phone had a different ringtone from everyone else’s so he would always know it was you calling.

But Tucker didn’t know any of that. And neither did you. So you had gone tense in his arm like the word itself might scare him.

Gator didn’t want that. Didn’t want you uncomfortable or panicked or overthinking something that was supposed to feel easy between you. So instead of kissing your mouth the way he had first intended, he turned slightly and pressed the kiss softly against your hair instead.

Then he looked toward Tucker.

“Don’t worry, Tucker,” he said easily. “You’re a winner now. Girls’ll be all over ya.”

Your laugh came immediately beside him; still his favourite sound in the world.

Tucker held up a middle finger from his stool while Walker started cackling beside him. Gator chuckled under his breath and gave the back of your waist one last gentle squeeze before letting you go. Then he followed you toward the front door while you bent to pull your boots on near the bench.

He waited quietly beside the door until you were done then pulled it open for you, one hand resting against the frame while the bright North Dakota sunlight spilled across the porch between you both.

You called a quick goodbye over your shoulder as you stepped out onto the porch. The front door closed behind you, muting the noise of the Big House down into a warm blur of voices and laughter. A second later Gator took your hand and tugged you gently toward him.

“Now we ain’t got an audience,” he said softly.

He kissed you properly. Not one of the quick little kisses you’d stolen around family lately. This was slow and deep, his hand settling against the small of your back. You melted into him instantly.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes stayed fixed on yours.

“Y’look really pretty.”

The softness in his voice made heat creep into your cheeks. You smiled shyly and reached up to straighten the backwards cap on his head.

“Thank you.”

You kissed him once more, lighter this time, then took his hand and led him down the porch steps toward his truck. Gator opened the passenger door for you, one hand steadying you as you climbed up into the seat. Then he rounded the hood and climbed in beside you.

He tugged his cap off and hooked it onto the cupholder, his hair was loose instead of slicked neatly back like usual. You liked it better this way. Without thinking much about it, you reached across and let your fingers slip into the loose hair at the back of his head.

Gator leaned into the touch and sitting there beside him, morning sunlight spilling warm through the windshield, his hand resting heavy against your thigh, you found yourself thinking how perfect it all felt.

・❥・

The drive into Dickinson felt slow in the nicest way, the kind of morning where neither of you seemed in any hurry to speak. Your legs were folded up beneath you in the passenger seat, one shoulder tipped toward Gator while your hand rested behind his head, fingers absentmindedly twisting through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Every so often your nails scratched lightly against his scalp, and you felt him shiver.

The truck windows were down, letting the warm air rush through the cab. Sunlight poured across your face in bright bands, the wind lifting strands of your hair as fields rolled endlessly past outside. You let your head fall back against the headrest and closed your eyes for a moment.

The warmth of the sun. The rumble of the truck beneath you. Gator’s thumb moving slowly against your thigh. You felt calm in a way you’d never felt before. So safe. So happy.

Your eyes opened again when the truck slowed and Gator flicked the indicator on, turning into the crowded mall parking lot.

You made a soft noise of protest as you pulled your hand from his hair and started untangling yourself enough to unbuckle your seatbelt. Before you could properly climb down, Gator was already out of the truck and rounding the hood. He opened your door, slid one hand behind your waist and lifted you easily down onto the asphalt like you weighed nothing at all.

He shut the door behind you, locked it, then slid the keys into his pocket before taking a few steps toward the entrance. He held one hand back toward you, fingers flexing impatiently in a silent grabby gesture. Your chest warmed stupidly at how naturally he did things like that. You slipped your hand into his and followed him toward the mall entrance.

Inside, the mall was bright and loud in the particular way only malls seemed to be. Fluorescent lights reflected harshly off over polished floors while some aggressively upbeat pop song echoed through the speakers overhead. Plastic shrubbery sat beside the escalators in giant beige planters, the distant sounds of the arcade drifting faintly from somewhere further inside.

The whole place felt oddly frozen in time, like stepping halfway back into the eighties. You loved shopping. You hated malls. There was something about them that always felt vaguely clinical and claustrophobic at the same time. You moved a little closer to Gator, tucking yourself into the side of him and sliding the hand not holding his into the crook of his arm.

“What shop first?”

“Decorations,” you pointed ahead toward the party supply store near the centre of the mall.  “Apparently Josie needs the full royal treatment.”

Gator huffed a short laugh and steered you both in that direction.

The party supply store smelled faintly of cheap plastic. Every surface was aggressively colourful, aisles crammed with paper streamers, novelty candles, plastic tablecloths and themed birthday decorations for every possible age and interest. Bright foil balloons floated near the ceiling in crowded clusters while handwritten sale signs hung crookedly from shelves that looked older than you were.

You and Gator stood halfway down an aisle lined floor-to-ceiling with banners and balloons organised by colour. Gator frowned thoughtfully at a wall of pastel pink decorations.

“Pink? Ain’t that girly?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “But it’s not very Maggie.”

“I thought it was for Josie?”

You laughed softly, a smile curling at your mouth.

“It might be Josie’s birthday, but this is all Maggie. Woman lives to make a fuss.”

You stepped closer to the display and started pulling down packs of white and yellow balloons along with a white birthday banner.

“Last year for Rhodes’ birthday she had some company come in with full-size dinosaur statues. It was insane. Rhodes was more interested in the bouncy castle, but people still compliment Mags on the décor all the time.” You shook your head fondly. “Hosting is like… her thing.”

You turned with your arms full, and Gator took everything from you before you even had to ask, barely interrupting the conversation as he shifted the decorations into one arm.

“I remember that,” he said. “Those dinosaurs were cool.”

“And expensive.”

“Ain’t that Maggie’s middle name?”

You laughed again and followed him toward the register. The girl behind the counter looked up the second Gator stepped forward. Her expression shifted almost immediately, posture straightening slightly as her eyes travelled over him with obvious interest.

You felt the flicker of jealousy before you could stop it. Girls had always looked at Gator, that part wasn’t new. But somehow now it felt different, you felt… possessive, almost.

Before the feeling had time to properly settle though, Gator looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you lightly into his side, pressing an absentminded kiss against your temple while the cashier started scanning the decorations.

The cashier’s smile tightened just slightly.

“That’s $11.98,” she said.

Gator reached into his pocket; you caught his wrist immediately.

“Absolutely not,” you said. “I’ve got Ford’s card. He’s paying.”

You pulled the card from your pocket and tapped it against the machine while Gator took the paper bag from the counter.

The cashier’s eyes flicked toward you briefly, then back to Gator again. You slipped the card back into your pocket as she tore the receipt from the printer with a little more force than necessary before handing it over.

By the time you looked back up, Gator already had one hand held out toward you. You smiled and slipped your fingers into his.

“Thanks,” you called politely over your shoulder to the cashier as Gator led you back out into the mall.

You drifted from store to store together, past perfume counters and overcrowded sale racks and screaming children dragging exhausted parents through toy shops. Gator followed beside you with steady patience, never once complaining, even as the pile of bags hanging from his hands steadily grew more ridiculous.

You picked out a handful of presents for Josie; books she would probably chew more than read, soft toys, tiny shoes she would outgrow in five minutes flat. Then, in a toy store near the far end of the mall, Gator spotted a little wooden rocking horse painted cream and pale yellow.

You immediately shook your head.

“No.”

Gator looked over at you.

“What?”

“You do not need to buy her that.”

“She’ll like it.”

“She’s one,” you argued. “She likes electrical cords and dirt.”

Gator ignored you entirely and lifted the rocking horse box down anyway.

“It’s also huge,” you added as he carried it toward the register. “You have to drag that around the mall now.”

“S’fine,” he said easily.

And somehow, despite carrying a rocking horse under one arm and approximately six shopping bags in the other hand, he still kept reaching for you. You tried more than once to take some of the bags from him and every time he refused.

“S’fine, I got it,” he repeated.

“Gator--”

“Ain’t havin’ my girl carryin’ bags,” he said. “People thinkin’ I don’t look after ya.”

You rolled your eyes at the ridiculous touch of caveman masculinity in the statement. And then, traitorously, found yourself thinking: have I just set feminism back seventy years by finding that incredibly attractive?

In another shop you found Josie’s birthday outfit; a soft yellow summer dress with little bows on the straps and a ruffled skirt.

The whole morning carried on with the same ease. Gator’s hand in yours. His palm resting against the small of your back while you looked through shelves. His arm slung loosely around your shoulders while you walked. Even overloaded with shopping bags, he always seemed to find some way to keep touching you. Like he needed the contact as much as you did.

People moved around you both automatically in crowded walkways, giving space without being asked. Gator barely noticed anyone else, his attention fixed entirely on you whenever you spoke.

And maybe that was the thing you liked most. The attentiveness. The way he listened to you like everything you said mattered. The way his focus settled fully on you whenever you spoke, steady and unwavering. It made you feel important.

By the time you finally left the mall, the afternoon sun had turned the parking lot hot enough to shimmer slightly off the asphalt.

Gator loaded the shopping bags carefully into the truck bed, setting the rocking horse in last, then rounded the truck to open your door for you. One hand settled at your waist as he helped you climb back up into the passenger seat.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Gator glanced up at you, sunlight catching against his eyes.

“Anytime, baby.”

He drove you back through town with one hand loose on the wheel and the other resting heavily against your thigh while the bags rustled softly in the backseat behind you.

Dickinson rolled past outside in familiar pieces. Gas stations. Feed stores. Sun-faded signs. Pick-up trucks parked crookedly along the roadside. Saturday traffic drifted lazily through town beneath the heat of the afternoon sun. By the time Gator turned onto Benton Street, you had half melted into the seat beside him.

“There,” you said, pointing ahead toward the bakery.

Gator pulled into a roadside space just outside. Before you could properly unbuckle yourself, he was already climbing out and coming around to your side like before. But then something caught your eye. Across the street, outside a café with little metal tables out front, two men stood beside a pair of motorcycles. And both of them were staring directly at you. Your stomach tightened instinctively.

One of them was bigger, broad through the shoulders with a thick grey beard and dark hair swept up into an old-fashioned quiff. A cigarette burned slowly between two fingers as he leaned against the bike. The other man was smaller, thinner, wearing dark sunglasses despite the shade from the café awning. He was speaking to the older man casually enough, but his attention stayed fixed on you the entire time.

A strange uneasy feeling crept over your skin.

Your door opened, Gator stood there with one hand against the frame, sunlight behind him.

“Y’good, baby?”

You pulled your attention away from the men across the street and blinked up at him.

“Sorry,” you said quietly. “Just… those men were staring. Like, intense staring.”

Gator glanced briefly over his shoulder toward the café before leaning in to help you down from the truck. The second your boots hit the pavement, he pressed a quick kiss against the side of your head while reaching back to swing the truck door shut.

“Well,” he said easily, taking your hand again, “they better find someone else t’stare at. ‘Cause you’re mine.”

You let him lead you toward the bakery. But halfway across the pavement, you glanced back once more over your shoulder. The two men were still watching you.

The little bell above the bakery door chimed as Gator pulled it open for you. Cool, air-conditioned air smelling of sugar and fresh bread wrapped around you instantly, a welcome change from the heat outside. Glass display cases stretched along the counter filled with frosted cupcakes, pastries and cakes decorated in soft pastel swirls while old country music crackled quietly through a radio somewhere in the back.

Gator let the door swing shut behind him and his hand slid naturally from yours to the small of your back as you walked toward the counter.

The bakery was owned by Donna Reeves, Brooke’s mom. Which unfortunately meant there was roughly a ninety percent chance whatever happened in this interaction would end up becoming town gossip before dinner. Donna looked up from the till and recognised you immediately, her face breaking into a bright smile.

“How are you, hon? Keeping well?”

“Hi, Mrs Reeves.” You smiled back politely. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Oh well, can’t complain.”

Then her eyes shifted past you toward Gator, her smile faltered ever so slightly as she took in his hand resting against your back. She recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to miss. You could practically hear the gears turning in her head already. By tonight, she would absolutely have you filed away as the main topic in whatever terrifying middle-aged women’s group chat she belonged to. Her attention settled fully onto Gator.

“Deputy Sheriff,” she said warmly. “How are you?”

Gator gave a short nod.

“Ma’am.”

That was it.

His hand dropped from your back as he turned away from the counter, gaze drifting toward the bakery windows and the street outside. Donna looked mildly offended by the lack of charm for approximately half a second before overcompensating with another broad smile.

“You here for Ford’s order?”

“Yes please.”

Donna brightened instantly again as she turned toward the back shelves.

“I can’t believe little Josie is already turning one!”

You kept talking to Donna beside him, all soft smiles and polite conversation, asking after Brooke, nodding along while Donna launched into some story about her sister visiting from Bismarck. Gator only half listened. His attention stayed fixed out through the bakery window toward the street opposite.

The two bikers were still there. They were not openly staring anymore, at least not while you were inside, but Gator knew the second you walked back out onto the sidewalk their eyes would find you again. A pair of old pervs. His jaw tightened slightly.

The bigger one flicked ash from his cigarette while the other leaned back against his bike, talking lazily enough to anyone watching from afar. But Gator noticed the way their attention kept drifting back toward the bakery windows.

Toward you.

Something ugly and protective stirred low in his chest, then he felt you shift beside him. Gator glanced back automatically. Donna was lifting a large white cake box onto the counter while you reached both hands out to take it. Nope, that’s my job, he thought. Before you could even touch it, Gator stepped in and intercepted smoothly, taking the box from Donna with one hand.

You looked up at Gator, already half smiling.

“I could have-”

He arched one brow at you and the sentence died immediately. You pressed your lips together to hide your grin and looked back toward Donna instead.

“Thank you, Mrs Reeves.”

“My pleasure, hon.” Donna beamed at you. “You should come by the house this summer. You and all the girls can sit by the pool. I’ll get Brookie to text you.”

“Yeah,” you said politely. “Sounds good.”

In reality, the thought of spending an afternoon around Brooke’s deeply strange older brothers while wearing swimwear sounded like a nightmare. Beside you, Gator shifted the cake box more securely into one arm before his free hand settled lightly against the middle of your back again.

“Bye, hon,” Donna called.

Gator held the bakery door open for you and the little bell chimed overhead as you stepped back out into the heat of the afternoon.

Immediately his hand found yours again. You crossed the pavement together toward the truck, sunlight glaring off the windshield hard enough to make you squint. Gator opened the passenger door first, helping you climb back up into the seat with one arm before carefully settling the box into your lap.

“Precious cargo,” he murmured.

You smiled as he shut the door and rounded the front of the truck toward the driver’s side. Only then, sitting alone for a moment in the passenger seat, did you glance back across the street. The bikers were still there and they were still staring at you.

・❥・

By the time the sun started dropping low behind the treeline, Gator was still at the ranch. He had brought you home from town and somehow never really left after that.

Ford had invited him to stay for dinner in the casual automatic way people invited Gator into family things. Dinner ended up happening outside on the back porch because the weather was too nice to waste indoors. Maggie lit the citronella candles along the table while the boys argued over barbecue sauce and Josie threw bits of cornbread onto the deck.

Afterward, while Maggie and Ford cleared plates and you packed leftovers away inside, Gator had ended up out in the yard throwing a football around with Tucker and Walker while Nicky chased after them trying desperately to join in and Rhodes launched himself bodily at anyone holding the ball.

Watching him out there had you feeling some type of way. Not because it looked unusual, but because it didn’t.

Gator blended into your family so naturally. He moved easily through the noise and chaos, shoulder-checking Tucker when he got mouthy, letting Nicky cling onto his arm while scooping Rhodes upside down with the other when he got too feral.

He had always been around but now he seemed comfortable. Part of it all, on the inside rather than glimpsing in from the edges.

Now the younger kids were finally in bed, and the Big House had settled into that softer nighttime rhythm it always seemed to find after.

Ford and Tucker were outside on the back porch hanging birthday banners and bunting while Walker sat cross-legged nearby blowing up balloons with the miserable focus of someone deeply regretting volunteering for a task. Maggie sat on the sofa in the living room with a glass of wine in one hand, supervising the whole operation through the open back doors like a tiny glamorous foreman.

“A little higher,” she called. “Tucker, if that banner falls down overnight I’ll bury you in the pasture.”

“Love you too, Mags,” Tucker called back.

You sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the coffee table wrapping Josie’s presents while beside you Gator quietly assembled the rocking horse he had insisted on buying earlier. You folded wrapping paper carefully around one of Josie’s toys before reaching automatically for the tape. But it wasn’t there, you looked around briefly and spotted the roll half under the sofa.

Trying not to lose the carefully folded wrapping paper, you leaned awkwardly sideways and stretched your arm beneath the couch cushion. Your fingertips brushed the tape but not enough to grab it. You adjusted again, trying to pin the paper seam in place with one hand while reaching further with the other. The second your fingers loosened, the wrapping paper started to slip apart.

You were trying to figure out how to reach the tape without losing the entire wrap job when suddenly a hand appeared beside yours. Gator pressed one finger calmly against the paper seam, holding it perfectly in place, he hadn’t even looked away from the rocking horse. One hand still tightened a screw while the other stayed resting against your wrapping. You blinked at him for a second before finally grabbing the tape.

“Thank you.”

Eventually the last present was wrapped and stacked beside the fireplace, little towers of pastel paper and curling ribbon waiting for morning. Gator helped you carry the bigger boxes over while Walker disappeared upstairs complaining dramatically about “permanent lung damage” from blowing up balloons. Tucker followed a few minutes later.

Ford came back in through the porch doors rubbing both hands down his face.

“Please tell me we’re done,” he groaned. “I’m knackered.”

Maggie lifted her wine glass lazily from the sofa.

“All done. You can go to bed, old man.”

“Thank Christ,” Ford groaned. “Night, everybody.”

He dragged himself upstairs without another word.

Maggie watched him go then downed the last mouthful of wine and got to her feet, eyes flicking between you and Gator.

“If you’re staying the night, that’s fine,” she said casually. “But you kids better be safe. I’m far too young to be a great-grandmother.”

“Maggie!” You stared at her in horror.

She passed the empty wine glass into your hands with complete composure.

“Night, baby.”

Then she winked and disappeared down the hallway before you could recover enough dignity to argue. You looked at Gator immediately.

“I’m sorry about… her.”

He just smiled, you shifted awkwardly with the wine glass still in your hand.

“Do you…wanna stay?”

Gator crossed the room in one stride and promptly threw you over his shoulder. A startled squeal left you as you clutched the wine glass with both hands.

“Gator!”

He laughed quietly under his breath and kept walking. As he passed the kitchen, you lifted your head enough to point toward the counter.

“Hang on. Pause.”

He stopped obediently while you carefully deposited Maggie’s glass beside the sink. Then he carried you the rest of the way down the hall. Your bedroom door kicked shut behind him and a second later he dropped you onto the mattress in an undignified heap before collapsing beside you with a heavy exhale. You rolled onto your side toward him, knees tucking up slightly as you edged closer until your nose almost brushed his cheek.

“Thank you for today,” you murmured. “You really didn’t have to take me shopping or carry everything or stay for dinner…”

Gator rolled onto his side too, propping himself up on one elbow. His other hand settled against your hip naturally, thumb slipping beneath the edge of your shirt.

“Y’gotta stop sayin’ it like y’made me do somethin’ I didn’t wanna do.”

His fingers traced slow circles against your skin.

“I wanna do stuff with you,” he said quietly. “Normal stuff. Don’t care what it is. Jus’ wanna be near you.”

You slid your fingers through his hair, enjoying the unfamiliar softness of it without all the gel and careful slicking-back he wore for work.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze drifted downward toward where his hand rested against your hip instead of meeting your eyes.

“Everythin’s easy when m’with you. Ain’t gotta think ‘bout nothin’.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.” Your hand slid from his hair down the side of his neck before resting flat against his chest. “That you don’t think about anything.”

“I don’t.”

A quiet laugh escaped you.

“Gator, your brain is literally always working.” You rubbed your thumb slowly against his chest. “You’re opening every door before I get there, carrying all my bags. I see you watching exits and rolling my window up before I even realise I’m cold.” You shook your head slightly. “I feel like your brain’s in overdrive all the time. You don’t have to do all that for me.”

His hand stilled briefly against your hip, then resumed its slow movement. Gator lowered himself onto the mattress properly until his face was only inches from yours.

“Don’t gotta think ‘bout that stuff. Treatin’ you right.” His eyes flicked over your face. “S’just… like my body knows what t’do. Knows it’s you.”

Your breath caught quietly and you edged closer until the tip of your nose brushed his. His eyes fluttered shut instantly.

“M’not good at this,” he admitted in a rough whisper. “Like… the talkin’ part.”

You brushed your thumb lightly over his cheekbone.

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job.”

A shaky breath left him.

“I jus’…” His brow tightened slightly. “Feels like m’fuckin’ vibratin’. All the time. An’ then when m’with you it jus’… stops.”

The confession hit somewhere deep inside you. Gator rolled slowly onto his back after saying it, staring up at the ceiling now, his hand slipping away from your hip. You stayed perfectly still beside him, sensing instinctively how much effort this was costing him.

“S’like I got this…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Feelin’. An’ I don’t know the name for it. Or maybe I do, an’ m’scared t’say it,” he admitted. “’Cause I don’t wanna… m’gonna fuck it up.”

You looked at him for a long moment before resting your hand gently over his chest again.

“If you say it,” you whispered, “I’ll say it back.”

Gator turned his head toward you then. His eyes looked soft in a way you had never seen before. Open. Almost frightened by how much he meant it.

“That’s not…” He shook his head slightly. “I want you t’mean it.”

“If you say it,” you repeated softly, “I’ll say it back.”

Then you leaned closer until your lips nearly brushed his when you whispered.

“And I’ll mean it.”

Something in his expression broke open. Slowly, disbelievingly, he smiled.

“Yeah?”

You pushed yourself upward until you were straddling his hips, both hands framing his face as you looked down at him.

“If you say it,” you whispered again, smiling now too, “I’ll say it back.”

His smile widened helplessly beneath you. You kissed one of his cheeks softly.

“Say it.”

Then the other.

“Say it.”

Gator’s hands came up suddenly, holding your face carefully between both palms while he looked directly into your eyes.

“I love you.”

The words hit you like sunlight breaking through clouds. Your smile widened so hard it hurt.

“I love you too.”

He kissed you hard then, both hands tightening at your waist as your fingers curled against his jaw. You pulled back only enough to whisper it again against his mouth.

“I love you.”

A kiss against his nose.

“I love you.”

Another against his cheek.

“I love--”

Gator laughed softly and rolled you beneath him in one smooth movement, careful with your body even now, bracing himself above you as he kissed you again.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips.

Another kiss.

“I love you.”

You giggled helplessly now, fingers catching in the hem of his t-shirt. He kissed you again, slower this time, mouth lingering against yours.

“I love you.”

Your laughter melted softly into the kiss as you tugged his shirt upward. Gator leaned back just enough to pull it over his head and toss it carelessly onto the floor, a crooked smile still sitting warm and boyish across his face.

You watched him shove himself upright with sudden urgency, grinning helplessly as he kicked off his jeans in a rush that nearly sent him straight off the side of the bed.

“Careful,” you laughed. “Jesus Christ.”

His hair had fallen completely loose now, cheeks flushed slightly, chest rising quicker than before as he finally managed to free himself from the second pant leg.

The sight of him standing there in nothing but his boxers, broad shoulders bare, the outline of his cock beneath the fabric impossible to miss, sent warmth curling low through your stomach. You reached for the button of your own jeans, pushing them down your legs before lifting your hips enough to kick them carelessly toward the floor.

Gator immediately started moving back toward you. You stopped him with the sole of your socked foot pressed lightly against his chest. He blinked down at you, and you wiggled your foot pointedly.

“Socks off, please.”

A slow grin spread across his face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

One large hand wrapped gently around your ankle as he lifted your foot toward him. His thumb brushed slowly over your skin while he peeled the sock off inch by inch before tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. Then, unexpectedly, he pressed a soft kiss to the arch of your foot.

“Gator…”

He only smirked against your skin before reaching for your other foot. This time the kisses lingered longer. The arch of your foot. The inside of your ankle. The top of your foot. You were still half laughing softly through your embarrassment when he suddenly caught both your legs beneath his arms and guided them around his waist as he crawled back over you onto the mattress.

The weight of him settled between your thighs, careful even now. His hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms automatically and he tugged it over your head before tossing it aside somewhere into the dark room. Then his hand came to the base of your neck, thumb warm beneath your jaw as he leaned down to kiss you again.

You parted your lips for him instinctively, fingers curling into the loose hair at the back of his neck as his tongue brushed softly against yours. His hand slid around your back, fumbling briefly before your bra unclasped. You laughed quietly into the kiss and tugged the straps free yourself, tossing it aside without ever really breaking away from him.

Gator lets himself be pulled toward you, putting an arm out beside your head to catch himself, resting over you and leaning his weight comfortably on his arm. His tongue continues to swipe deep into your mouth, slow and claiming, as his other hand strokes down over your warm skin, skimming your waist before tracing the thin line of the waistband of your panties.

He nudges your legs wider apart with his thigh, pressing firmly until you open for him, and his fingers dip beneath the elastic of your underwear, gliding over the soft curve of your mound before slipping easily between your folds.

You are already so wet for him, slick and hot and ready, and he honestly cannot understand how he got this lucky. That you even acknowledge he exists at all is a miracle, but to be here, to have you beneath him, soaked just for him, so pliant and reactive to every touch… to have you kissing him like he’s something precious, touching him like he matters, knowing that you love him? It’s more than he ever thought he’d deserve.

His fingers glide freely through your slick, rolling steadily over your clit, watching your face change, and when you break from his mouth to gasp sharp and breathless, he leans in close and inhales the very air that leaves your lungs, breathing you in completely.

Your hands smooth over his broad shoulders and down the tops of his arms, gripping tight to the firm, thick muscle of his biceps as his fingers glide lower, teasing slowly at your entrance, circling the tight ring of muscle there before he slips one finger inside with absolute ease. He withdraws it almost immediately, only to add a second as he re-enters, stretching you slow and perfect, and your grip on his biceps tightens instinctively, nails pressing in.

He lowers his face to the crook of your neck, painting small, soft sucking kisses all along the sensitive line of your throat, marking you, claiming you. One of your hands leaves his arm and dives into his loose hair, stroking through the strands at first, then raking your nails lightly along his scalp, making him shiver against you.

His fingers curl deeper inside you, searching, finding that spot, while his thumb comes up to brush firm circles across your clit, and you widen your legs further, desperate to give him more access, to bring him closer, to feel everything he’s willing to give.

His mouth moves down from your throat, along your clavicle, and begins to travel slowly down the line of your scar. You think, not for the first time, about how he does this, whether on purpose or just because it’s you. You’d told him about the men who came before, the ones who looked at that jagged pink line and made you feel like some sort of Frankenstein’s monster, broken and ugly and wrong. But Gator… he has never made you feel that way. His lips glide along the raised skin as if it were any other part of your body, just another piece of you to taste, to adore, to worship completely.

His kisses continue down across your stomach, burning paths over your skin, while two fingers remain curled deep inside you, working you open, and his other hand strokes softly over your shoulder then trails down the centre of your chest.

“Gator… please…” you whimper, unable to wait any longer, needing him closer, needing all of him.

He withdraws his fingers from you agonisingly slow, making you ache at the loss, then pulls back slightly as both his hands come to rest on your hips. He drags your panties down your legs, and you lift your hips to help him, eager to be rid of the fabric, then immediately pull your knees tight up to your chest so he can remove them completely without having to move too far away from you.

He tosses the garment carelessly to the side, and you begin to lower your knees again, but he stops you; grips your ankles together firmly in one hand, holding them in place above you, keeping your knees still tucked tight into your chest.

He uses his other hand to awkwardly tug his boxers down his hips; he doesn’t bother removing them fully, just pulls them down enough to let his cock spring free, heavy and hard. He uses his free hand to grip himself at the base, giving himself a few short, rough pumps, before bringing the tip right to your entrance.

He keeps hold of your ankles, pushing your knees a little tighter into your chest, as he teases the broad, slick head between your folds, gathering your wetness, coating himself in you. He rubs the head up and down, teasing over your clit and your hole in turn, driving you wild, before finally sinking into you in one long, slow motion.

You let out a breathy, drawn-out “fuckkk” as you feel the stretch, the way he fills you up completely. This position has him deeper inside you than he’s ever been, pressing into places no one else has ever reached, and he stills fully inside you, releasing his grip on your ankles so your feet rest against his chest. He strokes a soothing hand slowly down the length of your calf, watching your face carefully.

“Y’alright, baby?” he asks, voice thick and strained.

“Mhmm… s’fuckin’ deep,” you breathe out, head tipping back into the pillow.

“Too much?”

You shake your head quickly, frantically, and deliberately clench your muscles tight around him, sending a clear message that he better not dare pull out.

“Good… so good. Don’t stop.”

You shift your hips a little, inviting him to move, and he does, slowly pulling back until just the very tip remains inside, then sinking back into you with a roll of his hips that makes you see stars. You let out another low, throaty moan. Gator lifts your ankles from his chest, repositioning them to rest either side of his broad shoulders, and again he slowly pulls out, leaving you empty and aching, only to lean over you and kiss you deeply as he buries himself into you once again, all the way to the hilt.

Your hands grip hard into the sheets beside you, knuckles white. He is so deep now, nudging right against the walls of your cervix, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach, everywhere at once. You deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue boldly into his mouth, and he takes the cue, picking up the pace. His hips roll into yours with a steady, heavy rhythm, and you hear the wet, slick squelching sound of your bodies meeting, loud and wanton in the quiet room.

Gator can feel you clenching around his cock in a vice-like grip, squeezing him tight every time he pushes in, and he knows instantly there is no way he is going to last like this. You feel too good; hot, wet, tight, perfect. Fuck.

He reaches down between your bodies to brush his thumb rapidly back and forth over your clit, and you break the kiss immediately to moan right against his mouth, loud and unrestrained.

His eyes lock on, forehead resting heavy against yours, breaths mingling. He flicks his thumb faster, harder, back and forth over that sensitive bundle of nerves, and watches the way your face changes, the way you struggle to keep your eyes open under the overwhelming stimulation from both his fingers and the deep, driving rhythm of his thrusts.

He picks up the pace, driving into you harder, faster, and your eyes finally fall shut, too heavy, too good to keep open. Gator brushes his nose softly along the side of yours, presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then returns his forehead to rest against yours, grounding you, keeping you with him.

“Uh-uh… eyes open, baby. Need t’see you. Look at me.”

He feels you clench around him again, hard, like you’re trying to physically pull him in deeper, to merge your bodies completely. He watches as you force your eyelids to lift, only for your eyes to immediately roll back in your head, completely lost to the pleasure he’s giving you.

He’s not going to last, you feel too good, but he needs you there with him, needs to see you fall apart. He pistons his hips faster, sharper, his fingers brushing quickly, relentlessly over your nerves, and he feels you quiver beneath him, your pussy pulsing and fluttering around his girth, signalling you’re right on the edge.

“Gator… ohfuck… yes… m’gonna… I’m--”

He singles all his focus onto his fingers dancing over your clit and the hammering motions of his thrusts, pushing into you over and over, hitting that deep spot every single time.

Your thighs are trembling violently beneath him; he can feel the muscles in your calves tensing against his shoulders, your toes curling tight. Then your hands fly up to grip his back, nails sinking sharp and deep into his skin, leaving trails of fire. Gator lets out a little hiss at the initial pain, but it feels incredible, better than anything he’s ever felt. He hopes you leave marks; hopes he carries the scars of you on his skin for days.

And then he feels it, the band snapping tight as you shudder beneath him, moaning out a mix of breathless curses, but it’s the broken, desperate groan of his name falling from your mouth that pushes him right over the edge. His hips stutter and falter, rhythm breaking apart, as he spills himself deep inside you with a raw, guttural groan, emptying everything he has into you.

You continue to shudder and twitch as the aftershocks of your orgasm work their way through your body, every nerve still firing, skin hypersensitive. Gator’s forehead is still resting against yours, his breathing ragged and heavy. His hand has moved from your clit now, instead rubbing slow, grounding strokes over the curve of your hip, calming you, soothing you back down.

He finally pulls out, holding your ankles steady as he gently lowers your legs back down to the bed, one at a time, careful not to jolt you. He shifts to lie beside you, pulling you close instantly. You can’t bring yourself to move yet; your body feels heavy, boneless, still tingling and shaking from the intensity of it all.

Gator pulls you tight against him, your back to his chest, wrapping his arms securely around you, holding you together. He kisses your shoulder softly, his lips warm against your cooling skin.

“I got you, baby. I love you.”

Your hands come up to close over his where they rest against your stomach, lacing your fingers through his, and you sink back into him completely, safe and whole and loved.

“I love you, Gator.”

Taglist: [Comment to be added] @keerygirlie98 @mystickittytaco @imdjoverit @lofi-fics @kristywidget97 @janehartt  @ms-mountebank @eller41 @slutforpumpkins @roridemie

[thoroughlymimi]

Oops that was my ask about the ages lol. I’m also a first time emoji anon so we’re both learning lol 😂 I’ve been slumped at my hospital job which has me working odd hours.

That makes sense now! Gator is older than all of the Heaton kids, maybe that’s why they all look up to him.

And ford totally gives first born son. Brooks immaturity made him seem younger but I guess not.

I have more questions but since your writings are so complex and amazing I have a feeling most of them are going to be answered in the following chapters. Can’t wait to read ♥️

- 🍵

I think it's because Ford is the sensible one, but that had a lot to do with Madison...

Oh my goodness, ask away!! My notes are deeeeeep! But there's definitely a few answers coming up 😘

[thoroughlymimi]

Mimi i hope you are having the best day ever. I cannot wait for this update 🤪🤪🤪

It's still coming tonight, I'm just running a little bit behind schedule! Promise it'll be with you soon!

Mimi <3

[thoroughlymimi]

For athoi what’s there age gap? I know Logan and gator are older by a few.

I'm going to take this opportunity to give everyone's ages because why the f*ck not?🤷🏻‍♀️

So you're right Logan and Gator are older by a few. I have Gator as being the older between the two of them, like he would have been one of the older ones in the school year. So Gator is 26 in my notes.

Then the Heaton Kids, oldest to youngest goes:

Logan: 25, Baby: 23, Noah: 22, Walker and Tucker: 14, Nicky: 8, Rhodes: 5 and Josie turns one in the next chapters 🎉

Also, if anyone is at all interested (no, just me? Because I'm an obsessive planner? Cool cool) there's a bit of a gap between Ford and Brooks. Ford is 40, Brooks is 48.

There's a lovely long winded answer for you 😂 I love answering questions like this because best believe I have THOUGHT about it!

Mimi <3

[thoroughlymimi]

Only 3 more parts to go... I don't want this series to end 😭😭

I love Baby and Gator 🥺

I love them too!!! I mean they're three long chapters if it helps?? 😂

Mimi <3