Hi everyone! I'm posting on behalf of my friend Ari, @femmeanonymelives. Ari is short $120 on rent and she cannot get an extension. We are trying to prevent homelessness. She is working on getting a better paying job, but right now she needs to maintain housing.
We are trying to raise funds by Tuesday. If anyone can help, that would be amazing!!! Ari is a member of fandoms, especially in Oscar Isaac and Pedro Pascal and The Pitt and is a friend to many of us!
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warnings- car sex, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex (let’s not do this), slight choking?(he holds her neck for a few seconds), gators an asshole.
a/n- this might turn into a series due to the end 😉
You and Gator weren’t dating, it was.. complicated.
Tonight you found yourself in his car, him driving home from a stressful day at the station and you asked for a ride. The arguing filled the car pretty much the full drive. He was supposed to drop you off home but he got a little distracted and forgot to make the turn.
"Hey... i thought you were taking me home Gator?" The annoyance in your voice is clear as you see his large house come into view. Gator shrugs as he pulls onto the dry dirt next to his home. "Make your own way home then. Ain't ma' problem."
You tried to hold back a scoff at his annoying behaviour but failed, the arguing starting up again- not that it ever stopped. Next thing you know, "f'r fuck sakes, do i just gotta shut you up physically? or..."
You look at him a little dumbfounded, "wh—..what?"
"Don't act like i haven't had t'before.." Suddenly, he's leaning over the center console, hand moving to your jaw to pull your lips to his. As much as you wanted to push him away, you didn't. And you'd be lying if you said you wanted to push him away in the first place.
It's all teeth and tongue before he leans over a little more and his large hand grabs your thigh, pulling it closer to him. You take the hint and move over onto his lap, lips never parting as you stretch your arm down and recline the seat back slightly.
Gator lets out a little groan as you do so. "never fuckin' shut up, do ya?"
"not really." you answer against his lips, moving your hips slightly on his lap which pulls another groan from Gators mouth.
It's not long until his deputy vest is thrown in the back seat, your bottoms and his sweater follow leaving him in a plain black shirt and his usual cargos and you in only a sweater. You shift back on his lap slightly as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants, pulling himself free. Your bottom lip is between your teeth as you stare at his length for a moment.
"Y'want this or not?" He says roughly. His attitude drove you insane and you couldn't tell if it was in a bad way or a good way. "y-yeah.. i want it."
The burn of the stretch was something you didn't think anyone could ever get used to, and you weren't even half way. He lets out a groan as he bites his lip at the heat of your pussy.
"c'mon.. don't act like ya can't take it.. y'took it before."
"shut up gator." your words are slightly strained as you lean your forehead against his shoulder. his hips suddenly twitch and thrust up slightly causing you to let go of another moan.
Gators hands grip your hips tight enough for bruises as he slowly pulls you down further to take him fully. After a moment, you were sitting fully on top of him, his thick cock fully swallowed inside your pussy. As much of an asshole he was, he let you sit there for a moment to let you get used to the fullness of his cock.
after a moment, you finally circled your hips slightly which made his breath hitch. the burn was still there but hearing his breath all shaky and seeing that scrunch between his eyebrows made you smirk, "y'like that..?"
Gator didn't like that. the way it sounded as if you were in control. "s-stop talkin'." He thrusted his hips up slightly, making a moan escape your mouth and your eyes squeeze shut, thighs tightening around his. "o—oh fuuck." you hear him chuckle this time, amused that your expression changed so quickly from cocky to pure bliss. "how 'bout you? you like that?"
Another squeal leaves your mouth as he holds your hips up in place and his hips lift up into yours over and over. You open your eyes to look at him. His head leans back against the seat, eyes closed, eyebrows scrunched, bottom lip between his teeth. His cock slides easily in and out of you, your wetness making it easier as it drips down onto him. "g-fuuck." you whine, eyes squeezing shut.
"ye—yeah.. there ya go, sugar.. ya squeeze me so fuckin tight.." he grunts out, looking back down at where your bodies meet like it was the most hypnotising thing he’s ever seen. his gaze then snaps back up to your face, big brown eyes darting over your features.
he removes one hand from your hip, letting you take control over the speed for a moment as the hand trails up your body to your neck. his large fingers wrap around your throat, he squeezes slightly but not enough to hurt, just pulling you into a kiss that makes you feel dizzy. you moan against his mouth as you continue to ride him, slowly feeling that familiar sensation building in your stomach.
you both pull away panting before he shoves his hand under your sweater and pulls it up enough so he can pull your tits out of your bra. his hand on your hips finds its way to your lower back so he can pull you closer to him as his mouth latches onto your nipple.
the angle change mixed with the feeling of his hot tongue swirling around your nipple pulls another moan from your mouth. "ga—gate.. ohshit.." you use your knees on either side of his seat to push up and down again, feeling every inch and vein of him as he moans around your nipple.
it wasn’t long until his hips jerked faster, his little noises came quicker, his breathing heavier. same for you, you used your hand to try and quiet your moans as your movements became weaker and sloppier. gator lifted his hips up into you, hitting so deep you saw stars behind your eyelids. the pace as of which he was moving quickly brought that familiar feeling to the inside of your tummy and with that, you came. forehead on his shoulder, knees clamping around his thighs, a high pitched whine leaving your lips.
gator groans as you clench around him, "awwfuck.." and then his own release follows, spilling inside of you. neither of you reacted to it at first, too caught up in the feeling of your warmth around him, and his cock just resting inside of you.
and then you realise.
you pull your head away from his shoulder and stare down at him, still not moving from his lap. "gator… what the fuck? did you just—"
"—i’m sorry… felt too good.." he says,
you move off of him quickly and get your clothes back on before settling in the front seat. "take me home."
he would’ve said no again but he figured he kinda owed you this. you weren’t on any contraception. he knew that nothing will happen but you seemed a little freaked out so he started the car and drove you home. you didn’t really speak to him after that, said a small 'thanks' before leaving the car and entering your own home.
summary; spending evenings in a bar can be very lonely sometimes. but sometimes, it only needs an attractive stranger who can change that completely.
warnings; explicit sexual content, 18+ mdni, semi-public make out session, dry humping, mentions of drinking, fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, breeding kink, mentions of breastfeeding ig, gator calls reader mama, unprotected piv, wall sex, some fluff in the end, no use of y/n, badly proofread
word count; 2,305
words of vanilla; two gator fics in a row, hell yeah. i wrote this while rewatching fargo s5 for like the thousandth time? oh my god, i’m so feral for this man it’s not funny anymore. i hope you like what i made out of it. enjoy reading my loves! xx
the bar wasn’t really crowded for a friday evening.
strange, since it was one of the days on which people liked to go out most. but you wouldn’t complain since it was very much to your liking.
it meant no one would look at you with those eyes—like they wanted to devour you whole.
or at least that’s what you thought.
he came out of a sudden.
like a shadow that clung to your body, not really noticeable but still there, smelling like gunpowder, and something dangerously close to what you identified as the gel in his hair.
“yer look pretty lonely for a girl so beautiful,” he said, voice just loud enough to cover up the music in the background.
all you could do was roll your eyes at the lame pick up line, trying to ignore him but he didn’t seem like a guy who’d back off at the slightest lack of interest.
“c’mon, don’t pull that ignorance on me. you can do that with the other guys but not with me, darlin’,” he continued, his hand reaching out to touch the bare skin of your arm with his fingers.
you hated when strangers touched you, always flinched back at the slightest brush of skin against skin.
but not with him.
he was warm. soft. and somehow—he felt good. too good to still being ignored.
you took a deep breath, turning in your chair to face him properly, whiskey glass still in your hands.
“fine. you have my attention now.”
the words were simple. left no room for misunderstanding and a smile appeared on his lips.
finally, you had enough time to examine him.
he was the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. dark hair gelled back, just as you suspected at the smell. full, pink lips. hazel eyes—as you could tell—though the dim light in the bar barely showed the colour.
“i’m gator by the way,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand to you. “gator tillman.”
that rang a bell in your head.
“ah,” you replied, one hand leaving the glass, taking his and squeezing it softly. “sheriff’s deputy. i’ve heard a lot about you.”
another smile, this time a little more smug. “only good things i hope?”
it definitely sounded like a question but you decided to not really jump in. you just shrugged, turning back to brace your arms against the counter, taking a sip of the whiskey.
the liquid burned down your throat. it was a steady, warm burning, reminding you how good it felt to be alive.
“no answer, huh? that bad?”
that actually got a little chuckle from you as you shook your head, turning it to the side to look at him. “not exactly, no. just… thinking.”
he just stared at you, not being able to look away when his gaze finally dropped to the golden band around your finger.
“married? who’s the lucky fella?” he asked, not even thinking about moving away and leaving you in peace.
“that’s none of your business, gator.” your voice sounded like honey, practically melting in your mouth and dripping from your lips.
or at least he looked at you like that.
“oh, i think it is,” he answered, his voice suddenly a low growl. “as the sheriff’s deputy it’s my duty to look after pretty, married women who are sittin’ alone in a bar, bein’ fresh meat for any horny, cock-driven man who enters.”
his eyes were locked on yours, your grip tightening around the glass as you wetted your lips with your tongue.
you could see how his gaze drifted down, and he shook his head slowly—barely recognizable.
“don’t do that,” he warned, his voice a husky whisper, one hand reaching out to touch your thigh.
you didn’t pull away when he placed his hand there, slowly slipping down to the back of your knee, turning you so you were facing him fully again.
“thought you wanted to protect me from cock-driven men. didn’t expect you to be one of them,” you purred, opening your legs a little wider when he moved closer, his lust-hazed gaze still on your glistening lips.
“fuck that. i’m always cock-driven when it comes to my wife.” his grip tightened, fingertips digging into the thin fabric of the black tights you wore.
“you know the meaning behind a role play is to stay in character, right?”
that earned a low, almost animalistic growl from him. “i don’t fuckin’ care. wanna taste you.”
he didn’t even let you the chance to reply, his lips were already on yours. his tongue pushed inside your mouth, brushing against yours, tasting the whiskey on you.
you practically melted into him, wrapping one arm around his neck, the other grabbing the collar of the black shirt, yanking him closer.
the action got a soft groan out of him and he pulled away, his big, warm hands holding your face.
both of you were completely out of breath, chests falling up and down heavily. “mmh… you taste as sweet as honey,” he hummed, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.
“gator…” you whispered, chuckling softly, watching his brows furrow.
“what? it’s the truth.” his gaze drifted to the glass with the amber-like liquid inside.
“to be honest with ya, i’m wonderin’ if that counts for other parts of as well…”
“oh my god, that’s not how i-“
you didn’t get to finish what you wanted to say. he already stood up from his chair, dragging you with him and out of the bar.
you followed him—more stumbling than actually walking—until you reached his car.
before you could even touch the handle of the passenger’s door, he pressed you up against the side of the car, rutting his hips against you in the deserted parking lot.
he was hard already, thick cock achingly pressing against the cargo pants, searching for some kind of friction as he practically dry humped you in the cold air of the night.
his head dipped, lips brushing against your jaw and soon your neck, sucking a purple mark into the skin right above your pulse point.
“shit, gator…” you hissed, pushing him away. “just…fuck…just take me home okay?”
he growled, the sound vibrating through your whole body, leaving you soaked in your panties.
“want a real taste of ya first,” he rasped, his hand already slipping up your thigh and under the hem of your dress.
“gates…” you gasped, fingers brushing against your dripping core, still covered by the tights and panties.
“not in the damn parking lot. take me… take me home, please.”
but he didn’t listen. his hand wandered higher, slipping past the waistband of the tights and into your panties.
“shit, you’re fuckin’ soaked,” he hissed when he touched your wet cunt, index finger brushing through your folds, parting them slightly.
your nails dug into the leather of his jacket, desperately trying to not let yourself go. not where everyone could see you.
after a few more strokes, he withdrew his hand from you again, bringing his fingers to his lips, licking off your arousal right in front of your eyes.
“get inside,” he finally commanded, and you followed the order, trying to control your breath the whole ride back home.
he was all over you as soon as you passed the doorstep.
his hands gripping your breasts roughly through the dress, lips latched onto your skin as he pushed you right into the living room.
“you ready for me, babygirl? you ready for me to feast on you?”
the answer he got, was a small whimper while his hands slid up your back, slowly pulling down the zipper.
the fabric flowed down your body, pooling around your ankles.
gator’s hands were back on your tits, palming the naked skin, nipples already turned into stiff buds.
“fuck, baby. they’re already so full. imagine what they’re look like when yer full with my baby. all leakin’ and drippin’ with milk.”
a soft gasp escaped your lips, followed by a loud moan when he twirled your nipples between his thumb and index finger, making you rock your hips forward.
“you want that, babygirl? bein’ full with our child?”
“yes…” you breathed. “yes, gator. please.”
your answer seemed to satisfy him, his hands finally moving, hooking into the waistband of the tights, pulling them down along with your panties as he kneeled in front of you.
“as my girl wishes. but first, i have to keep a promise…” his hand slid back to the back of your knee, pulling your leg over his shoulder.
seconds later, his mouth was on you.
he licked and sucked on your pussy like it was the only thing he needed for the rest of his life. soft moans slipped past his lips, stimulating you from the inside before his fingers joined.
they slipped inside with ease, causing more of your arousal to spill out of you.
soft, dripping sounds echoed through the room as it dropped to the floor, pooling between gators thighs.
but he was too focused—pumping his fingers in and out of you—to actually care, eliciting moan after moan from you while he closed his mouth over your clit, swirling his tongue around it.
“i can see it already. you, walkin’ around the house with that beautiful bump. tits leakin’ from being too full. needin’ to be sucked off…”
the dirty words of your husband, combined with the pressure on your clit, sent you right over the edge and you came all over his fingers and face.
he drank everything you offered to him, his lips glistening with your juices when he rose back to his feet, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on him.
“like i said… sweet as honey,” he muttered, nudging you to walk backwards until your back hit the wall.
“i’m gonna fuck you against the wall, baby. i’m gonna breed you. make you a mama. tell me you want it.” his hands ripped at his clothes, tossing the shirt to the side before getting rid of his pants and boxers.
his cock stood proudly, head against his lower abdomen, flushed red tip leaking precum. “tell me how bad you want me to get you pregnant. i wanna hear it.”
you were too far gone. your inner walls clenching and fluttering, breath coming out of your mouth in little gasps. but somehow, you still managed to answer him.
“i want you to fill me up, gator. i wanna be… round with your baby. please… i want it so bad…”
that was enough for him.
he wrapped his arms around your smaller form, lifting you up and pressed your back against the wall.
your legs wrapped around his waist while he lined his cock up with your entrance, pushing inside with only the tip at first.
you cried out, falling forward slightly and his hand found the side of your neck, forcing you to lift your head to look at him.
“look at me, babygirl. look at me while i come home…” with that he pushed deeper, stretching your walls agonizingly slow.
you whimpered, a single tear slipping down your cheek, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear.
“gator…” you whispered his name, your eyes meeting his hazel ones.
“i’m here. i’m right here, mama,” he mumbled close against your lips, doing one last push until he bottomed out completely.
“my beautiful wife…” he whispered, his nose brushing along your jawline, inhaling your scent now mixed with sweat as he made his first thrust.
your thighs to shook around him, a moan slipped out, and your nails scratched along his back.
it urged him to make another thrust, quickly setting a slow, mind-blowing pace that had you begging for more.
“faster, please…” you whimpered, and he was too happy to grant you that wish.
“everythin’ for you, baby,” he murmured into your ear, right before he started to fuck you against the wall.
there was nothing left of the earlier softness as he set a brutal pace, slamming into you over and over again.
his pelvic bone rubbed against your clit with every thrust, your thighs shivering harder around him, signaling him how close you were again.
“fuck, babygirl. you’re so damn tight… wanna milk me dry? so i can pump this sweet little cunt full of my cum, breedin’ ya?” he growled, his hips beginning to stutter.
“yes…yes, gator. give it to me, make me drip with your cum…” you begged, your head falling forward, biting hard into his shoulder.
“f-fuck!” his head fell back into his neck as he came, his cock twitching as ropes of hot cum shot out of him, coating your walls.
you came as he did, your insides gripping him tightly while he continued to fuck you right through your climaxes.
after what felt like hours, you finally came down again, your heart still racing as you tried to catch your breath.
gator’s head dropped against yours, breathing each other’s air before he slipped out of you. but before your feet could touch the ground, he lifted you up in bridal style, carrying you to the couch.
he placed you down on it, softly brushing a few hairs out of your sweaty forehead. “you okay, baby?” he asked softly, and you nodded, opening your legs to make space for him.
he settled between them, his head on your chest as he listened to the beating of your heart.
“we should try it again. next time without falling out of our roles,” you murmured after a while, making him laugh softly.
one hand slipped down between your legs, grazing over your sensitive folds, pushing his leaking cum back inside, humming at the small whimper you made.
You grew up alongside Gator Tillman - but to him, you’ll always be the one who got away. What happens when you’re both all grown up & he finds you again?
a/n - ok i swore to myself i wasn’t gonna post another WIP when i have so many others I need to lock in for, but this story has been burning a hole in my google drive for well over a month !! it kind of has a few similar elements to ‘we were friends’ but like hey . roll with it please.
cw/tw - toxic + obsessive Gator, childhood friends to Something, no use of y/n, mentions of loss of virginity, mentions of violence, aspects of the story will take a darker turn so just like be aware.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The smell of paste and crayon wax still takes you back to that specific corner of the kindergarten classroom. Back when the world outside was big, loud, and confusing, but inside that circle of tables, it was a sea of arts and crafts.
Gator Tillman had been a scrawny thing then, all scuffed knees and elbows in denim overalls that were always a size too big. You remembered the way his hair hung in his face, a greasy curtain that he refused to let anyone cut.
One of the few days of your childhood that you recalled most vividly was the day you first met him. It had started with you crying. Someone had knocked over your block tower that you’d spent what felt like hours (though in reality, it had probably only been twenty or so minutes) building. It had been taller than you, and oh, you ever so proud of it. Until someone had barreled through the play area like a bull in a china shop, sending your tower flying in all directions.
You’d flopped on the ground in another corner after the teach had told you to stop crying, and you cried anyway. Gator had watched the whole scene happen from afar, and as soon as you were alone, he came to sit next to you - criss-cross-applesauce as he dug into the pockets of his overalls. After a few moments, he pulled out a slightly melted chocolate dinosaur, wrapped in red foil. He pressed it into your sticky palm with a gravity that suggested he was handing you a state secret rather than simply a piece of candy.
"Eat it," he’d whispered, his voice already tinged with a slightly raspy drawl that would only get deeper with age. "Then we’ll build a castle. A big one. Nobody knocks it down."
Not knowing what else to do, you’d thrown your arms around his neck and given him a tight hug. He squirmed for a moment, but then stilled. Just allowing you to show him a small bit of affection.
The rest was history. He didn’t leave your side for the rest of the year. He protected you from bullies, you shared your fruit snacks with him, and once - the two of you even held hands on the swing set at recess. In a classroom of thirty chaotic children, he was the only constant. The little boy who looked at you like you were the only other person on the planet.
By the time Junior High hit, the dynamic had shifted, eroded by the inevitable toll of adolescence. The hallways of the school were long and linoleum-tiled, smelling floor wax, teenage angst, and an overuse of Axe body spray.
You started branching out, joining clubs, sitting at different tables for lunch. Meanwhile, Gator didn’t seem to know how to do that - even when you invited him numerous times. He got louder, trying to charm his way through social situations that he didn't quite understand (nor actually have the charm for). It wasn’t his fault, but it also wasn’t your responsibility to teach him how to act right.
Gator was just one of many faces now, a background character in the story of your life. He wasn’t a bad person, per se. You didn't hate him, but you didn't need him anymore - not the way you had when you’d been children.
But that didn’t mean you didn’t feel for the guy. His home life remained a mystery - even to you after all the years you’d been friends - but you were smart enough to put the pieces together when he’d show up to school with a black eye, or a busted lip that hadn’t been there the day before. He shrugged off your concern every time until one day you finally pulled him into an empty classroom to force him to ice his swollen face.
“What happened to you?”
“S’nothin’.” Had been the mumble response.
“It’s not nothin’ if you can’t see outta one eye, Gator.”
“Why d’you care? Dontcha have all your other friends to worry about?”
“You’re my friend too.”
“You gotta funny way ‘a showin’ it.” He’d sniffed, trying and failing to look unaffected by your words. “We never hang out anymore.”
“Didn’t know you wanted to.”
“‘Course I want to.”
A warm feeling you had no name for had bloomed in your chest. “Okay. We can do that.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
A few weeks later, he’d been your first kiss.
Gator’s infatuation with you had hit hard during sophomore year, sudden and utterly suffocating like a heatwave in early May.
It was as if a switch had been flipped overnight in your friendship. In the blink of an eye, you’d gone from game or movie nights, study sessions, & walks in the park (maybe a rather chaste kiss every so often) to Gator showing up at your home at all hours of the day or night, following you in the hallways, and talking poorly about your other friends in an attempt to make himself look better.
“Stacy’s bad news.”
“What? Why would you say that? Stacy’s super sweet, and she helps me with algebra homework.”
“I could help you with algebra homework.”
“Gator, you have a D minus in math. You’re not helping yourself, much less anyone else.”
“She’s still bad news. I heard she slept with Mr. Anderson to get out of PE.”
“Did not.”
“You callin’ me liar?”
“No, but if anyone’s bad news, I’m starting to think it’s you.”
“Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”
“I do mean it, Gator. Unless you can calm the hell down, stay away from me.”
His behavior hadn’t come as a complete shock, but it was impossible to ignore despite your orders for him to stay away. You’d be walking to your locker, and you’d feel eyes on the back of your neck. You’d turn, and there he’d be, leaning against a bank of lockers a dozen paces away, watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.
Gator Tillman certainly wasn’t the scrawny kid from kindergarten anymore. He’d filled out, the awkward gangliness settling into a lean, rangy strength. He wore those flannel shirts unbuttoned over tees, driving a beat-up truck that sounded like a dying lawnmower the second he got his license. He offered to drive you around, but you almost always said no.
You silently begged God each night for his focus to be on some other girl, but you almost felt bad wishing that upon someone. At least you handle it, couldn’t you?
Then, he started showing up in your orbit outside school grounds. At an away volleyball game. At the diner where you worked on the weekends. At the grocery or gas station where your mom would send you on errands. He never said a word to you. But his eyes never left you for even a moment.
"You look real pretty today," he’d said one afternoon as you gathered books at your locker. He was standing too close, invading your personal space with a scent of cheap tobacco that he was far too young to be partaking in, and a distinct, musky cologne he probably stole from the drugstore.
You froze, clutching a history textbook to your chest. It was the first time he’d spoken to you in months since his stalking habits had started. “Uh. Thanks."
"I mean it," he insisted. His eyes were different now. They searched yours with a desperate, feverish need that felt new. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers calloused and rough, lingering on your skin for a second too long. "You're the prettiest girl in this whole godforsaken town. You know that, right?"
You’d brushed his hand aside, forcing a tight smile, and ducked into your first period class. But you could feel his gaze burning into your back long after the bell rang.
Junior year, things had blessedly calmed down a bit. You and Gator rekindled an attempt at friendship at a block party over the summer, chocking up his behavior to immaturity and your cold shoulder to focusing on your studies. All was forgiven. You were fine. Mostly. If you ignored the little voice in the back of your head that told you he hadn’t actually changed.
Late fall, the leaves had begun to change and you accepted his invitation to the local drive-in. They were playing a movie he knew you’d been wanting to see. It was a Friday night, and he parked in the very back. For the first thirty or so minutes, there was an honest attempt on his end at watching the movie.
But eventually, Gator’s hands had begun to wander. Starting on your thighs, and drifting higher. You’d shifted away once. Twice. On the third time, he anticipated your resistance, and pulled you over his lap so you were straddling him - pressed between his chest and the steering wheel. Next thing you knew, he was kissing you, and the movie became nothing more than background noise.
Gator had been your first friend. First kiss. Only felt appropriate that he’d be your first time too, right? He certainly seemed to think so.
As far as losing your virginity goes, it hadn’t been as awful as some of the stories your friends had told. There’d been some awkward fumbling to get his jeans off, and roll on the condom on in the dark. You’d kept your dress on, but he’d accidentally ripped your tights. He’d tried to be gentle - as least, as gentle as someone like Gator Tillman could be. It still hurt pretty badly. You’d cried, and he’d rambled in between his thrusts, his breath hot against your ear as he promised it would feel better eventually.
It didn’t.
Afterward, he’d straightened your dress, you wiped your tearstained face on your sleeve, and he drove you home in silence before the movie ended.
Against your better judgement, it happened three more times.
Senior year brought the chaos of studying, college applications, and most importantly - prom.
It was mid-April, the snow finally melting into grey slush puddles in the parking lot. Gator, who had inexplicably kept his distance since the school year had started, apparently decided that he’d been away from you for long enough. One afternoon, he cornered you by your car after school, a nervous energy vibrating off him.
“Go to prom with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Last I checked you were supposed to ask the person you want to go with politely.”
“Didn’t take you for one of those girls who wanted a damn promposal or somethin’. Shit.”
“I don’t care about all that. But I’m not going to prom with you.”
"I got a suit already. I’m gonna get a corsage. A red one. You like red, right?"
It had taken everything in you not to shove him away and drive over his toes. Senioritis had set in, and between exams, planning your future, and trying to repress the lapses in judgement that your actions during junior year - you were tired. You were ready to leave this town, this state, and the suffocating familiarity of everyone knowing everyone else’s business.
"Doesn’t matter. No means no. And I just told you I’m not going to prom with you."
He flinched like you’d slapped him. "What? Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“But we -“
“Don’t say we’ve hooked up and I owe you.”
“Come on, it’s not just that. It’s just… It’s always been you an’ me."
"It’s not always been anything," you said, your voice firm. "We’re… Friends. That’s it. Plus someone already asked me.”
“What?”
“Don’t act so shocked. I’m going with Mark.”
The light left his eyes instantly, replaced by a flat, cold darkness that scared you more than his shouting ever could.
“Which Mark?”
“Davidson.”
“Mark Davidson?” He repeated, the name apparently tasting like poison in his mouth. "Guy’s a prick."
"No, he’s not."
"I’m gonna ask you again," he said, stepping closer, looming over you. "Say yes."
"No," you said, matching his glare. "I’m going to prom with Mark. I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, but that’s the reality."
You’d driven away, leaving him standing in the grey slush.
Two nights later, the news spread through the school like wildfire. Mark Davidson had fallen down the stairs at his house - or maybe he slipped off the roof while cleaning gutters; the story changed depending on who you asked. But the result was the same: two broken legs, casted up to the thighs. He’d be spending prom night in a hospital bed.
You saw Gator the next day, whistling a tuneless melody as he leaned against his truck, a smug, satisfied twist to his lips. He didn’t say a word to you, but he didn’t have to. The message was loud and clear.
The final memory of Gator Tillman was the one that haunts you the most. The one that you still sometimes wake up in a cold sweat over.
The night before you left for college. August in North Dakota, the air thick with humidity and buzzing mosquitos. You were packing the last of your boxes, the sound of tape ripping echoing through your empty room. A knock on your first floor window startled you.
Unsurprisingly, it was Gator. You hadn’t seen him in a while. He looked wilder than usual, hair messy, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. He looked drunk or high. Maybe both.
"Go for a drive with me.” He’d said. It wasn’t a question.
"Gator, I have to finish -“
"Just come on. Please. One last drive. For old times’ sake."
“Are you drunk?”
“Not really.”
“High?”
“That a crime?”
“I don’t wanna get into a car with you if -“
“Jesus, Mary, n’ Joseph. Why’re you actin’ like I’m plastered?”
“Because it looks like you are.”
“Looks can be deceivin’, dontcha know. Now come out here or I’ll drag you.”
Against your better judgment, you’d agreed. Maybe it was guilt, maybe a misplaced sense of nostalgia. You’d climbed out of your window and gotten into his truck, the smell of stale smoke and that familiar cologne washing over you in a wave. He didn’t speak as he drove, taking the winding backroads out of town, past the silos and the darkened fields of wheat. He drove until the town lights were just a faint glow on the horizon, until he pulled over onto a gravel track leading into an abandoned field.
The engine cut, and the silence rushed in, heavy and oppressive.
"I gotta tell you somethin’," he said, turning to you in the dark. The weak dashboard lights cast his face in shadows, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the frantic intensity in his eyes.
“And you needed to drive me to the middle of nowhere to tell me? I leave at six AM, can’t we just -“
"No. Fuck, just listen to me!" He shouted, making you jump. He took a breath, his chest heaving, and reached out to grab your hand. You tried to pull back, but his grip was like iron. "You can’t leave."
"I am leaving," you said, your voice trembling despite yourself. "That was the plan, Gator. We talked about this."
"Screw the plan!" He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. "Marry me."
"Woah, what?"
"Marry me.”
Your jaw had dropped. “We’re both barely adults, Gator.”
“Don’t care. I’m not gonna let you go. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
He didn’t seem to have heard you, or maybe he just didn’t care as he continued to ramble, squeezing your hand tighter and tighter.
“We can drive to Vegas. Or we jus’ stay here. I don’t care. I’ll take care of you. I’ll be good to you. I promise. You don’t need that college shit or any of that stuff.”
“Yes, I do. I’m trying to have a career, and I need to get -“
“NO. You don’t need any a’ that shit. Just me."
"Gator, stop it," you’d tried to pry his fingers off your hand. "You’re not making sense. It’s okay to be scared that things are changing, but -“
"I’m not scared!" he roared, slamming his hand against the steering wheel, the horn blaring briefly into the night. "I love you! I’ve loved you since we were five years old and some asshole knocked down your block tower.”
“We were kids. You don’t -“
“You were my first - my first everything - and I know for a fuckin’ fact I was yours too. You’ve been there for me my entire life. And you’re just gonna throw that away? You’re gonna, what, leave me here?"
"I’m not throwing anything away,.” Tears sting your eyes. "I’m growing up, Gator. We’re growing up. And this... I know we have our history, but… You gotta let that go at some point. It’s in the past. None of that’s real anymore.”
"It’s real!" He’d insisted, voice cracking. "It’s the only real thing there is. Please. Just say yes. Please don’t go."
You looked at him then. Really looked at him. And it was in that moment that you saw a desperate, broken boy who had built his entire world around the idea of you, a world that was crumbling now that you were trying to walk out the door. It was tragic, and terrifying, and it made your heart ache in a way you didn't want to admit.
"No.” You’d whispered. “I can’t stay.”
"Don’t," he choked out. “Don’t you fuckin’ say that.”
"No," you said, louder this time, steeling yourself. "I’m not staying. Or marrying you. Take me home, Gator. Now."
For a long, horrible moment, he stared at you, his chest heaving, his eyes wet and dangerous. Then, he let go of your hand like he’d been burned. He turned away, staring out the windshield at the darkness, his jaw working furiously.
"Fine," he spat, the word dripping with venom. "You wanna go home so bad? Get out. Walk."
"Gator, we’re miles from -“
"Walk!" he screamed, slamming his fist against the dashboard. “You’re not the only one who can just up and leave.”
You didn't wait. You scrambled out of the truck, the gravel crunching under your sneakers, and started walking into the dark, cold night, the sound of his engine roaring to life and peeling away behind you, leaving you alone with the wind and the sound of crickets.
Eight Years Later
Eight years was a long time.
It was enough time to start a 401k, learn the difference between a Pinot Grigio and a Sauvignon Blanc, master the art of faking it till you make it - and certainly more than enough time to forget the specific, terrifying sound of Gator Tillman’s truck engine as it left you trembling in the middle of a dark field.
Since then, you had carved out a life that was the antithesis of North Dakota.
Chicago was loud, abrasive, and gloriously anonymous. Your apartment on the edge of Lincoln Park was filled with plants you actually kept alive, art you bought from gallery openings, and a boyfriend named Adam who worked in non-profit litigation and didn't have a single violent bone in his body. He was soft-spoken, educated, and treated you with a gentle reverence that made you feel safe and cherished - something you hadn’t realized you craved until he came along.
After college, your career in event planning had taken off faster than you expected. People loved working with you, your boss and coworkers relied on you, and the old adage turned out to be somewhat true - “do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life”.
You had a knack for herding cats, a skill that served you well when you were tasked with managing the Midwest Law Enforcement Strategic Symposium. It was three days of tactical gear showcases, lectures on inter-agency cooperation, and enough testosterone to fuel a rocket launch.
You smiled upon getting the assignment, but deep down, you hated it.
You hated the way the hotel ballroom smelled like gun oil and aftershave. You hated the stiff-backed way the attendees walked, looking at every civilian like they were a perp. But it was a massive account for your firm, the kind of high-profile client that meant a promotion and a corner office if you pulled it off without a hitch. Surely you could table your ardent dislike of police for a weekend of the result would be a boost in your career.
"Smile, honey," your boss, Sheila, had said that morning, adjusting the lapel of your blazer. "These guys have big budgets and bigger egos. Stroke them a little, and we’re golden for Q4."
You had pasted on a neutral, professional smile and spent the morning directing a SWAT team demonstration in the Grand Ballroom, making sure the catering staff stayed clear of the K-9 unit, and the bomb squad robot didn't terrify the other hotel guests.
By 2PM on day one, you were operating on fumes and a third iced latte that was doing nothing to dull the pounding behind your eyes. You had a clipboard in one hand and your phone in the other, trying to coordinate a last-minute speaker issue in the breakout rooms. You turned the corner near the elevators, your mind racing through a checklist of logistical nightmares, and walked straight into a solid wall of muscle.
The impact knocked the breath out of you, sending your clipboard clattering to the patterned carpet. Your work phone skittered away, sliding under a side table.
"Watch where the hell you're going," a grating voice rumbled, sounding like a truck engine trying to turn over in the dead of winter.
"My apologies, sir. I wasn't -“ You started, crouching down to retrieve your belongings, but froze when you saw the boots.
Heavy, scuffed leather work boots, caked in dried mud and road salt. You knew those boots. You knew the way the laces were always double-knotted, the way the heel was worn down on the left side.
You didn't want to look up. A primal part of your brain, the part that still remembered the smell of that abandoned field, was screaming at you to leave. To keep your head down, grab your phone and bolt for the service stairs. But you were a professional now. An adult. You made your body move, eyes traveling up past the worn denim jeans, the heavy leather belt with a distinct, oversized buckle, the flannel shirt that looked like it had been slept in.
And then you saw the face. A bit older and harder. The lines around his brown eyes a bit deeper, but no less unsettling when you were the focus of his gaze. They widened, the recognition hitting him seconds after it hit you.
Gator Tillman was standing in the lobby of the Chicago Marriott.
"Well, I’ll be damned," he breathed, the shock momentarily stripping the menace from his tone. "Look what the cat dragged in."
"Gator.” Your voice barely a whisper, but still drowning out the endless stream of chatter in your earpiece. His name felt like a foreign word in your mouth, a relic from a life you’d buried.
He grinned, a slow, lazy stretch of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. He looked you up and down, an appraising sweep that made your skin crawl. "You clean up good, city girl. Real good. Hardly recognized you without the flannel."
You opened your mouth to say something - anything - to shut this down, to put up a wall, but a shadow fell over the pair of you.
"Gator. Move your ass."
The voice was dry and devoid of warmth. You looked past Gator’s shoulder and felt the blood drain from your face.
Roy Tillman.
Somehow, you’d never spoken to the man face to face in your life - seemingly a purposeful move on Gator’s part. Sure, you had seen pictures of him in the papers over the years, usually accompanied by headlines about land disputes, missing persons, or clashes with federal authorities. But photos didn't capture the sheer, suffocating weight of his presence. He was taller and broader than his son, a solid block of a man radiating a terrifying, ancient authority. He wore a dusty Stetson, a thick coat, and eyes that looked like they’d seen every ugly thing this world had to offer
He stopped next to Gator, looking at his son with a mix of disdain and impatience, before his gaze shifted to you. The air in the corridor seemed to thicken, to press in on your lungs. He didn't smile or frown. He just looked at you, head cocked slightly to the side.
"Oh. This the one?" Roy asked, his voice quiet but carrying an eerie resonance in the empty hallway.
Gator nodded, still staring at you with that hungry, desperate intensity you remembered so well. "Sure as shit is. The one who got away."
Excuse you??
"Hmph," Roy grunted. He took a step forward, invading your personal space with a casual arrogance that was infinitely more frightening than Gator’s volatility. He reached out, his hand rough and calloused, and you flinched, for some reason expecting a blow.
Instead, he flicked the lapel of your blazer, his fingers brushing the expensive fabric.
"Expensive clothes," he observed, his tone almost conversational. "City money. Sold your soul for polyester and silk, little lady? Too good for Stark County?”
"Mr. Tillman," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain calm. "I - this is a private event. I’m here working."
"Working," Roy repeated, testing the word like it was a foreign concept. "Serving coffee to men who actually protect things? That’s the extent of your ambition?"
"I'm the event planner, actually," you corrected him, the indignation giving you a sudden spike of courage. "I’m the one managing this entire seminar. Including you and your sons’ itinerary."
This seemed to amuse him. A small, dry chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Is that so? Well, then. I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot of you. Gator here was just telling me how this city was full of... Temptations."
Gator shifted his weight, his eyes still glued to your face. In truth, you didn’t think he’d blinked in the last sixty seconds. "I didn't say temptations, Dad. I said opportunities."
You looked at Gator, and immediately saw the same desperate, suffocating boy who’d left in that field the night before you’d started a brand new chapter of your life. But now he was wearing a badge on his belt - a badge you hadn't noticed until now, shining in the harsh hotel lights. He was a cop. Or something like it. The irony was almost too much to process.
"I have to go," you said, your voice steadying as you clutched your clipboard and phone like lifelines. "Enjoy the seminar."
You turned to leave, needing to put as much distance between yourself and the Tillmans as physically possible.
"Don't be a stranger, now," Gator called out after you, his voice dripping with a smug familiarity that made your skin crawl. "We’re gonna be here all weekend.”
You didn't look back. Instead, you walked as fast as you could in heels without breaking into a full sprint, turning the corner and leaning against the cold wall of the service corridor as soon as you were out of sight. You closed your eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath, trying to banish the smell of stale tobacco and the memory of those eyes boring into yours.
It was just a coincidence. A fluke. A billion-to-one shot. You were safe in Chicago. You had a life - with a job, a sweet boyfriend, and your own ambitions. You were safe.
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