#fargo s5 au

[dckweed]

THE NEXT THING YOU KNOW, gator tillman

in which gator tillman and his arranged bride figure out life and each other and what a real relationship means to them.

warnings: mentions and depictions of abuse, mentions of bruises, arranged marriages, romance, humor, dead parents, slow burn relationship (not completely but not not), basically we know the tillman men are asswipes so i 100% see Roy forcing gator into this kind of situation for money for his militia, eventual smut with kinks such as thigh riding, gun play, choking, spanking, lots of marking and possible spit play. this chapter does not contain explicit smut, but does contain mentions of blowjobs and ejaculation on tits. 18 & over only, MINORS DO NOT READ.

hiiiiiiiiiiii its been a while huh? thought i would feed you guys with a nice long one..not proof read, im half asleep with a sick toddler on top of me, most of this is also unplanned (as is most of the things i write). let me know how we like lu! what do we think of her and gator? and the ending? the engagement party????

please click this link! each click helps me earn some extra money, as well as each person that clicks the link and signs up (its completely free, and takes 0 time), a completely harmless way to earn some extra cash that doesn't involve giving me any of your own!

i would also like to maybe have a little competition to see who can make me a new aesthetic/moodboard for these two? winner will get a 20$ dunkin or starbs gift card (your choice)! let me know if anyone is interested!

also, as a reminder i love receiving asks about these two! i also love recieving maybe some drabble ideas too :) my inbox is always open!

series masterlist here, series playlist here.

PART EIGHT: lu and the engagement party

Saturday came faster than you realized, your alarm clock bleating in your ear before the sun was even up. You don’t even open your eyes when you reach your arm out to slap the button you know will shut it up, reaching out from under the covers blindly with a groan. A whiney noise comes from the body under your cheek, the noise rumbling in his chest and vibrating your cheek as he tightens his arm around you. “S’time to get up, Gator..” You say softly, yawning, head still under the covers. 

He hums, hand rubbing over your back softly. “She really that good of a friend that we can’t let her sit there for a few hours?” He grumbles and you bite his pec, for the fact of being purely too lazy to raise your arm again and smack him. “Ow! Geez, I get it!” He starts to sit up, you in his lap as he grumbles under his breath about how you’re part vampire or something with the way you just chomped down on him, how you’re a mean bitch when you’re tired and all you do is grumble in return, biting his neck this time. “Joke’s on you, that one felt good” He chuckles, slipping out from underneath of you and heading for the bathroom. 

You follow after him in nothing but your bra and panties, rubbing your puffy, tired eyes. You had been up with Boyd half the night, the other half spent waiting for Gator to come to your house after work so you could crawl into bed with him, having quickly become used to him just being there and suddenly unable to sleep without him. “M’sleepy..” You whine, stamping your foot on the ground as you shiver, before pouting when he just raises an eyebrow at you and hands you your tooth brush and your basket of skin care items. 

You completely ignore the way his eyes roam over you, letting him stare at your tits as they jiggle when you brush your teeth, as if you hadn’t let him cum all over them last night when you had given him another blow job before bed, just for funsies this time. As if you hadn’t teased him all night long with some topless selfies...

You pout and stomp your foot again when he pushes you out towards your closet, crying out when he lands a harsh smack to your ass. “Quit it with that bratty behavior, ‘fore i put that mouth to use to stop that damn whinin’” He commands, ushering you into your closet. He kept a drawer of his clothes in there now, at your urging seeing as you had filled his drawers with a bunch of your stuff at his house. You wasted no time in helping yourself to one of his giant stark county sheriff’s tshirts, much to his chagrin, pairing it with a pair of denim high waisted shorts and some sandals to show off your pretty pink toenails that he vaguely remembered paying to have done. 

“Going for comfort today, Pearlie?” He asks, pulling his own tshirt on, you only hum, pressing your face into his back as you wrap your arms around his middle, making it difficult for him to get dressed. You were like a clingy toddler some mornings, and he couldn’t say that he didn’t love it. 

It took another twenty minutes or so to get you out of the house, your hair up in a claw clip as you trailed behind him, eyes half closed still, heavy with sleep. The keys to your jeep dangled from your hand and dutifully he opens the passenger side door for you, patting your butt as you climb in with a murmured promise to stop and get you some coffee.  

The sunrise spills across the horizon, painting the world in shades of soft gold and pink as you sip your iced coffee and lean back in the passenger seat of your Jeep. The caffeine hasn’t quite kicked in yet, but it doesn’t matter. Exhaustion clings to you both, but somehow, sitting here with him feels like the most peaceful place in the world.

Gator’s hand rests firmly on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the denim of your shorts. It’s such a small gesture, but it anchors you. He’s driving, his long fingers draped over the wheel like he was born to hold it. You glance at him, the way the morning light sharpens his profile, and feel a familiar flutter in your chest. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this—how natural it feels to have him beside you, even in the simplest moments.

“You and that coffee,” he teases, glancing at you with that lopsided grin that always makes you roll your eyes and smile at the same time. “One of these days, I’m gonna figure out how much you’ve spent on those things and send you the bill.”

“You’d never,” you shoot back, taking another sip just to spite him. “And besides, you keep buying them for me, so really, whose fault is it?”

“Guess I’m just a sucker,” he mutters, shaking his head. But the corners of his mouth twitch upward, and you know he doesn’t mind one bit.

The radio hums softly in the background, a mix of new country songs you’ve been obsessing over lately. Your face lights up as the familiar opening chords of Morgan Wallen’s latest hit fill the car. Without thinking, you crank the volume, squealing in excitement. “Oh my God, this is my song! Turn it up, turn it up!”

Gator groans in mock agony, but he complies, his fingers twisting the knob. “This is, what, the fifth ‘favorite song’ you’ve had this month?”

“Shut up and sing with me,” you order, already belting out the lyrics—off-key, of course, but you don’t care. The wind rushes in through the open windows, carrying your voice out into the morning air. You’re loud and unapologetic, and it makes you laugh when he winces like your singing physically hurts him.

“Jesus, Pearlie,” he says, shaking his head as he joins in, purposely worse than you just to make you laugh. And laugh you do, doubling over in your seat until tears stream down your cheeks, your coffee threatening to spill in your hand.

“Careful,” he warns, grinning as he takes his eyes off the road for just a second to glance at you. “You’re gonna wreck that bougie drink of yours all over my seats.”

You can’t even respond to remind him that they’re your seats; you’re laughing too hard to form words. The song ends, leaving you breathless and buzzing with the kind of giddy energy only he can bring out of you. You look over at him, his face relaxed and happy as he keeps one hand steady on the wheel and the other warm on your leg.

“You’re having fun,” you point out, nudging him with your elbow.

He raises a brow. “You’re a mess, Pearlie. How could I not?”

You roll your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat as the next song comes on, softer and slower. The moment shifts, settling into something quieter, but no less warm. You watch him for a while, the way his fingers drum lightly against the wheel in time with the music, his face relaxed but focused. It hits you, suddenly and completely: how good he is to you. How steady, how sure.

“You’re gonna love Lu,” you say, breaking the silence. “She’s known me forever. Longer than anyone. She’s like family.”

He hums, nodding. “She sounds like a badass. I’m looking forward to it.”

“She’ll probably grill you,” you warn, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “She’s protective.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he replies, squeezing your thigh gently. “But I’ll win her over.”

“Confident, are we?” you tease, sipping your coffee.

“Let’s just say,” he says, his voice softening, “I’ve got a good reason to make a good impression.”

The way he says it—the way his fingers tighten slightly on your leg, the way his eyes flick to yours for just a second—makes your chest ache in the best way. He doesn’t have to spell it out for you; you know. You know he means you.

You let your hand rest on top of his, your thumb brushing against his knuckles. The road stretches out ahead of you, golden and endless, and for the first time in a long time, you feel completely at peace.

These moments—the ones that seem so small—are the ones you’ll remember. Just you and him, the open road, and the kind of love that makes everything else fade into the background.

The airport buzzes with the chaotic energy of travelers—hurried footsteps, rolling luggage, voices blending into a steady hum. You stand at the baggage claim, shifting from one foot to the other, chewing your nails in nervous anticipation. You know it’s a bad habit, one you’ve tried to break, but right now, the energy coursing through you makes it impossible to stop.

"Pearlie, come on," Gator says gently, nudging your elbow. He’s leaning casually against a column, trying to act unaffected, but you catch the glint of amusement in his eyes. "You’re gonna chew your fingers off before she even gets here."

You shoot him a glare, but it’s half-hearted. "I can’t help it. She’s taking forever. What if she got lost? Or missed her connection?"

He chuckles, his hand slipping onto your waist as if to ground you. "It’s been, what, two months since you saw her? I think you’ll survive a few more minutes."

Two months. You know it hasn’t been that long since graduation, but it feels like a lifetime. There’s a particular ache that only comes from being separated from someone who knows every version of you—someone who’s been there through it all. Lu isn’t just your best friend; she’s your other half.

Your eyes scan the bustling area again, and just as you’re about to spiral into another wave of impatience, you spot her. She’s bounding down the escalator, her carry-on backpack bouncing wildly on her shoulders, her hair swinging in every direction. And before you can process it, she’s charging toward you at full speed, her arms flailing as she screams your name.

"PEARLIE!"

You barely have time to brace yourself before she launches at you like a missile, her full weight colliding with you as she leaps onto your back. Her arms wrap around your neck, squeezing tightly as the force sends you stumbling forward with a laugh and a shriek.

"LU!" you cry, barely able to get the word out through your laughter as you try to keep your balance. She’s clinging to you like a koala, her legs wrapping around your waist as she plants a noisy kiss on your cheek.

"God, I missed you!" she exclaims, practically squeezing the life out of you. "It’s been forever!"

"You saw me at graduation!" you protest, though your arms instinctively come up to hold her. Tears sting your eyes, and you don’t even try to blink them away. "Two months, Lu. Two!"

"Two months too long," she says dramatically, leaning her head on your shoulder.

You’re both laughing now, the sound blending with the cacophony of the airport, when suddenly, Lu is yanked off you.

"What the—" Gator’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp and protective. He’s pulled Lu off you like she’s some kind of attacker, his hands firm on her shoulders as he moves to position himself between you and her.

The look of pure confusion on Lu’s face is priceless. "Uh, who’s this guy?" she asks, her voice dripping with amusement as she takes him in, her eyes scanning his broad shoulders and serious expression. "Your bodyguard?"

You’re too busy laughing to respond right away, but when you see Gator’s face—his brows furrowed, his jaw tight—you quickly intervene. "Gator, it’s okay!" you say, stepping forward and grabbing his arm. "This is Lu. My best friend."

He blinks, his grip on her shoulders loosening as he glances between the two of you. "Oh." His expression shifts from defensive to sheepish in an instant. "Sorry. You came in hot, and I—"

"Relax, Big Guy," Lu interrupts, her lips twitching into a smirk as she pats his arm. "I’m not here to steal your girl. Well," she adds with a playful shrug, "not permanently, anyway."

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop smiling. Gator looks down at you, his own lips quirking into a reluctant grin as he mutters, "Guess I overreacted."

"A little," you tease, leaning into his side. "But it’s kind of sweet."

"Sweet, huh?" Lu says, her eyes narrowing as she steps closer, poking Gator in the chest. "So you’re the famous Gator. The one who’s got my Pearlie all head over heels."

"That’d be me," he says, his grin turning more confident now as he extends a hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Lu. I’ve heard a lot about you."

"Good things, I hope," she says, shaking his hand firmly before turning back to you. "Well, I gotta say, Pearlie, he’s cute. And tall. You did good."

"Can we not?" you groan, your cheeks flushing as you try to drag her toward the exit. But even as she continues to tease you, you can’t stop the warmth blooming in your chest. Lu’s here. Gator’s here. And for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels exactly as it should be. 

After picking Lu up from the airport and loading her bags into the Jeep, Gator insisted on taking you both out to eat before starting the long drive back to Lehigh. You protested at first, but Lu’s excited agreement overruled you. “I’m starving,” she declared. “Airplane snacks don’t count as real food.”

The three of you ended up at a cozy diner just off the highway. Gator slid into the booth beside you while Lu sat across, her sharp eyes darting between the two of you with a curiosity that made you squirm. He handed you a menu but didn’t bother opening one for himself. You both knew he’d order the same thing he always did—something hearty and simple.

When the waitress came by, Gator didn’t hesitate to pay for all three of you, brushing off Lu’s protest with a casual, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.” She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, giving him an approving nod instead.

As you waited for your food, you launched into an animated retelling of the story behind your engagement ring. “So, we were at the bridal shop, helping our little sisters find flower girl dresses,” you began, your hands gesturing wildly. “And I’m in the dressing room, trying on wedding dresses, when he just—he pulls out the ring.”

Lu’s eyes widened. “In the dressing room? Bold move.”

“I know, right?” you laughed. “And the ring—it’s this huge oval diamond on the simplest band. It’s perfect. He spent so much on it, and then I spent so much on my wedding dress, Boyd was furious. But I didn’t care.”

“Wait, Boyd was mad about the dress?” Lu asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Oh, yeah. He thought it was too extravagant or something, or too..ugh..whorey? I told him to shove it.” You grinned, pride shining in your eyes. “And then I smacked him the other day.”

Lu burst out laughing. “You what?”

“I smacked him,” you repeated, your grin widening. “He was being an ass, as usual. Gator’s still proud of me for it.”

“Damn right I am,” Gator chimed in, his arm resting on the back of the booth behind you. His voice was warm and steady, but his eyes were soft as he watched you. He didn’t say much during the meal, content to sit back and listen to you and Lu catch up. The way you lit up, your laughter filling the small diner, made his chest ache in the best way.

The drive back to Boyd’s was long, the five-hour stretch of highway rolling out like an endless ribbon in front of Gator’s truck. Pearl had fallen asleep not long after they hit the road, her head resting against the window, her breathing soft and steady. Gator glanced at her every so often, a faint smile playing on his lips. She looked so peaceful, her usual worries and nerves smoothed away in sleep.

In the backseat, Lu was wide awake, her sharp eyes fixed on Gator. She leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. “So,” she started, breaking the comfortable silence, “you and Pearlie. How serious is this, really?”

Gator flicked a quick glance at her in the rearview mirror, his hands steady on the wheel. “Serious enough that I’m marrying her,” he said evenly, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. “That’s usually a pretty good indicator.”

Lu rolled her eyes. “Don’t play smart with me, Big Guy. I know it’s an arranged marriage. I just want to make sure you actually care about her. Because if you don’t…” She let the sentence hang, her meaning crystal clear.

Gator’s grip on the wheel tightened for a moment before he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. “I get it,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re looking out for her, and I respect that. But let me make one thing clear—Pearlie means everything to me. I don’t care how this started. I’m all in.”

Lu studied him for a long moment, her sharp gaze unnerving but oddly comforting. It reminded him of Pearl’s own protective nature, and he found himself grateful that she had someone like Lu in her corner. “Good,” Lu said finally, leaning back in her seat. “Because she deserves someone who’s all in. She’s been through enough.”

Gator nodded, his jaw tightening as he fought the urge to ask Lu just how much she knew about what Pearl had been through. Instead, he let the conversation flow naturally, focusing on keeping things light for now. “So, is this the part where you grill me about my intentions or something?” he teased, throwing her a quick grin in the rearview mirror.

Lu smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, don’t think you’re off the hook yet. Pearlie told me you can’t cook to save your life. You burned spaghetti and grilled cheese? Seriously?”

Gator groaned, shaking his head. “She told you about that, huh? Look, it was one time—okay, maybe two—and I was distracted.”

“Distracted?” Lu laughed. “How do you get distracted cooking spaghetti?”

Gator’s lips twitched. “She walked in wearing one of my shirts and no pants. You try focusing after that.”

Lu burst out laughing, her head tipping back as she wiped at her eyes. “Alright, fair enough. But seriously, you better figure out how to cook something. She can’t live off iced coffee and snacks forever.”

“I’m working on it,” he said, his tone mock-defensive. “And for the record, I don’t mind paying for her coffee habit. If it makes her happy, it’s worth it.”

Lu hummed thoughtfully, her smile softening. “Alright, you’re scoring points, Gator. But tell me this—why don’t you ever let her drive her Jeep? She told me you always insist on being the one behind the wheel.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You ever been in a car with Pearlie driving? It’s terrifying. She doesn’t use turn signals half the time, she speeds, and she’s got no concept of personal space on the road. I’m not risking my life like that.”

Lu laughed again, covering her mouth to keep from waking Pearl. “You sound like an old man.”

“Maybe I am,” he admitted with a shrug. “But at least I’m an old man who’s alive.”

As their laughter faded, Lu’s eyes caught the faint glint of metal peeking out of Gator’s pocket. She leaned forward, pointing. “Is that a vape?”

Gator hesitated, glancing at her in the mirror. “Yeah, but don’t tell Pearlie. I told her I was cutting back.”

Lu grinned mischievously. “Your secret’s safe with me. But hand it over—I need a hit.”

He rolled his eyes but pulled the vape from his pocket, passing it back to her. “Here. But if she wakes up and catches us, you’re taking the blame.”

“Deal,” Lu said, taking a drag before exhaling slowly. “You know, I think I like you, Gator. You’re alright.”

“Thanks,” he replied dryly. “Glad to know I’ve got your approval.”

“Don’t get cocky,” she teased, handing the vape back to him. “You’re still on probation.”

He chuckled softly, tucking the vape back into his pocket as he glanced at Pearl, still sleeping peacefully. “Fair enough. But for what it’s worth, I really do love her. I’d do anything for her.”

Lu’s teasing smile softened, and she nodded. “I know. That’s why I think you’re alright. Just don’t screw it up, okay?”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady and resolute. “I won’t.”

The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence, the bond between them growing stronger with each shared laugh and unspoken understanding. By the time they pulled into the long, winding driveway of Boyd’s ranch, Gator felt like he’d earned not just Lu’s approval, but her trust—and that meant more to him than he could put into words.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of excitement and nerves. Lu’s arrival brought a sense of comfort and familiarity that you hadn’t realized how much you’d been craving. She hugged you tightly at the airport, her sharp eyes scanning your face as if she could see every worry you’d tried to hide.

“You look good, Pearlie,” she said, her tone soft but firm, as if daring you to argue. “Happier than the last time I saw you.”

“I am,” you replied, glancing at Gator, who was waiting a few steps behind with your bags. He gave you a small, reassuring smile, and you felt your shoulders relax just a little.

The three of you spent the afternoon going over wedding details, flipping through fabric swatches and floral arrangements. Lu’s sharp wit kept you laughing, and Gator’s steady presence made you feel like everything might actually come together in time. You tried on the engagement party dress for them, twirling in front of the mirror as Lu whistled appreciatively and Gator’s gaze darkened with something that made your cheeks flush.

“You’re stunning,” he said simply, his voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, you let yourself believe it.

But when the night of the engagement party arrived, a storm of emotions churned in your chest. It wasn’t just anxiety or excitement—it was something heavier, something you couldn’t quite name. You’d spent the day pretending everything was fine, smiling for Gator and Lu, going through the motions of final touches and last-minute preparations. But inside, you felt like a tightly wound string, ready to snap at the slightest pull.

The first sign that things were unraveling came when you were supposed to leave for the venue. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at the pink backless dress that had felt so perfect just hours ago. Now, it felt like a costume, like a version of yourself you didn’t recognize. Your fingers trembled as you touched the fabric, your reflection blurring as tears welled in your eyes.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, frozen, until your phone buzzed on the dresser. It was Gator, his name lighting up the screen. You didn’t answer. Instead, you grabbed another dress—something simpler, darker, with sleeves that covered your arms and a neckline that felt safer. You pulled it on quickly, your hands fumbling with the zipper as panic clawed at your throat.

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, the party was already in full swing. You slipped through the door quietly, hoping to go unnoticed, but Gator’s eyes found you almost instantly. The relief on his face was palpable, but it quickly shifted to confusion as he took in your appearance. This wasn’t the dress he’d been looking forward to seeing you in, the one you’d been so excited about.

You avoided his gaze, keeping your head down as you murmured apologies to the few guests who greeted you. The weight of their attention felt unbearable, like it might crush you at any moment. Gator reached you in a few long strides, his hand brushing the small of your back as he leaned in to ask, "Pearlie, what’s going on?"

You flinched at his touch, a reaction so small most wouldn’t have noticed, but he did. His hand fell away, his brow furrowing in concern. "Hey," he said softly, trying to meet your eyes. "Talk to me."

You shook your head, your voice barely audible as you whispered, "Not here."

He nodded, his jaw tight as he stepped back to give you space. But his eyes never left you, watching every move you made as if he could protect you from whatever was eating away at you. And maybe he could. Maybe that’s what scared you the most.

Later, when the party was winding down, Gator pulled you aside into a quiet hallway. His hands were gentle but firm on your shoulders as he guided you into an empty bathroom, closing the door behind you. "Pearlie," he said, his voice low but steady, "what’s going on? You’ve been off all night."

Your resolve crumbled under the weight of his concern. You turned away from him, your hands trembling as you reached for the hem of your dress. "I didn’t want to ruin tonight," you said, your voice breaking. "I didn’t want to make it about this."

"About what?" he asked, his tone laced with urgency.

You hesitated, then slowly lifted the back of your dress, revealing the fresh bruises and welts that marred your skin. Gator’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the room, and when you finally turned to face him, his expression was a mix of fury and heartbreak.

"Boyd?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you whispered, "It’s worse when you’re not there. He knows you can’t be around all the time."

Gator’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his body vibrating with barely contained rage. "I swear to God, Pearlie, I’m not letting this go. He’s not touching you again."

You shook your head, panic rising in your chest. "You can’t do anything, Gator. If you try to go after him—"

"I’m not letting him get away with this," he interrupted, his voice trembling with emotion. "But I can’t do it alone. I have to talk to my father."

The mention of Sheriff Roy made your stomach drop. You knew their relationship was fraught, a toxic mix of authority and resentment. "Gator," you said hesitantly, "are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s... he’s not exactly—"

"I know what he is," Gator cut in, his eyes dark with determination. "But he’s the sheriff, and I need his permission to bring Boyd in. I’ll deal with him if it means keeping you safe."

You wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn’t worth it, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t just angry; he was resolute. This wasn’t just about protecting you—it was about taking back control from the men who had tried to break both of you.

Gator pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried into his chest. "I’m gonna fix this, Pearlie," he murmured, his voice fierce and unwavering. "I promise you, I’m gonna fix this."

Hours later, after the engagement party had begun to dwindle and most of the guests had trickled out, Gator found himself at the bar. The room was quieter now, with the low hum of conversation and clinking glassware filling the air. Pearlie sat with Lu at a table on the far side of the restaurant, her laughter subdued, her gestures smaller. She wasn’t quite herself, and it gnawed at him.

He wasn’t going to let Boyd do this to her anymore. Not after tonight. Not ever again.

Roy sat next to him, nursing a whiskey on the rocks, his sharp eyes surveying the room like he was waiting for trouble to spark. The sheriff was an imposing figure, broad-shouldered and intimidating without even trying. His presence demanded authority, and his reputation in Stark County ensured it. But to Gator, he was just the man who had spent his life doling out discipline with a heavy hand and words that cut deeper than any belt.

Gator glanced over at Pearlie again, his jaw tightening. “I need your help,” he said finally, his voice low but firm.

Roy raised an eyebrow, swirling his drink as he turned to face his son. “Help with what?” he asked, his tone calm, almost detached.

“With Boyd,” Gator said, the name like poison on his tongue. His father’s expression didn’t shift, but Gator could feel the weight of his scrutiny. “He’s hurting her. And I can’t— I won’t let it happen again.”

Roy’s lips thinned as he set his glass down, the faintest clink of ice breaking the tension. “You sure you want to involve me in this, son? Last I checked, you’ve been doing everything to avoid following in my footsteps.”

Gator’s hands clenched into fists on the bar. “This isn’t about me or you. It’s about her. She’s got bruises on her back, Roy. She’s terrified to go home when I’m not there. And the bastard thinks he can get away with it because he has some damn contract with you.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed, the lines in his face deepening. “Boyd’s not a man to cross lightly,” he said, his voice carefully measured. “He’s got power, connections. You go after him without thinking, and it’s your badge on the line. Your future.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Gator snapped, his voice rising slightly before he reined it back in. “I care about Pearlie. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Roy studied him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “You really love her, don’t you?”

Gator’s jaw tightened, his eyes never leaving Pearlie’s figure across the room. “More than anything. I’d die for her if it meant she’d never have to feel scared again.”

Roy leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow exhale as he picked up his glass again. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But guts don’t always win the fight, son. Boyd’s a snake, and you don’t go after a snake without a plan.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” Gator asked, his voice sharp. “Because I’m not gonna sit around and wait for him to hurt her again.”

Roy took a sip of his whiskey, his gaze distant as he considered his words. “You’re gonna keep her close. Don’t let her out of your sight. I’ll start digging into Boyd’s dealings, see if there’s anything we can use against him. Something concrete. If he’s as untouchable as he likes to think, we’ll need leverage to bring him down.”

Gator’s stomach churned at the thought of working alongside his father, but he forced himself to nod. “Fine. But if he touches her again—”

“I know,” Roy interrupted, his tone cold and final. “You don’t have to tell me what you’ll do. But if you let your temper get the better of you, you’ll only make things worse. For you, and for her.”

Gator swallowed hard, his anger simmering just below the surface. He didn’t trust Roy, not fully, but he didn’t see another option. If getting his father involved meant protecting Pearlie, he’d do it. No matter how much it cost him.

“Keep her safe, Gator,” Roy said, his voice softer now, almost uncharacteristically so. “You’ve got more to lose than you realize.”

Gator didn’t respond, his eyes drifting back to Pearlie. She caught his gaze for a brief moment, offering him a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. His chest tightened, the weight of the night settling heavily on his shoulders.

“I will,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Roy. “I’ll keep her safe. No matter what.”

Roy’s silence felt like an unspoken agreement, a tenuous truce forged in the name of protecting the one person who mattered most to Gator.

As the two men sat in the quiet tension of the bar, Gator’s resolve hardened. Boyd might think he was untouchable, but he’d underestimated just how far Gator was willing to go for Pearlie.

He’d make sure Boyd learned that lesson—one way or another.

Hours later, back at Boyd's the house was quiet, the kind of silence that made the creaks in the floorboards sound deafening. Gator moved carefully, his bare feet padding across the polished hardwood as he descended the grand staircase. The air in the mansion always felt cold, sterile, like the life it housed had been drained long ago.

Pearl was sound asleep upstairs, her soft breathing the last thing he’d heard before he’d slipped out of the room. She deserved to rest. To be at peace. That’s why he was doing this. That’s why he was creeping through the house like a thief, determined to find something—anything—that would give him leverage against Boyd.

He made his way toward Boyd’s office, the faint smell of cigars and leather lingering in the hallway. The door loomed ahead, slightly ajar, and he paused for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. If Boyd was hiding something, it would be here. Gator had no doubt about that.

He reached for the door handle, his palm sweaty, when a voice behind him froze him in his tracks.

“You don’t want to do that.”

Gator turned sharply, his pulse spiking, only to find Lu standing a few feet away, a plate of crackers and cheese in her hands. She was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and shorts, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked like she belonged anywhere but here, in Boyd’s cold and calculating domain.

“What the hell, Lu?” Gator hissed, his voice low. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, setting the plate down on a nearby table. “But I think I already know.”

Gator narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “I need to find something on him. Something I can use to protect Pearl.”

Lu sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “I get it. Trust me, I do. But you’re not gonna find it in there. At least, not without Boyd knowing.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his suspicion mingling with curiosity.

“Pearl told me years ago,” Lu said, her voice softening. “That office has motion sensor cameras. They’re on whenever he’s not in there, especially at night. You step inside, and he’ll know.”

Gator swore under his breath, stepping back from the door like it had burned him. “How do you know that?”

Lu’s expression darkened, her usual sharpness giving way to something more vulnerable. “Because Pearl and I have been through this before. She told me everything. About the cameras, about Boyd’s rules, about how he controls her even when he’s not here.”

Gator leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair. “She’s told you that much?”

Lu nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ve been best friends since boarding school in California. Spent every summer together at my family’s place in Oregon. She was like my sister. Still is.”

Her voice wavered slightly as she continued. “I’ve known about the bruises, the rules, the way he tracks her every move. For years, I’ve wanted to kill him for what he’s done to her. But I can’t, Gator. I can’t. And it eats me alive every damn day.”

Gator’s fists clenched at his sides, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re not the only one,” he muttered. “I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate him.”

Lu stepped closer, her gaze steady despite the emotion in her voice. “I know you love her, Gator. I see it every time you look at her. And I know you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. But this isn’t the way. Boyd’s not just some rich asshole with a temper. He’s dangerous. You have to be smart about this.”

Gator looked away, his jaw tight. “I can’t just stand by and do nothing, Lu. Not after what I’ve seen. What she’s told me.”

“I’m not saying you do nothing,” she said, her voice firm. “But you can’t play his game without knowing the rules. You have to think like him. Be two steps ahead. And that starts with keeping yourself out of his crosshairs.”

He sighed, the weight of her words sinking in. “So what do I do?”

Lu’s lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his question. “You stay close to Pearl. You protect her in the ways you can. And you let me help. I know more about Boyd than he probably realizes. Maybe together, we can figure out how to take him down.”

Gator looked at her, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. He found none. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Lu said, her voice tinged with determination. “I love Pearl like she’s my blood. I’d do anything for her. And if that means teaming up with you to take Boyd out of the picture, so be it.”

For the first time since the conversation began, Gator felt a flicker of hope. “Alright,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ll do this together.”

Lu nodded, a small, grim smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Damn right we will. But for now, get your ass back upstairs before Pearl wakes up and realizes you’re gone. The last thing she needs is another reason to worry.”

Gator hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks, Lu.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

As Gator made his way back upstairs, his mind raced with possibilities. He didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn’t facing it alone.

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[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Badge Bunny Part III

Find everything in the Badge Bunny AU here.

Summary: The happiness and bliss you've had finally comes crashing down. You never thought being with Gator would have such dire consequences.

18+ Only! MDNI

Warnings: Reader is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun". Minimal use of Y/N. Angst. Roy Tillman. Reader is assaulted, kidnapped and injured. Blood. Violence. Death (not explicit). Gun use. Soft smut. Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it). Creampie. This is not a happy ending! (Sorry)

Word Count: 8.4K

You began to rouse, with a pounding in your head, feeling delirious as visions of what had transpired come vividly rushing back. Flashes of light move behind your eyelids making that pain almost unbearable. It feels like it's been cracked open with the searing pain emanating from the back of your skull.

On instinct, you try to lift your hand to press against that throbbing, but your hands are bound in front of you, matching zip ties at your ankles.

Lifting them feels like too much of a chore as you let out a small whine, twisting to test them. No way to run.

When you try to let your eyes fall open, you quickly realize they're shrouded. You hadn't gotten a good look at them at the house and now they've got you blindfolded.

Your mouth and throat are dry and sore, making it hard to swallow.

You lick your cracked, chapped lips, wincing when your tongue grazes over a tender cut there. That coppery tang sits on your tastebuds. Still fresh, bloodied and bruised.

You will yourself to stay quiet. Listening to the little sounds around you. A humming of electricity. A distant drip, drip, drip you can only assume is a faucet.

Your shoulder is aching from your place on the cold tile floor. They hadn't bothered making it comfortable for you. Who could blame them, the way you had fought back.

If it had just been the two of them, you'd be home right now, explaining it all to your local deputy who wouldn't bother calling it in, taking matters into his own hands.

You had your gun aimed and ready to fire. But there was a third you hadn't accounted for and then it went black.

It all happened so fast. Gator in that stupid Jack Skellington mask he'd bought at Halloween, only when you opened the door it wasn't him poised there to give you a jump scare.

They cocked their head when you'd said his name, the rest of your words dying on your lips with the realization. He'd always told you to be vigilant, keeping the door locked unless you trusted who was behind it.

You scrambled to close it quickly, but they rushed it, knocking you on your ass from the blow.

You clawed and kicked, giving whoever it was the fight of their life. You wouldn't go easily; it wasn't in your nature. Shattered glass and splintered wood as you crawled to where the spare gun was hidden.

It was too late, as the last intruder snuck up from behind.

Gator was driving home, exhausted after a long day of work barely keeping his eyes open. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed, seeking your warmth as he eased up behind you to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

It was the one thing he looked forward to everyday. Hearing your soft sighs of contentment that matched his own as he pulled you in close.

The trip seemed to be taking longer than usual in his state. He wearily pulled into the drive, with your car parked in the usual spot.

He looked toward the porch as he put the truck in park.

“What the fuck?” He whispered out loud to himself, mouth hung open in shock.

The front door was wide open. He felt like his heart dropped into his stomach. Alarms began to go off in his head.

He quickly moved to jump out, grabbing his gun from his holster running toward the house.

Taking the steps two at a time, he shouted your name while cautiously peeking around the corner. No forced entry, door frame intact. You'd had to have opened it.

Nothing could be heard but the TV low in the background.

Entering the living room made him sick. The place was trashed. Glass thrown about, audibly crunching beneath each step of his boots. The coffee table was in pieces, as if someone had been thrown onto it.

He ignored the pounding of his heart and tightness in his chest as he cleared the rest of the house, room by room.

Finally accepting you weren't here; he holstered his gun and made his way back to the living room.

The first thing he noted was the gun he kept hidden was laid out in the floor, next to what he only could assume were droplets of blood. A wine-colored smattering stark against the light carpeting.

His eye was drawn to something that caught the light, matted into the carpet. His fingers hesitantly pinched it between his fingers as he pulled it up. His blood ran cold, it was the necklace you always wore with his initial.

He held it in his palm, sticky crimson clung to the thin chain, smearing his skin the same. His head filled with all of the worst scenarios as his stomach began to churn.

Then he spotted it. Off to itself, thrown in the corner. A fucking Jack Skellington mask. The same one he had.

The only way you'd open that door is if you'd thought it was him. He knew this was his fault. All of it. He'd been a fool to think he could protect you or that the both of you could come away unscathed.

He looked down at the mask clutched in one hand and your necklace in the other, as the bile stirring within him threatened to rise. He ran back outside, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the frozen ground.

He didn't care how or who he'd have to hurt in the process, but he was going to find you.

Roy soon arrived with a few other deputies in tow.

Whistling low as he stepped through the threshold, hands on his hips, looking around at the damage. Gator didn't bother looking up from his current position at the small dining room table.

“Well, son. Looks like a home invasion. What'd else they take?”

“Nothing else that I can see. Just her.” He was slumped in the kitchen chair, eyes boring into that mask as if it'd give him all the answers he needed.

Andy gave Gator a pitying look, before he spoke up.

“If it helps, it looks like she fought like hell. And we both know she can throw a mean right hook. That blood may not even be hers. I can get it sent off and back in a couple days.”

“A couple days? We don't have that kind of time.” He shot up from his chair, grabbing Andy by the collar taking him by surprise.

“She's out there with the fuckers who took her. We don't have a couple of days.” He forces out through gritted teeth.

Anger flickered through him as he stared the other man down.

“Gator, man I'm sorry that shit takes time. You know we'll do everything in the meantime.”

“Son, that's enough.” Roy's booming voice commanded.

He let Andy go, taking a few steps back bracing himself on the counter.

“Look, I'll put an APB out. You sure you know her well enough that she, I don't know, didn't set this up to look like a break in? Maybe just ran off instead?”

He furrowed his brows, confusion and hurt written all over his face.

“She'd never do anything like that. She lo…” he shook his head. “You just don't know her like I do.”

“No, I don't. Just looking at every scenario before I put any manpower into this.”

“No dad, she's not like that.” He sighed.

“Okay, son.” A wordless nod to the others, and they were making their way back out of the house leaving Gator alone once more with the carnage.

-

As Roy and the others headed to their vehicles, he quickly called Andy over.

“Deputy, don't worry about getting those samples sent off.” He set him with a firm gaze. “They didn't make it for analysis. Got it?”

Andy was going to argue but it was Roy. The gaze he leveled him with sent a shiver through him. He knew better than to question him, so he just nodded instead.

Gator couldn't rest. Not until you were safe and back at home with him.

He drove around the city to clear his mind and to get away from the house. He had begun to clean up before leaving but it was still a mess.

He'd picked up most of the glass, worried some would still be embedded in the carpet and contemplated ripping it all out right then and there. That's when he thought a drive would be better.

It was nearly 1 am when he made it to the Lucky Lizard.

He wearily stepped through the door, quickly gaining the confused attention of Henry.

“Gator? Y/N with you?” He said, eyes darting past Gator but there was no sign of you.

He simply shook his head, taking a stool.

“Jack?” He offered the other man.

“No, I don't think I should. I just came by to… to tell you that she won't be in tomorrow.” He didn't look up to see Henry's face go from confused to filled with worry in an instant.

“What happened?” He narrowed his gaze. Henry liked Gator but everyone in this town knew what getting close to that family meant. For him to come by instead of getting a text or call from you directly he knew it was bad.

“She… someone took her.” His pained expression tore at Henry. He'd never seen the younger man like this, so openly vulnerable.

“What does that mean? Who took her?” Far too many questions floating around and Gator didn't have the time or patience to explain further.

“Listen,” he finally looked up, eyes glossy, shocking the other man just a bit. “I just need you to keep your eyes and ears open. Anything unusual, let me know. If anyone is stupid enough to open their mouth, it's usually when they've had too much to drink.”

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded, as Gator stood to leave. He wanted to say something comforting, but the words just wouldn't come as he watched him, heavy footfalls and head hung low as he ducked back out into the night.

The bitter cold nipped at his face as he slowly walked to his truck. He sniffed, the air stinging his nose and throat, as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He knew he'd be no use to you if he let his head get the better of him.

He pulled into the Midway, one more stop before heading back to the station. One he dreaded the most.

You and Maggie had gotten close while you stayed here. Still kept in touch.

He slowed to a stop in front of the small office, already catching the older lady’s attention as she sat the book she had been reading off to the side.

He let out a breath and made his way through the door as the little bell above his head announced his arrival.

Maggie raised a brow, “and what do I owe the pleasure of you darkening my doorway, Deputy? Can't be good this time o’night.”

He swallowed thickly as she further studied his disheveled appearance, unkempt hair and the crestfallen look on his face. Her heart sank.

She slowly shook her head, looking down at the desk.

“I told that girl you were nothing but trouble from the very start. Wouldn't listen to reason. Couldn't stay away from your ass.” Scoffing and crossing her arms. “She dead?”

The question caught him off guard. Hearing it out loud made his stomach lurch. Something his own mind couldn't even fathom. He wouldn't let himself think the worst right now.

“Someone took her.” He finally answered, not ready to meet her gaze but looked up anyway. Her eyes were glossy, mouth set in a thin line showing her disdain.

“Took her? What the hell did you drag her into? You and that no-good Sheriff.” She mumbled the last part, looking away from him.

“Look, I wanted you to hear it from me. I know you two are close.” She nodded, so he continued. “Have you seen anything or anyone unusual recently?”

“Honey, look around this place. Almost everyone that comes and goes is unusual, but you bet your ass I'll keep a watch out. You,” pointing her finger at his chest, “need to find that girl. She loves your ass, for whatever goddamn reason.”

He gave her a tight-lipped smile, and a quick nod before turning to leave.

-

The adrenaline wore off as he crashed. He fought off sleep for as long as he could. Not wanting to face what was back at the house or go to Roy's. He parked the truck at the station, opting to get some sleep there.

Every time he shut his eyes, he couldn't help the images of you that passed before him. His eyes burned, stinging from the tears he was holding back.

When sleep finally took hold he dreamt of you.

Smiles and bubbling laughter that taunted him.

When his hand reached for you, you were just out of his grasp. Fingertips grazing featherlight against your skin. Turning to him, smile fading as tears began to stream down your beautiful face.

“Gator, you let this happen. This is all your fault!” You cried. “You didn't find me. Look what they did to me.”

The white sundress you wore turned crimson, beginning at your abdomen as it ran the length of the fabric dripping onto the floor below. Droplets turning into puddles at your bare feet.

He looked back at your face, now ghostly white with dark sunken eyes.

“Why Gator? Why'd you let them do this to me?” Your hands were outstretched, the same crimson dripping from your fingertips as you lunged for him.

He jolted awake. Of course, his mind would conjure his worst nightmare when he wouldn't allow his conscious self to think like that.

“Fuck,” he hissed pressing his palms to his eyes.

“Goddamnit!” Yelling as he punched the steering wheel.

A few hours of sleep were all he could manage, and it was still before sunrise.

He pushed his hair back, lowering his ball cap ready to face the long day ahead.

Upon your initial waking, you flit in and out of consciousness. Your head still feels like someone was holding a jackhammer to it. Somehow, you'd managed to roll onto your back, but no comfort was found in the cold, unforgiving floor.

That incessant slow drip, drip, drip nearby was all you could focus on with no idea how much time has passed and hoping to God this isn't how you were going to die.

Your ears perked up when you heard faint voices.

Making out it was two men but not what they were saying. You decided to roll back on your side and pretend you were still out; hoping they'd leave you be.

A door opened, squeaky on its hinges as they entered. Your skin broke out with goosebumps as a flourish of cooler air hit you.

“Fuck, she's still out? Sure you didn't kill her?” One said.

“No, dumbass. She's still breathing. See.” You were sure they were watching your chest expand, trying to keep your breathing as steady as possible not to give yourself away.

“I mean, shouldn't we wake her up? Give her some water or something?”

“Water or something?” There was a small scuffling sound. “You want to play gracious host after she kicked you in the balls and nearly shot me after clawing my fucking face?”

“We aren't tryin' to kill her. S’all I'm saying.”

You heard the other scoff, footsteps walking away.

“Come on. We'll check back in a couple hours. I've got a few calls to make.” The other footsteps quickly followed leaving you alone once more.

You had a couple of hours to think of a plan. You knew Gator would be knocking down that door if he knew where you were. He'd stop at nothing to get to you, but you couldn't count on it right now.

You were bruised and battered but in no way giving up on yourself, a fighter through and through. You would get out of this alive.

Gator had spent the better part of the morning driving aimlessly around town.

Roy had told him to get his head out of his ass and go on patrol to get him out of his own hair.

They'd had a blowout at the station.

-

“Son, I can't send valuable resources out to look for that woman, not when I've got other shit to clean up right now.” Not even sparing a glance up at him while he said it.

“Dad, she's not just some woman. She's my woman. Mine.”

"She's not your wife though, huh? Not good enough that you'd marry her. She is nothing. Women like that are a dime a dozen. You'll grow out of whatever this is.”

He's sitting across from his father, trying his best to not come across the desk. Fists clenched tightly, resting in the chair arms. Knee bouncing with the words that just came from him.

His mind is currently fixated on the small, black velvet box hidden in the back of his sock drawer. It's a modest ring, but he saved up for it. Went out of his way to pick it out just for you.

Those words echoing in his mind “she's not your wife.”

“I love her.” It came out almost a whisper.

Roy looked up, “huh?”

“I said, I love her.” He spoke louder, meeting his father's amused face.

“Oh, love is it?” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Love is a child's fairytale. Grow up and get out. Get your ass back out on patrol. I don't want to see you near this station today.”

-

He was currently sat outside the Lucky Lizard. He wanted to be somewhere familiar, close to you, but he couldn't face what was back at home. An empty house full of reminders of his shortcomings. He'd failed you.

Another patrol truck pulled in beside him, slowly rolling the window down so he followed suit.

“Gator, how ya holding up?” Andy asked.

“How ya’ think? My girl is God knows where and my dad isn't lifting a goddamn finger to help.” He blurted out, frustration on full display.

“Look, I gotta tell you something man.” Andy looked at him pensively. “I like y/n. She's good for you. I couldn't live with myself if something… Your dad, I know what he's capable of, but he told me to get rid of those samples last night. I don't know what's going on, I don't want to know but I sent them off anyway.”

“What?” His brows creased, a million questions running through his mind.

“I’m sorry man. I'll help you find her, whatever you need. Just give me a call. I'll let you know just as soon as they come back. I… I put a rush order in. I know I'll probably get my ass chewed…”

“Andy, thank you.” He meant it. “Don't worry about Roy, okay? Just go back to work, I'll call if I need you.”

Andy nodded and pulled back onto the highway.

He slowly let out a shaky breath, putting his vape to his lips inhaling as deeply as possible letting the nicotine calm his nerves.

He'd had enough of the bullshit. He wasn't worried about Roy or anyone else standing in his way.

Seconds, minutes, hours ticked by.

You'd managed to pull the cloth from your eyes enough to see you were in a large utility closet. Harsh fluorescent lights above immediately sent a wave of stinging tears down your face.

You were freezing. Muscles aching. Wrists and ankles numb from the zip ties biting at your flesh. Angry, bloodied rings formed where they were bound too tightly.

You quickly looked around for anything to cut them, but nothing immediately standing out until you saw a shovel standing in the corner.

You began to scoot your ass, inch by inch, closing in on your destination. You reached out dragging the tie across the metal hoping it was sharp enough as you began grinding back and forth. It was working, slowly.

You stopped, hearing muffled voices again.

“Fuck.” You muttered, sitting back, then leaning on the wire shelf behind you. You couldn't pretend this time, facing them head on.

The door squeaked open. A pair of boots entered directly in your line of vision. You followed them as they rounded the corner, keeping your head down until they spoke.

“Well, the bitch is finally awake.” He sneered, as you finally looked up. He seemed to be about your age, maybe a little older. Short hair, military style cut. His face had three gashes across his cheek. This was the asshole that had the Jack mask that you managed to wrangle free.

“Great,” the other mumbled, following behind. “Her blindfold.”

He was shorter, softer looking. Kinder eyes when he looked at you.

“Doesn't fucking matter.” The first asshole snapped back. “You know the plan. Let's go call him since she's awake.”

He quickly jogged back out, “c’mon” he yelled when the other stayed behind for a moment giving you a pitying look.

24 hours since you'd officially been missing. 36 hours since he'd last seen you.

-

He'd gotten up like any normal workday. You'd preset the coffee the night before to make sure he'd have a fresh pot. It was the little things you'd do for him.

For some reason, you'd followed him into the kitchen. Bare feet padding across the linoleum, eyes half-lidded as you walked up behind him wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Morning handsome,” you mumbled, pressing your cheek into his back.

He finished pouring himself a cup, smiling to himself when you didn't let go.

“What's gotten into you? Hmm?” He removed your hands, so he could face you, pulling you into his chest instead. “You're usually a grumpy ass gremlin in the morning.”

“Missed you. It's cold in there.” Mumbling once more, burying your face further into his chest.

“I know Bun, I'll get the space heater fixed as soon as I can.” He kissed the top of your head, as you raised up, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I love you. Hurry home tonight.” Your last words to him before making your way back to bed.

-

He was staring at said coffee pot. It was full. Brewing a fresh pot for an empty house this morning. You must have set it before everything has gone down.

He wanted to rage and scream, almost grabbing the damn thing to toss it outside, instead he punched the wall. His fist easily going through the sheetrock. It hurt but not enough.

He was about to take aim at the cabinet door, but his phone began to ring as he quickly retrieved it from his pocket.

Henry.

-

Henry gave him the rundown of some sleazeball that was currently at the bar, running his mouth about how he and his brother had struck a goldmine when they were hired to shake some bitch up.

Henry took notice when he'd said, “she sure is a fuckin' mouthy little thing. Lot of fight in her too.”

He'd immediately phoned Gator, who wasted no time getting dressed out of his uniform into some simple jeans with a plain black tee, leather jacket thrown over it with his lucky green ball cap.

Gator called Andy on the way, filling him in. Andy was out the door before they hung up.

He'd broken every speed limit on the way. Parking in his usual spot in the back. He hoped to God no one would give him away as he headed inside.

He caught Henry's attention, who slightly nodded to the end of the bar where an older, gruff looking guy sat with a fresh beer and cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

He pushed the cap lower over his face as he made his way over, leaving a stool between them.

He'd play it off, make himself that obnoxious prick that loves to talk to everyone.

He whistled, gaining Henry’s attention, inadvertently grabbing the assholes as well.

“Slow service tonight?” he asked, half grin plastered on his face looking at the guy up close.

The guy huffed a small laugh, “guess you could say that.”

“Ay, bartender, Jack over here and,” he looks over at the guy, “What ya’ drinkin bud?”

“Another Budlight.” He spoke up.

“Greg,” Gator introduces himself, reaching out to shake the guy's hand.

“Wallace, everyone calls me Walleye.” They shook hands and spoke a couple of pleasantries.

The conversation stayed light at first. Gator keeping his eye out for Andy. He arrived a few minutes later spotting them and sitting at the table directly behind the two men.

Walleye finally started talking about how he’s come into a little money and was out celebrating.

“Cool man, that’s cool. Planning a fun night? A little booze, a little ass?” He chuckled.

“Booze, definitely. Thought about trying to get some ass, but don’t really know anyone from around here. Well, there’s this one chick, but she’s a little tied up at the moment.” He let out a hearty laugh as if he and Gator shared an inside joke.

Gator laughed along, but his eyes never left the other man growing darker.

“She busy or somethin’?”

“Nah man, I really shouldn’t say.” He tipped his beer back, taking a long swig.

“Ah, c’mon man. What? You seemed hyped about it.”

He looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was listening.

“Can ya’ keep a secret?” Gator nodded. “My bro has this little bitch at his house right now that I’d tap but she’s off limits. Sweet little ass from what I could see.”

Walleye whistled, as if to convey how hot this chick is.

“Why she off limits?” Prodding a little further.

“Well, we’ve got her stashed there for a bit. Why I’m celebratin’. We got paid some big bucks. You wanna know the funniest shit? She’s got this dude's name tattooed high on her ass cheek. Gator. What the fuck kind of name is that?” He started laughing again, but this time Gator hadn’t found any amusement in his prior statement.

His facade faded as his smile dropped. It took every ounce of his will power not to take the beer bottle in front of him and smash this asshole's face in.

He'd seen your tattoo. No one else has ever or was meant to ever see that. He was seething. His vision blurred, seeing nothing but absolute rage.

“Well, Walleye, one could question what kind of fuckin’ name that is.” Gator stood from his stool now towering over the other man. “But then again, a stupid fuckin' name to match a stupid fuckin’ idiot.”

Walleye looked up, more dumbfounded than offended. Andy slowly walked up to stand on the other side of him, catching his attention when he gripped his shoulder. Both men now caging him in.

“What the fuck is this?” He tried to get up, Gator quickly pushing him back down.

“This is me telling you we're gonna go for a little walk and then you're gonna tell me where the fuck my girl is.” He spat, almost nose to nose with the man.

He watched the color drain from his face as the realization hit.

“Man, look, she's fine… really…” he started word vomiting, grasping at straws but it was too late.

“Shut the fuck up. Get up or I'm dragging your ass out of here.”

He gulped, slowly rising to his feet. Andy steadied his hold on him to escort him out as Gator moved to go ahead of them, tipping his hat toward Henry on the way.

-

They'd driven him to an old, abandoned homestead not far from Roy's ranch.

Fucker started begging for his life as soon as they got him in the truck.

Gator had leveled him with a gaze before telling him to shut up until they were ready to hear him talk. He sniffled most of the way there.

He would have talked without all the theatrics, but Gator was ready to make it hurt. The way they'd hurt you.

They tied him to a chair, as he started spilling his guts.

“We were paid to do it man. My brother, Jeff, knows who it is. Talked to them on the phone on the regular. Making sure everything was on track.”

“We'll get to that.” He slowly put his black leather glove on his outstretched hand. “First things first, did you put your filthy fucking hands on her?”

“Please man, I…” a punch to the jaw, knocking a few teeth loose in the process. That was all the confirmation Gator needed. He hadn't denied it.

“Fuck, man.” He whined, spitting blood out on the floor. “I'm sorry. I'll tell you where they are.”

“I know you will. Let's just go ahead and get that out of the way.”

He explained that you were at what he thought was an old saw mill out on route 65. He and Andy both knew the place.

Andy would go ahead and get some supplies and weapons. He was going to finish with this asshole and meet up with him.

After a few more blows to the head, he'd gathered the whole picture. He'd admitted he had knocked you unconscious after you'd almost killed his brother. Gator was boiling over at his confession. No number of apologies would save him at this point.

His head was hanging down to his chest, a mix of blood and drool dripping from his mouth onto his lap as Gator grabbed his hair to force him to look at him. His eyes already bruised and almost swollen shut at this point.

“I've got one more question for you. How'd you see her tattoo, huh? I swear to God if you did anything else to her.”

“No… no.” He huffed, trying to pull in a ragged breath almost gasping. “When we mo… moved her… her shorts had come down a little. S’all man. I swear.”

Walleye had fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He'd made it quick after that. More than the prick deserved in his opinion.

One shot rang out clear and loud in the blank, snowy scape outside. A moment later Gator emerged from the hovel ready to get his girl.

Once they're left you alone for the second time, you move quickly.

Getting yourself back over to the shovel, freeing your hands you let out a small sigh of relief but there was still work to do.

Your wrists ache. Deep, angry gashes in each one. You wince with each movement, but you've got no time to feel sorry for yourself now.

You reached up, feeling the back of your head, hiding away the contact. It was crusted with blood and dirt, with a deep wound.

Your ankles would prove to be a little more tricky so you started looking around the room again. Finally, spotting a trowel on the back of the shelf making quick work with it.

You stood slowly, muscles straining and screaming with each movement. There were no windows. No way to tell the time of day.

You braced yourself, leaning on the metal shelf.

They'd taken you while you were getting ready for bed. You were in nothing but sleep shorts and a thin tank top. Your feet were bare. If you have to run, it crosses your mind you might not make it far in the snow and unforgiving terrain.

Your feet slowly carried you over to the door, taking the handle, but it didn't budge. Of course they locked it. Idiots doing the one right thing you'd hoped they hadn't.

You pressed your ear to the cool metal, listening for any signs that might lay beyond.

Nothing.

Two choices. Try to break the lock, giving yourself away or lay in wait with that shovel in hand getting the jump on them once they come back in.

Your body was cold, yet you were sweating. Heart hammering so hard in your chest it flooded your ears with white noise.

You pressed your back to the door as you slowly slid into the floor. Pulling your knees into your chest, trying to take one breath at a time as your teeth chattered together. Now was not the time to have a meltdown.

You started to get up but heard a commotion that made you pause briefly. There was a loud bang and then yelling that seemed farther away.

You stood quickly then, a little lightheaded but reached for the shovel poised to smash in any head that barged through that door.

Nothing immediately came, but then the knob jiggled. You were on high alert.

Slowly, it turned, and the door opened.

You didn't make a sound, as a pair of black boots stomped into view as you started to swing, shutting your eyes in the process.

The shovel came into contact with the wall instead of a head, causing you to open your eyes.

“Fuck, Bunny. Nearly took my goddamn head off.” He huffed a small laugh, grinning like an idiot. Your idiot, coming to save the day.

“Gator?” You managed to squeak out, coming out as a choked sob. Dropping the shovel and throwing yourself into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you pulling you in even tighter.

Relief flooded your system as you cling to him. Hands fisted into the front of his shirt, grasping on to him as if your life depended on it. Right now, it did.

Burying your face further into him, breathing him in as a mangled sob racked your body.

“It's ok baby, I'm here. I'm here.” He held you. Hands roaming, touching the expanse of any exposed skin he could find checking for injuries while trying to comfort you.

He reached the back of your head, as you whined a little deeper when he grazed the gash hidden under the matted locks.

His heart was pounding beneath your trembling hands. He was ready to get you out of here. Get you home.

“Bunny, baby, breathe for me. Hey, let me see your face. Please.” He pleaded, as you slowly lifted your head.

Tears streaked down your face, clearing a path through the dirt and blood that was caked on your cheeks. His anger growing at the state you were in. The apple of your left cheek had a bloom of purple with a small cut at its center as well as a cut at your top lip that was angry and clotted.

He cradled your cheeks in his large palms, kissing your forehead delicately.

“It's okay, we're going to the hospital.” He stated, releasing you so he could shed his jacket and drape it over your shoulders.

You were enveloped in his warmth that immediately calmed your jangled nerves.

“Look at me,” you did so, trying to stay focused. “We've got to walk past some things that might be unsettling, focus on me. Don't worry about the other shit.”

You nodded, as he pulled you close, walking side by side out of the closet, arm slung around your waist to help guide you and letting you lean most of your weight on him. He took it slow, praising you along the way.

“That's it baby. You're doing good.”

It was hard to focus once the space opened up to a larger room. Your head snapped over when you heard muffled voices.

Andy had a tweedle dee and dum tied up in the corner, mouths covered as they were struggling against them.

“I told you two to shut the fuck up!” He raised his voice, bringing his fist against one of their jaws as you quickly looked away.

“Hey, baby, it's ok. Don't look at that, look at me.” He softly coaxed your attention as you continued.

Once you reached the door, you could see it was night out. The stars were lit brightly above you as you looked up.

The bite of the bitter cold licked at your legs but you welcomed it. He asked you to stay by the entrance so he could pull the truck around.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, pulling his jacket closed.

He insisted on picking you up bridal style just so your feet didn't have to touch the cold, snowy ground, helping you into the passenger seat. Then buckling you in, closing your door and quickly running to the driver's seat.

Leaning back into the seat the last of your energy started to drain, letting the events finally catch up with you as you closed your eyes.

“Bunny, baby, stay awake f’me.” He grabbed your hand, shaking it gently.

“Gator, please just take me home. I just want to go home.” Tears now flowing freely, gripping his hand.

“I've got to take you to the hospital. That cut on the back of your head needs stitches. It isn't somethin' I can take care if at home.” He tries to look at you reassuringly but you can see something else behind his eyes.

“Okay.” You say softly, as he finally laces his fingers between yours, pulling it up to place a small kiss to your hand.

-

There were lots of questions at the hospital. You didn't answer unless it was absolutely necessary letting Gator do all of the talking. The staff knew better than to question Sheriff Tillman’s son.

He was by your side the entire time they poked, prodded and finally bandaged you up.

He was worried about you. You could tell by the way he was hovering, silently watching but you were watching him too.

They released you soon after.

You felt numb on the way home. Gaze set firmly out the window, as he held your hand once more. Thumb rubbing soothingly, neither of you saying a word.

He parked the truck around back, when you gave him a puzzled look he returned it with a bit of a sheepish one.

“I didn't have time to pick up everything, so we'll just go in through the back. You won't have to see it.”

You just nodded, knowing it was left in a mess. It suddenly broke your heart realizing what he had to come home to.

He helped you out of the truck, the hospital giving you some socks for your bare feet as you padded across the walkway, snow melting at the contact.

He walked ahead of you opening the door, making sure to put himself in between you and the living room. Not daring to look past him, you didn't need another reminder. The house itself was enough.

You walked the hall as you had a hundred times before but it felt heavy.

“Gator,” you said once you made it to the bathroom door. “I need to shower. I'm dirty.”

Your voice was weak, the words coming out robotic even to you. The hospital cleaned your cuts but dirt and filth still clung to the rest of you.

“Yeah, yeah, anything. You want me to start the shower?” You nodded, as he grabbed your hand leading you to sit on the toilet seat lid while he got things ready.

“Will you shower with me?” You didn't look up.

“Of course baby.”

He began to strip, finally turning his attention back to you when you hadn't moved.

“Baby?” He slowly moved in front of you, moving his thumb under your eye wiping a small tear away. “Lift your arms f’me.”

He helped you remove your shirt, then pulled you to stand, discarding the rest of your clothes into the corner of the room as steam slowly filled the room.

He guided you into the shower and followed in behind.

You finally let yourself relax under the warm spray, closing your eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

Gator came in behind you letting his gaze trail your naked form. Your body was littered with bruises and abrasions of all shapes and sizes. It made him sick.

If he'd come home instead of staying late for Roy yet again. He berated himself.

You felt his eyes on you, so you slowly turned around, faintly smiling up at him.

“There she is. There's my girl.” He hummed his approval, as he pulled you into him, kissing your temple.

Water splashed you both, droplets in between your bodies. Your eyes downcast as you watched the stained water as it washed down the drain.

You were not inclined to do it, so helped you wash yourself clean. They'd wrapped your wounds enough he easily maneuvered around them. Taking care not to linger on any bruises or cuts along the way. He could be gentle when he wants to be. He'd do anything for you.

He tenderly washed the blood and grime from your matted locks until the suds finally ran clear, his pinky grazing the stitches only once. Apologizing profusely when you'd winced.

He placed kisses across your shoulder when he'd finished as you hummed out your quiet appreciation.

Neither of you bothered dressing, sliding under the covers, he took his normal spot curled in behind you; arm wound tightly around your waist. It felt a little tighter than usual, clutching you as if you might float away at any moment.

He nuzzled into your neck, breathing you in. You were here. You were safe. He'd do anything to keep you this way.

Your eyes were heavy, as you cling to his arm but you didn't want to fall asleep. Not yet.

“Gator,” you whispered into the dark.

“Yeah, baby?” He whispered back, breath fanning your cheek.

“I need you.”

“I'm right here,” he kissed your cheek. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“No, I just need you. All of you.” You didn't know what you needed but there was this overwhelming urge to crawl under his skin and bury yourself beneath his ribcage.

You rolled over, barely making out the edges of him in the dark but you didn't need any light, as you brought your fingers up to trace his jaw, covered in the most scruff he'd ever allowed to grow.

You slowly brought your pillowy lips to his, wind bitten and raw, not caring when you slowly melted further into him it grazed the cut on your lip, stinging as they continued to move across yours.

His hand moved slowly up from your hip, large palm splaying across your back as he pulled you closer still. Your palm lays across his chest, right over his heart, feeling it hammering beneath.

You licked at his bottom lip, as he parted them for you. Mingling your tongues in a slow dance.

Your nails dig into the tender flesh of his chest when he takes your breast in his warm, calloused hand, kneading softly.

You take a shuddering breath when his thumb grazes your already pebbled nipple, causing him to pull away laying his forehead to yours.

“I, I'm sorry, I thought.”

“Shhhh… no, no, I want this. Please. I need you.”

He simply nodded, stray hairs tickling you as he lowered his head to press a kiss to your jaw, slowly easing lower, as he pushed you onto your back for you to grant him further access.

You threw your head back as he moved to seat himself between your thighs, mouth never leaving your jaw, neck, collarbone. Any exposed skin he could press his lips to.

His growing arousal was evident, as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing you further into the mattress as he let himself lower his body to yours, caging you in.

He slipped a hand between you, fingers finding your clit, drawing soft circles. A breathy moan leaves you, but you grab his wrist stopping him.

“No, no, please.”

“Baby, I don't want to hurt you.” When he looks up to see your pleading, glossy eyes in the low light he sighs.

“Goddamnit, it's like you're trying to kill me here.” He huffs out.

He was a weak man when it came to you.

He grabbed the base of his cock, as you loosened the hold your legs had around him, letting him ease himself back slightly. He ran the tip through your folds, bumping your clit once, twice, three times before lining himself up at your entrance then pushing the fat, mushroom tip in slightly.

You reached for his shoulders, gripping them tightly, as he looked up through his lashes at you halting his movements once more.

“I'm fine.” You pleaded, closing your eyes, as he began to stretch you out.

“Fuck,” he hissed, as he pushed slowly, letting you get used to him, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you whimpered.

“We can stop,” he began.

“No, no.” You wrapped your legs tighter, as your arms wound around his neck, inadvertently drawing him deeper as you both moaned out.

He skimmed his mouth lightly over your skin, sucking at that soft spot under your jaw that always drew those pretty sounds from you. He slowly pushes in to the base, his hips snug against yours. You can't help the wanton moan that escapes.

He stays like that for a moment, before easing out slowly. The drag of his cock against your inner walls was already too much and not enough, feeling every ridge and vein on his exit.

He angled his hips upward pushing back in, hitting your sweet spot with ease, your hips canting trying to meet his own.

“Yeah, that it?” He cooed, as he continued to piston his hips back and forth, easing up to study your face.

You nodded, words ceased to exist, you didn't have the strength but it seemed he knew that.

“It's ok, I've got you sweet thing.” His words washed over you, seeping into your pores. He did have you.

He continued to grind, the thatch of wiry hair at the base of his cock working your clit with every drag. Fueling those embers within your core with each thrust, small flames licking up your belly and spine.

He was never a patient man, something that was never ingrained within him. He couldn't wait to watch you fall apart on his cock, getting you there quickly over and over again.

You needed this. Needed him to show a little restraint.

Your pussy began to flutter around him, giving him that sign that you were close.

“That's it Bunny. Just let go f’me.” He grabbed your hand, continuing to rock into you at that leisurely pace, threading his fingers in-between yours to work you through it.

“That's it baby, I'm close too.”

His sweet words, tender gesture and continued brushes to your frontal wall had you coming undone. Your cunt began to constrict, as he picked up his pace slightly so he could cum with you.

You released breathy moans, softly saying his name over and over as those flames became wildfires. All consuming. Bursting from your core.

He worked you through it, before quickly following you releasing his spend, fucking it further into you with each thrust. All the while, holding each other's hand with a bruising grip.

“Fuck, I love you.” He panted out, thoroughly spent, face burying back into the crook of your neck.

A tear rolled down you cheek, as you mumbled “I love you too.”

You stayed like this just holding each other, for a few blissful moments you could pretend everything was okay.

He finally slipped from you, rolling over pulling you with him as you laid your head in his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart lulling you to sleep.

Something in the back of your mind kept saying you would never feel safe again, even in the arms of the man you loved.

-

You woke up cold. Your mind immediately floods with flashes, reminders of what had happened. You shot up from the bed, reaching over to no one.

Panic taking over as you screamed his name. Stinging your throat with the sheer volume you let escape.

He rushed the room quickly, he'd only been in the kitchen when he heard you. Dropping his coffee mug on the floor as he ran to you.

He immediately enveloped you in a crushing hug, sitting with you on the edge of the bed.

“It's ok. You're safe. I'm here.” He repeats it like a mantra while your heart rate trickles to a more steady beat.

Safe. Hearing out loud seems like a joke now.

“You weren't,” you whispered, pulling away from him to get a better look. He was already dressed for work. Of course he was going in. Duty always called. Family, Roy above all else.

“What?” You toyed with his collar instead of looking at him.

“You weren't here.”

The waiver in your voice felt like a dagger straight through his chest, your tear filled eyes finally meeting his.

“It's always going to be like this. Isn't it? You're torn. Never fully here or there.”

“What does that mean? What’re you…” his brow pinched with confusion.

“You weren't here, Gator. Not when I needed you. You can't protect me. I'm not safe.” Tears spilled from your lash line, as your chin trembled.

It hurt. But it was the truth. As long as you were associated with him and all that came along with the Tillman name you weren't safe.

You'd both fought before, this was different. You were too calm; too rational with your steady demeanor.

He just nodded, bringing himself close enough to place a kiss on your forehead, resting his lips there letting himself have the moment as his hand caressed your jaw.

“You don't have to say it, ok.” He rose, taking his warmth with him as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

He stopped before walking out into the hall.

Glimpsing his profile, his own eyes glossy as he turned his head.

“I love you.” He spoke out before hastily taking his leave giving you no time to respond. No chance to tell him you love him too.

-

He told himself it was better this way.

You wouldn't be caught in the middle if something went wrong.

He made a single phone call once he made it to the truck.

“Yeah, it's Gator. I think it's time we finally had that chat.”

[stardancerluv]

The Past Follows Like a Shadow

—So here is my AU to Gator Tillman. It will follow the season with some changes! Enjoy!

Quick note…I always enjoyed Joe Keery as Steve Harrington…always read amazing fanfics centered around him. But then I watched Fargo and I jumped into the Gator Tillman fandom with both feet.

This guy deserved better despite being a complete asshole jerk…ok…asshole at times!

Like always, ❤️s, comments, feedback & reblogs are always welcome!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven (coming soon)

[starksbabie]

The Ink That Binds Us - Chapter 5

Prev | Next

Summary: In the weeks following your heat Roy has been keeping Gator extra busy, so you're missing your Alpha. Gator takes it upon himself to make sure you know he'd do anything for you, give you anything you want because you are his.

Tags/Warnings: Soulmates AU, A/B/O, smut, 18+ mdni, soulmates have matching tattoos, Gator Tillman (he’s his own warning). p in v, creampie, oral (fem receiving), breeding kink, reader takes a pregnancy test, use of pet names.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: It's here! Sorry for the delay I have been wrapped up in a Prince Steve AU so be on the lookout for that coming soon!

Once again, you woke up alone in your nest. It has been two weeks since your heat, and you’ve barely seen your new mate. 

Gator slinks out of bed before dawn, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder before he goes, and does not return until long after dark if he returns at all. 

Sometimes he’s been opting to stay at his father’s ranch since most of his belongings still reside there, and it leaves him closer to be at Roy’s beck and call. 

You climb out of bed to begin your day, heading to the kitchen and wondering if Gator even made it home last night. 

Blossom 🌸 8:02 am: I miss you. The nest is beginning to smell wrong. Like you’re missing. 

His reply comes just a few minutes later. 

Gator 🐊 8:09 am: Dad’s got a lot going on so I have to be in charge for a while. I’ll be home for dinner tonight. I promise. 

You smile and bounce on the balls of your feet looking around the kitchen, you’re going to make the best dinner you can, your alpha’s been working hard. He deserves this. 

Gator pulls into the drive long after dark. He’s absolutely, overwhelmingly, exhausted, but he’s surprised to see lights still on in the house. Usually, you’ve been asleep for hours by this point. That’s when he remembers. He promised to be home for dinner. 

“Shit.” He curses under his breath. 

He hops out of the truck and quickly walks up the path, jumping the stairs before letting himself in. 

What he finds there nearly breaks his heart. 

You’re lying on the couch, wearing his favorite dress, it’s obvious you fell asleep waiting on him. 

And he can smell fresh-baked oatmeal-raisin cookies, and steak and potatoes. He knows you must have worked hard all day for him and he couldn’t even show up when he said he would. 

‘Deserves better’ his alpha snaps from the back of his mind. 

He pushes that down, walks over to the couch kneels, and softly runs his hand over your hair. 

“Blossom, wake up, baby.” He mumbles, gently shaking you. 

“Hmm?” You groan softly, waking up. 

You blink up at him, your eyes half-lidded and tired. 

“You’re home,” you smile sleepily, “I missed you.” 

You sit up and wrap your arms around his neck pulling him close. He buries his face in your neck as he climbs up onto the couch with you, lying down on top of you, inhaling your scent. 

“Missed you too, Omega. M’sorry, I’m late.” 

You gently run your fingers through his hair, softening the slicked-back locks into the soft tendrils you love. 

“S’okay-“ you begin.

“No, it’s not. It’s not okay. Fuck…” he groans softly, arguing with his Alpha. 

You hold him for a long moment. Letting him gently crush you into the couch cushions. 

“I’ve been a shit Alpha. You deserve someone who takes care of you. Who takes you out on dates? Who is good to you? Not me… not this fuck up.” He mumbles into your neck. 

“Gator, look at me.” You say softly. 

He refuses, sinking further into your scent and his self-doubt. 

You sink your fingers into his hair and gently tug at the roots. 

“Gator Tillman. Look at me.” You say, using the sternest tone he’s ever heard from you. 

He raises his head and looks at you, a little perplexed by that tone. 

“You are not a shit Alpha, and I never want to hear those words ever again. You’re my Alpha. Mine. I don’t care about going out on dates, and you’re very good to me.” You say, looking directly into his eyes, refusing to be the one to look away first. 

He leans in and rests his forehead against yours, basking in your words, for a moment. 

“But what about-“ 

“Gator, I swear,” you say, effectively cutting him off. 

He lets out a soft little laugh. 

“Don’t go turning into a brat now.” He says softly, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. 

“Then don’t act like a knothead.” You mumble softly, spreading your legs so he can slot between them. 

The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces, completing one another as he presses his lips against yours in a slow, gentle drag, his chapped lips against your pillow-soft ones. 

You pull away and press a small, soft kiss on his head. 

“My Alpha, perfect for me.” You whisper against his skin. 

He wraps his arms around you and buries his face back into the crook of your neck, softly kissing your mating mark as he falls asleep. 

You hold him close and close your eyes as well, letting yourself relax and be lulled into sleep. Comforted by your Alpha. 

You wake up the next morning and groan softly, stiff from having slept on the couch but feeling more at peace and well-rested than you have in days. 

You softly card your fingers through Gator’s soft hair, relishing the sleepy sounds he makes as he wakes up. 

“Good morning, handsome.” You whisper. 

“Mornin’ Blossom.” He mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. 

You smile, you relish this, this softness, that no one else gets to be privy to. Something that is only between the two of you. 

“You want me to make ya some breakfast before your shift?” You ask, as you softly run your hand up and down his spine, unable to keep your hands off him. 

He relaxes into you a little more. 

“You don’t mind?” 

“Not at all, handsome. C’mon. Get up. You get ready, and I’ll fix you something to eat.” You kiss his cheek before dropping your arms from around him. 

He rolls off the couch, less than gracefully, before popping up and helping you stand. 

He drops a kiss to the top of your head, before heading off to the shower. 

You step into the kitchen and begin to fix him some breakfast. 

Eggs, toast, bacon. Doing your very best to have it all finished at the same time. 

Gator steps into the kitchen, hair slicked back, holster around his thigh, and the rest of his gear situated just right.

You both sit to eat, and you watch as he devours his food, as always. Light conversation about plans for the day. 

As per usual, Gator can’t tell you much about anything. You try to not let it bother you. Even though it does. 

You hold onto his vest as he kisses you hard before he leaves. His tongue slid alongside yours, his hands squeezing your hips, pulling you flush against him, making sure you’ll think about nothing but him all day long. 

After your shift at the diner, you stop at the pharmacy to pick up a few things. You walk past the pads and tampons and pause. You do the mental math and your eyes go a little wide. 

Your hand instinctually rests on your lower belly. 

“Oh my god…” you bite your lip and glance at the tests next to you. You grab one and toss it in your basket before you can think too hard about it. 

Once you get home, you sit in the bathroom on top of the closed toilet lid and stare at the package. 

“This is silly… it was one heat. There’s no way…” you toss the test into the drawer and head back into the living room to watch some mindless television. 

However, it’s like the test is mocking you from the other room. 

Soon you find yourself back in the bathroom, the foil ripped open, and you take the test. You sit on the floor with the test on the edge of the tub as you wait for the results. 

Your hand once again goes to rest on your lower belly. 

“You’re going to be so loved…” you smile softly. 

A few minutes later you lift the test and it’s like a rock develops where your heart should be.  

Only one line. 

Negative.

“Oh.” 

You suddenly feel so silly and stupid for your behavior. You quickly toss everything in the trash bin as your eyes well with tears. 

You’re not even sure why you’re so upset. It’s not even something you were really thinking about, but now that it’s not happening you’re crushed. 

You move to the bedroom and crawl into your next hiding yourself under your blankets as the tears begin to fall. ‘Bad Omega, failure.’ Your omega whispers in the back of your mind. That’s where Gator finds you. 

He’d come home expecting to find you in the kitchen making dinner, or at least in the living room watching something on the TV. When he doesn’t see you he begins looking around calling out for you, becoming a little more panicked when you don’t respond. 

When he finally finds you buried in your nest he’s concerned. 

“Blossom? What’s wrong, Omega?” He sits next to you softly cupping your cheek, his thumb wiping away your tears. 

You turn your head away from him hiding yourself from his gaze. 

“Don’t. Look at me,” He says, “Omega, what is going on? Talk to me.” 

“It’s s-stupid.” You mumble into the sheets

“It’s not stupid if it’s made you this upset. C’mon little one. Tell me what’s wrong.” He says, lifting your chin so he can look at you. 

You pause for a long moment looking up at him, thinking about how you want to tell him.

“I took a pregnancy test.” You finally say. The words slipping out easier than you thought they would. 

His face lights up, and that joy you see on his face, it kills you. It makes you feel even worse because you know what you have to say next, but he interrupts you before you can get the words out. 

“Omega mine. Why would you be upset about that? A baby is amazing.” He smiles and he moves to put his hand on your belly but you know if he touches you there you’ll scream. 

“It was negative.” you choke out.

“Oh…” he pauses and lays down pulling you close, letting you rest your head on his chest. 

You hold onto him nuzzling your face into his scent gland, calming yourself. 

“I didn’t know you wanted a baby so badly.” He whispers. 

“Neither did I.” You say, your lips softly brushing against his skin. 

He tries to contain the shiver that runs through him at the feeling of your lips on him. 

“But I do,” you whisper, “please Alpha?” 

He groans and rolls over on top of you pinning you to the mattress. 

“You’re killing me, Omega,” He softly rolls his hips against yours as he kisses you, “I’ll give you a pup. Fuck one into this cute belly of yours. Make you a mommy.”

He takes his time, slowly peeling away each layer of clothing. Pressing kisses to every inch of newly revealed skin. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I’m the luckiest Alpha alive.” He growls as he slips your panties off, and situates himself between your thighs, inhaling deeply. 

You blush at his actions, lying back in your nest. 

“Fuck, you smell so sweet for me. M’gonna get you nice and wet. So ready to take my cock, okay?” He slowly trails kisses up your inner thigh before burying his face in your cunt, tracing his tongue up and down your slit as his large hands hook under your thighs and settle on your hips. 

You gasp softly and close your eyes, settling more into the feelings. The softness of your nest, the roughness of Gator’s hands on your hips, the soft wet sounds of his tongue between your thighs, and the pleasure he brings you. 

He begins to softly suck on your clit as you begin to get wetter, he moans and the vibrations cause you to arch your back. 

“Good girl, Blossom. That’s right. Grind on my tongue, sweet girl.” He moans again. 

You thread your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly as you gasp out his name, the flames of pleasure licking up your spine. 

He slips two fingers into your entrance, your wetness making it easy, as he curls them and massages the soft spongy spot he knows drives you insane. 

You dig your heels into his back trying to scramble away from him as you reach that precipice. Your Alpha only holds you tighter refusing to let you run from your own pleasure. 

You scream out his name as you come apart on his tongue. 

He laps up your essence before pulling away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand smirking. 

“Fuckin’ delicious, Omega.” 

You blush and hide your face in the crook of your elbow. 

He grabs your hand and uncovers your face smirking down at you. 

“Hey there pretty girl.” 

“Hi.” You smile softly looking up at him. 

He holds your hands down on either side of your head and kisses you softly as you wrap your legs around his hips, the head of his cock nudging gently against your clit once, twice, before he presses into you. 

He groans softly against your lips, “holy shit, Omega… how are you always so fuckin’ tight?” 

He gives you a moment to adjust before he begins slowly rolling his hips against yours. Each thrust was measured, slow and deep. 

“Feels so good, Alpha. Always feels so good.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around him, clinging to him. 

He presses his forehead to yours, taking his time as the pace of his thrusts speeds up, still just as deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix each time he presses into the hilt. 

“You feel like heaven, my love. I’m gonna give you a baby sweet Omega. Gonna give you everything you want. I promise.” He kisses you deeply as he gets closer, picking up speed as he gets closer.  

You gasp softly at his words, “I’m close Alpha, please.” 

“I know, Omega. I can feel you squeezing me. I’m almost there. Gonna fill you up. Gonna give you all of me. Fuck… wait for me, baby.” He growls softly. 

He holds you close and kisses you deeply the curly hairs at the base of his cock stimulating your clit in just the right way as he grinds his hips into yours. 

He thrusts a couple more times as he cums deep inside you, his thick spend painting your inner walls as you gasp and come hard around him. 

“That’s right, Omega. Doing so good for me. Taking me so well. Love you so much.” He holds you close as you both come down from your euphoria. 

“Love you too, Alpha. Thank you… thank you.” 

You press soft kisses everywhere you can reach, keeping your legs up and wrapped around him. 

He presses his hand down on your lower belly.

“This is where my pups will grow. Just give it time, Omega mine. Just give it time.”

Prev | Next

[metaldeputy]

Layover in North Dakota by littlebitofkeery

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson/Gator Tillman Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Timelines, Post-Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2, Stranger things meets Fargo, No Fargo spoilers, Gator Tillman - Freeform, steddie, Lots of Sex, all the sex, did I mention there’s sex?, Gator Tillman is a little unhinged, Post-Vecna (Stranger Things), Not Beta Read, Lust at First Sight, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Love Confessions, Threesome - M/M/M

Summary:

The crossover that a very select group of people will look for, I’m here to serve 😉 This fic ignores the timelines of both shows involved, meets somewhere in the middle of the two. Eddie Munson needs to get the fuck away from Hawkins. He has survived a near death experience, has been acquitted of the murder charges brought against him, has had maybe the toughest six months of his life. But the cherry on top of the mountain of shit, the straw that finally broke the camels back, was Steve Harrington getting a girlfriend. Pathetic as it is, Eddie could handle the monsters, the lynch mob, the nearly being eaten alive. But he could not handle seeing Steve with someone else. With $500 of government hush money in his glove compartment, he bids the party and uncle Wayne goodbye. Tells them he needs a break from Hawkins for a while. Tells them he will be back but he doesn’t know when exactly. Steve hugs him, holds him, tells him he gets it, tells him he wishes he didn’t have to go.

Short little blurb under the cut!

He leans in close to Gator, whispers in his ear “you wanna escort me to my chambers, Deputy?” The flirting has been cranked up to 100 because Eddie wants this guy. This fucking, pretty-eyed-Steve Harrington lookin’-bad boy- potential-psychopath with the Metallica shirt.. who’s also a.. basically, a Cop? What a heady mixture, Eddie’s dick is already half chubbed beneath his ripped jeans. Truth is, he hasn’t fucked anyone in seven long months. Too busy pining like a pathetic prick for the straight guy back home to even attempt to get his dick wet. Well, that ends tonight. He’s gonna dick this guy down so fucking good he’ll be walking with a limp for a good while after.  Gator tilts his head, their faces now mere inches apart. His eyes are even more incredible this close up. “Well now, what kinda Deputy would I be if I let ya wander these strange streets all by yourself huh?” He murmurs, wetting his bottom lip before biting it into his mouth.

[cycat-carisi]

Lonesome Superhero Part 4

Pairing: Gator Tillman x f!reader (not romantic)

Summary: Months after moving away from Stark County, things finally come to a head as you confront your fears and the Tillmans confront the law. How will Gator react and what truths will emerge?

Warnings: language, misogynistic themes from the show, mentions of DV

Length: 3.3k +

A/N: This one deviates from cannon. I had a theory while watching the show. It turned out to be incorrect, but I really liked it and had already used it as the foundation for this series, so I decided to run with it anyway. Tah-dah! This is kind of an AU, but I really like it!

| Series masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Fic below the cut or on AO3 here

"Batman. Superman. Spiderman. Ugh! It's always gotta be guys doing the hero stuff!" you huff, splaying out Gator's comic books that sit atop the cafeteria table.

"Duh!" he replies as you plunk yourself down beside the dark-haired boy. "They've got the superpowers; of course they're gonna save the day!"

"Yeah, but it's always about a guy, and the girl is the one that always hasta be saved. What you need is to read this one, Gate." You slap down an issue of Wonder Woman in front of your best friend. "Now she's a superhero!"

Gator stares skeptically at the bright yellows and reds that compose the artwork on the comic book cover.

"Go ahead," you grin triumphantly, "take it home for a bit. I personally guarantee that you'll love it!"

With his hardened frown dissolving into a warm smile, a twelve-year-old Gator Tillman peers fondly at his best friend next to him. Somehow you always managed to make him feel good: valued, accepted, and truly understood.

Nodding affirmatively, Gator then gathers the comic and tucks it in his backpack along with the others for the trip home. That, however, would be the last time you would see your issue of Wonder Woman. Days turned into weeks, and Gator claimed that he "wasn't finished yet". Excuses piled up until you eventually forgot that the comic even existed. In reality, however, it was Roy Tillman who ensured that the Amazonian heroine had no influence on his son.

-x-

The simple days of comic books have long since passed. Now, here you are in a completely different state, living each day by constantly glancing over your shoulder. Sleep eludes you despite the four deadbolts on your tiny apartment’s door. The smallest, most insignificant noises startle you, causing panic to seize your chest in a vice-like grip, terrified that he’s found you. Even your performance at work has declined, which is something that neither you nor your patients can afford. While you might have escaped from Stark County, the looming fear of Roy Tillman and his son follows you like the darkest of rain clouds.

A soft touch to your shoulder makes your body stiffen and your muscles jump. The echoes of beeping machines and the fluorescent lighting overhead reel you back to reality as the hand pulls away, startled by your reaction.

“Are you alright?” the head nurse speaks softly. “Mr. Patel’s dressing needs changing in room 305.”

As you turn around to face your boss, it’s clear your answer to her question is a resounding ‘no’.

The nurse’s features deepen with concern. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

You have held everything in for a couple months now, completely isolated and alone – too afraid to tell your truth in case the long arm of Roy Tillman’s law finds you. However, your boss is here in the present. She runs a tight ship at work, expecting your best, but she has also shown you nothing but kindness. And right now, her sincerity is breaking down the barriers that hold your fears tightly locked away.

Flagging down another nurse to cover the hospital floor, the two of you escape to a break room, where you find the courage to release your truths. You tell her about Gator and about Roy. You tell her that you are sorry for your inadequate performance at work but that you are just so scared. And instead of judging you, she holds you while you cry. She reassures you that you are brave and that she cares. But she also delivers the harsh reality that you can’t go on this way – that the only way to permanently end this torment is to go to the police.

At first, you recoil in aversion. The tendrils of your fear extend to the possibility that the Tillmans have connections across several state lines, yet the gentle encouragements from the head nurse help settle your unease. You know deep down that it is the right thing to do.

-x-

A loud bang on the door startles Gator awake. His head lolls towards his alarm clock, his eyes slowly peeling open. 1am?!? For Christ’s sake! Wiping the drool from his mouth, the Tillman son throws on a dirty white tank top to match his boxers and begins to drag himself into the hallway.

Another couple of loud knocks ring out amongst muffled shouts. Who the fuck is that, and what the fuck do they want?!? Gator seethes, patience worn thin.

BANG BANG BANG “North Dakota state police! Open up!”

Oh, shit! With his system now fully jolted awake, Gator scrambles down the hall. “Dad!” he yells frantically, open palm slapping against his father’s bedroom door. “Dad!”

The door swings open, and an angry gaze is immediately cast down over Gator. Roy towers over his son, nipple piercings glinting in the low light. “What have I told you about waking me, boy?”

Gator visibly shrinks, his face wrought with panic. “But dad, it’s the –”

BANG BANG BANG “North Dakota state police! This is your final warning! Open up!”

The two men’s heads whip towards the direction of the front door downstairs. Roy shoves his son out of the way, bounding down the staircase at lightning speed. Gator is left behind with his mouth gaping; a confused and sleepy Karen joins him at the bedroom entrance. She sleepily wraps her robe around herself, unaware of the events about to transpire.

The next several moments pass by in a hazy blur. Gator hears his father greet the police and listens as that deep voice raises in anger. The figures stir, and the next thing Gator witnesses is his father being forcefully cuffed and led out the front door. Karen shrieks, and her wails ring through Gator’s ears as she runs out of the house after her husband. Gator feels as though life is in slow motion; that the world around him is crumbling away. He barely registers what's happening thereafter until he feels the cool metal of a handcuff being secured around his wrist. He blinks slowly as his other arm is guided behind his back and a cuff cinches shut.

He should resist. He should be fighting back like the reptile he is named for…Yet, he doesn't. Instead of panic, instead of fear, a weird sensation akin to relief takes root and begins to blossom inside of Gator’s chest as he, too, is led out of his childhood home towards the blue and red flashing lights that pierce the darkness.

-x-

“I’m not saying a word. Not. A. Fucking. Word!” spits the Tillman son before harshly folding his arms across his chest and gluing his gaze to the metal table in front of him.

“Peter,” coaxes a female police officer. “We know you were there. Just tell us what happened.”

Gator doesn’t look up. He simply swallows thickly.

The middle-aged officer shifts from her place beside the table; her sleek shadow moves next to her in the dim lighting as she takes a seat across from the young man. Her voice lowers and mellows as she begins to speak. “You must really like her,” the officer pauses to allow her words to sink in. “You just wanted your chance to be with her. No one can fault you for that. But, she told us her version of that night in the parking lot, and now we need your side of it too.”

A brief flicker from hazel irises catch in the light. A thumb rubs anxiously back and forth along his bicep, and a pair of thin lips pinch together tightly. Yet still, Gator Tillman remains quiet.

The officer glances behind her and gives a nod towards the two-way mirror. Mere seconds later, the interview room door creaks open, and her colleague, a six-foot-something brick shithouse of a man, enters the room. His presence seems to swallow the entirety of the small space.

Gator’s gaze flashes up towards the large officer, brows knitting defiantly.

“Peter,” the female officer starts again, a soft tone still woven into her words, “we would like you to see something.”

-x-

“Sheriff Tillman,” chimes a female FBI agent, “things will be so much easier for you if you just tell us the truth. We have your son in the next room over. Tell us what happened before he does.”

“My son?” The man bursts out in bitter laughter. “My son is a waste of space. None of us would be here if it weren’t for him. He goes out and makes a fool of himself in front of some dumb broad, and then comes crying to daddy to help him win her over.”

The FBI agent plants her palms firmly on the metal table and leans in to stare her suspect down. “According to what our witness told us, it doesn’t seem like you set out to do any of that.”

Roy scoffs. “The only reason I went to chat with that young lady was because my so-called son was too much of a pussy to land the little whore on his own!”

Biting back a smirk, the agent presses on. “Your son seems to be a touchy subject for you, Roy. You hired him as your deputy, so he must be doing something right.”

Roy’s face contorts as if he has just heard the most outrageous statement imaginable. “The boy is a complete fuckup.” He grits his teeth. “It’s been that way ever since he took his first breath. All scrawny and weak. I thought a job on the force would toughen him up – make a man out of him – but he’s still just as pathetic as the day he was born.”

Even as he sits in police-issue sweatpants and t-shirt, Roy Tillman’s presence consumes the oxygen in the room. The resentment the senior Tillman holds for his son is reflected back at him in the two-way mirror.

Yet, just beyond that mirror is the face of a boy. One who has just been shoved headfirst into reality. He remains quiet, attempting to hide the emotions that course under his skin – afraid that somehow his father can see him watching on.

“Peter,” the officer speaks quietly from over his shoulder. “You don’t have to protect him anymore.”

Gator stares silently at his father. The Stark County sheriff looks like a caged beast that is aggressively pacing its confinements as it plots the best moment to strike.

“I can’t…” whispers Gator, the words catching in his throat.

A warm hand finds his shoulder. “You can, Peter. If not for yourself, then for her. You have the chance to make things right.”

-x-

"Mr. Tillman," bellows the prosecutor. Gator blinks, refocusing on the wood-decorated courtroom and the many faces that fill the rows of his surroundings. "You have testified here today on the many crimes – illegal weapons dealings, internal police corruption, and missing person’s cases – that Sheriff Roy Tillman is allegedly accused of orchestrating and or committing. However, there is one missing person's case that has yet to be discussed –"

"OBJECTION!" yells the defense lawyer, rising to his feet with palms slapping down against his desk. "This is new evidence that my council has not been informed of!"

A gasp resonates amongst the shocked crowd in the gallery.

The judge levels her gaze at both men. “Approach.”

"Your honor," explains the prosecution coolly as he arrives at the bench, "this testimony falls under the category of missing persons from Stark County which the state and the defense have agreed are admissible topics inside this court."

The judge silently consults her notes. It seems as though everyone in the room is holding in a collective breath. Finally, the judge announces her conclusion, "Overruled. I'll allow it. Please continue."

The defense attorney angrily sits back down, exchanging careful glances with his client as he does.

From his seat, Roy Tillman’s hardened eyes descend upon his son. In the past, that look always made Gator fold as easily as a house of cards. This time, however, Gator finds the courage to turn away. His hazel eyes seek out yours, and he finds you sitting quietly behind the prosecution, unwilling to allow any Tillman to witness the fear that runs through your veins.

"Peter," chimes the prosecutor. "Can you please tell the jury what you saw that day?"

Snapping out of his trance, Gator shifts to focus on the lawyer in front of him. He swallows thickly. It's now or never.

"I – I was five years old,” he begins. “One evening my mother came rushing into my room. She told me to pack my favorite toys into a bag because we had to leave right away. She never told me why; she just left my room in a hurry.” Gator’s expression suddenly changes. It appears as though he has been transported to some distant place in his memory. “Then… I remember hearing the front door slam and heavy footsteps pound up the stairs to my door. It was my father. He pointed a finger at me and told me to get in bed. To not come out. I remember being so confused as he shut my door and left. Next thing I heard was the yelling and shouting. Both my mother and father were screaming at each other. Again.”

“What happened next, Peter?” the prosecution coaxes gently.

“I – I was just trying to figure out what was going on.” Gator’s eyes squeeze shut at the memory. “I disobeyed my father and crept to the edge of the stairs. I sat just out of sight and watched it through the banister.”

“It? What was it that you saw?” the prosecutor prompts again.

“I saw my father swing and momma drop.” Gator’s voice falters, tone becoming boyish at the mention of his mother. “When she didn’t get up, my father picked her up and put her over his shoulder. I – I remember her hand dangling as he carried her towards the back door. I was so scared. I ran back up to my room and got in bed.”

“Peter, that must have been a very traumatic experience for you, especially at such a young age. But do you remember any other details about that night?”

“I remember seeing our shaggy white rug being stained bright red as my mother was lying on it. That rug was gone the next day.”

“Okay, good. Now, why didn’t you tell anyone? Why keep this a secret for so many years? You must have loved your mother, no?”

“Of course I loved my mom!” Gator’s voice cracks again. “But I never told anyone because I had disobeyed my father that night. I knew I would be punished if he found out.”

“Punished how, Peter?”

“The belt.”

The prosecutor nods somberly. “And what did your father tell you had happened to your mother?”

“My father told me – told everyone – that mom had run away. That she didn't want to be with us anymore. I spent twenty-some years convincing myself that his story was true."

As Gator concludes his testimony, you notice a shimmer in his eyes. He swallows hard to blink the moisture away.

On the opposite side of the courtroom, Roy's jaw clenches and unclenches, his features betraying his shock and anger. He clearly hadn't known what Gator witnessed all those years ago, and if looks could kill, Gator's body would already be cold.

The gallery remains eerily silent.

"Thank you, Mr. Tillman," speaks the judge. "Would the defense like to cross-examine?"

"We would, your honor," replies Roy's attorney through tight lips.

The stout man rises from his seat and buttons his suit coat. He clears his throat. "Mr. Tillman – Gator. “You fit to benefit from testifying against your father today, don’t you?" Before the Tillman son has a chance to reply, the lawyer opens his mouth again. "Is it true that you will receive a reduced sentence despite admitting to being a major player in some of the alleged crimes committed?"

Gator stares up at the defense attorney dejectedly. "Yes, sir," he admits. "Five years for accessory, plus psychiatric counseling."

You watch as some jury members knit their brows together. Prosecutors make deals all the time in exchange for testimony. This reveal shouldn't come as a surprise.

The lawyer’s smirk widens as he turns to the judge. "The defense rests, your honor."

Nodding towards Gator, the judge dismisses him, and a bailiff escorts him quietly towards the exit of the courtroom. As he passes your row, Gator cautiously meets your gaze for the second time that day. He merely gives you a solemn frown before once again bowing his head as he is led away.

Meanwhile, you are left standing there completely dumbfounded, your mind swimming with thoughts. Who would have known that this whole situation would unravel into something so sinister? You knew that Roy Tillman was a shady character. You knew that many in Stark County feared him, but you never could have fathomed the extent as to why. Neither could you have predicted how all of this had influenced Gator. Yet somehow, the pieces of the puzzle fit together seamlessly. The introverted boy from middle school. The bully from high school. The pompous ass you swore at outside of the retirement home. And even Roy's threat in the dark parking lot. It all added up. Gator had spent twenty-plus years harbouring a dark secret while his father attempted to mold Gator into a carbon copy of himself. The years of abuse, neglect, and conditioning… It didn’t excuse everything that had happened, but it certainly put it all into perspective.

-x-

In the days that follow, you attend each court session dutifully. You hear other witness testimony that incriminates Roy in a multitude of nefarious actions. You even hear from a young woman named Dorothy, who bravely stares down the sheriff as she recounts the abuse she endured by his hand.

Of course, the defense tries to weave the evidence into misconstrued accounts that shift the blame away from the senior Tillman. But as the trial wears on, the faces of the jurors drift from skepticism towards disgust. And, as the final verdict is read, tension converts to relief when Roy Tillman is found guilty on each criminal charge he is tried for.

You watch stoically as the disgraced Sheriff is led away, tethered in cuffs and chains, yet somehow this result feels partially empty. Countless lives have forever been altered by this man, and the weight of that grim realization smothers you. Your thoughts briefly drift to Gator and how he, despite everything he admitted to, is yet another victim of the corrupt county sheriff.

You shake those dark thoughts away as you file out of the courtroom amongst the rest of the crowd.

-x-

A couple months go by, and you finally allow yourself to breathe. Roy Tillman is locked away in a maximum security facility, never to wield his power again, while Gator has been sent east to serve out his time.

Back in Stark County, the harsh winter passes. Frigid snow retreats, allowing the landscape to blossom once again. And, just as spring rolls into the county, so do you. After all, your heart had always been at the retirement home, seeking to give back to the community you grew up in. Life even seems to return to normal as Stark County gradually beings to heal from the long reign of the Tillman lineage.

Then, on one beautiful spring afternoon, you return home from your shift to find a padded envelope resting against your door frame. Taking the package inside, you notice that the return address belongs to a federal correctional institution in New Hampshire. Your brow furrows in confusion as you open up the envelope.

Its contents make you gasp.

Bright yellows and reds catch your eye as a familiar image brings up forgotten memories. Attached to the front cover of the Wonder Woman issue is a sticky note that reads:

I’m sorry for everything.

                             - Gator

Thanks for reading! Feedback is loved ❤

(An epilogue is in the works!)

[hjcoolartnerd]

Okay I made it very clear that Steve Joe Randall is a copy pasted version of Steve Harrington who just acts like whoever is the top dog in Hawkins and even if Dylan wasn't fully attracted to him, he still gravitated towards Randall because it was the Great value version of Steve but thinking about it if Steve Joe Randall, looks exactly like Steve Harrington how would Dylan Walker react if he saw Joe Keery, Kurt Kunkle and Gator Tillman Along with Steve and Steve Joe.

And I have an idea for my next drawing it's just having Joe, Steve, Steve Joe, Kurt and Gator all together around Dylan and then being a blushy mess and maybe I should do a fanfiction about that I don't know.

[fizzigigsimmer]

Back At One Part 2

Pairing: Caligator, Billy Hargrove x Gator Tillman

Fandom Fusion: Stranger Things & Fargo S5

Dom/Sub au

*Title taken from this truly sappy love song by Brian McKnight that these boys would NEVER admit was kinda okay lol.

<<<<PART I

“When is that fella of yours gonna make an honest man out of you?" Dot asks, just as Gator reaches for the pans stacked on top of the fridge, and he jerks, pulling too quickly, sending a cookie sheet clattering toward the kitchen floor - he just manages to save it. Scotty raises the cover of her book to hide her face, but his ears work just fine and he hears her snicker.

"What do you mean?" he gripes as he fumbles with the cookware. This is what he gets for trying to do something nice for his boyfriend on his birthday. "Billy's already registered as my dominant."

Which means if Gator really does burn the house down trying to make this fucking cake, Billy can have the honor of identifying his barbecued remains and save Dot the trouble.

Dot’s giving him this look though. Like she can see right through his bullshit. Let's get real. She always could read him like a book and play him like a fiddle.

“Alright, lets bake this mother fu-uuning,cake” Gator self corrects, remembering Scotty at the last minute. Shit that was close. Dot only has a few rules for when they’re together: no talking about the past when Scotty’s in earshot and no potty mouth. She literally calls it that. It’s kind of annoying though, cause the kid is like twelve right? Gator could curse in three different languages by the time he was twelve. But apparently that’s not the thing to be proud of that he thought it was when he was twelve.

“Real nice save Hon.” Dot laughs at him.

“Yeah yeah. Let’s just do this.” Gator grumbles in reply, and they do. 

Dot ties an apron around Gator's waist and hands him a mixing bowl while Scotty eagerly climbs up on a stool to read out the recipe as they work. She’s only meant to be walking him through the basics of a simple white cake with Billy’s name spelled out on it, but somehow the kitchen quickly descends into chaos. 

"Okay, first we need to cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy," Scotty reads.

Gator dumps an entire stick of butter and a heaping cup of sugar into the bowl. He picks up the electric mixer and jams it in after, cause that much he can figure out for himself. Only it sends a plume of sugar into the air the minute he powers it on. 

“Holy shit!”

"No, silly!" Scotty giggles. "You have to soften the butter first or it won't mix right."

Grumbling, Gator fishes the hard butter out of the bowl and tosses it into the microwave. A few seconds later, there's a loud pop - because he’s a fucking idiot and apparently it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to warm butter. One glance inside confirms the worst: the stick is now a molten mess, and butter drips down the microwave door.

"Oh honey," Dot sighs, grabbing a towel to wipe up the mess. "Just grab another stick and leave it on the counter for a bit to soften."

“Jesus. Come on. Get your head in the game!” Gator admonishes himself, trying to shake off his embarrassment and the feeling of shame welling up inside of him from fucking up something so simple. “I have cooked before. I’m just -”

What? Nervous? Fucking stupid? What else is there to say when he can’t even melt butter.

Dot lays a hand on his back. She doesn’t need to say anything, and she doesn’t as she hands him a clean bowl and Scotty reads out from Dot’s phone that it’s time to sift the dry ingredients together. He upends the bag of flour over the sifter, and thinks it might be too much. It definitely is, because he doesn’t get more than a few taps in before flour has started to overflow everywhere, dusting his hands and the arms of his black t-shirt. But hey, some of it is getting into the bowl.

Somehow with Dot's patient guidance and Scotty's enthusiastic "assistance", they manage to get the cake batter mixed and poured into pans. Gator slides them into the oven, sets the timer, and leans back against the counter with a sigh, his shirt and jeans thoroughly dusted with flour, bits of batter streaked in between.

Dot chuckles as she hands him a damp towel. "Well, that was an adventure. I think Billy will appreciate the effort you put in, even if it's not perfect."

Gator wipes his hands and grumbles. "It better turn out decent after all that. I still think I shoulda gotten him something else though. Something big, to really wow him, y'know?"

Dot studies him for a long moment, and then finally broaches the subject that has been festering like a smelly turd in the corner of the room.

"Want to talk about what happened at the store today?"

No. No he really fucking doesn’t. Gator turns to snap on the faucet, thinking that he’d like to stick his head under it and drown himself right about now. He focuses intently on scrubbing the batter caked on his nails instead.

"Nothin' happened. She was a stuck-up bitch is all. Lookin' down on me like I'm nothin' just 'cause I ain't some fancy dom in a suit."

He hears Dot murmur something quietly to Scotty about going to get her things together, and grunts in acknowledgment when the twerp says a shy goodbye before slipping from the room. He immediately feels like shit, because Dot can’t really punish him anymore - it’s not her place, and she’s got too much respect for Billy to overstep - but she can take away the one thing she knows he really wants. He wasn’t ready for them to leave, but he can’t blame Dot for not wanting her kid around him when he’s like this.

Her family is not something that Dot plays around with, and Gator might be someone she cares about, but there’s a stark line between whatever the hell they are to each other and the beautiful thing Nadine - fuck - Dot, built for herself with her own grit and guts in the aftermath of the Tillmans.

He understands. He gets it. He does. And yet he still flinches when she speaks again, body somehow unprepared for her to still be there even though he would have heard her leave if she wasn’t.

"She shouldn't have treated you that way," Dot says softly. "But Gator, how you reacted wasn’t like you. I haven’t seen you do something that rash in a long time. What’s this really about?”

Gator's jaw clenches and his hands still, suds dripping from his fingers into the sink. The air grows heavy with all the things unsaid between them.

"It’s nothin'. Alright?" he mutters unconvincingly. "I lost my cool is all. Won't happen again."

Dot sighs and leans her hip against the counter next to him, arms crossed. Her eyes are filled with gentle understanding and he hates it. Hates how much it reminds him of his mom, and all the times after, when she was gone and it was Dot standing in her place, filling the void as best she could. Hates most of all that he’s never been strong enough to resist the comfort Dot offers and the temptation to fall apart in her arms. She was his safety, even when safety was a lie and she was just a kid who couldn’t do shit to keep herself safe, let alone him.

But no matter how hard Gator had tried, he’d never stopped needing someone to lean on and take him apart and clean out his rust and dust, to put back together again good as new. That’s his curse, the sub in him, which is hard to swallow most days but Billy makes it better. No one does any of that for him like Billy Hargrove does. Even when Gator makes it hard on him, Billy always knows just which way he’s bent and how to fix it. Yeah it bugs the shit out of him, but he wouldn’t know what the hell to do with himself now without it. If Billy left he’d -

Stop that shit! He flinches away from the thoughts, and reminds himself for the umpteenth time that Billy isn’t going to leave him over some dumb shit like a lame birthday gift. He needs to just quit already. Why can’t he make the thoughts stop?

"You've been doing so well lately, Gator. Really making progress in therapy, communicating better when you’re dropping... What happened today?" Dot presses again.

Gator's throat works as he swallows hard. His hands clench the edge of the sink, knuckles going white. He doesn’t want to talk about this but maybe it will help. God he hopes it helps.

"I just... I wanted to get him somethin' special, y'know? Somethin' to show him how much he means to me." His voice cracks slightly on the last word and Dot's face softens. She reaches for him, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

"Oh honey... Billy knows how much you love him. You don't need fancy gifts to prove that."

"Don't I though?" Gator argues, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. "He does so much for me, Dot. Takes such good care of me, even when I'm a pain in the ass. And, like when am I not a pain in the ass, huh? You were gonna kick his ass and like send him to the Gulag. How am I worth that?”

Dot laughs, giving Gator's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Listen to me. You are a pain in the ass, but only when you’re trying so hard not to be the sweet, kind, and wonderful man I know you are. You're a good boy, Gator. You always have been. And yes, at first I was worried when I found out your Saftey-Dom had a thing for you. Who wouldn’t be?”

Gator shrugs away her very good point - doms who are employed to counsel and provide subs with therapeutic care are bound by a strict code of ethics. Billy could have been in deep shit if anyone other than Dot had found out about their relationship before Billy stopped being his therapy dom.

“I kissed him Dot, and he never let it happen again while I was still just a case.” Gator laments. “That’s what I’m talking about though, all I could do was think with my dick - meanwhile I could have seriously fucked up his life. And he still took care of me!”

“He did. Which is what convinced me he’s the best thing for you.” Dot says. “It’s because he loves you for who you are, flaws and all."

Gator shakes his head, jaw tight. "You don't get it, Dot. I'm not...I'm not good like you keep saying. The shit that goes through my head sometimes…”

He trails off, shame burning hot in his gut. He can't even bring himself to say it out loud. But with Dot he doesn’t need to. 

She was there through the worst of it. She’s seen the worst of him. Shit Billy knows about, but hasn’t seen. Hasn’t really lived it, the way Dot had to live it, and maybe that’s why Gator’s been fucking everything up. 

Maybe he’s trying to see once and for all whether or not someone who isn’t trauma bonded to him will stay once they see him for what he really is.

"I know I'm fucked up, alright? I know I got a long way to go before I'm anything close to the kinda sub Billy deserves.” He tries to shrug off the admission like the words aren’t sending pain twisting inside him like a knife.

But Dot, perceptive as always, cups Gator's face, turning him back to meet her gentle gaze. "Oh honey... Is that what this is about? You want Billy to collar you?"

Gator's breath hitches. Hearing it stated so plainly sends a jolt through him, equal parts longing and terror. He jerks away from Dot's touch, arms wrapping defensively around himself.

"No! I mean... Fuck, I don't know," he stammers, the words tangling on his tongue.

Dot is quiet for a long moment, letting his confession settle heavily between them. When she speaks again, her tone is thoughtful.

"Have you talked to Billy about this? About wanting his collar?"

Gator barks out a harsh laugh. "No. No fuckin' way. He'd probably laugh in my face if I did.”

Dot's brow furrows, her eyes shadowed with concern as she clicks her tongue in admonishment. "I don’t believe you really think that for a second. That Billy would laugh at you for expressing your needs."

Gator's shoulders hunch, defensive. He keeps his gaze fixed resolutely on the mixing bowl in the sink, watching the dregs of batter slowly dissolve under the running tap. The sweet scent of vanilla and butter hangs heavy in the air, incongruously cheerful.

"I didn't say I needed it," he mutters. "I'm just sayin'... a guy like me askin' for a collar. It's funny right? Like, I’m not some needy bitch who needs a collar to keep from dropping, and I don’t need Billy thinking he gets to boss me around more than he already does. Guy’s an absolute control freak."

"Uh-huh and you love it. I've seen the two of you together. The way Billy is with you... It's special. He'd move heaven and earth to make you happy. To give you what you need." Dot says. Her voice is soft but sure.

Gator swallows thickly, his eyes stinging. He blinks rapidly, determined not to let the tears building behind his lids fall. "Sure. Why hasn’t he done it then? I’d put that shit down in two seconds, but he hasn’t even tried. Y’know?"

And the reason why is obvious. Yeah, there’s the fact that Gator doesn’t need a collar, but even if he wanted one he’s too much work, too damaged.

Dot sighs heavily, like he said the last part out loud.

"Honestly Honey, I think you should think about it from his perspective. With the way you talk about it... He may not realize how much this would mean to you. Billy does a good job, making sense of what’s going on in that squirrel head of yours but he’s not superman. Talk to him.”

Gator grunts noncommittally. Because hell no. He will not be begging his dom to collar him any time soon thanks, but he doesn’t want her to worry either. 

Dot says she has to get Scotty home in time to start dinner and he follows her out to the front door where Scotty is waiting with Dot's purse and her school bag. He sees them off with a wave and a promise to attend some talent show at Scotty’s school next week. Dot gives him a kiss on the cheek, urges him to talk to Billy one more time and reminds him that her mother-in-law knows the president, and really can get Billy thrown in the gulag if he really does laugh in Gator’s face.

And then he’s alone. Alone with his thoughts. Which is frankly the best way to be. Gator can think much more clearly about this now that Dot’s not here, reminding him of the past and making him feel weaker than he actually is. He can totally still salvage this situation. He’ll just make the cake really impressive. Like those 3D ones that look like real shit? Billy loves to chill with him on the weekend and watch that show where people try and guess which random item is cake or not. Gator’s usually tied up, plugged or gagged when that happens so his memories are a little hazy - but it doesn’t look that hard. It’s just cake right?

When the timer goes off Gator brings the cake out of the oven.

He whips out his phone and starts scrolling through cake decorating videos on YouTube, determined to find something suitably impressive. His eyes light up when he spots a tutorial for a realistic 3D surfboard cake, uploaded by some fruit calling himself Barry Bakes. He doesn’t really want to take advice from some dude with pink hair, a full face of makeup, wearing a sparkly crop top with the word TWINK encrusted on the front, but the cake is undeniably badass.

"Alright, let's do this," Gator mutters, cracking his knuckles. He fast forwards through the beginning of the video, impatient to get to the good stuff.

First step - carving the cakes into a surfboard shape. Easy enough. Gator grabs a serrated knife and starts hacking away at the layers, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. Crumbs fly everywhere as he saws off uneven chunks. When he's done, he steps back to survey his work. It...sort of looks like a surfboard. If you squint. And tilt your head to the side.

Next up - the "ocean" frosting. Gator mixes a batch of blue buttercream, dumping in what is probably way too much food coloring, but whatever at least he softened the butter without blowing up the microwave this time.

Gator continues to follow along with Barry Bakes' tutorial, growing increasingly frustrated as each step seems to go awry. The blue buttercream frosting he mixed up is a garish turquoise color from the excessive food dye. It's also too thin and runny, dripping off the cake in gloopy rivulets.

He blames Barry, that fucking fruit, because if he weren’t so hell bent on turning everything into some kinda innuendo maybe Gator could actually concentrate on what he is doing!

"Shit shit shit," Gator grumbles under his breath, frantically trying to smooth the messy frosting over the lopsided surfboard shape he carved. It's a losing battle. The cake looks like a melted smurf.

Next, Barry cheerfully pipes delicate white frosting swirls and curls to create realistic seafoam on his perfectly smooth blue surfboard. Reminding the audience that big tips are better for piping, and everybody loves a good pipe.

Gator glares at the screen. His own piping bag is loaded with frosting that's somehow both too stiff and too drippy at the same time. When he tries to pipe, it comes out in sad, deflated spurts. He can only imagine what Barry would have to say about that.

"Motherf-!" Gator bites off the curse, chucking the piping bag down on the counter. This was a stupid idea. He's no baker, who was he kidding? He should've just bought Billy a damn gift card like a normal person.

Dejected, Gator slumps against the counter, hanging his head. Failure churns in his gut, sharp and nauseating. He can't give this monstrosity to Billy. He just can’t. Can’t bear to watch him try to hide his disappointment.

Frustrated and embarrassed, Gator gives up on trying to salvage the cake. In a fit of pique, he grabs a spatula and starts roughly shaping the blue frosted mess, not even bothering to smooth it out anymore. He carves angry slashes and gouges into the cake's surface with the edge of the spatula.

Before he even fully realizes what he's doing, the cake has taken on a new, crude shape under his hands - a lumpy, misshapen hand with the middle finger extended in an unmistakable gesture of "fuck you".

Gator steps back, breathing hard, and stares at his handiwork. The hand is far from anatomically correct, with uneven sausage-like fingers and a palm that curves at an odd angle. Globs of sticky frosting cling to the digits in gloopy turquoise clumps. The raised middle finger lists slightly to the side, like it's too heavy to hold itself up properly.

It's possibly the ugliest cake Gator has ever seen. So ugly it crosses the line twice and becomes perversely impressive in its sheer awfulness. A surprised, slightly unhinged laugh bubbles up from his chest as he takes it in.

This is what he has to show for his efforts. This fuck-ugly, lewd gesture of a cake, cobbled together from the dregs of his failure. It suits him.

“Yeah don’t know what the fuck else I expected.” Gator grumbles, despondent. He goes to the fridge to fetch a beer and tabs it open roughly, determined to drink thoughts of the stupid cake away. 

He’s not crying over cake like some lame ass. It’s whatever. It’ll probably still taste good, and if Billy doesn’t like it he can throw it in the trash. They’ll order a pizza or something and Gator will ride him till his dick goes numb and call it a night. Happy birthday.

Gator stomps to the bedroom he and Billy share and pulls out the trunk where he keeps his hunting gear from under the bed, because it’s been awhile since he polished his knives and that always helps lift his mood. He takes the trunk out to the living room and gets to work. Ques up his workout playlist on his phone and connects it to the TV so he can put it on blast.

It helps a little. Allows him time not to think. But the time gets away from him, because he doesn’t even hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. 

Billy's entrance is marked by the faint scrape of his boots against the hardwood floor as he turns the corner into the living room. He pauses briefly, taking in the scene before him—Gator, surrounded by an array of gleaming knives, his trunk spilling open on the coffee table, and the ear splitting rifts of heavy metal blaring from the television speakers.

A faint smile tugs at Billy's lips as the dom sets down his bag and sheds his leather jacket, revealing the broad contours of his chest hugged by a tight white T-shirt. The room is thick with the scent of metal and leather, a comforting familiarity that wraps around Billy like a second skin. He approaches Gator slowly, noiselessly, his gaze fixed not on the array of blades but on the man holding them as gently as baby chicks.

Billy casts a long shadow across the coach and Gator finally notices him. He jumps up, fumbling the knife in his hands which clatters to the floor. The music crescendos, a dramatic backdrop to the moment. Gator lowers the volume, and whips around to glare at Billy who laughs at the fright he gave him.

“Hey, Baby Gay.”

“Don’t call me that!” Gator snaps. “And don’t sneak up on me. I was like, this close to killing you!”

“Oh?” Billy arches a mocking brow. “Probably shouldn’t have dropped the knife then.”

“Haha. Very funny asshole. You’re lucky I did,” Gator grumbles in reply, bending down to pick up the fallen knife. “You know how sharp one of these babies are? With one o’ these I can cut through the shell on a coconut just like that.”

He flicks his wrist to demonstrate the ease with which he could peel Billy’s flesh off, and Billy gives him this look - like Gator is just fucking adorable - and it’s god damn condescending, is what it is. But it also makes the back of Gator’s neck tingle with awareness, and his dick try to get hard. So yeah.

It’s probably a good thing that Billy’s so distracted anyway. Because swearing at his dom is firmly against their rules on account of the fact that Gator uses it as some kinda defense mechanism to keep Billy at arms length.

Or that’s what Billy said anyway when he made the stupid rule. Gator doesn’t make the rules here, he just follows them.

“I’ll count myself lucky then. I think I’ll get a beer. You want one killer?” Billy asks, already on his way to the kitchen. 

FUCK! The Kitchen. Gator remembers too late that he forgot to clean up and do something with that awful cake and scampers after him.

Billy strides into the kitchen before Gator can stop him.

His stomach knots as Billy pauses, his gaze landing on the misshapen dessert surrounded by strewn icing bags, crumbs and powdered sugar. Slowly a grin spreads across Billy's face, and blue eyes sparkle as he turns to look at Gator, where he lingers hesitantly in the kitchen doorway.

"Is this cake trying to tell me something?" he teases, amusement rich in his voice. He leans forward slightly to inspect the cake more closely. "Is this your way of telling me you don’t want to sixty-nine later, or is it a failed science experiment? Hard to tell."

Gator feels heat rush to his face, embarrassment mixed with irritation bubbling in his chest. He knows Billy is just poking fun, yet it stings, tapping into that deep-seated insecurity instilled by years under his father's critical eye.

"Scotty was here with Dot and it gave us something to do. That’s all," Gator mumbles defensively, his words sharper than intended. Then, unable to stop the words from tumbling out recklessly, he adds, "Just thought it would be nice to share, but you don’t have to have any if you’re just going to be an asshole."

As soon as the words are out, Gator regrets them. Swearing at Billy is one thing, but lying to him breaks one of their most cardinal rules. It’s not just about respect; it’s about trust.

Billy’s expression shifts subtly; the playful light in his eyes dims as he adopts a more serious demeanor. He closes the distance between them with measured steps. "Gator," he says softly yet firmly, "That’s the second time you’ve pulled that tonight. Watch it.”

Gator snaps his mouth shut and fumes silently, hanging his head. God, Billy sounds so disappointed in him and it’s worse than he even imagined.He wants to puke.

“Did Scotty really make this?” Billy asks, and Gator can tell just from his tone that Billy already knows the answer, but he’s waiting for Gator to fess up to it. Gator shakes his head, hot tears stinging at his eyes that he blinks away as rapidly as he can.

“It’s for you.” He confesses, feeling a weight lift off his chest despite his overall misery. “I made it for your birthday, and you made fun of it.”

“I did.” Billy acknowledges too easily for Gators liking, but before he can say anything Billy goes on. “I could have handled that better. You’re right. But before we get to that, don’t you have anything to say to me?”

“No. Can’t think of anything.” Gator immediately denies, because how is it fair that he has to apologize for a little white lie when he only did it in the first place because he knew Billy was going to laugh. He knew it.

“Oh?” Billy’s face is impassive but he’s unhappy with Gators answer. It crackles in the air between them. “Do you need a reminder of the rules?"

Gator swallows hard, defiance battling with remorse inside him. He shrugs stiffly, avoiding Billy’s gaze. “Let's just forget it. I don’t need a lecture right now.”

“I’ll decide whether you do or not.” Billy’s tone is calm but carries an undeniable edge of authority—one that sends shivers down Gator’s spine and fear bolting through him all at once. “You know, I was looking forward to a nice night with my boy. Didn’t know I was coming home to a brat.”

Gator ignores the voice inside that screams for him to stop stop stop, barreling ahead in desperate angry defiance.

“Fuck you and what you want! Maybe I want a boyfriend who knows how to lighten up huh?  Sorry I’m not your perfect little bitch. Go cry about it to someone else!” 

His insides shake from the fear and lingering tension. Gator has just royally pissed off his dom. It’s in Billy’s eyes and the slow exhale of breath he takes. Punishment is inevitable. Gator longs to take it back but he can’t - can never take it back - and nothing will fix it. Or fix him. He’s all wrong inside and nothing works no matter how hard he tries.

But the thing is, Billy is safe.

Billy is angry and Gator is terrified and trembling but It’s nothing like it was before, in his father’s house. When the fear of a hand went bone deep and lived in his nightmares.

Gator loves Billy’s hands. They way they touch him. The way they hold him fast and glue him back together. They’ve never let him down those hands, which is why Gator is shaking like a leaf right now, terrified that they won’t reach for him.

He didn’t yell those things at Billy because he wants more space. It’s stupid, he knows, but he yelled them because he needs Billy to take over. He can’t stop himself running full speed ahead toward a punishment. Billy will straighten him out. He can trust Billy to know what to do even when he’s lost sense of which way he’s turned.

Gator’s dom considers him for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between them.

“Go in our room and get me a paddle.” Billy finally orders. Then, deliberately turning away, he starts rummaging through the kitchen cupboards - no doubt in his mind apparently that Gator will obey him.

Of course he does. Knees shaking, Gator stumbles out of the kitchen because now that he’s driven them to this point his skin is crawling with the need to make it right. He’s aching with the need to be good so bad his knees feel like jelly and it’s everything he can do just to follow the order. He wants to hit the floor - go to his belly and plead for his dom’s forgiveness but that’s not what Billy asked for.

He will be good. He’ll make Billy forget that mouthy idiot who talked back and clearly had shit for brains. He can be such a good boy. The best boy! Just give him a chance and he’ll come wagging his fucking tail.

It’s pathetic.

But it’s also a relief, when he returns to the kitchen a few minutes later with a paddle from their toy chest and sets it on the table and Billy acknowledges it with an approving nod.

“Good boy.” he says, and Gator’s knees buckle. He catches himself on the table, holds himself up with palms pressed firmly to the wood because Billy hasn’t told him to kneel yet. He forces himself to focus on Billy as the dom takes an empty glass vase inexplicably sitting next to a bag of rice on the table, and places it on the floor between their feet.

Gator watches warily as next, Billy grabs the open bag of rice and tilts it sending a stream of white grains cascading down onto the tile. He stops when the bag is empty and kneels briefly to stir through them gently with his fingers before straightening and meeting Gator’s eyes again.

“Pants off.” he orders, and Gator sucks in a breath. He doesn’t have to ask why, and doesn’t bother, cheeks hot with shame as he reaches for his belt and gets to work.

"On the floor," BIlly commands softly, when Gator is down to his underwear. The dom points to the pile of rice on the floor.

"Kneel."

And Gator folds like fucking cake batter, sweet sweet relief coursing through his veins. He puts himself at Billy’s feet where he belongs, where he wants to be and shudders, biting his lip to stop himself from begging for the dom’s touch. He hasn’t earned that. Doesn’t make him want it less, but he can be good for Billy and prove when he remembers how.

Billy picks up the paddle that Gator chose – sleek and dark, crafted from polished walnut. As Gator settles on his haunches, head lowered in submission.

“You picked the heavy one. My favorite.” Billy remarks. “That why you picked it, or do you just really need to feel it tonight? You can answer.”

“Want to feel it.” Gator licks his lips. “Want you to be happy.”

“Good boy.” Billy says, leaving Gator to wonder which he is pleased with: that Gator wants his ass beat so raw he can’t sit or Gator wanting those things because they please his dom?

“Alright Baby, are you listening? I want you to pick those up and put them in the vase. Count each one,” Billy instructs, motioning toward the scatter of grains. His voice is firm. It brooks no argument.

Gator looks down at the nearly indistinguishable mass of tiny grains and feels a rush of frustration. "All of them?" His voice is a mix of incredulity and unease. What if he can’t do it? What if he can’t be good and Billy is disappointed in him again?

“Every last one Baby boy," Billy confirms with an implacable nod. “Don’t think about it. It’s not your job right now to think. Just do what I ask you to do. Can you do that?”

Gator takes a deep breath, steadies himself on the sound of Billy’s voice and nods. He can do that. He can follow Billy’s instructions. He doesn’t have to worry about ho much rice there is or whether he can even find it all. That’s not his to worry about. Not his place. He just has to listen. 

He reaches out shakily to touch the closest grain, his voice barely audible as he starts, “One… two… three…” His fingers tremble slightly; counting each grain feels like an impossible task. But Billy never sets him up for failure - not the way his dad used to. Billy doesn’t ask him to do things he’s not capable of just to fail. He asks Gator for things he knows he can do, and if he fails anyway it’s because Billy wants to be there when he breaks. He won’t leave Gator laden with shame and misery that will eat away at his insides.

As Gator focuses on the rice, Billy steps behind him. Without warning, he brings the paddle down gently but firmly across Gator's backside. The sound cracks sharply in the air, followed by another count from Gator's lips that judders from the impact.

“Four… five…”

Billy administers each swat in time with Gator’s counting—methodical and paced.

The pain is not harsh but it accumulates with each slap—the stinging warmth spreading across Gator’s skin contrasting starkly with the coolness of the floor beneath his knees and hands. Tears prickle at Gator’s eyes as he continues—his voice breaks around “twenty-nine… thirty…” 

It’s more than just physical pain; it's a release valve for all he’s been holding inside. Every impact sends ripples through him, but it’s not just his body. It does something to his soul too that he can’t explain. Something he no longer wants to deny.

“Let it out,” Billy murmurs close to his ear between paddles—a soothing contrast to the sharp swats.

“Thirty-one… thirty-two…” The numbers start blurring together as sobs hitch in his throat. The task which seemed merely frustrating at first now feels poignant— slowly, bit by bit, Gator cleans up the mess on the floor, and swat by swat Billy cleans up the mess inside. He doesn’t hit Gator after every grain, that would be excessive. He takes breaks at interment periods, spacing them out so that it’s impossible for Gator to try and guess when he might start up again. The fresh sting whenever he does is brutal, worse in some ways than if he had just continued until Gator’s cheeks were numb.

“Two-hundred and ten…” 

Billy pauses, placing his hand gently on Gator's shoulder as he surveys his progress.

"You’re doing well," he encourages softly, and that little praise, that nothing bit of touch, is enough to break him. Gator chokes on a sob, hot tears spilling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to hold them in.

“Keep going.” Billy reminds him and Gator nods emphatically, tears dripping off his chin, because he hadn’t meant to stop. He was doing so well. Billy said so. He’ll never stop. Not until Billy tells him too.

With shaking hands Gator pinches grains of rice between his fingers and continues to count aloud between sobs and hits from the paddle—each number spoken is more than just an acknowledgement of rice grains; but of his submission to Billy. 

Billy’s little murmurs of praise and sounds of pleasure make him feel high. Like his head is floating in the clouds.

He loves subspace. Wishes it were easier for him to reach and he didn’t have to be taken down so hard. But finally he feels the familiar edges of it and the tears fall faster as he lets himself go.

Gator sinks into the feeling of weightlessness as it rises up to take him. Billy maintains a rhythm that is both firm and considerate, attuned to Gator's responses—his body language, his breathing, his blown out pupils and slurred speech. 

This is no longer about punishment. It’s a guided breakdown.

As Gator’s cries begin to subside into quiet murmurs and his ability to speak leaves him, Billy lessens the intensity of his strikes until he stops altogether. 

“That’s enough. You were beautiful Baby.” Billy halts Gator’s hands woozly still trying to lift rice and the sub sags against him. “You’re always so good for me baby boy.”

He brushes his fingertips along Gator's heated skin, tracing the raised welts along his buttocks and thighs softly, and making him shiver. Gator’s mouth stretches in a dopey lopsided smile, beaming from inside and out. He soars. Works his mouth to ask Billy to do it again - he can take more - but can’t get past the mushmouth.

The room is heavy with the scent of sweat and leather, the only sound now the quiet thud of Billy’s heart and Gator’s shaky breaths.

Hands roam over Gator’s back and legs, soft, soothing caresses that glide over his flushed skin. Billy leans close, his breath warm against the nape of Gator’s neck, whispering reassurances that float through his head like feathers.

The shift is gentle, a tender transition as Gator's breathing evens out and his trembling subsides. Billy’s hands are confident, knowing exactly where to touch to bring Gator back from the intense high of subspace. With each calculated stroke on his back and whisper against his ear, Gator feels the ground slowly come back under him, the weightlessness dissipating as reality takes hold once more.

Billy finally eases back, giving space for Gator to gather himself in the afterglow of their session. He cups Gator’s face tenderly, wiping away the trails left by tears with his thumbs. 

“Talk to me, Gator. What’s been eating at you?”

The use of his real name pulls Gator further out of his dazed state. He blinks slowly, focusing on Billy’s concerned face, grounding himself. “I... I’m scared,” he admits, voice still hoarse.

“Scared of what?” Billy probes gently, petting the long side of Gator’s hair now.

“I’m scared I’m not enough for you,” he confesses, dropping his gaze to where their fingers are entwined. He knows the words will hurt Billy. Make his dominant frown in the middle of his brow and start thinking of all the ways Neil Hargrove used to tell him he was a waste of space - too broken and wrong to ever take proper care of a sub. Nothing could be further from the truth. But if there’s one thing Gator knows it’s daddy issues and how they can haunt you.

But to his surprise Billy’s expression doesn’t change. He just nods quietly, still petting Gator’s hair. “Why would you think that?”

Gator hesitates, lips parting but no sound coming out. He swallows hard and shrugs.

“Listen to me Baby.” Billy says after a moment, fisting Gator’s hair between his fingers and tugging until he brings his eyes up. “You’re what I want. You. Even when you’re being a greasy dirtbag leaving your shit everywhere and blaring your candyass music.”

“Hey, lay off my Skyfire man.” Gator can’t help but smile, because Billy’s lips have curved up in amusement and they’ve had this argument a dozen times or more and it just makes him feel so good, that Billy pays attention to which albums he gravitates to depending on his moods. “They aren’t candy. Fractal is the best album produced since Reign In Blood.”

“Why are we talking about fucking Slayer, or Skyfire, right now when Ride the Lightning exists?” Billy growls, tugging on Gator’s hair until his scalp stings just the sweetest bit. “I should beat your ass again just for that.“

“Yeah. If you wanna.” he pants, eager, and Billy’s smiling mouth kisses him, hot and hungry. Billy licks into Gator’s mouth, possessive and sweeping, until he whimpers. The dom nips at his plump lower lip with a grin before pulling back.

“Don’t think you realize how sore you’re gonna be when you come down off this high babe.” He says. “But you heard me right? When I said I loved you? Cause I do. I wasn’t about to lose you before over shitty timing, and I’d never let anything take you from me now. Not Dot. Not him. Not anyone or anything. Okay?”

Gator shivers, but even the mention of his father can’t intrude on the blanket of safety Billy has woven around him, the sure way his gaze holds Gator and rings with truth.

“Yeah.” he sighs, breathless.

“Yeah?”

But it’s not good enough, according to Billy’s tightening grip. And fuck that feels good. Gator is suddenly aware of how hard he is in his briefs, but it’s strangely distant. Like he’d be happy to just sit here hard for another hour or more, letting Billy play with him.

“Yes Billy.”

“Good boy.” Billy's voice is soft, infused with a warmth that seeps into Gator's bones, coaxing his tight muscles to loosen.The room around them—their living room with its deep blue walls and plush gray couches— disappears momentarily, focusing all existence on their intimate bubble.

Billy lifts Gator’s chin so their eyes meet. "Nah nah, stay up for me Baby boy. I need you present." His thumbs brush under Gator’s eyes, rubbing warmth into his skin while he waits for Gator’s eyes to focus. "I think it’s time I show you something," Billy continues, when Gator’s gaze is clear once more.

"In the bedroom," Billy instructs softly, "In my sock drawer, there's a small white box. I want you to go and bring it to me."

Gator feels a jolt run through him. It shocks him rather unpleasantly back to reality, like he’s been dropped from a short height.

“Wait what?” he tries to ask, tries to think, because Billy can’t be hinting at what his muddled brain is trying to convince him he is. Can he?

“Shh. Don’t ask questions.” Billy warns. “And absolutely no peeking either. Just go get it.”

Gator’s movements are slow and automatic as he stands and makes his way down the hallway. This isn’t happening. Well obviously it is, he is on his way to their bedroom to open Billy’s drawer - which is strictly hands off unless he has permission - and get some mysterious box. But it’s probably like some new toy they can enjoy together. Maybe Billy went out and finally got those chains Gator found on that web store, the ones with the studs that dig into your wrists the more you struggle? He’s going to feel so owned wearing those. It’s gonna be great.

He’s convinced himself down off the ledge by the time he gets to the bedroom, but his heart hasn’t gotten the memo because it starts going double time in his chest as he reaches for Billy’s drawer. It slips open smoothly under his fingers which are trembling slightly. From fear or excitement, he isn't sure.

Inside lies a small white box, unassuming in its simplicity yet Gator just stands there and stares at it like it’s a bomb for a full minute before lifting it from its nest among Billy's socks. The weight of potential futures presses down upon him as he clutches the box in his hands.

He should be a good boy. He can just turn and go back into the living room and - Fuck it! Gator’s not kidding anyone. Least of all himself.

Before he knows it, Gator has torn off the ribbon and lifted the lid on the box to peek inside.

And there lies a beautiful black leather collar, its surface smooth and flawless except for the bold engraving of 'GATOR' studded across it in shining silver letters.

Gator stares at it in disbelief, eyes flooding with fresh tears. His heart trips over itself in his chest, thrumming against his ribcage like a caged bird desperate for flight.

The room is silent except for the sound of Gator's shallow, ragged breathing. Gator runs his fingers over the cool, shining letters that form his name, the studs scraping against the pads of his fingers sending tingles through him.

He lifts the collar, feeling its weight in his hands. It's heavier than it looks. He brings it closer, inhaling deeply—the leather smells rich and earthy. It’s the good shit. Supple and strong enough to take some serious pull, and yet the inside of the collar is lined with soft velvet, ensuring his comfort.

Something white resting on the blue lining of the box catches Gator’s eye. It’s a folded card, its crisp edge nearly taller than the sides of the box. Gently plucking it up, Gator flicks it open and scans, eyes widening at the one word message inside.

Peeker!

An unexpected burst of laughter escapes him as he wipes away tears. The simple word on the card speaks volumes, but so does Billy’s presence in their bedroom doorway where Gator finds him leaning when he looks up.

Billy is gazing at Gator with an intense mixture of emotions.

"Do you like it?" he asks, and there’s something like worry there. As if Gator might actually have shit for brains and do all that stupid stuff he’d told Dot he’d do back when he was scared shitless. All because he’d convinced himself that Billy wasn’t true - that he’d disappear like every other good thing has.

“Yeah.” Gator sniffs through his red nose, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. “Shit man. How long have you had this?”

“Since right after your birthday actually.” Billy confesses with an easy shrug. Like he isn’t just standing there admitting that he bought a collar for Gator and has been hanging onto it since September.

“Billy! It’s fucking March!”

“I know! I thought if I forbid you from going through my drawer eventually you would. I know what you’re like.” Billy said. Meaning of course he knows that no matter what, Gator eventually messes up.

But Billy says, “I guess I underestimated what a good boy I’ve got, huh?” with this soft look in his eye, like he’s looking at the best sight in the world and not his fuckup boyfriend standing in the middle of their bedroom in his tighty-whities.

Gator might be melting a little, which is why he has to sit down heavily on the bed before he crumples.

“Hey Billy?”

“Yeah, Babe?”

“I’m your sub…” Gator begins and Billy laughs, the sound loud and full of joy instead of mockery.

“No shit?”

“Come on, Billy please. Don’t be mean.” Gator whines, lifting the hand still holding the collar wordlessly and Billy finally takes pity on him and crosses the room to take it from him. Gator trembles, straightening up and bending his neck a little to give Billy room as he claps it on. He gasps a little, shuddering when Billy leans back and the heavy weight settles against his skin.

"You’re my sub," Billy repeats with finality."With or without this. But when you wear this, I want you to remember," he pauses for effect, letting his fingers softly caress down Gator’s neck and over the dark leather. "You’re my gift. The love you give me, makes me Gator, and I thank whatever lucky stars I’ve got that you came into my life when you did. Okay?"

A simple nod is all Gator manages in response; it’s all that’s needed. The smile that spreads across Billy's face is radiant—as if a piece has clicked into place within him too.

Carefully, lovingly, Billy cradles his chin and pulls him into a kiss.

It tastes sweet… like buttercream icing.

[starksbabie]

The Ink That Binds Us - Chapter 1

Next

Summary: Omega reader moves to Stark County, ND after her grandmother dies and she inherits her house. She gets a job at a local diner where she meets charismatic asshole alpha, Deputy Gator Tillman. Will his rough around-the-edge ways push her away before she even knows that he’s her perfect match?

Tags/Warnings: Soulmates AU, A/B/O, eventual smut, 18+ mdni, mentioned unwanted touching, soulmates have matching tattoos, Gator Tillman (he’s his own warning).

Word Count: 2.4k

“We were just two broken souls trying to fix one another… Somehow I ended up with a piece of you and you, me.” — Evy Michaels

- 10 years earlier -

You wake up and stretch, your nest is cozy and warm around you. The blankets, pillows, and stolen clothes from the people important in your life are arranged just so. Slowly, you sit up and climb out, headed to the bathroom before you head to school. On your way past the vanity you freeze in your tracks. There on your right bicep is a large tattoo. 

When a soulmate permanently marks their skin, their other half also receives an identical mark. You gasp and cover your mouth, tears forming as you inspect closer. It’s the letters LOL in dark colors, and the O is clearly made up of barbed wire. 

Why would your match do this to you? Why would your alpha mark up your pretty skin with such a crude tattoo? You don’t know who your alpha is, but you're upset, and this has left a sour taste in the back of your throat. 

- Present Day -

Gator walks into the diner pulling the door open with gusto, knowing he’s late to meet Roy. It seems he’s always late lately. He slides himself into the booth across from his father and sags into the cracked and creaking leather. 

“What kept ya?” Roy asks, not even bothering to look up at his son from his paper as he takes a sip from his coffee. 

“Was dealing with that… uh, assignment you gave me.” He smiles at his father as the waitress sets down a mug, and begins to fill it up for him. 

“Would you like anything else?” You look at the deputy, your hip cocked as you wait for his response, setting the carafe on the edge of the table. 

“You’re new.” Gator looks the new waitress up and down, he knows all the staff in the diner. He eats here more than he eats at home. 

You nod and pull out your notepad. 

“Mhmm just moved here recently.” You pull out a pink pen, tapping the end of it against your plush lower lip. 

He tries to scent you and finds himself a little disappointed when he can’t pick up any trace of you. Damn scent blockers, he’ll never understand why you omegas use them. 

Meanwhile, you’re taken aback by this man’s strong scent. It’s almost as if he’s intentionally giving it off, trying to fill the air around you. Notes of palo santo and sage wrap you in warmth, and nostalgia while still being refreshing, exciting, and new. Your heart begins to race, and you’re nervous that these two alphas sitting in front of you are able to hear it beating out of your chest. You almost miss his order as he asks for what he wants. 

“Western omelet. Bacon and white toast.” He sits back and looks at his father as you make your notes and lift the carafe heading back to the kitchen. He can’t help himself watching the way your hips move as you walk away. 

Roy reaches over and slaps his son upside the head, “If your eye causes you to sin son, pluck it out.” 

Gator immediately drops his gaze and keeps it on the table when you deliver his and Roy’s food. 

He mumbles a soft, “Thank you, miss.” 

Having noted the lack of a mating mark on your neck when you originally took his order. 

You come and refill coffee and check on them, before setting the check on the table. At the bottom you’ve written Thank You in your loopy handwriting, followed by a smiley face. 

You bid them both good day before walking away. The smell of palo santo and sage lingering around you for the rest of the day. 

 The next day you’re leaning against the cool bricks outside the diner, trying to take some deep breaths and slow your heart rate, when some black steel toe boots enter your line of sight. You slowly look up the khaki-clad legs, your breath catching when you see a gun seated in a holster wrapped snugly around their thigh. That’s when the scent hits you. Palo santo and sage, your eyes snap up to meet the honey-colored ones of the alpha you served yesterday morning. 

“You hiding out here?” 

His eyes aren’t the only thing that’s like honey, the timbre of his voice pours over you like a warm drink on a cold winter’s morning, soothing your heckles that were raised from the alphas inside.

“I’m not hiding from anything.” You snap, your voice harsh. 

Gator’s not used to being spoken to like that, certainly not by an omega. He draws himself to his full height and steps closer. 

“Then what’s got you so riled up, little one?” 

He gently tugs on the hem of your sleeve, and his eye catches on the ink hidden there. 

“What’s that?” He asks, as he goes to lift your sleeve but you slap your hand over your bicep stopping him. 

“Don’t touch me! You alphas are all the same. You don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself.” 

That stops him dead in his tracks. His voice gets low and serious. 

“Who touched you?” 

You fix your sleeve, making sure the embarrassing tattoo is completely covered, “it’s not important.” 

“It is to me, I’m the law. It’s my job to protect.” 

You notice he doesn’t finish that statement but don’t say anything, your eyes dropping back to the ground. 

“Who touched you?” His voice drops even lower, this time into his alpha register, the one that makes it hard for you to resist, your omega hindbrain begging to submit to him. 

When you’re still silent, he’s slightly impressed. Most omegas he knows submit as soon as they hear that tone. 

“Don’t make me ask again.” 

“The alphas sitting in the corner booth… one grabbed my ass as I walked by. Told me I should be raising pups, not working.” The words rush out of you even as you try to hold them back, sometimes you hate your designation. 

A growl rumbles low in Gator’s chest as he stalks into the diner. He spots them almost immediately, two alphas and a beta sitting in the back corner booth by the entrance to the kitchen. You follow after him, nervous about what this hot-headed alpha is going to do. 

He slams his hand down on the table, effectively shutting them up. 

“If I ever hear about one of you touching another omega without their permission again. We’re going to have problems. Do you understand me?” He glared, at the three men. 

“Yeah? I don’t see your mark on her pretty little matting gland. So why don’t you mind your own business?” The biggest of the alphas says, straightening up. 

Gator opens his jacket to reveal his badge and rests his free hand on his holster, the alphas pale as they realize who they’re talking to. 

“I said, do you understand me?” He repeats. 

They nod and throw some cash on the table, pushing past him to leave, not even casting you a glance as they make their hasty retreat. 

You look at him, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

He straightens up and turns to look at you, “How about a little gratitude? If anyone else bothers you, you come straight to me.” 

You look at him, and after a long pause you nod, even though it wasn’t a question. 

“Good.” 

He grabs a seat at the counter and looks up at the specials board.  

“Can I get a Coke and a burger? Fries too…” He trails off, realizing he never got your name. 

“Y/N.” You supply, smiling a little as you write his order on the ticket. 

“Y/N. That’s pretty. I’m Gator.” He sits back as you ring in his order and slide his drink across the counter. 

“Gator… like the animal?” You ask, looking at him as if he’s playing a joke on you, and at any minute, he’s going to bust out laughing because you believed him. 

“Yeah, just like that.” He smiles and pulls a business card from his pocket handing it to you. 

You hold it in your hands and inspect it. Sure enough, there in the center, it says ‘Gator Tillman’ Deputy Sheriff. 

You smile and nod, sliding the card into your apron pocket.

“Well, alrighty, Deputy.” 

After lunch, Gator spends most of his afternoon sitting at the counter talking to you between customers. 

You find yourself rolling your eyes as he makes terrible jokes, mostly at the expense of the other patrons. 

As your shift ends, you clock out and wash your hands, drying them as he watches you. 

“How are you getting home?” Gator asks as he stands, following you outside. 

You kick your feet in the dirt a bit. 

“It’s not that far from here. I just walk.”  

“Let me give you a lift. C’mon.” He turns and heads to his truck without waiting for your answer. 

You freeze, watching as he jumps up into the cab of his truck. 

“C’mon, it’s too late for you to be walking home. Get in.” He doesn’t leave you any room for argument. 

You hesitate a moment longer before walking around and climbing into the passenger seat of his truck. His scent is so much more intense in this confined space. You find yourself a bit dizzy as you buckle yourself in, and hesitantly begin to give him directions to your house. 

Gator considers himself a pretty good officer. After a moment, he glances over and watches your face as you guide him through the turns towards your home. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks, relaxing back into the seat, and sucking on his vape, being careful to blow the sweet-smelling smoke away from you. 

“It’s just,” you anxiously rub at your matting gland, “I’m an unmarked omega taking an alpha to my house…” You trail off, your skin heating in embarrassment. 

He smirks and takes the last turn onto your street. 

“Yea? Well, I mean… you don’t have to be unmarked for long.” He drapes his arm over the back of your seat, and suddenly it feels as if the temperature in the car shot up 20 degrees. 

You let out a small squeaky noise at which Gator laughs. 

“Relax, I’m just kidding. I’m just dropping you off at home. No funny business, I mean… unless…” he looks you up and down, his gaze lingering on your thighs. 

You let out an indignant sound, “Gator!” 

He laughs and turns into the driveway of the little 1950s ranch you call home. 

You grab your bag and climb out of the truck, breathing in the fresh air clearing your head. He leans across the center console of his truck watching as you walk up the steps to your door. 

He rolls down the window and hollers after you.

“See you soon!” 

He says it with such sincerity that you shake your head and roll your eyes fondly, looking back at him. 

“Goodbye, Gator!” You wave before slipping into the house, locking the door behind you.

You peek out the front window and watch as he takes his time backing down the driveway and pulling away. 

That evening, after taking a shower and changing into pajamas, you flit around your kitchen making yourself something to eat while you relax in front of the TV. 

You turn on the sink to fill your glass when you hear a sound coming from the cabinet below. You frown and open the oak-colored door, gasping when you see water spraying from one of the pipes. 

You quickly turn off the sink, but unfortunately, that doesn’t stop the water from spreading across the bottom of the cabinet and out onto the floor. 

“Shit!” You try to block the flow of water with your hands, but it’s no use. 

You panic, not sure what to do, but you know you need help. Then in a moment of clarity, you remember Gator’s card in your apron pocket. You grab your apron off the hook by the door digging in the pocket before snatching your phone off the counter. You call him in a bit of a daze, watching as the puddle on your floor grows. 

“Pick up, pick up!” You mumble under your breath. 

“Hello?” 

His voice is deeper, gruff over the phone. You feel guilty for inconveniencing him, but you really didn’t have anyone else to call. 

“Gator..?” 

“Y/N? What is it? You okay?” You hear some shuffling, on his end of the line. 

“Um… no? My sink is leaking everywhere, and I don’t know what to do. I… I didn’t have anyone else I could call. I’m sorry.” 

He runs his fingers through his hair, a little surprised at your admission. 

“I’ll be right there. Okay?” 

“Okay. Thank you.” You relax a little, knowing that help is coming. 

You hang up and run to the linen closet grabbing out towels, in the meantime. Your ears perk up when you hear a car pulling up outside only a few minutes later. You run to the door and pull it open. Smiling wide when you see Gator’s truck in your drive. 

He puts his truck in park and gets out, grabbing a toolkit from the truck bed before heading to your front door. He looks good in dark wash jeans and a white shirt, his hair soft no longer styled from the day. 

“Thank you again for coming, I don’t know what else I would have done.” 

He hops up your steps and steps into your home and the first thing he notices is your scent. It permeates every inch of your space, fresh greens, mimosa buds, and beechwood wash over him, fruity and floral. 

The second thing he notices stops him dead in his tracks. Your pajamas consist of shorts that show off your legs, something he’s sure to appreciate later, and a tank top. There on your arm, the mark that he’d noticed earlier, is his tattoo plain as day. Etched onto your skin. 

You are his soulmate.

Next

[metaldeputy]

If You're Not Into It, Just Say The Word by lemmerman

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson/Gator Tillman Additional Tags: Sexual Roleplay, Handcuffs, Blow Jobs, Praise Kink, Daddy Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Consent, Sexual Fantasy, Internalized Homophobia

Summary:

When Eddie comes home to find a familiar piece of paper at the bottom of the stairs, he knows he’s in for a surprise in the bedroom. What awaits him instead of his boyfriend Steve however, is a mysterious stranger who looks just like him but claims to be Gator Tillman, a deputy from North Dakota who wants to arrest Eddie for deviant behaviours. But maybe, if Eddie plays his cards right, he can use those deviant behaviours he’s so famous for to get himself out of jail free, and get himself off at the same time.

Short little blurb under the cut!

Eddie froze on the spot. "Sorry officer, I thought-" "How about you let me do the thinkin’, huh?" He slid his hand down his thigh and freed his gun, pointing it in Eddie's direction. It did look very realistic, almost to the point of uncomfortable. "Now, hands behind your head." Eddie did as he was told, interlocking his fingers. He gave Gator his most sympathetic look. "But officer, I'm a good boy, really." "Are you makin' fun of me?" Gator asked, stalking forward. "Because I can guarantee that makin' fun of me isn't gonna go the way you want. I'm a winner, and you're a loser – and that's just how it is." "Are you sure about that?" Eddie teased.

[metaldeputy]

sleaze by thisusernameisunavailable

@thisusernameisunavailable01

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Eddie Munson/Gator Tillman Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe, Bartender Eddie Munson, Top Eddie Munson, Boot Worship, First Time Blow Jobs, Wet & Messy, Coming In Pants, Loss of Virginity, Anal Sex, Gator getting fucked in his stupid backwards hat, Bottom Gator Tillman, Character Typical Homophobia, Gay Eddie Munson, Boot Humping, Multiple Orgasms, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Overstimulation, Barebacking, Rimming, Eddie Munson has a dick piercing, Cute Ending, Daddy Kink, Daddy Issues, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use

Summary:

In a weird turn of events, Eddie Munson ends up working in a bar at the edge of Stark County in 2018. A bar that's frequented by cops, creeps, and the son of the most formidable sheriff that Eddie's never heard of.

Short little blurb under the cut!

"Evening, Tillman. What brings you to my alleyway at this ungodly hour of the night in the middle of a snowstorm?" Storm was a strong word. There was barely anything clinging to the ground yet. The wind was picking up quick, though. And Eddie had already seen what wind could do in this type of environment. "I was just passin' through after handling a situation a few blocks down the county road...thought I smelled a dead skunk. Turns out, it's just you." "Huh? Oh, this? I found it." Eddie pointed to the dumpster behind him. "Right under there. Weird, ain't it?" Gator's pretty eyes narrowed. Eddie had to force his face to remain neutral. He was such a hopped up little bitch. Eddie knew a few things about causal substance users, seeing as he was one and sold to a whole lot of them-, he could picture Gator buying blow from him in an instant. He gave off the aura of a guy who acted like a hardass until it was actually time to throw hands.  Then his true self would show. A coddled little piss baby who didn't understand the word no. Like the type of asshole who frequented strip clubs just to shit on the dancers then get tossed out for fondling one of them. That sort of guy made Eddie sick. He certainly wasn't about to go down for one joint at the hands of the Baby Sheriff.  "You think I'm some kind of fucking idiot or somethin'?" "Well, yeah. Sorta."

[metaldeputy]

bathed in red and blue light by thisusernameisunavailable

@thisusernameisunavailable01

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Eddie Munson/Gator Tillman Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Abuse of Authority, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Bottom Eddie Munson, First Time Topping, Handcuffs, Gator Tillman Is His Own Warning, Misuse of goverment property?, They're fucking in a cop car

Summary:

Eddie gets taken into police custody over some weed. He never made it to booking, thanks to a deal he arranged with the Sheriff's son himself.

Short little blurb under the cut!

Eddie sat on Gator's thighs in the front seat. The angle was wrong. Everything was uncomfortable. From Eddie's knees shoved in between either side of the deputy's legs and the car's interior, to the way the steering wheel was in danger of poking Eddie consistently in the spine. It left them one position-, which would involve Eddie sitting right on top of Gator's dick. Although, Eddie knew he found Gator to be kind of hot. Insufferable, sure. Kind of a moron, definitely. But for whatever reason, he struck Eddie as somebody who didn't get laid a lot. Maybe it was the haircut. "Do you have lotion or anything in this bitch?" Eddie asked, looking wildly around at the messy interior of the cruiser. "For what?" Eddie shot him a withering look.

[metaldeputy]

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait by tellme_astory

Rating: Mature Relationship: Eddie Munson/Gator Tillman Additional Tags: Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Gator Tillman Is a Brat, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Kissing, Stranger Things / Fargo Crossover, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Crossover Pairings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gator Tillman has feelings for Eddie Munson, Gator Tillman Has Daddy Issues, Sexual Tension, Handcuffs, Microfic

Summary:

(Please read notes) A thousand thoughts race through Eddie’s head as he stares up at Gator, who’s got him caged against his mattress, looking down at him with ravenous eyes. For one thing, the deputy’s got gorgeous eyes that glint mischievously at him and it’s making his cock twitch. Another is Gator is cut with just enough brass and arrogance to be dangerous for Eddie. He can read it on his lips – the way they pull back into an overconfident smirk and he feels it radiating off his skin. It's like playing with fire. He sort of loves it.

Notes:

Welcome to my Eddie Munson / Gator Tillman collection of microfics that are meant to take place after my original work of fiction - "Your Ferocious Heart." You can read it here: [AO3] I'll be adding to this collection on a weekly basis. Enjoy. Kudos | Shares | Comments are always appreciated! Come find me at tellme_astory86 (IG) and @tellme-astory (Tumblr)

[metaldeputy]

Your Ferocious Heart by tellme_astory (@tellme-astory)

Rating: Mature Relationship: Eddie Munson/Gator Tillman Additional Tags: Gator Tillman is an asshole, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Slow Burn, Gator Tillman Has Daddy Issues, Stranger Things / Fargo Crossover, Crossover, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe, No Vecna (Stranger Things), no steve harrington, Gator has a heart though, Eventual Smut, Grinding, Hand Jobs

Summary:

Gator Tillman is the new deputy in Hawkins, Indiana and he’s got no patience for losers like drug dealer Eddie Munson. But when Gator becomes fixated on Eddie’s life he uncovers secrets within himself that are more than he bargained for.

Notes:

This work is 1000% inspired by the amazing art titled "Lean" by the incredible Jal00t. Check it out on Tumblr: [HERE] and follow / on IG @jal001.art Also, I was dying to challenge myself to write a Gator/Eddie crossover fic. Here it goes!

Short little blurb under the cut!

The dark-haired man turns slowly, and Gator catches the flirtatious way Eddie’s eyes twinkle, and the way his full lips pull into a wolfish smile as he looks at the man. His stomach does a weird flip flop as he watches the man lean in and kiss Eddie on the mouth. Eddie pulls back and smiles, opening the passenger door open for the man before closing it and rounding the van to the driver’s side wearing an obnoxious smirk. Gator’s mouth goes dry. The brake lights come on and the van pulls out of the lot. Gator presses harder into the side of the building and turns his head away as the headlights wash over him quickly before pulling out onto the road. For what seems like an eternity Gator stands there, his eyes wide, his breath a little labored. What the fuck did he just see? He stomach goes sour. He’s suddenly incredibly tired. So he decides to forget the beer and gets back into his truck and drives home. His mind spinning a little and his gut flaring with annoyance. “Oh yeah, I gotcha you now shitbird.” He mumbles to himself.

[metaldeputy]

Here Little Piggy by Inktastic1711

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Eddie Munson/Gator Tillman Additional Tags: Consensual Non-Consent, Rough Sex, Anal Sex, Face-Fucking, Face Slapping, Heavy BDSM, Handcuffs, spitting, Established Relationship, Aftercare, Object Insertion, Mean Dom Eddie Munson, police brutality in that the cop is the one who gets brutalized, remember kids, ACAB, even the cute pathetic ones, Age Difference

Summary:

“Alright, Officer Piglet,” Eddie drawls, “let me tell you how the rest of your night is going to go,” he punctuates with hard slaps across Gator's face, smirking at his whimpers, “I'm going to show you what men like me, do to little piggy boys like you,” he grabs the younger man's chin and forces him to look at him, “and if you're a good little piggy boy, I'll let you go wee, wee, wee on home. Understood?” Gator nods, bottom lip wobbling. “Excuse me?” “Yes, sir,” Gator whimpers out. His eyes are wet, and his bottom lip is bloody, cut on his teeth from Eddie's slap. “Mm. I guess that'll do. Back on your knees." When Gator finally rights himself, he finds himself eyelevel with a mouthwateringly threatening sight. Eddie is palming himself through his black pants, thick fingers with rings on them, and black nail polish. In his other hand he spins a knife. Gator’s knife. He didn’t even notice Eddie taking it off of him. His own cock twitches at the sight. Gator busts into Eddie's house to serve a warrant. You could say that Eddie gets the drop on him, but Gator is into it.

Notes:

Mind the tags loves! As always, please do not take sex practices or relationship advice from fanfiction. Shoutout to the discord for encouraging this <3

[starksbabie]

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Summary: Omega reader moves to Stark County, ND after her grandmother dies and she inherits her house. She gets a job at a local diner where she meets charismatic asshole alpha, Deputy Gator Tillman. Will his rough around-the-edge ways push her away before she even knows that he’s her perfect match?

Tags/Warnings: Soulmates AU, A/B/O, making out, building to smut, eventual smut, 18+ mdni, mentioned unwanted touching, soulmates have matching tattoos, Gator Tillman (he’s his own warning).

Word Count: 1.8k

It’s been three days.  

Three days since Gator saw that look of absolute betrayal on your face. He knows that he fucked up. He knows that he should have just told you he was your alpha when he realized, but he wanted you to come to him. To want him. To desire him. The way he desired you. 

He’s sitting outside the diner in his truck, keeping one eye on traffic, according to dispatch, the other eye focusing on the diner looking for any sign of you. He knows he should just go inside and say he’s sorry, and work on earning your forgiveness, but something’s holding him back. 

He groans and leans his head back against the headrest, gently banging it against the worn leather.  

“Why is she so difficult…?” He mutters to himself.

He’s still sitting in the parking lot an hour later, disposable vape drained completely, when your co-worker Julie clocks-out. She walks over to his truck and gently knocks on his window. 

“Deputy Tillman? If you’re waiting for her she’s not here today. She called in. Same as yesterday.” 

He gives the older woman a look, eyebrow raised. 

“I’m just watching for speeders ma’am. Have a nice night.” 

He dismisses her without so much as a second glance as he reaches for his vape only to toss it back on the seat next to him when he remembers it’s empty. As soon as the older woman is out of ear shot he slams his hand against the steering wheel. His mind racing a mile a minute as he figures out his next move. 

He starts his truck and heads for home. Racing around corners and revving his engine.

 Running into the pole barn, he grabs some tools he doesn’t keep in his regular tool bag in the truck bed. He radios dispatch to sign off for the night before he heads back towards town, back to your house. 

He pulls up and parks in front of your neighbor’s lawn, looking over at your house. The only light on in your house is one towards the back. So he’s quiet as he makes his way up your driveway. 

He tries the door on the side of your garage and is pleasantly surprised when he finds it locked. His alpha perks up, ‘good omega. Keeping safe.’

He grabs a metal card from his wallet and slips it between the door and the frame, popping the lock. He slips inside and closes the door behind him. He sets down his tool bag and looks at your little car. 

He spots your key hung on a hook and sighs, “Blossom… you were doing so good, but thank you. That’ll make this easier.” 

He snatches them up and cracks open your big garage door, before attempting to start your car. He listens to how it clicks and nods before popping the hood and getting to work. 

A little while later he tries again and smiles when it starts right up. It needs an oil change as well but he’ll take it into town for that. He doesn’t want to worry about the disposal. He wipes his hands down and locks everything up before walking up to your door. 

It’s pretty late but your light is still on so he doesn’t feel guilty when he knocks. 

You’ve been lying in bed most of the day. Watching Netflix and forcing yourself to sip from the cup at your bedside. You frown when you hear a knock at your door. You check your phone and there’s no missed calls or messages. 

You get up and slowly cross the house peeking out the window, your heart skipping when you see Gator standing on your porch.

You crack the door to speak to him. 

“Gator… it’s late. What are you doing here?” Your voice is defeated, tired. 

“I fixed your car. Just like I said I would.” 

“You… You fixed my car?” You look at him, and while your omega is begging you to step into his arms to let her be calmed by his alpha, you refuse. 

“Yeah, no more walking to work, or to the station to bring me lunch. It’s all fixed.” He smiles, his alpha purring. 

‘All fixed. Omega is cared for.’ 

You can’t believe it. You look at him, really look at him. Taking in his grease and oil stained shirt and knuckles, and the smile on his face. 

“No Gator. No, it’s not ‘all fixed’. You can’t just come in here and do whatever you want and assume that it’s going to make everything better. It’s not all better. You lied to me. How am I supposed to trust you?” You clench your hands into fists, struggling to get the words out, without becoming emotional. 

He frowns, his hand resting on your door frame as he leans closer into your space. His scent wrapping around you, doing a little to soothe your omega. 

“I didn’t lie-“ he starts, surprised when you cut him off. 

“Well you didn’t tell the truth either.” 

“Omega. C’mon. I fixed your car, what more do you want?” He looks down at you stepping closer, slowly closing the space between the two of you as he edges his way into your house. 

“How about a real apology?” 

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry? I’m sorry. There okay? All fixed?” He says, his jaw tightening. 

“No, not all fixed. If you think that’s a real apology we have bigger problems.” You say, softly stomping your foot.

He watches you and a small smirk crosses his face. 

“Oh Blossom… you should know better than to behave like that. C’mon now. I said I was sorry.” He leans in closer and you put your hands on his chest to stop him. 

He grabs your wrists and holds them in one of his hands as he steps closer leaning in and kissing along the side of your neck, nipping softly at your scent gland and your omega takes over, whining and whimpering softly for him. 

He smirks softly against your skin, backing you against the wall in your entryway, kicking the door shut behind him. 

“Blossom, let out my little omega. C’mon. Let her out to play.” He mumbles softly against your skin as he leaves open mouthed kissed over your pulse point. 

You moan softly and gently tug against his hold. 

“G-Gator…” you whimper, softly. 

“Nuh uh… who am I?” He smirks, pulling away just a bit to look into your eyes. 

“Alpha.” 

“That’s right, Omega mine. Your Alpha.” 

He leans in and kisses you deeply expecting a bit of hesitation from you but is pleasantly surprised by your willingness to kiss him back. He rests his free hand on your hip and holds you close. 

“My sweet girl… my sweet omega. You're gonna present for me. Gonna let me make you mine?” He smirks against your lips. 

You nod eagerly, “please, need it. Need you.” 

“Good girl. My sweet Blossom. You wanna show me your nest?” He coos, softly. 

It’s like someone dumped ice water on you. You whine softly as you pull away. 

“Not yet… I’m not ready.” You look up at him and bite your lip, nervous at his reaction. 

He gently releases your hands and cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your lip. 

“Thought I told you to stop that. I’m not going to push you any further than you want to go. I’m your Alpha, Blossom. We have all the time in the world.” 

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. 

Your omega is soothed by his warm embrace, ‘Alpha is here. Do not let him leave again. Make him promise.’

“Gator?” You peer up at him, staring into his hazel eyes, pleading for honesty. 

“Yes, Blossom?” He murmurs softly, looking into your eyes matching your intensity. 

“I don’t want to fight with you anymore. I want you to stay.” You gently wrap your arms around his waist. 

He chuckles softly and pulls you closer resting his chin on top of your head. 

“Blossom. I’m not going anywhere.”  

The next few weeks go by smoothly. Gator comes to visit you at work. Flirting with you shamelessly over the counter in an effort to get a rise out of you. Smirking like the cat who got the cream when he does. 

One night you’re locking up the diner when you feel someone sneaking up behind you. You tense and whip around ready to claw at their face, but Gator easily catches your hands and pulls you into his embrace, smelling like palo santo, sage and that damn strawberry-kiwi vape. 

“Easy tiger. It’s me.” He chuckles, holding you tight. 

You gently hit his chest.

“Gator! You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!” You pout.

That just makes him laugh harder, and drop kisses all over your face before kissing you deeply, nipping your lower lip a little more aggressively than he dared previously. 

“But it’s so cute when you think you can attack me, Blossom.” 

You whine softly against his lips, your center forming more slick than usual at his antics. 

“You like that, Omega? Hmm?” 

His massive, warm hands, are seemingly everywhere, one running down your side to settle on your hip. The other on the side of your neck, his fingers, curling up around the base of your skull to support your head as he kisses you again. 

You nod and arch into his chest, your fingers hooking into his vest and gently tugging. 

“I don’t like this… take it off.” You mumble against his lips, before softly trailing kisses down his chin and along his jaw. 

He laughs again, and that only makes you angry so you tug harder against the straps, your mind becoming a bit cloudy. 

“Blossom, I honestly don’t mind but we’re still in the parking lot. You really want me to strip here?” He smirks, starting to work on the buckles for you. 

“Don’t care.  Need them off. Need you. Too hot. Can’t think.” 

You help him pull on the final buckle so you can worm your way into his vest wrapping yourself in his scent and warmth. Groaning at the sensation. 

“Alpha… Need you.” You moan, slick positively dripping down your thighs. 

Gator inhales deeply and grows lowly when he smells it. 

He drags you back towards his truck pushing you into the passenger seat and buckling you in before running around to the driver side and getting in, putting the truck in drive and heading back towards your home. 

“Omega… Blossom,” His voice is tight, almost pained, “You’re in heat. I need to know what you want.” 

You whine and spread your legs reaching for his hand pulling it towards your thigh. 

“Want you Alpha. Want you in every way. Want your cock, your knot, your mark. Please.” 

Gator grips your thigh tight and tries his best to focus on the road. 

“You’ll be mine Omega. You always were.”

A/N: Stick around for this next one. It's gonna be juicy.

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