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keeryhours · 23 days ago

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don’t forget (you’re mine) - gator tillman

Gator Tillman x female reader

Masterlist

Gator Tillman Masterlist

1k Celebration Masterlist

Summary:

Gator interrupts a night out with your friends.

1k celebration prompt - “If you make me pull over, I swear you won’t be able to walk for the next week.”

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), restraints, sex in the police cruiser, dirty talk, reader calls Gator “daddy”

Word Count: 2k

A/N:

I’m so excited how many of you guys requested Gator for the celebration! I love writing him! You can still join in and celebrate with me here 🍾 :) My blurbs for my blurb celebration keep ending up being too long, oops

The flashing lights and pulsing music of the club filled the atmosphere around you. You wore a black top with a tiny little skirt and a sash that said Maid of Honor. It was your best friend’s bachelorette party, and you had gone all out.

“You’re the love of my life,” your best friend, Leah, drunkenly said as she draped herself over you. “I should ditch Tom and marry you instead.”

“Yes, you should,” you agreed with a giggle.

“I would be better for you than Gator,” she continued. “Gator doesn’t treat you right.”

You pursed your lips. You didn’t really want to talk about Gator right now, not when you were supposed to be having fun. “I know you would, babe.”

“Come dance with me?” Leah asked, suddenly standing and pulling you to join her. “I wanna dance.”

You laughed as she dragged you out of your seat and started climbing onto a table. “Come up with me!”

You climbed up with her, the two of you dancing together on the small tabletop. Your other friends laughed and took pictures on their cell phones, posting to their stories.

“What’s going on here?”

The unwelcome voice boomed from behind you, and you immediately groaned. You turned to find Gator standing there, wearing his cargo pants with sheriff vest and his sunglasses pushed up on his head.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “A little birdie told me you were out tonight, causing a public disturbance.”

You just stared at him. “Gator, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Doesn’t look that way t’me,” he said. “Looks like you’re havin’ a little too much fun.”

“Is that against the law now, officer?” You taunted him, climbing down from the table.

“Are you talking back to an officer of the law?” Gator asked, his expression utterly serious. You couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.

“Yeah, I am,” you decided to push him. “What are you going to do about- hey!”

Gator grabbed your arms and twisted you around, slapping the cold handcuffs around your wrists. You were speechless as your friends watched Gator arrest you, pulling you up to stand. “You can come with me then, mama.”

“Gator, this is fucking ridiculous,” you protested as he began marching you out of the club. “No one complained. You just wanted to come be the center of attention.”

Gator didn’t answer. He opened the back door of his SUV police cruiser and pushed you inside. “Are you being serious right now??” You called through the door once he’d shut you in.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, driving out of the parking lot of the club. You watched the lights fade in the mirror, leaving your friends (and fun) behind.

“You are such a dick,” you grumbled. Gator tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. “Does it make you feel big and powerful, coming and ruining Leah’s party? Did it make you feel like a winner?”

“Jus’ doing my job. Like I said, I got a call you were causing a public disturbance-“

“Bullshit! No one called you!”

“So I came right away to see what was going on.” He held his hands up. “And what do I find? You, dancing on a table in that tiny little skirt.”

So that’s what this was about. “Yeah? You had a problem with my outfit?”

“Like I said, I’m just doing my job-“

“I bet you were mad I wasn’t wearing it for you,” you teased. “I bet I wouldn’t have been in trouble if I were with you, with your hand underneath it.”

Gator tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “It’s inappropriate-“

“Oh, come on, Gator,” your voice dropped an octave, your tone sultry. “You tellin’ me you don’t like it?”

“I don’t like you whorin’ yourself around in it at the club, that’s for sure.”

“Don’t you like seeing me in it though?” You tilted your head to the side, your boobs pushed forward from the way the cuffs held your hands behind your back. “Bet you wish you could hike it up and fuck me in it, don’t you?”

Gator gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything.

“You jealous that the others got to see what’s yours?” You were practically purring into his ear. “You know this pussy belongs to you, daddy. It’s yours to fuck whenever you want.”

Gator let out an involuntary groan, his fingers digging into the leather of the steering wheel. “Stop.”

“I’m so wet and I can’t even touch myself,” you pouted. “Can’t stop thinking about your big cock, how it barely fits, how you pull me back onto it every time you fuck me…”

Gator slammed his hand onto the wheel. “You’re pushin’ me, baby. If you make me pull over, I swear you won’t be able to walk for the next week.”

A smirk grew across your lips. “I’ll be so good for you if you pull over.”

“If I pull over, it ain’t gonna be about what you want. It’ll be me taking what I need from you, and you letting daddy do whatever he wants. Understood?”

You clenched your legs together, the throbbing between them becoming unbearable. “Yes, daddy.”

Gator pulled the vehicle over to the side of the lone road, kicking up dirt into a large cloud. He killed the engine and hopped out of the car, and next thing you knew, he was opening the back door and manhandling you until you were bent over the seat with your ass in the air.

You felt Gator’s hands over your smooth thighs, teasing the ache between your legs. You wanted him, needed him. You needed to feel his thick length splitting you open, the way he would spear you on his cock again and again until you couldn’t take it anymore. That was why you kept coming back.

He pushed your little skirt up around your hips, your panties being forcibly ripped down your thighs. Before you could even process it his mouth was attached to your cunt, tongue lapping at your folds as he moaned against you. You cried out, body lurching forward but Gator held you steady.

“Fuck, tastes so good,” he groaned. “I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on your pussy since I saw you tonight. Tiny little skirt leavin’ nothing to the imagination. You’re such a little slut.” His palm came down against your ass, leaving a bright red hand print.

He buried his face in your pussy, eating it like a man starved. Maybe he had been starving for it, unable to stay away from you tonight, drawn to you like a siren. Maybe you couldn’t stay mad at him when he was making you feel this good.

He rubbed a hand over his throbbing erection in his cargo pants, the taste of you only getting him going even more. When he pulled away he pulled your hips, your body halfway hanging out of the SUV with him right behind you.

“You talk so damn much,” he said, and you could hear him unbuckling his belt as he spoke. “Yet you have nothin’ smart to say when my face is buried in your cunt.”

You whined, missing the feeling of him where you needed him the most. You didn’t wait long before you felt the head of his cock tracing through your folds, collecting your wetness on his length. As if you could ever forget how big he is (and boy does he let it affect his ego), you’re certainly reminded of it now as he prepares to fuck you.

“No condom tonight, baby,” he said, and you felt the tip of him slipping inside your pulsing cunt. “Need ta feel every inch of you around my cock. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You hated that he knew that. That he could read you like a book, could tell you’d been aching for his cock, aching for him to fuck you raw. “Gator,” you cried out, your handcuffed hands grasping onto each other for some semblance of leverage.

Gator thrusted into you hard, burying himself in to the hilt. You nearly screamed at the sudden feeling, and you heard Gator chuckle behind you. “Did ya forget how big it is?” He teased. “How deep it fills you up?”

How could you? It was all you thought about when you were apart.

He began pounding into you at a brutal pace, hands gripping bruises onto your hips as he pulled your body against his to meet every thrust. You were powerless to do anything but let him fuck you the way he wanted, just like he’d promised.

“Bet you wish I’d take the cuffs off, huh?” He continued teasing you, even when he was panting from how hard he was fucking you. “Bet you wish you could touch yourself. But you’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you? You don’t get touched unless I say you do.”

You whimpered, his cock absolutely fucking you stupid. Your head was laid against the leather seat, drool dripping onto the interior as you took everything Gator was giving you.

“Shit, I’m fuckin’ you dumb, aren’t I?” He laughed. “You sure are taking it like a good little cockslut. Is that all you’re good for, baby?” You whined in response, but that wasn’t good enough for Gator, who slapped your ass hard again, making you jump. “Use your words, slut.”

“Yes, daddy,” you moaned. “‘s all I’m good for, just taking your cock.”

“Yeah?” He asked, speeding up his thrusts. Sweat dripped down his neck beneath his shirt and police vest. “Just mine?”

“Just yours,” you promised him. He wasn’t sure if you were being honest, but hearing it was enough for him.

“This pussy belongs to me,” he said. “Make sure you fuckin’ know it. I ever catch you with some other asshole, I ever catch you dressing like a slut again, this is what happens. I will cuff you and take you somewhere to fuck you stupid until you get it through your head that your pussy belongs to me.”

His words alone had you reaching your peak, and fast. Your pussy clenched around his dick, and he huffed a cocky laugh. “I can feel ya squeezin’ my dick, baby. Gonna cum just from letting daddy fuck you?”

You whined again, and when Gator reached around to start rubbing circles on your clit, your body nearly combusted on the spot. “Oh my god,” you moaned, whole body trembling.

“You got somethin’ to say?” He taunted right in your ear, his movements on your clit slowing. “Don’t be ungrateful.”

“Thank you, daddy,” you moaned. “Please, please let me cum.”

“You think you deserve that?” Gator laid his head on your back, his own breathing becoming strained. “You think you deserve to cum?”

“Yes, please,” you moaned, begged. You needed this.

Gator’s tongue darted out, licking the skin of your back with a moan. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. I’ll let you cum around my cock. Go on, baby, let go f’me.”

He bit down on your skin and your eyes went wide as stars exploded before them, loud, uninhibited moans spilling from your lips as he pounded into you the last couple times before stilling, shooting ropes of his spend deep inside you as he groaned and said your name again and again. Neither of you could move at first, both trying to compose yourselves.

Finally Gator pulled out, tucking himself back away. He pulled your skirt back down for you, but you could feel his release dripping down your inner thighs. He pulled the key from his belt and unlocked the handcuffs, removing them.

“Do you want a ride home?” He asked sheepishly. “You can, uh, ride up front.”

You blushed, climbing out of the back. “Yeah, sure.”

When Gator pulled up outside your house, he turned the car off. He looked at you expectantly, which almost had you rolling your eyes and turning him down.

“Oh, come on. We both know you’re spending the night.”

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wroteclassicaly · 4 months ago

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Like A Wildflower

Gator Tillman x Plus size!female reader

Summary: Unpredictable things, they tend to fall apart…

Wordcount: 1,821

Warnings: Language, smut, vaginal sex, hurt/no comfort, anxiety, mentions panic, self-esteem issues, insecurities/body insecurities, Gator is a bit of an ass, and a secret relationship.

A/N: Sooooo, this is pretty self-indulgent. It’s a lot different than some things I’ve written. I wanted to try a different perspective/one of my opinions on how Gator would be in a relationship like this. Obvs. I cannon him loving bigger girlies (even when my self-esteem says no sometimes), but I wanted to explore one of the very accurate ways he could react to the situation. I was mega inspired tonight, what can I say?

This fic was intense, and I had two songs I used to inspire me whilst writing this. One of them is Wildflower by Billie Eilish. Which… I know the lyrics aren’t at all aligned with this situation (I know the song’s meaning), but I just love it so much and it resonated with me for this story in some different way. Let me know if you’re interested in part 2 (that would be partially from Gator’s POV)? One last thing, I hope those who read enjoy this, that it makes sense, you know?

The girlies who know, they know. Right? ❤️ It brought me a lot of comfort and self-strength, and I nearly cried writing it, so I guess that’s something? Anyways, if you got through this long ass author’s note - Gator loves you and so do I! Enjoy! - Kristen 💐

Gripping the leather above him, it crunches beneath your fingertips - indents, perspired palm print left behind. His dark hair is uncoiled, strewn about his side shaved head. You give it a grip in your spare, his neck rolling with your guided motion, tendons made to stand out, jugular constricting around a vice inhalation. You feel the panting hot breath hit your cheek before his nose nudges your ear.

“Holy Christ,” he stammers.

You hear the sounds of his boots arching by a crunched, worn heel, helping him bounce them, pushing his muscular thighs into a guiding assistance. His massive paws find your overflowing waist, squeezing. And with teeth clenched, Gator Tillman unravels, scatters into your airspace. With darting eyes left towards the ceiling, you’re pulling back just enough to see his tongue slick across those pearly white teeth. His mouth is smeared red, marked clean with your lipstick.

Making a map is what you find yourself doing next, digging into the tense muscles at his nape, only to push his jacket off his shoulder, bending to nose your way into his t-shirt. He bucks in between your legs the moment your lips find that constellation spattered skin, damp from a day’s musk and fading cologne spices. So warm… So Gator…

His head slams into the rest, fingers digging painfully into the bunched dress around your waist. A gone, honey soaked rasp. “Shiiit,” he’s whining. “you’re so fuckin’ slick, baby�� never felt you this ready for me.”

You can’t stop your body’s automatic reaction to the first time nickname usage. You tighten around him, his massive girth nudging on that spot now, tickling electricity zaps into your stomach. Your eyes clenched closed, hips giving a particularly rhythmic roll over this man’s lap, that it has you seeing literal spots in your vision. An ache, a fucking burn that sizzles all the way down to your toes and curls them into your boots. It hurts, god does it hurt so badly that it’s hard to breathe.

You’re already starting to pick up your pace, body leading first and foremost. The lace cups of your bra become pushed beneath your breast, dragging over his t-shirt clad chest by rough movements, his hands trembling against your waist as you ride him for all he’s worth into his own driver’s seat - one hand still where it was mid-way. He keeps trying to lean in, to abide the kisses you usually chase but rarely get, his mouth left in ungodly puckers. He’s biting at mid-air, high-tailing your lips. However, you aren’t giving in, unable.

His truck is rocking with each motion, wind sweeping russet colored leaves, soaked with rain across the windshield from the tree above. You start to become shaky, falter, emotions briefly winding around the coil inside your stomach, keeping it hostage. Tears brim your sclera, sticky, soaking into your lash line as you realize you won’t be able to come too, sharing it. Of course this would be hard, how could it not be? Maybe it isn’t going to be for him, but for you..

His trim hips are stuttering beneath you, hairy thighs slamming to meet your efforts, making this so real that you can hear everything morphed inside, taste how your blood is rushing, despite it not making any sense. You’re on fire, doused in heated flames that you won’t be escaping from. One of Gator’s arms stretches the length up your back, cupping your neck, bringing you away from his shoulder that you’ve again found, to make contact with you. Shrugging it off, you don’t even look at him, eyes staying closed.

He is unsatisfied with this, uses a strong forearm to sling beneath your tailbone, hoisting you higher, making your mouth fall open enough for him to kiss his way into. Fuck it. Wet, hot, his tongue works its way into your mouth and then you’re gasping, working with him together, foreheads smashed, breaths panting around parted lips, sought between each kiss. On a particular break off, he cradles your head in his massive palm, amber eyes blown into shards, flecks of cinnamon scattered apart from that only black abyss. He’s damn near snarling, a dip in his brows, an expectant struggle.

You cry out into the vehicle when he finds what he was hunting, his crooked smirk, tongue dipping into that corner of his mouth to go with it. He grumbles into a deeper tone. “Yeah? That’s what I was fuckin’ lookin’ for.”

Saying his name, it doesn’t come out. So he keeps on going. “M’ just gonna stay right here, baby. You keep goin’. Finish us off.”

You give it your all, knowing what he likes, what will give him what he seeks. This is it… You continue your own lead instead of following his, purposely leveling yourself off that spot. His brows knot together, bushy and confused. But he doesn’t have time.

He’s fading, and going out fast for you. Gator reaches, clings, tries to take your hand, see your face as he feels you wrap around him to the point that it all drawls and reaches into his abdomen, attempting to burst through. You hide into jawline the moment that he cries out broken chants of your name, rejecting his reaching for you. He comes moments later, regardless. Tremors settle into his worn bones, muscles sated with vibrations of his release.

You resist every urge to hold him through it, shifting your hold off the seat, off him, turning yourself around to settle into the passenger seat. Your chest is heaving heavily as you push your breasts into their cups, tugging your blouse back down, lifting enough to gather your panties off the floorboard and raise your heavy, boot clad feet into the legs. He’s staring, you don’t have to check your peripheral to know this. A wounded, baffled mix of emotions cloud his face. Suddenly, Gator feels more vulnerable with you in this very moment, than he’s ever remembered feeling in his whole life.

Your knuckles scratch across the silk of your knee sock thigh highs, bringing your underwear completely up, sealing the evidence of him with you. The skirt you wear is the last thing to be readjusted. It’s silent in the cab, with the exception of rainfall, uneven breathing patterns. There is only light from street posts, houses down the pathway of the road you’re parked on. You miss every hint he throws, every single hurt, wounded look that molds his features into a haunting sight.

His belt buckle clanging as he brings it back together, along with the defeating sound of his zipper, that’s what has you glancing in his direction. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, arm propped on the driver’s window, knuckles of that hand tight. His spare is wound around the wheel, eyes haunted, unfocused as they look ahead to meet damp, black pavement. Of all the things you expect him to say, it isn’t what leaves his mouth next. Wobbly and unsure.

“I’ll make ya come next time, I promise. I got so caught up, I —“

It sounds so pathetic that you have to break it off. Deserved reservations.

“This was the last time.” Fucking Christ, it feels as if someone cracks open the bottom of your ribcage and your organs are spilling out. It’s too hard to breathe, your own cowardice showing as you finish the reveal of your sentence, of what you’ve known you had to do for yourself to keep from developing a hate for him, and all the self-berating this relationship has caused you inside. “I’m seeing someone next weekend.”

At first, you think reality has settled in on him. But then he snorts, a sound that goes right through you. He’s in disbelief, which proves that this was the right decision all along. It’s when you aren’t laughing that he gets the hint. And this time, you don’t look away. Let it all go…

“I know that you make fun of me behind my back. To your friends, to your dad when he asks why you’re with me so much, to the other women you flirt with around town. It’s how you justify doing this.”

There’s a pure amount of shame that coats his cheeks and it makes you laugh bitterly, stinging your mouth. You reach to collect your purse from beside your feet. Gator is ashamed, worked up, so overstimulated and caught that he barely is able to grab your arm as you push his door open and one leg hits the asphalt. His mouth moves as if he’s communicating some silent, pleading apology. Begging you to understand.

And you have always understood. More than you should ever have to. He’s like a deer in headlights, panicked, jaw twitching, nose scrunching. At least it affects him some, he’s not emotionless to this situation. It leaves you very little comfort, though.

His silence is one with his learned cowardice. He knows what’s right, but he’ll never cater to anything that set aside this image he’s tried to build for everyone (including Roy) to see. Instead, he’s losing the one person that’s taken everything she has in her to give - offering. A wounded animal in the driver’s seat, waiting on you to lead, to accept what little he’s willing to give. Your heart skips, launching into your throat, damp and slippery words pressing your lip’s seam apart.

“You know, I really do care about you, Gator. And I hope you find your way away from your dad and all of this bullshit.” Your voice is jagged, dragging over each word as you motion your hand around, before continuing. “But I don’t deserve this.”

You don’t any more of his silence, climbing completely out and slamming your door, prepared to walk away with remaining dignity. Gator Tillman, he has one final pulsing drive that propels him into following suit, calling at you from the opposite side of his car. “No, please?”

You tilt your head towards the sky, rain flowing feeling from murky night skies, glittering across your face, painting itself into your brows. Gator’s hands find the truck’s roof, his messy hair shining underneath the half-hidden moon, the lights lining the roadway. His breath is puffing his chest into a theatrical exertion. And you two just stare at one another across the hood of the tan GMC cab. His bridge ruffles, nose wiggling to adjust his emotions.

To his credit, he tries. But both of you know that it’s not going to be enough this time. “I do care.”

An automatic rebuff. You sink in on yourself, retorting. “In the dark, right?”

You leave him with this, his sucker punched expression, not there to see anything more, and begin to walk in the direction you came from, back towards town. By the time the rain picks up, you’re crying and a horn is blaring behind you, coming from his parked truck.

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