mimi ‎ꫂ᭪݁

.ೃ࿔*:･ the bedroom is dark, the only light cutting through the blinds is from the high beams of some truck driving by the ranch yard. gator came in kicking the dust off his boots, smelling like that cheap cologne he wears.

he didn't say much. just grabbed you by the waist, his grip bruising and immediate, pulling you into a rhythm that felt less like making love and more like he was trying to prove something.

he pinned your wrists above your head, his breathing heavy against your collarbone, muttering mean things.

“you’re just a soft little thing, ain't ya?”

“probably let any guy with a truck hold ya like this, such a slut”

“just another pretty face to pass the time.”

in the moment, with the heat of him your brain just sort of blocked it out. but then it was over, and the sudden quiet of the room made everything hit you.

gator rolled off, groaning as he rubbed his face. "jeez, mama. hang on. let me go get a rag from the bathroom. look at the mess we made." he grunted, swinging his legs out of the bed and walking out of the room in his boxers.

left alone in the damp sheets, the words finally caught up to you.

“just another pretty face to pass the time.”

“probably let any guy with a truck hold ya like this, such a slut”

slut

slut.

does he actually think that way of me?

you stared at the ceiling, tears hot and fast pricking the corners of your eyes before spilling down into your hair. you thought about all the rumors around town about roy tillman’s boy. how he acts like a big shot, takes what he wants, and discards people the second they aren't useful or entertaining anymore. you were just another one of gator's girls. a placeholder. a warm body for him to use up until he got bored and moved on to the next girl who didn't know any better.

by the time the bathroom light clicked off, you were trembling, a quiet sob catching in your throat as you pulled the blanket up to your chin, trying to hide.

the mattress sank as gator climbed back in, holding a warm, damp washcloth. "alright, sweets, let’s get ya cleaned..." he trailed off, noticing the way your shoulders were shaking.

he frowned, tossing the rag onto the nightstand. "hey. what’s all this now?" he reached out, his hand surprisingly gentle as he hooked two fingers under your chin to turn your face toward him. “talk to me. what’s hurtin', baby?"

you shook your head, pulling away slightly. "did you.. did you mean what you said?."

gator blinked, his brows furrowing. "what I said? what’d I say?" then, his face softened as a look of realization and immediate guilt washed over him. he remembered the rough, careless words he’d spat out in the heat of it. "oh. oh, god, mama. no."

he shifted closer, pulling your weak, resisting body against his bare chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly. "hey, listen to me. look at my eyes." he waited until you looked up at him. "i didn't mean any of that. i swear to god i didn't."

he let out a heavy, ragged sigh, resting his forehead against yours, "daddy was ridin' my ass all day down at the station. treatin' me like I’m some kind of idiot boy who can't do nothin' right. i was just... i was so mad and I brought all that nasty, ugly energy right into this room with ya. i went too rough, and I said things just to be mean because I was feelin' small."

his thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch careful, like he was afraid you might break. "you ain't just some girl to pass the time, baby. don't you ever think that. you're my girl. I just... I got a bad head sometimes, and I took it out on the only person who's actually good to me. i'm sorry, baby. i'm so sorry."

he kissed your temple, holding you tight against him until your breathing finally started to slow down, his heartbeat steady and solid against your cheek.

he reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the washcloth that had gone a little lukewarm, and gently pulled the blanket down.

"here," he muttered, "let me fix ya up. jus stay still, mama."

he wiped away the mess, his touch light against your skin, a hugeeee difference to how rough he’d been just twenty minutes ago. every now and then, he’d glance up at your face to make sure he wasn't hurting you.

when he was done, he tossed the rag to the floor and pulled the covers back over both of you, tucking the blanket right under your chin.

"you still mad at me?" he asked quietly, leaning over you.

"i'm just tired, gator," you whispered, your voice still a little raw.

⋆✴︎˚you’re in bed, reading a book while enjoying the sun on your skin that is pouring through your windows when you hear two knocks on your window. you sit up in bed, heart already racing, because you know that sound. jj only knocks like that when something is wrong. you rush to the window and pull it open.

“jj?”

he’s standing there on the roof, swaying slightly, face bruised and bloody. one eye swollen, lip split, nose still bleeding. he tries to smile.

“hey, baby,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “can i— can i come in?”

“oh my god, jj,” you breathe, grabbing his arms and pulling him inside. “yes, of course. come here, come here.”

the moment he’s in your room, he stumbles, and you catch him by the shoulders.

“i’m fine,” he mutters.

“no you’re not.”

you guide him to the bathroom, flicking on the light. he flinches at the brightness.

“was it your dad again?” you say looking into his eyes as he looks away. you hum in response leaving a soft kiss to his head.

you pat the counter and tell him to sit as you grab a washcloth, warm water and peroxide.

“you don’t have to—” he starts.

“yes i do,” you say, voice firm. “let me take care of you.”

you step between his swaying legs, gently tilting his chin up a little.

“this is gonna sting baby,” you whisper.

he swallows and nods, putting his hands on your hips.the moment the warm cloth touches his cheek, he winces, sucking in a sharp breath and squeezes your hips.

“sorry…” he murmurs.

“shhh it’s okay.”

you continue to clean his cuts as you whisper sweet things to him.

“you’re doing so good.”

“i love you.”

“you’re safe with me.”

“i’ve got you.”

jj’s breathing gets uneven.

“hey,” you say softly, brushing his hair back. “look at me.”

his eyes are full of tears.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers.

“for what?”

“for showing up like this. for being a mess. for— for being needy.”

“jay jay.” you say softly, cupping his face gently. “you can always need me. i’ll always be here for you.”

his shoulders shake first. then his breath stutters. he folds forward, burying his face in your chest, arms wrapping around your waist.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes. “i’m so fucking sorry.”

“shh,” you whisper, holding him tight. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“he— he just—” jj’s voice breaks. “i didn’t even say anything this time. he just—”

you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“you’re safe,” you whisper. “you’re safe with me.”

he sobs harder, fingers gripping your shirt.

“don’t let go,” he begs.

“i won’t,” you promise. “never.”

you guide him off the counter and onto the bathroom floor, sitting with your back against the wall, pulling him into your lap. he curls into you, shaking, crying into your chest while you stroke his hair and kiss his forehead, his temple, his bruised cheek.

“you didn’t deserve this,” you whisper. “none of it. not ever.”

jj sniffles, voice small. “it hurts.”

“i know, baby,” you murmur, kissing his swollen eye. “i know.”

“can i stay?” he whispers. “just for tonight?”

“rather you stay forever.” you say with a little smile.

he lets out a broken laugh, then hides his face again. you hold him until his breathing slows, until the shaking stops, until he melts against you completely.

“you’re too good to me,” he whispers.

“you deserve good,” you say simply.

he leans his forehead against yours.

“i love you,” he says, voice raw. “i don’t— i don’t know how to say it right, but i do. i love you baby, so much it scares me.”

you lean in and kiss him gently.

“i love you too.”

he exhales shakily.

“let’s go lay in bed yeah?”

he nods.

you help him up, guide him back to your room, and tuck him under your blankets. he pulls you in beside him immediately, arms around your waist, face pressed into your neck.

and you stay awake long after he falls asleep, running your fingers through his hair, watching his chest rise and fall, promising yourself you’ll protect him the way he’s always protected everyone else.

smut(18+)

summary: travis feels soft and insecure in his own skin until you show him exactly how much you crave every inch of him.

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for the longest… enjoy lol

────୨ৎ────

𑣲⋆ travis is standing in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, the harsh overhead light catching every new curve of his body. he’s got his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor with a frustrated groan, his fingers digging into the soft skin of his waist. usually, he’s all confident , but right now, he looks like he wants to crawl out of his own skin.

"hey, babe?" he asks, his voice dropping "be honest. do you think i should... go on a diet or something? i feel like i’m getting kind of soft. look at this."

he turns to the side, poking at the plush swell of his stomach, his face twisted in a pout that’s half-insecure, half-begging for you to disagree.

you don’t even hesitate. you drop your phone and slide off the bed, walking over to him until you’re standing in front of him . he looks down at you, eyes wide and searching.

"travis," you murmur, reaching out to rest your palms right where he was just poking himself. "you have no idea how good you look.."

"really?" he breathes, his hands coming up to rest on your shoulders, his grip a little tight. "you don't think it's... gross? i feel like a total slob."

"it's sexy," you tell him firmly, your thumbs tracing the lines of his hips. "and i’m gonna prove it."

you lean up and capture his lips in a deep, slow kiss. he groans into your mouth, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. but you don't stay there for long. you break the kiss and start trailing your lips down his jaw, then his neck , leaving hot, stinging nips along his collarbone.

travis's head tilts back, a shaky breath escaping him. "babe..."

you ignore his protest, moving lower. you drop to your knees, your face now level with his torso. you press a lingering kiss right to the center of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jump under your touch. you start to leave a trail of dark, bruised hickeys across the soft skin, marking him as yours. the contrast of your teeth against his plush belly has him whimpering, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"oh god," he gasps, his stomach fluttering as you suck a particularly dark mark just above his waistband. "that feels... fuck, keep doing that."

"i want you to see yourself the way i do," you mumble against his skin, kissing your way down further.

you reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open and dragging the zipper down. he’s already hard, straining against his underwear, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. you don't waste any time, pulling his boxers down just enough to free him.

the sight of him makes your mouth water. you look up at him, watching the way his eyes are blown wide, his face flushed with a mix of shock and pure, lust.

"you like this, baby?" you ask, your voice low.

"yes," he chokes out, his hips giving a desperate little twitch. "please."

you lean forward, swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock before taking him all at once. the sound that rips out of his throat is loud and wrecked, his knees buckling slightly as you start to work on him. your hands stay planted on his soft thighs, squeezing the flesh there, reminding him with every touch just how much you worship every single inch of him.

he's a mess, his head going back as he watches you through hooded eyes, finally realizing that to you, he’s never looked better.

your mouth is warm and tight, and the wet, rhythmic sound of you taking him in fills the quiet room. travis is losing it.his hands are buried deep in your hair now, his hips beginning to thrust upward with a desperate need. he’s always been loud, but the way he’s crying out your name right now makes you soaked.

"fuck, sweetheart , you're gonna make me..." he breaks off into a whimper, his stomach muscles rippling under the hickeys you just gave him.

you don't stop, swirling your tongue around the ridge and sucking deep, making sure he feels every bit of your devotion. you want him to feel the weight of your love in every inch of that soft, beautiful body he was just insulting. you reach up with one hand, your thumb stroking the underside of his shaft while the other hand stays firmly planted on his plush hip, squeezing the skin.

he’s shaking, his breath coming in high, thin wheezes. "look at me," he gasps, and when you glance up through your lashes, his face is a mask of pure, wrecked pleasure. "i'm gonna—i'm gonna cum, please, don't stop, don't stop—"

you pick up the pace, your head moving faster, hand working in perfect coordination with your mouth. travis’s fingers tighten in your hair, his back arching as he reaches his orgasm. he lets out a strangled, vocal sob, his body jolting as he finally spills, filling your mouth with a heavy, hot release.

he’s trembling so hard he almost collapses, his legs turning to jelly. you stay there for a moment, making sure you take every drop, before pulling back and looking up at him with a satisfied, messy smirk.

travis looks down at you, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead. he looks at the marks you left on his stomach. the insecurity that was dimming his eyes earlier is completely gone, replaced by a dazed, lovestruck glow.

"holy shit," he whispers, reaching down to pull you back up to your feet. he wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck and squeezing you tight, his soft belly pressed firmly against you. "i think... i think i like being your little toy, baby."

"good," you murmur, nipping at his earlobe. "because you're not going on a diet. i won't let you."

"whatever you say, beautiful ," he chuckles, the cocky travis swagger finally returning as he pulls you toward the bed. "whatever you say."

could i request something with Gator or Joe and reader who gets really bad migraines🥺🥺recently mine have been pretty bad an i’m craving some comfort to help❤️❤️

love love love ur writing btw !!

seen this and immediately started writing and thank you sm 🥹

⋆˚꩜｡ you’re curled up on the couch, one arm draped over your eyes, head pounding, while you try not to cry because even that would make your head worse.

the front door creaks open.

“hey,” gator calls softly. “you home?”

you groan. “yeah.”

he steps inside, boots quiet on the floor.

“you hurtin’?” he asks

“migraine,” you whisper in response . “bad one.”

he nods once, already moving. “okay. don’t move.”

you hear him in the kitchen , the sink running, the soft clink of glass. then he’s back, kneeling beside you with a glass of water and a cool cloth.

“here mama,” he murmurs, sliding the cloth over your forehead. “cold helps.”

you flinch at first, then sigh when the chill hits your skin.

“thank you,” you whisper.

“course baby,” he says, brushing your hair back gently.

he turns the tv off then walks over to dim the lights.

you peek at him through half‑closed eyes. “you don’t have to stay.”

“ain’t leavin’ you like this doll.”

you try to smile, but it hurts.

“gator tillman being sweet. isn’t that a shocker.”

“yeah, well,” he mutters, adjusting the cloth again, “you make me soft.”

he sits on the floor beside the couch, one hand resting lightly on your arm, thumb tracing slow circles.

“you need medicine?” he asks quietly.

“already took some,” you mumble.

“okay,” he says.

you drift in and out of sleep, the pain dulling a little under his presence. when you stir, he’s still there leaning against the couch, head tipped back, eyes half‑closed but alert.

he looks up instantly. “yeah?”

“you’re still here.”

“told you I ain’t leavin’ baby.”

you reach for his hand, fingers brushing his knuckles. he takes it without hesitation, his grip warm and careful.

“you’re a good boyfriend you know.” you say looking at him,

he smiles faintly. “i just like takin’ care of you.”

he leans forward, presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“you rest now,” he whispers. “i’ll be right here.”

⋆˚ ༘ you’re half asleep on the couch with a blanket and heating pad on you when you hear the front door open.

“baby?” joe calls softly. “where are you?”

you groan. “living room.”

he walks in with a hat on, a pair of sunglasses , and a grocery bag in one hand. the second he sees your face, his whole expression softens.

“oh, honey…” he murmurs, setting the bag down and kneeling beside the couch. “bad day?”

“bad everything,” you mumble, pulling the blanket tighter.

he lets out a sympathetic laugh and brushes your hair off your forehead.

“okay. don’t move. i came prepared.”

you blink. “prepared for what?”

he starts unpacking the bag revealing your favorite chocolate, pain relievers,and a little bunny stuffed animal.

you stare at him. “joe.”

he shrugs, cheeks pink. “he looked like he could help.”

you smile despite the pain.

he sits on the edge of the couch and gently lifts your legs so he can slide in beside you. you curl into him automatically, your head on his chest, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“where does it hurt the most pretty girl?” he asks quietly.

“lower stomach,” you whisper.

he presses his warm hand there slowly rubbing it.

“like this?”

you nod, eyes fluttering shut. “that helps.”

“good,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “i’ll stay right here.”

you breathe in his cologne, the soft cotton of his shirt, the steady rise and fall of his chest. he rubs slow circles on your back with his thumb, humming under his breath.

after a few minutes go by, he says,

did you take anything yet?”

“no. i didn’t wanna get up.”

“okay,” he whispers. “i’ll get it.”

he reaches for the medicine and water, helping you sit up just enough to take it. then he tucks you right back against him, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders.

“you’re being very sweet,” you mumble into his shirt.

“you’re in pain,” he says softly. “i hate seeing you like this.”

you look up at him, eyes tired. “you don’t have to take care of me.”

he cups your cheek gently.

“i want to baby.”

he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“just relax,” he whispers. “i’ve got you.”

you settle against him again, and he holds you tighter, his hand never leaving your stomach, his voice low and soothing as he talks about nothing and everything just to distract you.

˚. *you come home from another long shift, shoulders slumped, eyes tired, feet hurting. gator’s already at your house, he’s sitting on your porch like he always is, vape in one of his hands, waiting for you.

“bad day?” he asks.

“same as always,” you mutter, unlocking the door. “they cut my hours again. and my boss yelled at me for something i didn’t even do.”

gator follows you inside, shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

“yer too damn good at that job for them to treat you like that,” he says, voice low.

“it’s fine,” you sigh. “i’m used to it.”

he stops in the middle of the living room looking at you.

“don’t ever say you’re used to bein’ treated like shit.”

“gator—”

“no,” he cuts in, stepping closer. “yer smart. yer good with people. you work your ass off. you shouldn’t be miserable every day.”

you look away. “i can’t just quit.”

“yeah, you can,” he says. “and you will.”

you raise an eyebrow. “oh, really? and what am i supposed to do instead gator?” you say aggravated.

“already handled it.”

you stare at him, putting a hand on your hip. “what?”

he pulls a folded paper from his back pocket and hands it to you.

it’s a job listing, a good one.

better pay.

better hours.

a place you’ve always liked but never thought you could work at.

“gator…” you whisper.

“i talked to the manager,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “told her you were lookin’. she said she’d interview you tomorrow.”

you look up at him, “you did this for me?

he shrugs, trying to play it cool. “yeah. someone had to.”

you step closer. “gator.”

he swallows. “what?”

“thank you.” you say with a smile.

he shakes his head. “don’t thank me. you deserve it.”

he reaches for you, hesitates, then cups your face gently.

you lean into his touch and before you know it your lips are touching. warm, soft, a little shaky, like he’s been holding this in for months. he kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t help himself.

you break away just enough to breathe.

“thank you gates.”

he presses his forehead to yours, voice low and rough.

“mm..i’m real proud of you, mama.”

he kisses you again. slow, lingering, full of everything he never said out loud.

“let’s go somewhere and eat?” he says putting one of his hands in your back pocket.

you nod with a smile, pressing one more kiss to his lips.

“i love you.”

“i love you too mama.”

wait i love this sm here you go i hope u like it🥹

⋆˚꩜｡ you’re walking past gator in the living room when he sticks his foot out just enough to make you stumble.

“gator!” you snap, swatting his arm.

he grins. “what? you’re fine, mama. don’t be dramatic. plus if you would’ve stumbled i would’ve caught ya.”

you shove him back. “quit it.”

“oh, c’mon,” he says, stepping toward you with that cocky little smirk. “you’re tougher than that.”

“gator—”

too late.

he grabs your waist and throws you onto the couch, not hard enough to hurt on purpose, but rough enough that you land hard, your arm scraping against the wooden armrest.

a sharp sting shoots up your skin.

“ow— what the hell, gator?” you snap, sitting up fast.

he rolls his eyes. “oh, relax. it ain’t that serious doll.”

“you threw me!”

“onto a couch,” he says, shrugging. “yer fine.”

you glare at him and look down at your arm.

a thin line of blood is forming.

your stomach drops instantly.

“fuck ,” you whisper, voice already shaking. “gator—”

he sees your face change before he sees the cut.

“what?” he asks, still annoyed. “it’s not—”

then he sees it.

“shit,” he breathes, stepping closer. “hey— hey, mama, don’t look at it.”

the room tilts.

your breath stutters.

your knees go weak.

“gator… i’m gonna—”

“okay, okay— c’mere,” he says quickly, grabbing your shoulders gently. “sit down. don’t look at your arm. look at me.”

you try, but your vision is already going fuzzy.

“i hate blood,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i’m gonna throw up —”

“no you’re not,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “i got you. i got you, sweetheart. breathe.”

you glare at him through your watery eyes. “you said it was no big deal.”

“i know. i know, mama. i was bein’ stupid. i didn’t know you were actually hurt.”

your arm throbs and your stomach flips again.

“gator—”

“don’t look,” he repeats, gently turning your face toward him. “yer gonna faint if you do. just breathe for me, okay?”

you nod weakly.

he moves fast, grabbing a towel, a bandaid, then sitting on the floor in front of you.

“give me yer arm,” he says softly.

“no—”

“mama,” he says, voice low and steady, “you ain’t got a choice. let me help you.”

you swallow hard and hold out your arm.

“you’re okay,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut with a damp towel. “you’re doin’ so good. i’m right here.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. “it burns.”

“i know, sweetheart. i know. almost done.”

he smooths the bandaid over your skin, thumb brushing the edge.

then he leans down and presses the softest kiss right above it.

“there,” he whispers. “all better.”

you sniff, still shaky. “you were mean.”

he nods immediately. “yeah. i was. i’m real sorry.”

you cross your arms. “you said it wasn’t serious.”

“i was wrong,” he says, voice small. “real wrong.”

you try to stay mad.

you really do.

but then he pulls you into his chest while his hand rubs your back and his chin rests on your head.

“i’m sorry, mama,” he whispers. “i’ll be gentle next time. swear it.”

you breathe into him, finally steadying.

“you better.”

he hugs you tighter.

“i will,” he murmurs. “ain’t ever lettin’ you get hurt again.”

✧.*the first time gator tillman showed up on your porch in a few years, it was close to midnight.

you weren’t expecting anyone. the house was quiet. you almost didn’t open the door when the knock came soft and hesitant.

but you opened the door anyways.

and there he was.

gator stood under the porch light with his hood up, shoulders hunched, eyes red in a way that wasn’t from the cold.

“hey,” he said, voice rough. “i… uh. i didn’t know where else to go.”

you didn’t ask questions. you stepped aside.

“come in.”

he slipped passed you into your house and he just stood there, breathing too fast, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

you closed the door gently.

“gator,” you said softly, “what happened?”

he shook his head. “don’t— don’t make me talk about it. please.”

you nodded. “okay.”

“let’s go to the couch, yeah?” you said looking up at him.

that was all it took.

his shoulders dropped as he sank onto your couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might swallow him whole.

you sat beside him close enough that he could feel you were there.

after a long moment, he whispered.

“can i stay here? just for tonight?”

you didn’t even think.

“yeah. of course.”

he nodded, jaw tight, eyes shining in the dim light. he wiped at them quickly, like he hoped you didn’t notice.

you noticed. but you didn’t say anything.

he didn’t sleep at first. he just lay on your couch, staring at the ceiling, breathing unevenly. you sat on the floor beside him leaning against the couch with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, keeping him company without crowding him.

“you’re… nice.”

you smiled a little. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“it ain’t,” he murmured. “just… not used to it.”

you hummed in response.

“get some rest gator you work in the morning.”

and eventually, he fell asleep.

you stared at him as he slept. the way his hair was messy, his cheeks rosy, the way his chest rose and fell..

you didn’t know then that this was the beginning of something.

you didn’t know he’d come back the next night.

and the next.

and the next.

you didn’t know he’d start trusting you in ways he didn’t trust anyone else.

that he’d let you see the parts of him he hid from the world.

all you knew was gator tillman showed up on your porch one night, broken and quiet and lost.

and you let him in.

-

your break at the diner is supposed to be fifteen minutes.

just enough time to sit on the back steps, drink something cold, and pretend your feet don’t hurt. you’re halfway through your lemonade when you hear gravel crunching. you figured it was one of the old men that came everyday to get a cup of coffee.

you don’t look up at first.

but then you hear a man clear his throat.

you lift your head.

gator’s standing a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair’s a little messy, eyes a little tired, like he didn’t sleep again.

“hey,” he says, voice soft. “you on break?”

you nod. “yeah. ten minutes left.”

he hesitates, shifting his weight. “can i… sit with ya?”

you pat the step beside you.

he sits immediately.

you take a sip of your lemonade. “you hungry?”

he shrugs. “ain’t eaten yet.”

you stand. “stay here.”

he blinks. “where you goin’?”

“to get you lunch.”

he opens his mouth to argue — you can see it in the way his jaw tenses — but then he stops. looks down. nods once.

“okay.”

you bring him a plate of fries and a grilled cheese, the only thing he ever ordered since you too were teens. he stares at the food for a second like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“you can eat, you know,” you tease.

he huffs a tiny laugh. “yeah. i know.”

he takes a bite. then another. then another.

after a minute, he says quietly:

“i came by last night.”

you look at him. “i know. i heard your truck.”

he swallows. “i didn’t knock.”

he picks at the crust of his sandwich. “i wanted to. i just… didn’t wanna bother you.”

you shake your head. “you never bother me.”

he looks at you.

“you’re real good to me,” he murmurs.

“you showed up hungry,” you say. “that’s not a crime.”

he smiles a little.

“still,” he says. “you didn’t have to.”

“i wanted to.”

“i don’t know why when i used to be such a dick to ya.”

you shrug. “a lot was happening in your life gator. not gonna hold a grudge.”

he goes quiet for a moment, staring at the gravel like it might give him courage.

“can i… pick you up after your shift?” he asks, eyes hopeful.

you nod.

“yeah, gator. you can.”

-

your shift ends at nine. gator’s waiting outside, leaning against his truck with that small, crooked smile he only ever gives you.

“you ready?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say. “where we going?”

“home first,” he says. “you should change. wanna take you somewhere.”

you don’t question it.

you change into jeans and a soft top, and when you come back out, he’s sitting on your couch scrolling through his phone.

he looks up fast when he hears your footsteps . “you look pretty mama.”

you smile. “you ready?”

he nods.

the bar he takes you to is quiet, neon lights humming, jukebox playing old songs. he keeps close to you as you walk in, hand hovering near your back like he’s making sure you don’t get lost in the crowd.

you slide into a booth. he sits beside you, not across. which you found a little weird but cute.

“what do you want?” he asks.

“surprise me.”

he nods and stands. “i’ll get you somethin’. i’m just gettin’ a soda. gotta drive.”

you smile and nod as you watch him walk to the bar.

he comes back with a drink for you and a soda for himself. he sets them down carefully.

“cheers,” you say, lifting your glass.

he taps his soda can against it. “cheers.”

you take a sip. he watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing the way you smile afterward.

you finish your drink.

he orders you another.

he doesn’t drink anything but a coco cola .

“you sure you don’t want one?” you ask.

he shakes his head. “nah. gotta get ya home safe.”

you’re halfway through your second drink when you lean your head on his shoulder.

“you okay?” he asks quietly.

“yeah,” you say. “just… comfy.”

he lets out a breath you didn’t know he was holding.

“good,” he murmurs. “i like when you’re comfy.”

you smile into his shoulder.

-

you’re a little tipsy and giggly, leaning into him as he walks you to the truck. he opens the door for you, steadying you with a hand on your back.

“easy,” he says softly. “i got you.”

you slide in, and he buckles your seatbelt for you because your hands are clumsy. he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne and the vape on his breath.

“thanks,” you mumble.

he smiles. “always.”

the drive is quiet, soft music playing low, windows cracked just enough to let the night air in. you rest your head against the window, eyes half‑closed.

gator glances at you every few seconds, restraining himself to place one of his hands on your thigh.

gator pulls into your driveway, then turns the engine off.

you step out of his truck, the night air brushing your cheeks. gator walks you to your door, one hand hovering near your back like he’s ready to catch you if you wobble.

“you good?” he asks softly.

“yeah,” you say, but your voice is sleepy, edges soft. “just tired.”

he hesitates, shifting his weight. “you want me to… stay? just for a bit?”

you look up at him, eyes half‑lidded. “yeah, gator. stay.”

you unlock the door, and he follows you inside, closing it quietly behind him.

you tug at your jacket, fumbling with the zipper. gator steps closer, hands gentle.

“here,” he murmurs. “lemme help.”

he unzips it slowly, careful not to pull your hair. you shrug it off, and he catches it before it hits the floor, draping it over a chair.

you sway a little.

“okay,” he says softly, “you need somethin’ comfy. where’s your pjs?”

you point toward your dresser, and he nods, going to grab a big oversized shirt.

“arms up, doll ” he says quietly.

you lift your arms, trusting him completely. he helps you out of your top.

“unclamp my bra too please?”

he swallows hard as his fingers touch your back unclamping it sneaking a few glances at your breasts then slipping the shirt over your head.

“mm pants too please.” you say looking up at him innocently.

he slowly unbuttons your jeans and pulls them down revealing your black lace panties to him making it harder for him to control himself.

“there,” he whispers. “all cozy.”

you blink up at him, cheeks warm. “thank you alligator .”

he smiles. “yeah. ’course.”

you crawl into bed, and he hesitates for a second before sitting beside you.

“ya want me to stay right here?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you nod. “please.”

he exhales, and lies down beside you. you immediately curl into him, your head resting against his chest. his arm wraps around you instinctively, pulling you close.

you feel his heartbeat under your cheek as you sink into him.

he shifts just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

then another to your temple.

then one to the top of your head.

gentle. careful. like he’s afraid you’ll break.

you pout looking up at him. “you forget a kiss to my lips.”

he smiles a little and gives you a soft kiss.

“i got you.” he says as you bring your head back down to rest on his chest.

his hand rubs slow circles on your back, and he presses one more kiss to your hairline.

“go to sleep,” he whispers. “i’m right here.”

·˚ ༘ you’re lying in bed with gator, the room dim and warm, the sheets still a little messy from earlier. gator’s stretched out beside you, one hand over his eyes the other on your stomach.

you’re quiet for a moment before you speak.

“gator… can we talk about the way we you know…have sex?”

he chuckles.

“what, you takin’ notes now? gonna give me a performance review or somethin’?”

you blink at him. “i’m being serious.”

“yeah, yeah, i know,” he says, waving a hand. “but c’mon, mama. we’re fine. you’re fine. i’m doin’ good by you. ain’t nothin’ to fix.”

you sit up a little. “i want it to be gentler sometimes. i want you to… talk to me. tell me you love me. i want it to feel like—”

he cuts you off with a laugh.

“baby, that’s movie stuff. that’s not real life. i show you i love you by bein’ rough. that’s how i do it. that’s how i am.”

you bite your lip holding back tears that threaten to come to your eyes.

“gator, i’m not joking.”

“you’re just tired. you get all sentimental when you’re tired doll.” he says, still not looking at you, still smiling like it’s all a misunderstanding you’ll get over.

you sigh and turn over facing the wall, moving his hand off your stomach.

“forget it.”

gator freezes.

“hey… hey, hold on,” he says, the laugh gone instantly. “why’re ya turnin’ away like that?”

you don’t answer.

he sits up fast, the mattress dipping. “sweetheart. c’mon. don’t do that. don’t shut down on me.”

still nothing.

he reaches out, touches your back — gentle, hesitant.

“i didn’t know you meant it like that,” he says quietly. “i thought you were just… talkin’. i didn’t think it was serious.”

“how else would i mean it gator.” you say shifting farther from him.

“mama.. i’m sorry. look at me please.” gator says as his voice cracks.

you roll over slowly to see how soft his face is, cheeks red, and eyes teary.

“i didn’t… i didn’t get it. i thought you were makin’ a joke. i thought you were fine with how things are.”

you shake your head. “i wanted you to listen.”

he nods fast. “i’m listenin’ now. i swear i am.”

he moves closer, cupping your cheek with a hand.

“if you want gentle… i can do gentle,” he whispers. “if you want me to talk to you, i’ll talk. if you want it to feel like love… i’ll make it feel like love. i just… i didn’t know you needed that from me.”

your eyes soften, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“i love you,” he says, voice low and raw. “i love you so much it scares me. i’ll do whatever makes you feel that.”

“i love you too gates.” you say as you lean into his hand as he pulls you close, giving you a soft kiss on your lips.

smut ahead (18+)

⋆.˚ you can't help but let your mind wander as you kneel before gator, his thick cock throbbing in front of your face. in your fantasies, he's always been the one to take control - to bend you over and fuck you senseless without a care for anything else.

the real thing is even better than you imagined. his fingers tangle in your hair possessively as he guides your head up and down his shaft, groaning out filthy praise that makes arousal surge through you.

"yer doin’ so good mama," he rasps out, voice tight with impending release. "gonna come so hard... fuckin’ drown this pretty mouth..."

the dirty talk combined with the feeling of him pulsing against your tongue sends you spiraling closer to the edge yourself. you moan around him - eager for every drop of his cum.

"fuck yes... gonna..."

he trails off into a low groan as a orgasm crashes through him - hot ropes of cum hitting the back of your throat as he pulses against your tongue.

you swallow it down greedily, as he shudders above you. once he's finished, he pulls out with a low hiss before hauling you up to your feet.

"fuck baby," he pants out, still catching his breath. "that was... goddamn incredible."

he leans in to capture your lips in a kiss - tongue delving into your mouth possessively.

"not done with you yet though," he murmurs against your lips with a wicked grin. "gonna fuck this tight little cunt next... bend ya over right here”

the promise has heat pooling low in your belly and all you can do is whimper needily in response.

you breathe out shakily.

"want that so bad... want you to fuck me hard..."

he chuckles darkly before spinning you around and bending you over the bed roughly. you can feel his hard cock pressing against your ass and it makes you squirm with anticipation.

"gonna give it to you doll," he promises huskily kissing your neck. "gonna fuck this pussy so good."

the filthy words combined with the feeling of him grinding against you have need coiling tighter in your core.

"please"

you moan out desperately, pushing back against him.

he grabs your hips roughly, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise as he yanks you back against him making you arch your back. the sudden movement has his cock slamming deep inside of you in one brutal thrust - stretching you open around his thick length with no warning.

“fuckkk mama," he groans out, voice tight with pleasure as he starts pounding into you relentlessly. "take it baby... gonna fuck this pussy so hard..."

the force of his thrusts has the bed creaking beneath you and your body jolting forward with each snap of his hips.

"so big,"

you whimper out brokenly into the pillow.

he yanks your head back sharply, as he leans down to bite at your shoulder roughly. the dual sensations of pain and pleasure have you crying out - inner walls clenching around his pistoning cock desperately.

“g-gator.” you moan out shakily.

“wanna be yours... wanna feel you claim me..."

"yeah mama?" he says as he starts fucking into you harder - the wet sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

the filthy words combined with the brutal pace has need coiling tighter in your core - pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each thrust.you can feel yourself starting to tighten around him already - body tensing up as that familiar heat builds low in your belly.

“gonna come.” you mange to get out as gator wraps his hand around your neck.

“yeah that’s it, come for me doll.”

the permission is all it takes to send you flying over the edge. you clench down around him like a, inner walls fluttering and squeezing him desperately.

“f-fill me up gator..please.”

your words seem to spur him on - hips snapping forward one last time before he buries himself deep inside of you with a guttural groan. you can feel him pulsing and throbbing as he starts to come - hot ropes of cum painting your insides white.

he pulls out slowly and lays beside you, pulling you into his arms.

“did so good for me mama.” he says while kissing your head and rubbing your back as you begin to fall asleep.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ it’s late. later than he said he’d be home. the clock on the wall keeps ticking and you keep glancing at the door wishing he’d be home by now.

gator’s been having a rough day. you could hear it in his voice when he called earlier and the way he had said, “i’ll be home soon mama, i promise.”

you wait on the couch, curled up under a blanket, the tv playing something you’re not even watching. you tell yourself you’ll stay awake. you want to be there when he walks in.but your eyes get heavy, your head starts to droop and before you know it, sleep pulls you under.

the door opens quietly sometime after midnight.

gator steps inside, shoulders tense, jaw tight, muttering under his breath about the day he had. “stupid… whole damn shift was a mess… can’t do nothin’ right, i swear…”

he kicks off his boots, rubbing a hand over his face. he looks exhausted. irritated. ready to snap at the next thing that goes wrong.

then he sees you.

asleep on the couch, blanket slipping off your shoulder, your face soft in the dim light.

he freezes.

“ oh, baby…” he whispers, voice suddenly small. “you waited up for me?”

he walks over slow, like he’s afraid he’ll wake you. he kneels beside the couch, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a kiss to your head.

“look at you,” he murmurs. “my sweet girl. fallin’ asleep waitin’ on my dumb ass.”

he sighs, but it’s not frustrated anymore. it’s soft. warm. full of something he doesn’t know how to say out loud.

he slips his arms under you, lifting you carefully. you stir a little, head falling against his shoulder.

“gator…?” you mumble.

“shh, mama,” he whispers. “go back to sleep. i got you.”

he carries you upstairs, holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched. his bad day is gone. completely forgotten. replaced by this quiet moment of you trusting him enough to fall asleep waiting for him.

he lays you down on the bed, tucks the blanket around you, changes, then climbs in beside you. he pulls you into his chest, burying his face in your hair.

“you make everything better, y’know that?” he whispers. “i come home all mad and stupid and then i see you and it’s like… it’s like none of it matters.”

you nuzzle closer, half-asleep.

“missed you,” you mumble.

he smiles into your hair.

“missed you too, sweetheart.”

his arm tightens around your waist. his breathing evens out. for the first time all day, he feels calm. safe. home.

Summary: After a week of hiding, healing, and holding each other close, Gator is dragged back into the violence he tried to escape.

Warnings: emotional distress, kidnapping, implied violence, abusive family dynamics, helplessness, trauma responses, fear, angst. No graphic descriptions, but heavy emotional content throughout.

a/n: sorry in advance for the ending guys…

———————————————————

You wake up feeling Gators strong arms around your waist and his body pressed up to yours.

You blinked slowly remembering everything that happened last night.

You didn’t dare to move at first, then his arm tightened around you.

“Mornin’ mama.” He murmured into your hair.

“Morning Gator.”

For a while neither of you said anything after so you turned your head slightly, just enough to see him over your shoulder.

His eyes were half‑open, lashes heavy, hair a mess, cheek still faintly bruised.

His hand slid up under your shirt resting on your ribs, tracing shapes on your skin.

“You cold?” he asked.

“No.”

“Hurt anywhere?”

You shake your head no.

“Hungry?”

“..A little.”

You shifted, turning fully to face him. His arm stayed around you, pulling you closer without thinking.

“You slept?” you asked.

He huffed a soft, humorless laugh. “Not much.”

“Why?”

He hesitated.

Then, quietly said,

“Kept wakin’ up to make sure you were okay.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. He leaned into your touch instantly, eyes fluttering shut.

“You don’t have to watch me,” you whispered.

“I know.” His voice was barely a breath. “But I wanted to.”

You smiled , “You know I’m safe in your arms Gator.” you said moving closer , tucking yourself under his chin. His arms wrapped around you like instinct, like muscle memory, like he’d been made to hold you.

“You still hungry?”he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

You nodded against his chest.

He hesitated, then pressed a small kiss to the top of your head.

Soft.

“You know when your dad will be back?”

“In a week he said.”

He smiled and kissed your head again.

“Stay here,” he whispered. “I’ll make somethin’.”

You blinked up at him. “You cook?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not good. But I can try.”

You smiled and gave him a small peck on his lips.

Then he stood, stretching, shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin and his happy trail before he tugged it down again. His hair was a mess. His eyes were still puffy. His bruise was darker.

“I’ll be right back darlin’, don’t move.”

You watched him leave the room, listened to his footsteps down the hall, the soft clatter of cabinets opening, the low curse when something fell.

You giggle to yourself and pull the covers up to your chin.

You heard the stove click on.

A pan hit the burner.

Something sizzled — loudly — followed by Gator muttering, “Shit— okay, okay, that’s fine.”

After a few minutes, the smell of eggs drifted down the hallway.

Then toast.

Then something that might’ve been bacon but also might’ve been burning.

You slid out of bed, walking quietly into the kitchen.

He didn’t hear you at first.

He was standing at the stove, shoulders tense, spatula in hand, staring at the pan like it had personally offended him.

You hug him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said without turning around.

“Mm hard with all this noise you’re making baby.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“What are you making?”

He sighed. “Somethin’ that was supposed to be eggs.”

You bit back a laugh. “It looks… edible.”

“It ain’t,” he muttered.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. “Could go back and cuddle in bed.”

“I want to,” he said. “Ain’t nobody ever let me take care of ‘em before.”

You kissed his back and hummed in response.

He turned off the stove, abandoning the pan entirely, and faced you fully. His hands hovered at your waist before settling there, tentative but warm.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He swallowed hard. “Gettin’ there.”

You leaned into him, forehead brushing his chest. His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you close.

“I can make breakfast,” you murmured.

He shook his head against your hair. “No. Lemme try again. I wanna do somethin’ right.”

“Gator…”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes soft in a way that made your heart ache.

“Let me sweetheart.”

You nodded.

“Okay.”

His shoulders relaxed.

His breath steadied.

“Good,” he murmured.

He turned back to the stove, determined, focused, ready to burn another pan if it meant making you happy.

You sat at the table watching him with admiration.

Gator Tillman.

At a stove.

Trying to cook for you.

“You don’t gotta watch me,” he muttered, flipping something in the pan that definitely wasn’t supposed to be that color.

“Oh like you’re one to talk Mr.Tillman?”

He huffed a laugh then let out a little whatever.

When he finally put the food on the plate,eggs that were a little too brown, toast that was a little too dark, bacon that was… still bacon surprising. He set the plate in front of you with a kind of nervous look.

“Ain’t fancy,” he said. “But it’s somethin’.”

You looked up at him.

He wasn’t meeting your eyes.

He was rubbing the back of his neck, shifting his weight, waiting for you to hate it.

Waiting for you to hate him.

You picked up a piece of bacon which was definitely the safest option.

Then smiled.

“It’s good.”

He blinked. “You lyin’?”

“No.”

He stared at you for a long moment, like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him. When he finally believed you, his shoulders dropped a little. His jaw unclenched. Something warm flickered in his eyes.

He sat across from you, plate in front of him, but he didn’t eat right away.

“You look tired,” he said softly.

“So do you.”

He huffed a small laugh. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“You told me.”

He nodded, eyes dropping to his plate. “Yeah.”

You took another bite. “You can eat, you know.”

He shrugged. “I’m fine.”

You nudged his foot under the table. “Eat.”

He picked up his fork and took a small bite, like he was only doing it because you told him to.

You ate in silence for a few minutes.

Every now and then, he’d glance at you.

Every now and then, you’d catch him.

Every time, he’d look away too fast.

“You don’t gotta be nervous,” you said gently.

He swallowed hard. “I ain’t nervous.”

“You are.”

He sighed, rubbing his thumb along the edge of his plate. “I just… don’t wanna mess this up.”

“How many times I gotta tell you you won’t Gator?”

He looked up, eyes soft and unsure.

“You’re real good at makin’ me feel things I ain’t used to feelin’,” he said quietly.

“Good things?” you asked.

He nodded once. “Yeah. Good things.”

You reached your hand across the table, palm up.

He hesitated.

Then placed his hand in yours.

His fingers were warm.

He looked at your joined hands like he was memorizing the moment.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Mhm.”

-

The whole we he spent at your house while your father was gone on whatever work trip he was on.

He didn’t leave.

Not once.

He’d sleep in your bed every night holding you close, kissing your head, playing with your hair.

It was now Saturday.

You were making lunch together, him chopping veggies, you stirring something on the stove, when you both heard it.

A car door.

Heavy footsteps.

A voice Gator knew too well.

Roy.

Gator froze.

The knife slipped from his hand and clattered onto the counter.

His breath hitched.

His shoulders tensed.

His eyes went wide with something between fear and fury.

He whispered your name.

Then,

“Get behind me.”

Roy pounded on the door.

His eyes snapped to the door.

Then to you.

Then back to the door.

He didn’t breathe.

You whispered his name, barely audible. “Gator…”

He shook his head once — tiny, terrified — and stepped in front of you without thinking.

“I said get behind me,” he said again, voice low, tight, shaking in a way you’d never heard before.

You did.

Another pound rattled the doorframe.

“GATOR!” Roy’s voice boomed through the wood. “OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR.”

His shoulders curled inward.

His hands clenched.

His breath came out in short, panicked bursts.

He looked like a kid.

A scared kid.

Not the man who held you all week.

Not the man who kissed you like he meant it.

Not the man who whispered he wasn’t leaving.

This was the boy Roy raised.

The boy Roy broke.

“Gator,” you whispered, touching his back gently. “Look at me.”

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

The pounding got louder.

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU BEEN HIDIN’?” Roy roared. “YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU WITH?”

Gator’s breath hitched.

You stepped closer, pressing your forehead between his shoulder blades.

“I’m right here,” you whispered. “You’re not alone.”

His hand reached back blindly, grabbing yours.

Holding it so tight it almost hurt.

Another slam.

The door shook.

“Gator,” Roy snarled, “you open this door right now or I swear to God—”

Gator snapped.

Not in anger.

In fear.

He turned, grabbing your face with both hands, eyes wide and glassy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m so damn sorry.”

“For what?” you breathed.

“For bringin’ this to your door.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t bring anything. He did.”

He closed his eyes like the words physically hurt him.

“I ain’t lettin’ him touch you,” he said, voice trembling. “I ain’t lettin’ him talk to you. I ain’t lettin’ him—”

Another slam cut him off.

“GATOR GODDAMN TILLMAN!”

Gator’s whole body jerked.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaking.

“I gotta open it,” he whispered. “If I don’t… he’ll break it down.”

“Then I’m staying right here,” you said.

He shook his head violently. “No. No, sweetheart, you can’t—”

“I’m not hiding.”

He cupped your cheek with a shaking hand.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered. “Please.”

You nodded.

He swallowed hard, turned toward the door, and took a single, steadying breath.

Then he unlocked it.

The door flew open before he could even touch the handle.

Roy filled the doorway like a storm.

Snow on his boots.

Hat low.

Eyes sharp and furious.

He looked at Gator first.

Then at you.

Then back at Gator.

His lip curled.

“So this is where you been.”

Gator stepped in front of you instantly, blocking Roy’s view.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low. “Don’t talk to her.”

Roy laughed — a cold, humorless sound.

“You think you protectin’ her?” he sneered. “Boy, you can’t even protect yourself.”

Gator’s jaw tightened.

You saw the way his hands shook.

You saw the way his shoulders tensed.

You saw the way he braced for impact that hadn’t come yet.

Roy stepped closer.

Gator didn’t move.

“Get your ass home,” Roy growled. “Now.”

“No,” Gator said quietly.

Roy blinked.

Like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

“What’d you just say to me?”

Gator swallowed hard.

His voice cracked.

“I said no.”

Roy’s face darkened.

You grabbed Gator’s hand.

He squeezed back.

Roy saw it.

And something in his expression shifted — from anger to something colder.

Meaner.

More dangerous.

“You think this girl’s worth defyin’ me?” Roy asked, voice low.

Then you heard your back door open.

Gator’s head snapped toward the noise.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no—”

Before you could ask what he meant, a shadow moved behind you.

A hand clamped over your mouth.

You didn’t even have time to scream.

Gator lunged, but Roy grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall so hard the picture frames rattled.

“Don’t,” Roy barked. “You hear me? Don’t you move.”

You struggled, kicking, clawing, but the grip on you was iron.

Unshakeable.

Ancient.

Gator’s eyes went wide — wide with a kind of fear you’d never seen in him.

“Let her go!” he shouted, voice cracking. “Let her go, please—”

Munch didn’t even look at him.

He just dragged you backward, out the door, into the cold.

Your fingers reached for Gator.

His reached for you.

You missed by inches.

“STOP!” Gator screamed, voice raw. “STOP! TAKE ME, NOT HER!”

Roy shoved him toward the truck.

“You’re comin’ with me,” Roy growled. “You brought this on yourself.”

Gator fought.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like a man drowning.

But Roy was stronger.

Bigger.

Fueled by something meaner.

He forced Gator into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and locked it.

You were thrown into the back of another vehicle.

Munch beside you.

Silent.

Unblinking.

Gator’s face pressed to the window, eyes wild, breath fogging the glass.

“Sweetheart!” he shouted. “I’m gonna get you! I swear— I swear I’m gonna—”

The engines roared.

Both trucks pulled away.

You watched him disappear through the rear window.

He watched you disappear through the front.

-

They took you somewhere cold.

Somewhere empty.

Somewhere that felt wrong the second you stepped inside.

Gator knew it instantly.

His breath hitched.

His shoulders shook.

His eyes darted around like he was reliving something he’d spent years trying to forget.

“No,” he whispered. “Not here. Please— not here.”

Roy shoved him forward.

Munch tied you to a pole.

You couldn’t move.

Couldn’t help him.

Couldn’t do anything but watch.

Gator looked at you — really looked — and something in him broke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

You shook your head, tears burning your eyes. “Gator—”

He tried to reach for you.

Roy yanked him back.

You were forced to watch.

You were forced to listen.

You were forced to see the fear in Gator’s eyes.

You watched as Munch walked over to gator with a metal pole in his hands.

“gator..”

Munch brought the pole to Gators eyes.

“NO LEAVE HIM ALONE HURT ME INSTEAD…PLEASE.” You said crying and feeling weak.

You saw Gator fall to his knees.

You saw him beg.

You saw him break in a way you didn’t know a person could break.

You saw the blood coming from his face.

All you could do was cry and scream.

You screamed his name until your throat burned.

Then everything went quiet.

You woke up in the snow about 10 feet away from Gator.

You ran to him.

Your knees hit the snow so hard you didn’t feel it.

Your hands shook as you reached for him.

Your breath came out in broken sobs.

“Gator— Gator, I’m here, I’m here—”

He was on his side, curled in on himself, breath shallow, body trembling. Snow clung to his hair and his clothes.

He turned his head toward your voice.

He had a bandage around his eyes.

Your heart shattered.

You pulled him into your lap, arms wrapping around him, rocking back and forth without even realizing you were doing it.

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so—”

Your voice broke.

You pressed your forehead to his, your tears falling onto his cheeks.

“This is my fault,” you whispered. “I should’ve stopped them, I should’ve— I should’ve—”

His hand lifted.

Shaking.

Searching.

Blind.

You caught it instantly, pressing it to your cheek.

He exhaled — a soft, broken sound — and his thumb brushed your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you all over again.

“Sweetheart…” he whispered, voice raw. “Don’t… don’t cry.”

You sobbed harder.

He swallowed, breath hitching.

“I’m right here,” you said. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not— I’m not—”

His fingers curled weakly against your face.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You cupped his face with both hands, pressing your forehead to his again.

“I love you,” you whispered back, voice shaking. “I love you, Gator— I love you so much—”

He let out a shaky breath, leaning into you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

Snow fell around you.

Cold.

Silent.

Unforgiving.

But you held him.

Rocking him gently.

Crying into his hair.

Whispering apologies he kept trying to hush with trembling hands.

You stayed like that until your legs went numb.

Until your fingers burned.

Until the world felt far away.

Just you and him.

Alone in the snow.

Summary: Y/N becomes Gator’s caretaker after he’s left blinded, and over weeks they grow deeply connected.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A long hallway of beige walls, humming lights, and doors that all looked the same. You clutched the clipboard they’d given you, your name badge clinging to your shirt. First day nerves. First day… whatever this was. The supervisor walked too fast, her heels clicking like a metronome.

“Your primary assignment is Tillman,” she said, not bothering to check if you were keeping up. “He’s… difficult.”

“Difficult how?”

“You’ll see.”

Great.

She stopped at a door with a metal plate: G. TILLMAN — LEVEL 3 CARE.

“Don’t take anything he says personally,” she added, lowering her voice. “He’s….adjusting.”

Adjusting.

That was one word for having your eyes cut out.

You inhaled, knocked once, and pushed the door open. The room was dim, curtains half-drawn. A man sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed. Bandages wrapped around his eyes, stained faintly yellow from the antiseptic. His hair was messy, curls flattened on one side like he’d slept wrong. His hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.

his head turned sharply toward the sound of the door.

“Who the hell is that?” His voice was rough, defensive.

You swallowed. “I’m Y/N. I’m assigned to—”

“No.”

He said it instantly, like a reflex.

“No what?”

“No new people. Tell them to send someone else.”

You stepped further in, ignoring the way your pulse jumped. “I’m not here to replace anyone. I’m just—”

“You’re just another babysitter,” he snapped. “Another voice I gotta listen to. Another person thinkin’ they know what’s best for me.”

His jaw clenched.

You kept your voice steady. “I’m here to help you, Gator.”

He scoffed. “You don’t even know me.”

“Then let me.”

Silence.

A long, tense silence.

“You sound young,” he muttered finally.

“And you sound stubborn.”

His head tilted — not quite a smile, but something close to surprise.

“You got some nerve talkin’ to me like that.”

“Like you weren’t just being disrespectful to me a second time ago.”

He exhaled through his nose, frustrated but… calmer.

“Fine,” he said. “What do you want?”

“To introduce myself.”

“Why? I can’t see you.”

“That’s not the only way to know someone.”

Another silence.

This one softer.

You stepped closer, slow enough that he could hear your footsteps.

“I’m Y/N,” you said again, gentler this time. “And I’ll be helping you with daily tasks. Mobility, meals, orientation, whatever you need.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to wake up and see nothin’. To hear people whisperin’ about you. To feel like a… like a burden.”

When he finally stopped, you said quietly, “I’m not here to pity you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because you deserve someone who doesn’t give up on you.”

He froze.

You waited.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

But his shoulders dropped — just a fraction.

“Fine,” he muttered. “You can… stay. For now.”

“Do you want me to read your schedule for today?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

He hesitated.

“…No.”

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Yes.”

You smiled.

“We’ll start there.”

“Take my hand,” you said.

He didn’t.

Not at first.

His fingers twitched, curling and uncurling like he was fighting himself. Then, with a shaky exhale, he reached out blindly — searching, missing, brushing your wrist before finally finding your palm.

His grip was strong.

You guided him to the chair. He sat stiffly.

You placed a plate with pancakes in front of him and put a fork in his hand. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“Just try,” you whispered.

He lifted the fork, missed the plate entirely, and froze.

“See?” he muttered. “I can’t even—”

“You’re learning,” you said. “That’s what this is.”

He swallowed hard.

“I don’t want to live like this.”

“You’re not alone Gator.”

He didn’t answer.

But he let you guide his hand again.

And when he finally tasted the first bite of food, he exhaled a small, broken sound that wasn’t quite relief and wasn’t quite defeat.

Just… surrender.

When you helped him stand later, his hand found yours without hesitation this time, fingers curling around your wrist like he’d been waiting for the anchor.

-the next day-

You didn’t mean to walk in on him like that.

You’d knocked — twice — but he hadn’t answered, and the morning meds were time‑sensitive. So you pushed the door open, expecting him to be asleep or sitting on the bed like yesterday.

Instead, he was on the floor.

On his knees.

Hands flat against the cold tile.

“Gator?” you said softly.

He flinched so violently he knocked into the nightstand. The lamp rattled. His hand shot out blindly, trying to catch something that wasn’t falling.

“Don’t—” His voice cracked. “Don’t come in here.”

You froze. “You’re on the floor.”

“I know where I am.”

“Let me help you up.”

“No.”

You stepped closer anyway, slow and careful. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Gator—”

“I said nothing.”

His voice was sharp.

You crouched beside him, close enough that he could feel your presence but not touching him.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you whispered.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Pretend? You think this is pretend? You think I’m doing this for fun?”

“That’s not what I—”

“You think I want you to see me like this?” he snapped, turning his head toward your voice. “On the damn floor like a child? Crawling around because I can’t find my own bed?”

“I’m useless.” He says voice cracking.

You reached out, slowly, giving him time to pull away which he didn’t. Your hand settled on his forearm.

“You’re not useless Gator,” you said.

He jerked his arm back like your touch burned. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are.” His voice rose, cracking under the weight of everything he’d been holding in. “You come in here with your soft voice and your stupid optimism and you think you can fix this. You think you can fix me.”

“Gato-“

“You think if you’re patient enough, kind enough, I’ll magically become someone worth your time.”

You swallowed hard. “You are worth my time.”

He laughed — a hollow, broken sound. “You don’t know me.”

“Then let me.”

“No!”

He slammed his fist against the floor.

I don’t want you to see me like this,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t want anyone to.”

Your heart cracked cleanly in your chest.

“Gator,” you said softly, “everyone needs help sometimes.”

“Not like this.”

“Exactly like this.”

He shook his head, bandages shifting slightly with the movement. “I don’t want to be someone you have to take care of.”

“You’re not a burden.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

You exhaled slowly. “Then tell me what you want.”

He went still.

His hands curled into fists on his knees. His voice, when it came, was barely audible.

“I want my life back.”

You reached for him again. slower this time, gentler, and placed your hand over his.

He didn’t pull away.

Not this time.

His fingers trembled under yours, but he didn’t move.

“Let me help you up,” you whispered.

He nodded once — a tiny, broken motion — and let you guide him to his feet. His grip on your hand was tight, desperate, like he was afraid the world might tilt again.

When he finally sat on the bed, he kept holding your hand.

-

A month changed everything.

Not in a dramatic way, no sudden breakthroughs, but in the small, ordinary ways that mattered more.

Gator didn’t flinch when you touched his arm anymore.

He didn’t tense when you walked into the room.

He didn’t pretend he didn’t wait for your footsteps in the morning.

He still sat in the same spot by the window, but now he angled his body toward the door, like he could feel you coming before you even knocked.

When you walked in today, he smiled.

“You’re late,” he said.

“You’re early.”

“I woke up early.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t wanna miss you.”

You tried not to react, but your heart did that stupid flutter thing anyway.

You set the tray down and sat in the chair beside him. He didn’t reach for your hand, but his knee brushed yours, and he didn’t move away.

“You sound tired,” he said.

You let out a humorless laugh. “I am.”

“Bad night?”

“Bad boyfriend.”

He stiffened. “What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” you said. “That’s the problem.”

Gator’s jaw tightened. “Explain.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “He doesn’t… care. Not really. He forgets plans. He doesn’t ask about my day. He only talks about himself. And when I try to tell him how I feel, he makes me feel dramatic.”

Gator’s head turned sharply toward you. “He sounds like an ass.”

“He’s not an ass,” you said automatically. “He’s just—”

“A narcissist,” Gator finished. “You can say it.”

You swallowed. “Maybe.”

He shifted, fingers tapping against his thigh. “You deserve better.”

You laughed softly and cleared your throat. “My birthday’s next week.”

He perked up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You excited?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

You hesitated.

Then said the truth.

“Because he probably won’t come.”

Gator’s jaw clenched. “He won’t come to your birthday?”

“He’ll say he’s busy. Or tired. Or he forgot. He always forgets.”

“You shouldn’t have to beg someone to show up for you.”

“I’m not begging.”

“You are,” he said softly. “Just not out loud.”

You looked away, blinking hard.

Silence settled between you.

“I wish you could come.”

Gator froze.

His breath caught.

His shoulders went rigid.

His fingers stopped tapping.

“Me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah. You.”

He swallowed hard. “Why?”

“Because you’d actually want to be there.”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

You thought maybe you’d said too much — crossed a line you didn’t realize was there.

“If you want me there… I’ll go.”

Your heart stopped.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Gator, it’s a lot. The noise, the people, the—”

“I don’t care,” he said. “If it’s for you, I’ll go.”

Your breath caught.

He wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t teasing

He meant it.

You reached out, fingers brushing his hand. he laced his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Then… I want you there.”

He squeezed your hand, gentle but sure.

“Then I’ll be there,” he said. “Even if I gotta hold onto your arm the whole damn night.”

You laughed and he smiled.

-

Your birthday fell on a Thursday, which meant you still had your morning shift at the facility. You didn’t mind though you wanted to see him before anything else.

When you walked into his room, he was already sitting up, hands folded, hair a little messy like he’d been running his fingers through it.

“You’re early,” he said.

“You’re dressed, you did that by yourself?”you teased.

He smirked. “Yes and you said today was important.”

You sat beside him, heart thudding. “It is.”

He turned his head toward your voice. “What are you wearing?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I wanna know,” he said quietly. “I wanna… picture you. Since I can’t see you.”

You swallowed. “Okay. Um… I’m wearing a dress.”

“What kind?”

“It’s… soft. Flowing. Dark red.”

He inhaled like he could feel the color.

“And your hair?” he asked.

“It’s down,” you said. “Curled a little at the ends.”

“And your eyes?”

“Brown.”

He nodded slowly, like he was memorizing every detail.

“And your face?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated. “What about it?”

“Describe it.”

You laughed softly. “Gator, that’s—”

“Please.”

You exhaled. “I have… soft features, I guess.. My lips are—”

“Pretty,” he said.

You froze. “You haven’t seen them.”

“I don’t need to.”

He reached out, hand hovering in the air. You guided it gently to your cheek. His thumb brushed your skin, slow and careful.

You let him trace the line of your jaw, the curve of your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth. His touch was feather-light, reverent.

Then he pulled back suddenly, clearing his throat. “You should go. You’ll be late.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

He stiffened. “You sure you want me there?”

“I want you there more than anyone.”

-The party-

Your boyfriend was already annoyed when you arrived.

“You’re late,” he said, not even looking up from his phone.

“It’s my birthday,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, well, you could’ve texted.”

You swallowed irritation. “I told you I had work.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

At seven, you slipped out to get Gator. He was waiting by the door, dressed in a clean button-up, hair combed, hands clasped tightly like he was trying not to shake.

“You look…” you started, then stopped.

He tilted his head. “What?”

“You look good.”

He smiled.

You guided him inside. He held your arm tightly, fingers curling around your elbow like you were the only thing keeping him steady.

Your boyfriend spotted you from across the room. His eyes flicked to Gator, then back to you.

“Seriously?” he said loudly. “You brought him?”

You stiffened. “Yes. He’s my friend.”

Your boyfriend snorted. “Friend? He can’t even see you.”

Gator’s hand tightened on your arm.

You stepped forward. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Your boyfriend raised an eyebrow. “What? It’s true. He’s blind. What’s he gonna do here? Count the tiles?”

A few people laughed.

Gator’s jaw clenched. His shoulders curled inward, like he was trying to make himself smaller.

You felt something inside you snap.

“Stop,” you said sharply.

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes. “Come on, babe. It’s a joke.”

“No,” you said. “It’s cruelty.”

He scoffed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No,” you said again, louder this time.

He blinked. “What?”

“We’re done,” you said. “I’m not spending my birthday with someone who mocks people he’s threatened by.”

Your boyfriend’s face twisted. “Threatened? By him?”

You stepped closer to Gator, your hand finding his.

“Yes,” you said. “By him.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “Have fun with your charity case.”

Gator flinched.

You didn’t.

“Get out,” you said.

Your now ex boyfriend stormed off, muttering under his breath.

The room went quiet.

You turned to Gator. “Are you okay?”

He swallowed hard. “You… stood up for me.”

“Course I did.”

“No one’s ever done that.”

You squeezed his hand.

He lifted his head toward your voice. “You broke up with him,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Because of what?” he said.

“Because of what he is.”

Gator swallowed hard. “And what am I?”

You blinked. “What?”

“What am I to you?” he asked, voice low, raw. “Because I know what I look like to everyone else. A project. A pity case.

“You’re someone I care about,” you whispered.

The music faded into background noise.

The room blurred.

It felt like the world had narrowed to the space between your hands.

“Why?” he asked. “Why do you care about me?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Because he listened.

Because he tried.

Because he let you in even when it terrified him.

Because he made you feel seen in ways no one never had.

But you didn’t say any of that.

Instead, you said the truth that felt safest.

“Because you’re good,” you whispered.

His jaw clenched. “I’m not good.”

“You are.”

“I’m blind and broken.”

“You’re still here.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“Do you regret it?” he asked. “Breaking up with him?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not even a little.”

He nodded slowly, like he was absorbing the weight of that.

Then, after a long moment:

“Can we… leave?” he asked. “Just you and me. I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

You squeezed his hand. “Of course.”

You guided him outside, your arm linked with his. The night air was cool, quiet, a relief after the noise inside.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Just walking.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

You walked slowly, your steps in sync. His hand stayed wrapped around your arm.

“Y/N,” he said softly.

You turned toward him. “Yeah?”

He lifted his free hand, searching the air. You guided it to your cheek. His thumb brushed your skin, slow and careful, like he was memorizing you all over again.

“You said your eyes are brown,” he murmured.

“They are.”

“And your hair is soft.”

You smile.

“I wish I could see you.”

Your heart broke cleanly in your chest.

“You do,” you said. “Just …not the way you think.”

You took his hand, pressed it to your heart.

He leaned into your touch, forehead brushing yours, breath warm against your lips.

“I need to say something,” he whispered.

“okay.”

He swallowed hard. “When I lost my sight… I thought that was it. That my life was over. But then you walked into my room,” he continued, voice cracking. “And you talked to me like I was still a person. You didn’t treat me like I was broken. You didn’t look at me with pity. You… stayed.”

Your eyes burned.

“And somewhere along the way,” he said, “I started waking up because I wanted to hear your voice. I started trying because I didn’t want to disappoint you. I started… living again.”

You felt your throat tighten. “Gator—”

He shook his head. “Let me finish.”

You nodded.

He took a shaky breath. “Tonight, when he made fun of me… I wasn’t embarrassed. I wasn’t angry. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you’d realize he was right,” he whispered. “That you’d see me the way everyone else does. That you’d walk away. But I need you to understand something,” he said. “I can’t give you the life you’d have with another guy. I can’t drive you places. I can’t look at you across a room. I can’t see your smile or your eyes or the way you tilt your head when you’re trying not to laugh.”

“I don’t want the life I had with my exs.” you whispered. “I want the life where I have you.”

His breath hitched.

“You’re choosing someone who’s blind.”

“I’m choosing someone who sees me better than anyone ever has.”

He froze.

Then his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers curling gently.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to know,” you said. “You just have to want it.”

He exhaled shakily. “I do.”

You leaned in, closing the last inch between you.

He didn’t kiss you like someone confident or practiced.

He kissed you like someone who’d been living in darkness and finally found something warm to hold onto.

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“What happens now?” he asked.

You smiled. “Now? We go slow. We figure it out. We make mistakes. We try again. We live. Together.”

“Okay,” he whispered. “Together.”

You walked the rest of the way with his arm linked through yours, the night quiet around you, the future uncertain but finally, finally something he wasn’t afraid to reach for.

And when you reached his room, he didn’t ask if you were leaving.

He asked, softly

“Will you stay a little longer?”

And you did.

And for the first time since the darkness took his sight, Gator Tillman didn’t feel like he’d lost his life.

~Summary: After months of secretly texting an older guy you’ve grown close to, you transfer colleges for a fresh start only to discover on your first day that the man you’ve been flirting with is actually your new math professor, Steve Harrington.

~Warnings: age gap between two consenting adults, smut, p in v, oral(m receiving) little praise,professor x student and little of power dynamics.

———————————————————

You’ve been texting this older guy for a couple months now.

He told you he worked in education, but he never really went into detail about what grade he taught or who he taught. You didn’t push. You liked the mystery. You liked him more than you should.

You showed him what you looked like weeks ago, but he never sent a picture back. He always joked that he “looked tired” or “looked like a mess after work.”

Still, you didn’t mind. You liked the way he talked. You liked the way he listened.

You wished you were his age sometimes, so he wouldn’t think it was weird to want you back.

One night, you told him about the incident at your old college — the reason you transferred. He didn’t pry, didn’t push, just told you he was proud of you for leaving a place that hurt you. He said he couldn’t wait to hear about your first day at the new school.

You went to sleep with his name still glowing on your screen.

~The next morning~

You’re getting ready for your new college when your phone buzzes.

Ding.

Good morning, beautiful. Hope you have a good first day. I’m headed to work. we’re getting new students today. 🙃

You stare at the message.

Hm.

What a coincidence.

You shake it off, heart his message,grab your bag, and head out.

~At campus~

The school is massive.

Students flood the hallways, laughing, talking, trying to find their buildings. Teachers weave through the crowd, pointing lost freshmen in the right direction.

You check your schedule.

B27 — Mathematics.

You take a deep breath and walk inside.

You slip into a seat near the middle. Students settle in around you, pulling out notebooks and laptops. The room hums with first‑day nerves.

The door opens.

Your teacher walks in.

Gray suit pants.

White button-down that fits a little too well.

Black dress shoes.

Hair slightly messy, like he ran his hands through it on the way here.

God he’s hot.

He sets his bag down, looks up

And freezes.

His face goes completely red.

He’s is staring at you like he seen a ghost.

You’re not sure why he’s staring at you.

~

Class drags on

You try to focus, but your brain is buzzing.

You pull out your phone under the desk and type:

i hope your day’s going good. my new teacher keeps giving me weird looks.

Across the room, Mr.Harringtons phone buzzes.

He pauses mid-sentence.

He pulls his phone out.

He reads the message.

His eyes lift slowly, meeting yours.

He looks like he might pass out.

Hm. Weird.

~

You finish your notes when you pick up your phone to check your messages when you feel someone step closer.

His voice is low, careful, almost pleading.

“Get off your phone and pay attention to me.”

You look up.

He’s not talking to the class.

He’s talking to you.

And suddenly everything makes sense, the coincidence, the timing, the way he looked at you like he already knew you.

Because he did.

-

The room empties slowly, students drifting out in groups , talking about weekend plans.

You stay seated, pretending to organize your bag even though your hands are shaking.

Steve keeps his eyes on his desk, pretending to shuffle papers.

When the last student leaves, the door swings shut with a soft click.

Silence.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire class.

“You…” His voice cracks, and he tries again. “You’re really here.”

You stand, gripping the strap of your bag. “I didn’t know you taught here.”

He laughs under his breath, not mocking, just stunned. “Yeah.”

You take a step closer. He takes a step back, like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if you get too close.

His eyes flicker over your face, softening, warming, then darting away like he’s not allowed to look at you the way he wants to.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says quietly. “About getting new students today.”

You swallow. “I wasn’t lying either. About my teacher giving me weird looks.”

That earns a real smile. Small , crooked, nervous.

He runs a hand through his hair. “This is… complicated.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Why have you never let me see your face, I mean.. you’re pretty handsome.”

He shrugs and goes closer to you.

“Guess I was scared that you’d stop talking to me.”

You looked at him confused.

“I meant everything I said,” he murmurs. “Every good morning. Every compliment. Every late-night conversation. Every time I told you I liked talking to you.”

“But now you’re my student,” he says, voice breaking on the word. “And I don’t know how to go about with that.”

You look up at him, pulse pounding. “What do you want to do?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them. They look softer. Hungrier.

“I want…”

He stops, swallows hard.

“I want to talk to you the way I always do.”

You take a step closer.

“Then talk to me.”

His breath hitches.

“Not here,” he says. “Could get caught any moment.”

 You nod slowly.

He glances at the clock, then back at you.

“My office hours end at five,” he says quietly. “If you… if you want to come by. Just to talk.”

Just to talk.

But the way he says it feels like a promise.

You nod. “Okay.”

He steps aside, giving you space to leave. You walk toward the door, your hand on the handle.

“Hey,” he says behind you.

You turn.

“You’re even more beautiful in person.” He says softly. “Text me if you need anything.”

You smile.

“I will.”

You step into the hallway, heart racing, the door clicking shut behind you.

-

The rest of your day drags.

Every class feels twice as long. Every hallway feels too loud. Every time your phone buzzes, your heart jumps .. but it’s never him. He doesn’t text you again, and somehow that makes everything worse.

By the time the clock hits 4:52, you’re standing outside the math building, pretending you’re not counting down the minutes.

You tell yourself you’re just going to talk.

You tell yourself it’s just clarity.

You tell yourself you’re not nervous.

You’re lying.

At 4:59, you climb the stairs.

At 5:00, on the dot, you’re standing outside his office.

The door is cracked open, warm light spilling into the hallway. You hear papers shifting, a soft sigh, the scrape of a chair.

You knock gently.

The movement inside stops.

“Come in,” he says and his voice is softer than it was in class.

You push the door open.

Steve is sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, hair a little messier than before.

“You came,” he says quietly.

You close the door behind you. “You asked me to.”

He stands, almost too quickly, like he doesn’t trust himself to stay seated. He gestures to the chair across from him.

You sit.

He leans against the edge of his desk instead, arms crossed loosely.

You look down at your hands. “I didn’t know what to think.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Silence settles between you.

“I should’ve just showed you how I looked. I wasn’t hiding it to be shady. I just… like talking to you without it being a thing.”

You meet his eyes. “I like talking to you too.”

His expression softens.

“But now,” he says, voice low, “I’m standing here trying to figure out how to be your professor and still be the person you talked to every night.”

You swallow hard. “Do you want to stop talking?”

His eyes snap to yours — sharp, almost pained.

“No,” he says instantly. “God, no.”

You breathe out, relief washing through you.

He steps closer.

“I just don’t want to make this harder for you,” he says. “Or put you in a position you didn’t ask for.”

You look up at him. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He lets out a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “You are.”

For a moment, neither of you moves.

Then he clears his throat, grounding himself. “Okay. So… we talk. we figure out what this is. We take it slow.”

You nod.

He smiles — small, warm, a little relieved. “Good.”

You stand, and he walks you to the door, stopping just before opening it.

his hand is hovering inches from the knob. Then, without warning, he spins you around and pins you against the wood with his body.

"I can't do this," he growls lowly, voice strained with barely contained desire. "I can't pretend like I don't want you when all I can think about is kissing you.”

His hands come up to frame your face as he leans in close - so close that you can feel his breath ghosting over your lips.

"Tell me to stop," he rasps out. "Tell me this is a bad idea.”

He leaves the sentence hanging in the air between you, eyes searching yours intently for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest as you stare back at him.

"I don't want you to stop," you whisper back hoarsely after a moment's pause.

"I want... I want you to kiss me. To touch me. To make me yours."

His eyes flare with heat at your words and then his mouth is on yours - hard, hungry, demanding. He kisses you like a man starved, tongue delving deep as he presses you back against the door.

One hand tangles in your hair while the other slides down to grip your hip possessively. You moan into his mouth as he grinds against you, letting you feel exactly how much he wants this too.

"I need you," he pants out between kisses, voice rough with desire. "Need to have you….all of you."

"please" you gasp back, arching into him desperately.

He groans lowly at that plea before kissing down the column of your throat sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there until it's sure to leave marks.

"Gonna fuck you right here," he growls against your pulse point. "Bend you over my desk.”

His words send a bolt of pure lust straight to your core and you whimper needily.

"Yes... yes, please..."

He chuckles darkly at your response before pulling back just enough to start undoing his belt - the sound of the buckle clinking against the desk obscenely loud in the quiet office.

"Get on your knees," he orders roughly. "And show me how much you want this."

You kneel in front of him.

He watches you intently, eyes dark with lust and something almost feral as he takes in the sight of you kneeling before him. It makes heat pool low in your belly knowing that you're the one driving him wild like this.

"Fuck," he groans out softly as you finally get his pants undone and start pushing them down over his hips. "Been dreaming about this... About having your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock."

The admission sends a shiver through you and makes your cheeks flush hotly. You've never been spoken to so bluntly before but god if it doesn't turn you on like crazy.

"I want that too," you whisper back shyly even as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers next. "Want to taste you..."

He lets out a shuddery exhale at your words, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you finally free his erection from the confines of his underwear. It springs up hard and heavy between you , thick and flushed a deep red at the tip.

"Then do it," he rasps out, voice strained with barely contained desire. "Suck my cock like a good girl."

His words make you moan softly as you lean in to run your tongue along the underside of his shaft experimentally. He groans lowly at the touch, hips jerking forward slightly.

"So fucking good," he pants out, one hand coming down to tangle in your hair again encouragingly. "Take me deeper baby... Want to feel that pretty little mouth all over me."

You obey eagerly parting your lips and taking him into your mouth inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. You gag slightly but push through it, determined to take him all the way.

"That's it baby.”

he praises as you start bobbing your head up and down his length. "Fuck, just like that... Your mouth feels-fuck."

His words spur you on and you redouble your efforts - swirling your tongue around him and hollowing your cheeks to suck harder. The sounds of wet slurping fill the room obscenely along with his increasingly ragged breathing.

"Gonna come in that pretty mouth soon," he warns after a few minutes, voice tight with impending release. "Swallow it all down for me baby... Show me how much you love tasting my cum."

The filthy words make arousal spike through you again and you moan around him - sending delicious vibrations up his shaft. He groans loudly at that, fingers tightening in your hair.

"Fuck yes... Gonna..."

He trails off into a low groan as he starts to climax. hot ropes of cum hitting the back of your throat as he pulses against your tongue.

You swallow it down greedily, not wanting to waste a single drop. The salty taste and the knowledge that you made him come undone like this is intoxicating.

"Goddamn," he pants out shakily as you finally pull off with a wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "That was... Fuck, that was amazing."

He hauls you up from the floor and kisses you deeply ,tongue delving into your mouth to taste himself on your lips.

"Not done with you yet though," he murmurs against your skin between kisses. "Gonna fuck this tight little pussy next... Bend you over my desk and make you scream for me."

The promise makes arousal surge through you again and you nod eagerly even as he starts walking backwards towards his desk pulling you along by the hand.

"Please... Want to feel all of you..."

He smirks at your words before spinning around suddenly and pushing down on your shoulders.

“Bend over for me sweetheart.”

he orders huskily. "Spread your legs and show me how wet you are for me already."

You obey instantly, bending at the waist to brace yourself against his desk as you part your thighs invitingly.

The position leaves you completely exposed to him, skirt hiked up around your waist, panties already soaked through with arousal. You can feel cool air kissing your heated skin and it makes you shiver.

"Fuck," he groans out from behind you, voice rough with renewed desire as he takes in the sight of you laid out before him like a feast. "Look at this pretty pussy... So fucking wet and ready for me."

He runs a finger along your slit teasingly through the damp fabric of your underwear and it makes you gasp sharply.

"Yes," you whimper out needily. "Need you... Please..."

"So impatient," he chuckles darkly even as he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and starts tugging them down slowly. "Gonna give this greedy little cunt what it wants ..."

He pulls your underwear off completely and tosses them aside carelessly before gripping your hips in both hands. You can feel the heat of his erection pressing against your ass as he leans over you - lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Gonna fuck you so hard," he promises lowly. "Make this pussy mine... Fill it up with my cum until it's dripping down your thighs. Bet you’d like that wouldn’t you baby?."

The dirty words make arousal spike through you again and you push back against him desperately.

"Yes... Yes please Mr.Harrington..."

He groans before pulling back just enough to line himself up with your entrance. Then, with one smooth thrust, he drives into you fully - stretching and filling you completely.

"Fuck yes," he growls out as he bottoms out inside of you. "So goddamn tight beautiful.”

The sensation is overwhelming but a delicious mix of pleasure and pain as he stretches you open around his thick length. You cry out sharply at the intrusion, fingers scrabbling for something to grab on the smooth surface of his desk.

“Mmm… You’re so-fuck- so big.”

He chuckles darkly at that before starting to move, pulling back until just the tip remains inside of you before slamming forward again roughly.

"That's it baby," he praises huskily as he sets a hard, fast pace. "Take my cock like a good girl, yeah?”

The filthy words combined with the relentless thrusts quickly push you towards the edge and your inner walls start to flutter around him.

"So close," you pant out desperately, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "Gonna come... Gonna come on your cock..."

"Do it then," he orders gruffly even as one hand comes down to rub tight circles over your clit. "Come undone all over me baby.”

The added stimulation is enough to send you flying and you cry out sharply as orgasm crashes through you ..vision going white behind closed eyelids.

“fuck fuck.. i’m cumming.”

Your inner walls clamp down around him like a vice as you finish milking his cock for all it's worth. He groans loudly at the sensation, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Fuck yes," he pants out, voice strained with impending release. "Gonna come too baby... Gonna fill this pussy up..."

A few more erratic thrusts and then he's coming undone behind you hot spurts of cum painting your insides as he pulses inside of you.

"Yes," you moan out weakly even as aftershocks continue to roll through you. "Give it all to me... Want every drop..."

He collapses against your back once he's finished both of you panting harshly as sweat cools on overheated skin.

"That was..." he starts before trailing off with a low groan. "Goddamn incredible."

You can only nod in agreement, too blissed out to form words at the moment. All you know is that you've never felt so thoroughly used and satisfied in your life.

And as he pulls out of you slowly, cum starting to dribble down your thighs, you can't help but think that this is just the beginning...

He kisses your shoulder then your temple.

“Did so good for me honey. Let me clean you then we go to my house yeah?”

You nod too tired to respond.

Summary: After being caught with Gator, Ray hurts him, and Gator tries to stay away until jealously drags him back to your door.

Warnings:Smut, obsessive behavior, intense emotional dependency, controlling parents, toxic family dynamics, implied physical abuse, jealousy, stalking undertones, heavy angst, shouting, emotional vulnerability, unhealthy coping, possessive themes.

——————————————————-

Snow still clung to the edges of the windowsill, melting in slow, trembling drops that tapped against the wood like a heartbeat. Sunlight seeped into your room.

You woke up alone.

Your hand reached toward the floor beside your bed. The spot where Gator had sat the whole night before, legs stretched out, back against the wall, fingers laced with yours until you fell asleep.

But the floor was empty.

Your breath hitched.

Not loud. Just enough for you to hear.

You pushed yourself up slowly, blanket falling from your shoulders. The air still smelled faintly like him.

Then you saw it.

A folded piece of paper under a book on your nightstand.

Your stomach dropped before you even touched it.

You reached for it with shaking fingers, unfolding it carefully, like it might break if you weren’t gentle.

Had to get to work.

Won’t be around for a while.

Don’t worry.

— G

Your eyes stung immediately.

Because you knew what “won’t be around for a while” meant.

Distance.

Fear.

Pressure.

Roy.

Your father.

The whole damn town.

You sat on the edge of your bed, the note trembling in your hands, and you tried. you really tried to swallow the ache rising in your throat. But it was useless. The tears came anyway, hot and humiliating, slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them.

Your mind spiraled.

Did he regret that night?

Did your father scare him off?

Did Roy find out?

Was he hurt?

Was he ashamed?

Was he done with you.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, but the tears kept coming, stubborn and quiet. The kind that didn’t make noise but still left you gasping.

You curled forward, elbows on your knees, forehead pressed to your palms.

“Gator…” you whispered, voice cracking.

The house was silent.

Too silent.

Your father had already left for work. you could tell by the absence of his heavy footsteps, the lack of coffee smell, the way the air felt less charged without him in it.

You were alone with your thoughts.

And they were cruel.

You tried calling Gator.

Straight to voicemail.

You tried texting him.

Delivered.

No response.

You stared at the screen until your vision blurred again.

You hated crying.

You hated feeling weak.

You hated that he could make you feel like this without even being in the room.

But you loved him.

God, you loved him.

And that was the worst part.

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to breathe, trying to steady yourself, trying not to fall apart completely.

But the truth was simple and brutal:

You were already falling apart.

And the day hadn’t even started yet.

-

The snow was still falling when Gator pulled into the driveway.

He sat in the patrol car for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white. His breath fogged the windshield. His shoulders still throbbed from where your father had shoved him earlier, but that wasn’t what made his stomach twist.

It was the house.

The lights were on.

Roy was awake.

Gator swallowed hard, jaw tightening, and stepped out into the cold.

The front door creaked when he opened it — loud, accusing. The warmth inside didn’t feel comforting. It felt suffocating.

Roy was sitting at the kitchen table, boots on the chair across from him, cigarette burning low between his fingers. He didn’t look up at first.

Then he did.

And his eyes narrowed.

“Where the hell you been?”

Gator shut the door quietly. “Work.”

Roy scoffed. “Don’t lie to me, boy. You forget i’m sheriff?”

Gator’s jaw flexed. “I ain’t lyin’.”

Roy stood slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. He walked toward Gator with that heavy, deliberate stride, the one that always made Gator feel twelve years old again.

“You think I don’t hear things?” Roy said, voice low, dangerous. “You think I don’t know where you were last night?”

Gator didn’t answer.

Roy stepped closer. “You were at that girl’s house.”

Gator’s breath hitched — barely, but Roy caught it.

Roy’s lip curled. “In her bed.”

Gator’s fists clenched at his sides.

Roy grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall so hard the picture frames rattled.

“You embarrass me,” Roy hissed. “You make me look weak.”

Gator stared at the floor, chest rising and falling fast.

Roy’s voice dropped even lower. “You wanna be a man? Then act like one. Not some lovesick idiot sneakin’ around like a damn stray dog.”

Gator’s throat tightened. “I wasn’t—”

Roy hit him.

A sharp, open‑handed crack across the face that snapped Gator’s head to the side. His cheek burned instantly, eyes watering from the sting.

He didn’t lift a hand to defend himself.

He never did.

Roy leaned in close, breath hot and smelling like whiskey .

“You listen to me, boy. You stay away from her. She’s trouble. She’s poison. And she ain’t worth the mess she’s gonna bring down on this family.”

Gator swallowed hard. “She ain’t like that.”

Roy slammed him again, harder this time.

“Don’t talk back.”

Gator’s breath shook. He blinked fast, trying to steady himself, trying not to let the tears sting his eyes. Not here. Not in front of him.

Roy stepped back, lighting another cigarette.

“You wanna prove yourself?” he said. “Then do what I tell you. Stay away from her. Don’t look at her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even breathe in her direction.”

Gator nodded once.

Not because he wanted to.

Because he had to.

Roy smirked, satisfied.

He walked past Roy, heading for his room, but Roy called after him:

“And if I hear you went near her again? I’ll handle it myself. You hear me?”

Gator froze in the hallway.

“I hear you,” he said quietly.

He shut his bedroom door behind him and leaned against it, chest heaving, eyes burning.

He pressed the heel of his hand to his face, wincing at the bruise forming there.

He thought of you.

Your tears.

Your shaking hands.

The way you whispered his name like it meant something.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He wanted to go back.

He wanted to climb through your window again.

He wanted to hold your hand until the sun came up.

But Roy’s voice echoed in his head.

Gator sank onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tight they trembled.

He whispered into the empty room:

“I’m sorry.”

And he meant it.

He meant it so much.

-

The next few days felt like walking through a blizzard with no coat — every breath sharp, every step painful, every moment colder than the last.

You tried to keep busy.

Tried to pretend the note didn’t sit on your nightstand like a bruise.

Tried to pretend you weren’t checking your phone every five minutes.

But the silence was loud.

Too loud.

By the third day, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You went to the station.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the whole place smelling like burnt coffee and wet boots. You stood near the front desk, fingers twisting in your sleeves, heart pounding so hard you felt it in your throat.

Then you saw him.

Gator walked out from the back hallway, head down, hat low, shoulders tense. He looked tired. He looked older. He looked like he hadn’t slept since that night.

“Gator,” you said softly.

He froze.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

His eyes met yours.

And something in his face shuttered closed.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t soften.

Didn’t even look surprised.

He just nodded once, stiffly, like you were someone he barely recognized.

“Can’t talk right now,” he muttered, brushing past you.

You turned, following him a few steps. “Gator, wait—”

He didn’t.

He kept walking, boots echoing down the hallway.

You stood there, breath shaking, eyes burning.

A deputy glanced at you with pity. You hated it. You hated all of it.

You left before the tears could fall.

-

You tried again the next day.

You waited outside the station, leaning against your car, arms wrapped around yourself. The wind was brutal, slicing through your jacket, but you stayed.

When Gator finally came out, he stopped short when he saw you.

You stepped forward. “Please. Just talk to me.”

He shook his head. “Ain’t a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because it ain’t.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He exhaled sharply, looking anywhere but at you. “Go home.”

“No.”

His jaw tightened. “I said go home.”

You felt the words like a slap.

“Gator… what did he do to you?”

He flinched.

Just barely.

But you saw it.

He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the ground.

“Just leave it,” he said. “Ain’t nothin’ to do with you.”

“That’s a lie.”

He finally looked at you and the look wasn’t cold.

It was scared.

“Please,” he said . “Don’t make this harder.”

Your throat closed.

“Do you not want me anymore?” you asked, voice cracking.

His eyes flickered — pain, longing, guilt — all of it in one heartbeat.

Then he shut it down.

“No.”

He walked away.

You stood there in the cold until your fingers went numb.

-

You spiraled after that.

You cried in the shower.

You cried in your car.

You cried into your pillow until your chest hurt.

You tried to eat.

You couldn’t.

You tried to sleep.

You couldn’t.

You tried to forget him.

You couldn’t.

Your father noticed the way you moved through the house like a ghost, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he thought you were finally “getting over it.” Maybe he thought he’d won.

He hadn’t.

He’d just broken something.

-

A week later, your friends dragged you out.

“Just one night,” they said. “Just to get your mind off things.”

You didn’t want to go.

But you were tired of crying.

Tired of staring at your phone.

Tired of feeling like your heart was stuck in your throat.

So you went.

You wore a short black dress with heels and your hair tied up.

You could easily pulled anyone you wanted to in the bar.

The bar was warm, loud, crowded. Music thumped through the floorboards. People laughed, talked, clinked glasses.

You tried to blend in.

Tried to smile.

Tried to pretend you weren’t dying inside.

A guy approached you, tall, dark hair, soft smile. He wasn’t Gator. Not even close. But he was kind and hot. He asked if you wanted a drink and to dance. You said yes.

You talked.

Laughed a little.

You even let him stand close. Close enough to feel his breath on your neck.

You didn’t feel anything.

But you let it happen anyway.

Because you were tired of hurting.

Gator saw you.

He walked in with a couple deputies, snow still dusting his shoulders. He wasn’t looking for you. He wasn’t expecting you.

But when he saw you — saw you smiling at someone else, saw someone else leaning in, saw someone else touching your arm, looking at you like you were the only girl in the world.

His whole body went rigid.

His jaw clenched.

His fists curled.

His eyes darkened in a way that made the deputies glance at him nervously.

He didn’t move at first.

Just stared.

Then he turned and walked out of the bar so fast the door slammed behind him.

He didn’t go home.

He didn’t go back to the station.

He paced outside in the freezing air, breath coming out in harsh clouds, hands shaking with something he couldn’t name.

Jealousy.

Fear.

Rage.

Regret.

All of it.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering under his breath.

“Fuck… fuck…”

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else.

He lasted ten minutes before he got back in his car and drove straight to your house.

He didn’t knock gently.

He pounded on the door like the world was ending.

And maybe, for him, it was.

-

The pounding on the door shook the whole damn house.

You were still half‑dressed from going out, makeup smudged, hair messy from the wind, heart still beating too fast from the bar — from the way that guy leaned in, from the way you tried to laugh, from the way you tried to pretend you weren’t hollow inside.

But this knock wasn’t polite.

It wasn’t patient.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was him.

You knew it before you even reached the hallway.

Your breath caught.

Your fingers trembled on the doorknob.

Your pulse hammered in your ears.

You opened the door.

Gator stood there, chest heaving, snow melting in his hair, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack. His eyes were wild.. not angry, not exactly. More like something had snapped inside him and he was barely holding the pieces together.

He looked you up and down.

Your jacket.

Your dress.

Your smudged lipstick.

His throat bobbed.

“Who the hell was that?” he demanded, voice low and shaking.

You blinked. “What?”

“That guy,” he snapped. “The one you were all… close with. Laughin’ with. Letting him put his hands on you.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You were watching me?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

His silence said everything.

You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Why do you care?”

He flinched like you’d hit him.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Act like I don’t care.”

You laughed — sharp, bitter, broken. “You haven’t talked to me in a week, Gator. You acted like I didn’t fucking exist .”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I told you. It ain’t a good idea.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It’s the only one I got.”

You shook your head, tears burning behind your eyes. “You left me. You didn’t even say goodbye. You just… you just disappeared.”

He stepped forward, boots thudding against the floor.

“I had to.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer.

You pushed him. Hard. Right in the chest.

“Why, Gator?”

You hit him again.

“Why?” You said with tears coming down.

He grabbed your wrists, not rough, not painful, just desperate.

“Because he told me to,” he said, voice cracking.

“What?”

“My dad . He told me to stay away from you.”

Your breath hitched.

“And you listened,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes like the words physically hurt him.

“I didn’t wanna,” he said. “God, I didn’t wanna. But he— he ain’t someone you say no to.”

You swallowed hard. “So you chose him.”

He opened his eyes.

And for the first time, you saw it . the fear. The shame. The bruised cheek he’d been trying to hide. The way he held himself like someone who’d been hit more than once.

“I chose keepin’ you safe,” he said. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“And you think ignoring me is safer?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “No. I don’t— I don’t know. I just— fuck—”

He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing, breath coming fast.

“I saw you with him,” he said, voice shaking. “And I swear to God, I thought I was gonna lose my damn mind.”

Your heart stuttered.

“You were jealous.”

He stopped pacing.

He looked at you like you’d just said something dangerous.

“I ain’t jealous,” he muttered.

“You are.”

“I ain’t.”

“You are.”

He stepped closer, eyes dark.

“You don’t get it,” he said. “I ain’t jealous. I’m— I’m terrified.”

You froze.

“Terrified of what?”

“That you’ll move on,” he whispered. “That you’ll forget me. That you’ll find someone better. Someone safer. Someone who ain’t a fuckin’ mess.”

Your breath caught.

“Gator…”

He shook his head, stepping even closer until you could feel the heat of him.

“I ain’t good for you,” he said. “I know that. Everyone knows that. But when I saw him touch you—”

His voice broke.

“Hell, I wanted to kill him.”

You swallowed hard, chest tight.

“Why?” you whispered.

He stared at you like the answer was obvious.

“Because you’re mine.”

The words hit you like a punch.

You didn’t breathe.

You didn’t blink.

You didn’t move.

He stepped closer, so close your noses almost brushed.

“I know I ain’t got the right to say that,” he whispered. “I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. But I can’t— I can’t watch you with someone else. I can’t pretend I don’t feel what I feel.”

Your voice was barely a breath.

“What do you feel Gator ?”

He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, touch trembling.

“Everything,” he whispered. “I feel every damn thing.”

You didn’t think.

You didn’t hesitate.

You didn’t care about consequences.

You grabbed his jacket and pulled him down into you.

The kiss wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate.

Hungry.

Weeks of silence and longing and pain crashing together all at once.

He kissed you like he’d been drowning and you were the first breath he’d had in days.

His hands slid into your hair, pulling you closer, closer, like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d die if he let go.

You gasped against his mouth, and he groaned..low, broken, needy.

His forehead pressed to yours.

Your breaths tangled.

He whispered against your lips

“I ain’t lettin’ you go again.”

His mouth crashed down on yours in a brutal kiss, teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance. He bit at your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, swallowing your cry of pain.

"That's right," he growled against your mouth. "You're gonna scream for me tonight baby. Gonna scream so loud the whole damn town knows who you belong to."

He pulled your dress up and over your head, leaving you in your bra and panties.

His hands cupped your breasts roughly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pinched and tugged at your nipples.

"You like that don't you? Like being punished for being a dirty little slut?"

You nod and look up at him with big desperate eyes.

He leans down and bites on the sensitive skin of your neck hard enough to leave a mark.

You cried out, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the mix of pain and pleasure.

“Mm Gator..”

Gator soothed the hurt with his tongue before sucking another dark hickey onto your throat.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, voice breaking. "I didn't mean...I didn't know..."

"Shhhh," he murmured against your skin, gentling his touch suddenly.

He kissed away the tears trailing down your cheeks.

"You're mine now though sweetheart. No more other men. Just me."

"I love you," you gasped out between sobs.

Gator froze for a second before pulling back to look at you with wide eyes filled with shock and wonder.

Then he was kissing you again, soft and tender this time.

"I love you too," he whispered against your lips. "So fucking much honey."

His hands slid down to grip your thighs, going in between your legs.

“Oh fuck baby you this wet for me?”

You nod.

“Use your words princess.”

“Yes…so wet and ready for you.”

He smirks then lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist, pulling his thick cock out of his cargos.

He lines himself up with your entrance, teasing a few times then he finally puts it in. He thrust into you hard, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke.

"Fuck!" he groaned as your tight heat engulfed him. "You feel so good baby girl. So fuckin perfect."

He started to move then, slow and deep at first before picking up speed until he was pounding into you with.

“F-fuck..you’re so big Gator..”

"You're mine," Gator chanted between grunts of pleasure.

He grabbed you hand and placed it onto your stomach making you feel his bulge in your stomach.

“You feel that baby? That’s me claiming you.”

You moan at his touch and his words.

The pressure built low in your belly as he hit that spot inside you over and over again.

"Gator fuck!" You screamed his name as the orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

“Not my name baby.” He says as he pounds harder.

“Daddy… mm.. so big.”

"That's it sweetheart," he panted out, hips snapping forward erratically now.

He thrusted in you with pathetic moans and whimpers leaving his throat. “Doin so-fuckk- so good for me baby.”

With a final thrust, he buried himself deep and let out a guttural groan as he spilled inside you. His body shuddered against yours as he filled you with his release.

"I love you," Gator murmured again, pressing soft kisses to your face as the aftershocks subsided.

He carries you up to your room, still inside of you.

Your breath mingled in the cold hallway air.

He slowly pulled out as you both reached inside of your room, making sure to lock the door.

He gently placed you into your bed and laid next to you pulling you into his chest.

“You okay sweetheart?”

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore.” You say with your voice cracking.

His face changed.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered. “Don’t ever say that.”

You swallowed hard. “You made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

He closed his eyes, jaw tightening like the words physically hurt him.

“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry. I ain’t good at this. I ain’t good at… people. Or feelings. Or—”

He exhaled shakily.

“I ain’t good at not hurtin’ the ones I care about.”

“Hm.”

You reached up slowly, fingertips brushing the side of his face where the skin was still tender.

He flinched — not from pain, but from the gentleness.

“Did he do this?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Your thumb traced the bruise, and he leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help it.

“Gator,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

He did.

His eyes were glassy like he was about to cry.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” you said softly. “Not with me.”

His breath hitched.

He looked down at your joined hands, thumb brushing your knuckles like he was memorizing the shape of them.

“I ain’t used to someone givin’ a damn,” he said quietly. “Not like this.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I do.”

He swallowed hard.

“I know.”He leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours again, breath warm against your lips.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere tonight,” he whispered. “Not leavin’ you again.”

You closed your eyes, letting the words settle into the cracks inside you.

“Stay,” you whispered.

He nodded. “I am baby.”

Warnings:Obsessive behavior,controlling parent,tension,fear,implied violence,yelling,unhealthy dynamics.

The next morning your father had insisted on driving you to work. "Roads are a mess," he said.

"Not letting you out there alone."

You didn't argue. You couldn't.

Your car was still half-buried in a ditch miles away for godsakes and the memory of Gator's hands on your body, his breath against your neck, was still too fresh.

The ride was silent except for the heater rattling against the cold. Your father kept glancing at you like he was waiting for you to confess something.

You stared out the window, watching the snowfall.

Then you saw it.

A dark SUV parked on the shoulder. Engine running.

Windows frosted except for the driver's side , wiped clean by someone's hand?

Your breath caught but your father didn't notice. He was too focused on the road.

But you saw the silhouette behind the wheel.

The shape of the shoulders.

The tilt of the head.

The way the figure leaned forward the second your car passed.

Gator.

He didn't follow. Didn’t need to. He just wanted you to know he was there.

Watching.

-

Work was a blur. You kept replaying the night before, him inside of you, the way he knelt in front of you, the way he looked so vulnerable.

By the time your shift ended, the snow had stopped. The sky was a pale, washed-out blue, the kind that made everything look colder than it was.

Your father wasn't there to pick you up yet.

You stepped outside, breath fogging in the air.

That's when you saw it.

A folded piece of paper tucked under the bench by the entrance.

You wouldn’t have picked it up if it hadn’t had your name on the front.

You looked around - the parking lot was empty except for a plow truck idling near the far end. No sign of him.

You unfolded the note.

You okay?

Didn't like leavin' you after what we did.

Didn't like leavin' you at all.

I'll make it right.

- G

Your breath hitched.

You scanned the lot again, pulse racing. Nothing. No movement.

No shadow slipping between cars.

Your father's truck pulled up a minute later. You shoved the note into your pocket before he could see.

"You ready?" he asked.

You nodded.

The whole way back home your mind was on the note.

-

That night, you sat on your bed with the note in your hands, reading it over and over until the words blurred.

You shouldn't have kept it.

But you folded it carefully and slid it into the drawer beside your bed anyway.

You tried so hard to sleep that night without your mind drifting to Gator.

You couldn’t.

At some point, you sat up, heart pounding for no reason you could name.

Then you heard it.

A soft tap.

Not the wind.

Not the house settling.

A deliberate sound.

You turned toward your window.

A shadow moved behind the curtain - slow and hesitant.

You stood up, legs unsteady, and went across your room to the window.

Your fingers trembling as you pulled the curtain back.

Gator stood outside, breath fogging the glass, eyes wide and wild.

You opened your window an inch as cold air came sweeping in.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“Hi sweetheart… needed to see you.”

"Can I come in?" he asked, voice cracking.

You respond by opening up the window more and stepping back.

He came in as snow melted off his jacket, dripping onto your floor. His breath came in sharp, uneven pulls, like he'd run the whole way here. His eyes flicked over you - your shaking hands, your rosy cheeks, the blanket around your shoulders, the fear you were trying to swallow.

His eyes soften.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said softly.

But he had.

And he knew it.

You didn't step back. You didn't move at all. You just watched him, heart pounding so hard it felt like it echoed in the walls.

He closed the window behind him, careful not to make a sound. Then he turned back to you, jaw tight, eyes burning with something you couldn't name.

You swallowed hard. “Gator..You shouldn’t be here, You can’t be here.”

He moved towards you.

Slow. Controlled. Like if he was afraid that you’d vanish into thin air if he moved to fast.

"I know," he whispered. "I know I shouldn't. But I been thinkin' about you all damn day. Couldn't breathe right. Couldn't sit still. Felt like somethin' was pullin' me back here. To you.”

He stopped a foot away from you.

Close enough to feel the cold radiating off him.

Close enough to smell the vape on his tongue.

His voice dropped lower.

"You scared last night. I saw it.And I ain't lettin' that be the last thing you remember of me."

Your throat tightened. "My dad's home."

"I know."

His eyes flicked toward your bedroom door - the thin wood, the weak lock, the hallway beyond it.

"I ain't stayin' long," he said.

"Just needed to see you.Needed to know you were okay."

“I’m fine Gator.”

He reached out slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

His cold fingers brushed your cheek.

"You look tired," he whispered.

"Been cryin'?"

You shook your head, but he didn't believe you. His thumb traced the faint redness underyour eye.

"Don't lie to me," he murmured.

"I’m not."

He hummed in response.

He stepped closer, closing the last inch between you. His forehead touched yours.

He exhaled shakily, breath warm against your lips.

"Tell me you don't want me here," he whispered. "Say it, and I'll go."

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

His eyes softened ,not smug. Just... relieved. Like he'd been holding his breath since he climbed through the window.

"Yeah," he murmured. "That's what I thought."

He takes his coat off and his shoes, sitting onto your bed.

“Come.” He says patting the space next to him.

You hesitated only a second before stepping toward him. He lifted the blanket from your shoulders and wrapped it around both of you, pulling you gently into his chest. His arms slid around your waist, warm and protective, like he'd been waiting his whole life to hold you like this.

"Sweetheart," he murmured against your hair, "You’re tense."

"I'm tired," you whispered.

"I know. I got you."

He put one arm under your head, the other around your waist.

His chest pressed to your back.

His breath warm against your neck.

His heartbeat steady.

His fingers found your curls, twisting them gently, brushing them back from your face. Every touch was soft, reverent, like he couldn't believe you were real.

"You're somethin' else," he whispered. "You know that? | ain't slept right since the night I found you in that snow."

You swallowed hard. "Gator..."

"Shh," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "Ain't askin' for nothin'. Just wanna hold you.”

His thumb stroked slow circles on your hip.

His breath synced with yours.

The tension in your body eased, inch by inch.

"You're safe," he whispered.

"Right here with me. Nothin's gonna touch you. Not while I'm breathin'."

You didn't mean to fall asleep.

But wrapped in his arms, with his voice low and soft in your ear, the world finally felt quiet enough to rest.

-

You woke to sunlight.

And shouting.

Your eyes snapped open just as your bedroom door slammed against the wall.

"What the hell is this?"

Your father's voice loud and furious,

Gator jolted awake behind you, arm tightening instinctively around your waist before he realized what was happening.

He sat up fast, eyes sharp, jaw clenched.

Your father stood in the doorway, face red, fists balled at his sides.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he spat. "In my house? In her bed?"

"Dad-"

"Shut it," he snapped, pointing at you before turning his rage back to Gator. "Get the hell out of that bed. Now."

Gator didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't even blink.

He just stared back, cold and steady.

"Sir," he said, voice low, "you need to calm down."

"Calm down?" your father barked. "You're a grown man sneakin' into my daughter's room in the middle of the night.

You think I'm gonna calm down?"

Gator swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the floor. He didn't stand - not yet - but the tension in his shoulders made it clear he was ready if he had to be.

"I didn't touch her," he said.

"She was scared. I stayed so she could sleep."

"Bullshit."

Your father took a step forward.

You scrambled out of bed, grabbing his arm. "Stop. Please.

Nothing happened."

He shook you off like he didn't even feel your hand.

"You think I'm stupid?" he snapped. "You think I don't know what kind of trouble he is?"

Gator's jaw flexed. "You don't know a damn thing about me."

"I know enough," your father shot back. "I know you're a liar. I know you're unstable. I know you've been sniffing around her like some stray dog that doesn't know when to quit. Hell, You’re a damn Tillman."

Gator stood.

Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.

"Watch your mouth," he said quietly.

Your father laughed - a harsh, ugly sound. "Or what? You gonna hit me? In my own house?"

Gator stepped forward, eyes burning. "I ain't hittin' anybody.

But you talk to her like that again, we're gonna have a problem."

"Gator, stop," you begged, grabbing his wrist.

He softened instantly at your touch - but only toward you.

His glare stayed locked on your father.

Your father pointed at the door.

"Get out. Now. Before I call the sheriff."

Gator didn't move.

Not until he looked at you - really looked - and saw the panic in your eyes.

Then he exhaled, slow and shaky.

"For you," he murmured. "Not for him."

He grabbed his jacket from the floor, brushed past your father, and walked out of your room.

Your father slammed the door behind him.

You stood there, heart pounding, tears threatening to fall breath shaking, the warmth of Gator's arms still clinging to your skin.

Silence.

Then your father turned to you, voice low and furious.

"This ends now."

-

The cold hit Gator the second he stepped outside.

Sharp. Bitter. The kind of cold that burned the inside of his lungs. He didn't stop walking, didn't look back at the house, didn't let himself think about the way you'd looked at him - scared, torn, pleading.

He made it halfway down the street before the adrenaline finally cracked.

"Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

Snow crunched behind him.

He turned fast.

Your father stood on the porch, arms crossed, watching him like a threat he wasn't sure he could contain.

"Don't come back here," your father called out. "You hear me?"

Gator didn't answer.

The look he gave your father said everything - cold, steady, unblinking. A warning wrapped in silence.

Then he kept walking.

-

Inside, your father slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.

You flinched.

He turned on you immediately.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped. "Letting that man into your room? Into your bed?"

"He didn't do anything," you said, voice shaking. "We just slept."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

Your tather paced the room, hands on his hips, breathing hard. He looked like he didn't know whether to yell or punch a wall.

"That man is trouble," he said.

"I've seen his type. I know what he's capable of."

"You don't know him."

"I know enough."

You swallowed hard. "He saved me."

Your father froze.

"What?"

"When…When I crashed," you said quietly. "He found me. He helped me."

Your father's jaw tightened.

"That doesn't make him safe."

"He's not dangerous."

Your father laughed - a short, humorless sound. "You really believe that?"

You didn't answer.

You really weren’t sure.

Not anymore.

Your father grabbed his coat.

"Where are you going?" you asked.

"To make sure he doesn't come back."

Your stomach dropped. "Dad, stop. Please. You're making this worse."

He didn't listen.

He stormed outside, boots crunching through the snow.

You followed him to the porch, heart pounding.

Gator hadn't made it far.

He stood at the end of the driveway, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, breath fogging in the cold. He wasn't leaving.

He was waiting.

Your father marched toward him. "I told you to get the hell out of here."

Gator didn't move. "I heard you."

"Then why are you still standing on my property?”

Gator's eyes flicked past him - to you.

"I ain't leavin' her scared," he said. "Not after the way you yelled at her."

Your father's face went red.

"You don't get to talk about my daughter."

Gator stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "Then don't talk to her like she's a problem."

"Don't you fucking tell me how to raise my kid."

"She ain't a kid."

Your father shoved him.

Hard.

Gator stumbled back a step, boots sliding on the ice - but he didn't fall. He straightened, jaw clenched, eyes darkening into something dangerous.

"Don't touch me again," he said quietly.

"Or what?" your father barked.

"You gonna hit me? Go ahead. Give me a reason to call the sherifff."

Gator didn't take the bait.

He just stared at him, breathing hard, fists tight at his sides.

You ran toward them, stepping between the two before anything could happen.

"Stop," you said, voice cracking.

"Both of you. Please."

Your father grabbed your arm, pulling you back. "Get inside."

“Dad ow what the hell?!” You said holding your arm where he had grabbed you.

Gators expression changed into something dark.

“Don’t grab her” He snapped.

Your father turned on him. "You don't tell me how to treat my daughter."

Gator took a step forward. "I do when you scare her."

"Gator," you whispered, grabbing his sleeve. "Please.Don't."

He looked at you and the anger in his eyes softened, just a little.

Your father pointed toward the street. "Get out of here. And don't come back Tillman.”

Gator backed away looking at you softly. “For you,” he murmured again. “Only for you.”

-

Your father didn’t calm down.

Not after Gator walked away.

Not after the door slammed.

Not after you tried to explain.

He paced the kitchen like a storm trapped in a small room, muttering under his breath, hands shaking with leftover adrenaline.

You sat at the table staring out the kitchen window.

"He's not coming back," you said quietly.

Your father scoffed. "You really believe that?"

You didn't answer.

Because you didn't.

Your father grabbed his keys from the counter and shoved them into his pocket.

"I'm changing the locks today," he said. "Front door, back door, your window latch. Everything."

Your stomach dropped. "Dad-"

"No arguments"

He grabbed his coat and stomped toward the door.

"Stay inside," he ordered. "Don't go anywhere. Don't call him.

Don't even think about him."

He slammed the door behind him.

The house fell silent.

Too silent.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway, heart pounding in your throat.

You walked to the window.

Snow fell in slow, lazy flakes, drifting down like ash. The street was empty. No footprints.

No dark figure waiting at the end of the driveway.

You pressed your forehead to the glass, letting a tear fall.

-

You checked your phone every five minutes.

Nothing.

No missed calls.

No texts.

No unknown numbers.

Just silence.

You paced your room, the floor creaking under your steps. Every sound made you jump - the heater kicking on, the fridge humming, the wind rattling.

You kept replaying the morning in your head:

Your father's shove.

Gator's jaw tightening.

The way he'd said For you before walking away.

You didn't know if he was angry.

Or hurt.

Or planning something reckless.

You didn't know which scared you more.

By noon, the silence felt suffocating.

You grabbed your coat.

You needed air.

You needed space.

You needed-

A shadow moved outside your window.

Your breath caught.

You stepped closer, heart hammering.

Nothing.

Just the wind stirring the branches.

You exhaled shakily and turned away-

Your phone buzzed.

You lunged for it.

Unknown number.

Your pulse jumped.

You answered. "Gator?"

Silence.

Then a low breath.

"Sweetheart."

"Where are you?" you whispered.

"Close."

Your throat tightened. "You shouldn't be."

"I know."

Another breath - shaky, uneven, like he'd been running or pacing or trying not to lose his mind.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You closed your eyes. "I….I don't know."

He exhaled, a sound full of frustration and something like pain.

"I didn't wanna leave like that," he said. "Didn't wanna walk away from you."

"You had to."

"Yeah," he murmured. "But it damn near killed me."

Your breath hitched.

"Your dad..." Gator's voice hardened. "He grabbed you."

"He didn't hurt me."

"He scared you."

You didn't answer.

Gator's voice dropped lower. "I ain't lettin' that happen again."

"Gator-"

"I'm not takin' you," he said.

"Not yet. Not like this. But I'm not leavin' you alone with him, either."

Your heart pounded. "What are you saying?"

A pause.

“I’m comin’ back tonight.”

-

You didn’t tell your father.

You couldn’t.

He came home with new locks, new latches, new rules. He installed everything himself, muttering curses under his breath the whole time.

You watched him from the hallway, arms crossed, stomach twisting.

He thought he was protecting you.

He didn’t understand he was provoking something far bigger than he realized.

By evening, the house felt like a cage.

Your father double‑checked every lock before bed. Triple‑checked your window. Told you to keep your phone in the living room overnight.

You nodded.

Then you kept it anyway.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, blanket pulled to your chin. The house creaked. The wind howled. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears

Midnight passed.

Then one.

Then two.

You started to think he wasn’t coming.

You started to think maybe he’d changed his mind.

You started to overthink everything

A soft tap.

Your breath froze.

Not the window.

The back door.

You sat up slowly, pulse racing, listening.

Another tap.

Gentle.

Deliberate.

Familiar.

You slipped out of bed, feet silent on the floor, and crept down the hallway. The house was dark except for the faint glow of the porch light bleeding through the kitchen window.

You reached the back door.

Your hand hovered over the lock.

“Sweetheart,” Gator whispered from the other side, voice low and steady. “It’s me.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

You unlocked the door.

And opened it.

Cold air rushed in as the door swung open.

Gator stood there, snow dusting his shoulders, breath fogging in the porch light. His eyes found yours instantly, relieved in a way that made your chest tighten.

“You opened it,” he whispered.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you just stepped aside.

He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The house felt too small with him in it. He shook the snow from his jacket, eyes never leaving your face.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded.

He didn’t believe you.

He stepped closer, lifting a hand to your cheek. His thumb brushed your skin, gentle, grounding.

“You been cryin’,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

He pulled you into his chest, slow, careful, like he was giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. His arms wrapped around you, warm and steady, his chin resting lightly on your head.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered into his jacket.

“I know.”

“You said you wouldn’t take me.”

“I ain’t.”

“Then why—”

“Because you sounded scared,” he said. “And I ain’t sleepin’ knowin’ you’re in this house with him angry and slammin’ doors.”

Your breath hitched.

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“I ain’t lettin’ him talk to you like that again,” he said. “Not while I’m breathin’.”

You opened your mouth to answer—

A floorboard creaked upstairs.

Both of you froze.

Gator’s eyes snapped to the ceiling. His hand slid from your cheek to your wrist, holding it gently but firmly.

“Where is he?” Gator whispered.

“Asleep,” you breathed. “I think.”

“You think?”

Another creak.

Gator’s jaw tightened.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “we gotta move.”

He guided you toward the hallway, steps silent on the hardwood. You followed him, heart pounding, breath shallow.

You reached your room.

He slipped inside first, scanning the shadows like he expected your father to be hiding in them. When he was sure it was empty, he nodded for you to enter.

You shut the door behind you.

Gator turned to you, voice low.

“He’s awake.”

You shook your head. “He always moves around at night. He’s paranoid.”

“Yeah,” Gator muttered. “I noticed.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

“I ain’t here to fight him,” he said. “I ain’t here to take you. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You exhaled shakily. “I am.”

He gave you a look — soft, disbelieving, almost sad.

“No,” he whispered. “You ain’t.”

He reached out, brushing a curl behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, warm against your skin.

“You been lookin’ over your shoulder all day,” he said. “Jumpin’ at every sound. That ain’t okay.”

You felt your throat tighten.

He stepped closer, forehead nearly touching yours.

“Let me stay,” he whispered. “Just tonight. Just so you ain’t alone in this house with him angry and listenin’ through doors.”

Your breath caught.

“Gator—”

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said. “I’ll stay quiet. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. Just… don’t make me leave you like this.”

You closed your eyes.

Because you knew he was right.

Because you knew you didn’t want him to go.

You opened your eyes.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Relief washed over his face so fast it almost hurt to look at.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

You nodded.

He exhaled shakily, shoulders dropping, tension melting out of him.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Alright, sweetheart.”

He sat on the floor beside your bed, back against the wall, legs stretched out. He looked up at you with something soft and unguarded in his eyes.

“You sleep,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

You lay down slowly, blanket pulled to your chin. The room felt different with him there — quieter, steadier, like the shadows couldn’t touch you.

Your eyes grew heavy.

Gator’s voice drifted through the dark, low and warm.

“Get some rest pretty girl ,” he whispered. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to you tonight.”

Summary: You crash your car in the middle of a snowstorm and the officer who finds you is Gator Tillman. After that night he lurks around you, stalking you, and waiting for a perfect time to make his move.

Warnings: Smut, no use of Y/n, not proofread, mild cursing, loss of virginity, little stalking.

Word count: about 9k 💔

Part 2 & 3 is posted :)

Snow had been falling since the afternoon, but by night it had became blinding. Thick heavy sheets of snow slapped against your windshield blurring the road ahead of you. You shouldn’t have been driving this late in this weather. You knew that. But you just wanted to get home before the storm got any worse.

The wipers squeaked across the windshield, barely clearing any snow.

Your hands tightened on the wheel.

“Only a few more minutes.” You whispered to yourself.

The road ahead was curved, but your tires didn’t want to follow.

Your car slid sideways, rear tires losing traction. You panicked and tried to correct it. The car spun until it slammed into a tree with a sickening crunch.

Your head snapped forward, seatbelt digging into your shoulder.

You reached for the ignition as fast as possible and turned the car off.

Silence.

You tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge from the snow pilled against it, trapping you inside.

Your chest tightened as you hoped someone would find you.

The cold entered the car fast. Your fingers were going numb and your breath turning into fog.

You didn’t know how long you sat there- five minutes-twenty , maybe even more.

-

Gator Tillman leaned back in the drivers seat of his cruiser,boots propped on the dash, vape in hand.

Then he heard the call.

“Unit four, we’ve got a report of a vehicle off the road on County twelve. Possibly an injury. You’re closet Tillman.”

He straightened up.

“Copy that,” he said grabbing the wheel. “On my way.”

He turned the lights on. Red and Blue flashes cut through the snow as he flew down the empty road. Most nights, calls like this were nothing , usually drunk drivers, deer collisions or people who didn’t know how to handle the ice.

But something in the dispatchers tone made his stomach flip.

Possible injury.

He pressed harder on the gas.

-

Your eyes were closed when bright lights hit your car. You blinked slowly, dazed, as a door slammed and boots were crunching towards you.

A beam of light swept across your window.

“Hey. You in there? Can you hear me?”

You nod weakly.

The man sighed sounding relieved.

“Alright. Good. I’m gonna get this door open sweetheart. Just hang on.”

He braced himself and pulled the door hard. Snow fell from your car door and it swung open. Cold air rushed in, but so did he.

Tall, broad shoulders,eyes sharp and slicked back hair.

Gator Tillman

You didn’t know him personally but everyone in town knew he was the sheriffs son. He had a reputation- unpredictable, intense , always trying to prove himself.

But right now he looked…worried?

“You hurt?” he asked leaning close.

“I…I don’t think so.”

“Let’s get ya outta here.”

His hands slid under your arms. Steady and warm despite the cold. He lifted you gently, guiding you out of the car.

Your legs buckled. He caught you without hesitation, one arm around you waist.

“There you go.” he mumbled. “I’ve got ya”

“Thank you.”

“You’re freezin.” he said. Let’s get you into the car.”

-

He wrapped his jacket around your shoulders before you sat down. It smelled like cheap cologne and cotton candy. He shut the door gently and walked over to the drivers seat.

When he got into the car he didn’t start it right away, he just looked at you.

“What’s your name?” he asked turning the car on finally.

You told him.

He repeated it slow under his breath, like he was teasing it.

“Pretty name.” he says. “Suits you.”

You looked down into your hands unsure of what to say.

He drove you home carefully, glancing at you every few minutes.

When he pulled up into your driveway he didn’t unlock the doors right away.

“You call me if you feel sick or dizzy,” he said. “Or if you just….need someone.”

You nodded and reached for the door.

“Sweetheart.”

You turn and face him.

“My jacket.” he says with a small smirk.

“Oh i-i’m sorry I forgot I-“

He cuts you off by shushing you.

“It’s alright just give it to me next time you see me.” He says with a smile while you nod and get out the car as fast as possible.

-

The morning after, you woke with a dull ache in your shoulder and a foggy memory of Gator's hands steadying you, his jacket around your shoulders, his voice low and strangely gentle. You tried to shake it off.

It was just an accident. He was just doing his job.

But when you stepped outside to get some fresh air , you saw tire tracks in the snow.

Fresh ones.

They stopped right in the front of your house.

You looked up and down the street , but no one was there.

You told yourself it was nothing and went back inside, locking the doors behind you.

-

Two days later, you were at work, restocking a shelf of canned soup. The store was nearly empty, the kind of quiet that made every sound echo.

You were kneeling on the floor, lining up labels, when a shadow fell across you.

"Hey there, sweetheart."

You froze.

You looked up slowly.

Gator stood over you, hands in his pockets, snow still melting on his jacket. His smile was small, almost shy, but his eyes... his eyes were too bright. Too focused.

"Oh," you said softly. "Hi."

"You feelin' better?" he asked.

"After the crash."

"Yes. I'm okay now. Thank you.”

He nodded, satisfied. "Anytime.”

“Been thinkin' about you."

Your breath caught. "Why?"

He shrugged, but it wasn't casual. Nothing about him was casual.

"Just... wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked real shaken up."

You stood, brushing off your hands. He stepped back, giving you space, but his gaze didn't move from your face.

"You work here ? he asked as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Yep.”

"Nice place," he said, glancing around. "Quiet. Easy to keep an eye on."

You frowned. "An eye on what?"

He smiled again. "Nothin', darlin'. Just talkin'."

But he didn't leave.

He wandered the aisles for nearly an hour. Never bought anything. Never stopped watching you. Every time you looked up, he was somewhere leaning against a shelf, pretending to read a label, pretending he wasn't staring.

When he finally walked out, he tipped his hat at you.

"See you Sunday."

You blinked. "Sunday?"

He winked. "Church."

-

You didn't expect him to actually show up.

But when you walked into the small wooden church with your father, Gator was already there- sitting in the back pew, hands folded, eyes locked on you like you were the only person in the room.

Your father stiffened beside you.

"That boy," he muttered. "You stay away from him he’s bad news.”

You nodded, but your stomach twisted. Because Gator didn't look away. Not once and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to look away.

During the sermon, you felt his gaze burning into the back of your neck. Every hymn, every prayer, every moment - his eyes stayed on you.

When the service ended, you stepped outside into the cold air, relieved to breathe again.

But Gator already beat you outside, waiting for you.

He approached slowly, boots crunching on the gravel.

"Mornin', sweetheart."

Your father stepped between you. "She's not interested."

Gator's jaw tightened. "Didn't ask you, sir."

"You stay away from my daughter."

Gator smiled, but it wasn't friendly. "Can't do that sir ."

Your father grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the car.

You didn't look back, but you felt Gator's stare like a hand on your spine.

-

Three nights later, you woke to a soft tapping.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You sat up, heart pounding. The tapping came again - your window.

You pulled back the curtain.

Gator stood outside, breath fogging the glass, eyes wide and desperate.

You opened the window an inch.

"Gator, what are you doing here? My father would kill you if he’d know your here.”

"Needed to see you," he whispered. "Been drivin' myself crazy."

"It's late."

"I know. I know, darlin'. But I can't stop thinkin' about you. Ever since that night... I just- l gotta talk to you."

His voice cracked. Just a little.

Enough to make your chest tighten.

You didn't answer.

You swallowed hard. "Gator..."

He reached up, brushing his fingers over your wrist where it rested on the windowsill. His touch was warm. Careful. Almost reverent.

"You're real sweet, you know that?" he murmured. "Sweetest thing I ever seen."

Your heart raced.

“Let me in baby?”

"Just wanna talk."

You hesitated. Your heart hammered so hard you felt it in your throat.

"It's late," you whispered.

"I know." His breath fogged the glass. "But I ain't been able to sleep. Not since that night. Not with you stuck in my head like this."

He looked exhausted. Like he'd been pacing in the dark for hours before finally giving in and coming here.

You stepped back.

Just a little.

Just enough.

He climbed through the window quietly, boots landing soft on your rug. Snow clung to his jacket, melting into dark patches. He pushed the window down behind him locking you both in your room.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

He just stood there, breathing hard, eyes roaming your room like he was trying to understand the world you lived in. The soft blankets. The books stacked on your nightstand. The little lamp with the warm glow. The posters all over your walls.

"Pierce the veil ," he murmured. "Didn't picture you’d like them ."

"You shouldn't be here," you said softly.

He nodded. "Yeah. I know." But he didn't move toward the window.

Instead, he stepped closer to you.

Slow. Careful. Like he was approaching a deer that might bolt.

"You scared me that night," he said. "When I found you in that car. You looked so small. Innocent.So cold. I ain't been able to get that image outta my head.”

“I’m fine now Gator.”

He shook his head. "No. You're not. You're sayin' you are, but I can see it. You're still shaken.Still lookin' over your shoulder.Still jumpin' at shadows."

His voice softened.

"And I don't like that."

He reached out, taking a curl from your head and twirling it around his fingers. His touch was like a feather.

"You shouldn't have to be scared," he whispered. "Not in this town. Not with me around."

You stepped back instinctively.

He noticed. His jaw tightened for a second, but he forced a small smile.

"Your dad hates me," he said. "I get it. I do. But he don't know me. Not really."

"He thinks you're trouble," you said.

Gator laughed under his breath.

“Yeah. Heard that one before.”

He took a step closer, closing the distance again.

He looked at you like he was trying to read your mind.

"You're real innocent," he said quietly. "Not in a bad way. Just... untouched by all the ugly in the world. And I don't wanna be the one to ruin that."

His voice cracked on the last word.

You'd never seen someone look so conflicted - wanting to be close to you , terrified of scaring you, desperate not to leave.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once in a tight circle before stopping in front of you again.

"I ain't here to hurt you," he said. "I swear it. I just... needed to see you. Needed to know you're okay. Needed to hear your voice."

Your breath trembled.

"Gator... you can't keep coming here."

He looked at you like you'd slapped him.

"I ain't got a choice," he said.

"Not anymore."

He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, smell the cold air still clinging to his jacket.

"You're in my head, sweetheart," he whispered. "And I don't know how to get you out."

The room felt too small. Too quiet. Too charged.

He reached for your hand slowly, giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

His fingers interlaced with yours as he placed his forehead to yours.

"Just... let me stay a minute," he said. "Just a minute. Then I'II go."

His voice was barely a breath.

"Please."

You sigh softly.

“O-okay but you have to be quiet.”

He nods and stares you down.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

You look down embarrassed. “…no.”

He grins and brings his hand up to your chin making you look at him.

“Can I be your first baby?”

You hesitate before nodding slowly.

He smirks and leans down to your lips.

He kisses you rough, hands going to your waist pulled you close against him.

He deepens the kiss slipping his tongue into your mouth, making you moan into his mouth.

You immediately pull away embarrassed.

“Gator…”

“Shh doll.” He says picking you up and walking over to your bed, slowly placing you down as he towered over you.

“Fuck baby..so beautiful.” He kisses you again,passionately, putting his weight on you making sure you can feel his cock through his pants.

“Feel how hard you make me?” He whispers into your ear.

All you could do was nod softly.

“Words baby.” He says kissing your jaw then down to your neck.

“Yes” You say barley a whisper which makes him smirk.

He starts kissing down to your chest over your clothes.

“Mmmm need you so bad darlin’.”

“Gator I-I never.”

“I know baby, let me take care of you yeah?”

You nod eagerly.

He kneels in between your legs kissing in between your thighs.

“You wear these little shorts for me mama?”

You bite your lip softly looking back up to the ceiling making him smirk.

He slowly pulls your shorts off, leaving you only in your panties.

“That little cunt is so wet for me isn’t it baby?”

“Y-yes.”

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

You nod. “Once but I felt guilty after so-so I never did it again.”

He Hums in response.

He slides your panties off, revealing how wet you are. He licks his lips hungrily as he takes in the sight of you, spread out before him like a feast.

"Mmm, look at this pretty little cunt. Jus begging to be touched."

He runs a finger along your slit, collecting your juices and bringing it to his mouth making you moan.

"And so fucking good too. I bet you'd love to have my tongue buried deep inside of you. Wouldn’t you sweetheart?"

“Mhm.” You say with your heart pounding so hard you could hear it.

He leans in closer, his hot breath over your sensitive flesh.

"Tell me babygirl, what do you want? Do you want me to lick this needy pussy until you scream? Want me to shove my thick cock inside and fuck you raw?"

You nod making him smirk.

His voice is low and gravelly with lust as he teases your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue as he slides two fingers inside you.

You react by pulling his hair and arching your back against the mattress, moaning with your hand over your mouth so you make sure you don’t wake your father .

"Don't worry baby, i’m gonna make you feel so good. Gonna fuck this tight little pussy so hard you'll be ruined for anyone else."

You whimper at the sound of his words.

He pumps his fingers faster, curling them to hit that special spot inside you as he feasts on your clit like a starving man.

“Fuck-right there gator.” You say making a fist.

“Atta girl. So fucking wet and tight. You're gonna look so pretty bouncing on my cock."

Your eyes roll back and your hips buck up.

“Look at me baby.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

"Tell me what you want babygirl. Beg daddy to fuck this needy cunt."

He continues to finger you roughly, his fingers going in and out of you as he sucks hard on your clit. Your hips buck up against his face, desperate for more friction.

"Please Gator, please fuck me”

He chuckles darkly against you.

“Such a greedy little slut. You want my cock that badly?"

“MmmHm.”

He removes his fingers from your cunt and brings them to his lips, licking them clean with a groan.

"Fuck baby, you taste so good. Can't wait to feel this tight pussy squeezing my dick."

In one swift motion he flips you over onto your hands and knees. He kneels behind you, taking his cock out and rubbing the thick head along your slit teasingly.

"Beg for it mama. Beg for me to ruin this virgin cunt with my huge cock.”

“P-please fuck me Gator. Need you filling me…please”

He smacks your ass hard, leaving a red handprint on your skin.

He lines himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock just barely breaching you.

"Last chance to back out baby. Once I start fucking this tight little pussy there's no going back."

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he growls in your ear. “You ready to give daddy this sweet cunt?"

“Yes please just put it in.”

He grips your hips tightly and slams forward, burying himself balls deep inside your virgin pussy in one hard thrust.

"FUCK!"

You both cry out at the sudden intrusion, your tight walls clenching around his thick shaft.

"Shhhhh baby, don’t wanna wake your pops."

“you’re so-fuck-so big.”

He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace as he pounds into you from behind.

Each powerful thrust rocks your body forward, causing your tits to bounce obscenely beneath you. He reaches around to grope them roughly, pinching and tugging on your nipples as he continues to rail you mercilessly.

"That's it, take my cock like a good girl."

He leans back, changing the angle of his thrusts so that he's hitting your g-spot with every stroke.

"Gonna fuck this cunt so hard you'll be feeling it for days. Gonna make sure everyone knows who this pussy belongs to."

His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, adding an extra layer of stimulation as he fucks you into oblivion.

"You're mine now baby. All mine.”

He pulls your hair, forcing your back to arch as he hammers into you relentlessly.

You moan around his hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

“You like that baby?”

You nod in response.

He reaches down to rub your clit furiously, determined to make you come on his cock.

"finish for me baby. Squeeze this dick with that greedy pussy. Wanna feel you milking me dry."

His thrusts become erratic as he chases his own release, slamming into you over and over again.

Your body tenses then starts to shake as you moan cumming all over his cock.

“Holy shit baby-Fuck- I’m gonna cum. turn over.”

He pulls out and finishes all over your tits.

He collapses on top of you both panting heavily trying to catch his breath. His forehead pressed up against your shoulder, both of you breathing like you just ran a marathon.

His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts against you.

"God, sweetheart," he whispered, voice shaking. “You okay ? You did so good for me baby.”

You didn't know what to say.

Your own chest was rising and falling too fast, your pulse racing from the intensity of everything that had just happened - the closeness, the way he'd held you, the way he'd looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

He lifted his head slowly, eyes searching your face.

"Tell me you're okay."

"I'm... I'm okay," you breathed.

He let out a shaky exhale, relief flooding his features. He cupped the back of your head gently, guiding your forehead to his chest. His heartbeat was wild under your ear.

"Didn't wanna scare you," he murmured. "Was I too much?”

You swallowed. "You weren't."

He pulled you closer, kissing the top of your head softly.

“Let me clean you baby.”

He got up grabbing a towel that was closet in sight and began to clean you gently. He kissed your body whispering sweet nothings.

You were trembling from adrenaline, from the cold air still lingering in the room, from him. He noticed instantly.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're shakin'.

He stood and grabbed the small blanket folded at the end of your bed, and wrapped it around your shoulders with a tenderness that didn't match the wildness in his eyes.

Then he knelt in front of you.

His hands rested lightly on your knees, thumbs brushing slow circles through the fabric.

"You gotta breathe with me, darlin," he said. "Nice and slow."

You tried. He mirrored your breaths, guiding you through each inhale, each exhale, until the trembling eased.

"That's it," he whispered.

He reached up, brushing a tear you didn't realize had fallen.

"Didn't mean to make you cry," he said. "Just... got carried away.You make me feel things I ain't felt in my whole damn life."

Before you could answer, a sound cut through the quiet.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Familiar.

Your father.

Gator's head snapped toward the door, eyes wide.

"Shit."

He stood so fast the blanket slipped from your shoulders. He grabbed your hand, squeezing it once, hard.

"Bathroom," You whispered.

"Now."

You scrambled up, heart in your throat, and followed him into the small bathroom connected to your room. He shut the door silently, locking it, then turned to you, chest rising and falling fast again.

"Don't say a word," You breathed.

"Not a sound."

Your father's footsteps creaked down the hallway, slow and suspicious. Gator pressed a finger to his lips, then pointed to the small frosted window above the tub.

"I gotta go," he whispered.

"Can't let him see me here."

You nodded, throat tight.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, his forehead pressed to yours.

"Don’t wanna leave you like this," he murmured. “Text me as soon as he leaves your room okay?”

You nod.

Your father's footsteps stopped right outside your bedroom door.

Gator's jaw clenched.

He kissed you softly quick, firm, almost desperate.

"'I’ll come back," he whispered.

"You hear me?."

Then he climbed onto the edge of the tub, pushed the window open, and slipped out into the freezing night.

You watched his shadow disappear into the snow just as your father knocked on your bedroom door.

"Everything alright in there?"

Your heart hammered.

You pulled the bathroom door open slowly, stepping back into your room, trying to steady your breathing.

"Yes," you said. "Everything's fine."

But outside, in the dark, was already down the street.

Waiting.