#but first

Here's me spitballing what an average morning with Gator would look like (lemme know what you think 🫣)

The annoyingly cheerful chimes of your phone’s alarm rang out at 7 on the dot, followed by Gator’s own alarm blaring aggressively three seconds later. You groaned, opening your eyes to nothing more than a squint as you reached out to jab at the ‘Stop’ button on your touchscreen. As per usual, the man curled around your body didn’t move a muscle to take care of his own.

“Gator, c’mon, gotta go,” you mumbled, looking over your shoulder with a tired scowl.

All you got was a muffled grunt and the tip of a cold nose pressing deeper into the nape of your neck. You tried to wiggle away, but it was no use. You were effectively a prisoner to the hot deputy, which in itself wasn’t so bad, but that damn alarm put a serious damper on the mood (God, why’d he have to pick the ringtone that sounded like an emergency alert for World War III?).

“Seriously, move,” you said with a small huff of disbelief. Soft lips curled into an amused smirk against your skin.

“Nah.”

“Nah?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Gator, stop fuckin’ arou—You gotta get up, too!"

“So?”

You swatted at Gator’s arm, but he quickly grabbed your wrist and pressed a thigh between your legs. You barely held your moan in time at the sudden pressure. The smirk became a full on wolfish grin.

“A-at least turn off that stupid ass alarm, yeah? You’re clearly up,” you complained, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way your lower half was starting to warm up.

With a mocking drawl of 'okay,' Gator let go of you to stop the abrasive noise. You sighed once the alarm cut out, granting you relative peace and quiet. Birds were chirping merrily as some children walked by with their pre-school chatter. Your bedroom sat a bit grey as its only windows faced North and West. It was going to snow soon, you could tell by the slight chill in the air of your inherited fixer-upper home. It’d just been in the 70’s last week. The thought of commuting to work for an hour and a half on icy roads had you grimacing.

Ugh. You’d love to be one of those happy jobless birds chirping on the utility wires right about now.

“You were gettin’ goin’?”

Your wide eyes flicked over to meet droopy hazel ones. The subtle sliding of fingers under the hem of your shirt, not to mention the thigh now slowly rocking up against you, betrayed the concerned pout on Gator’s face. The heat residing between your legs started to spread up to your face.

“I, uh, y-yeah, I gotta—"

“Ya sure? Ya don’t look so well.”

That bastard.

“Gator, please.”

He cooed teasingly, pulling you in closer till your lips were just brushing against each other. The hand under your shirt made its way to your chest. His other hand started to palm himself through his pants.

“’Cause if you’re not well, should probably take care of ya then, huh?”

That bastard.

>

Forty-five minutes later you were running out the door with a trench coat slung over your arm and your car keys held straight out in front of you. “’M late, ‘m late, ‘m late,” was all you could manage to say as you jumped into your beat up Toyota Corolla. Gator, on the other hand, leisurely strolled over to you with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Wish you wouldn’t look at me like that,” you all but growled, shooting him a curt frown as you double checked your purse for all your essentials. “If I get another tardy point, you owe me big time, ya hear me?”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard ya plenty, Princess,” Gator said, leaning against your window. “Ever think ‘bout bein’ a singer? ‘Cause those were some pretty high notes you were hitting back there.”

“Oh my—Ok, bye, Gator,” you yelped, face burning hot with embarrassment. You threw your purse onto your passenger seat and shifted gears into ‘reverse.’ As soon as you turned your head to check for any passers-by, a cool hand reached in to grab your shoulder. You jumped, eyes flitting up towards the suddenly sheepish deputy.

“What—”

Gator dove down and gave you a kiss. More of a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it peck on the lips, really. Just as fast as he did it, he was pacing it over to his own car.

“Enjo’yer shift,” he rattled out gruffly, refusing to face you as he threw a hand up in a half-acknowledging wave. You scoffed, finding his emotionally stunted antics incredibly baffling (yet frustratingly cute in a way). You pulled out of your driveway onto the empty street, and as you shifted back into ‘drive,’ you cheekily called out,

VICKYYYYY DOODLE BC IM SO HAPPY SHE WILL BE PLAYABLE IN GBF VERSUS

BUT

FINALLY!

US Shipping is working again and I calculated all the customs taxes... French post office only accept one mailing service to send orders that include customs fees so, all US shipping price for products are calculated with this option. It's still the beginning so, if I miscalculated, I'd contact you and send you a refund of the overcharge!

But more important!

✨ NEW MERCH! ✨