#Gator Tillman headcannons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

courtingchaos · 11 months

Text

7:29

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

Sister piece to Shared Inflicted Pain and Vulnerable

Warnings: Gun Play. Read that again, gun play. Sex, threats of bodily harm, descriptions of violence, boy howdy I went wild in this one.

A/N: I had some prime time headcannoning happening with @dr-aculaaa and @trashmouth-richie and a lot of it bled into this and THIS ISN’T EVEN THE WIP WE WERE GOING ON ABOUT.

Cars rumble up the driveway slowly. The snow falls silently across the open garage door. You’ve been standing there watching long enough that a small drift has started forming around the soles of your boots. The cold burns your face like normal but your eyes especially today. A late night staring at your phone and waiting for a text that didn’t come until sunrise.

Out. Sent and read at 7:29 AM.

You aren’t checking up on him and he doesn’t feel obligated to tell you shit but there it stands.

Out. 7:29 AM.

The only person who’s given you any kind of space or grace is Ty and that’s only because he’s actually seen you this morning. Normally either squirreled away in the crawl space or huddled up in your tight corner, the fact that you’ve stood watch for three hours makes him worry. No quips and no sarcasm. No half lidded stare or unsettled long looks. Just that concentration creasing your brows and turning down your mouth, wide eyes staring into the frozen white yard. Ty had tried to give you a coffee, steaming in the cold, with about half the pint of cream in there like you normally do but you’d just shaken your head once. Didn’t even turn to look at him when you said no thank you. An actual ‘no, thank you Ty’, which is why he’s in your fathers office telling him about you being a gargoyle this morning.

“She has’t yelled at Donny or anyone. At all.” He tells him earnestly.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Normally I’d say yes but…somethin’ feels off about her.”

“Everything’s off about her.”

You don’t move when the trucks stop and the men pile out. Three elder brothers looking worse for wear and ten sheriffs officers pulling out three big gunnysacks. You watch them passively, eyes flicking between doors opening and closing. Someone snaps a tailgate shut and you shake your hand out of your coat pocket to check your watch.

9:47 AM.

Out. 7:29 AM.

Finally you see Roy’s big figure fold out of a driver seat. He leans in and pulls out his hat, gives it a dusting before settling it on his head just right. He’s making measured moves, delaying the walk inside to talk to your father and brothers. You watch him debate on a cigarette, tapping the carton once and then pausing before pushing the single smoke back in. Tosses the box back into the cab of the truck and gently closes the door. He locks it over his shoulder when he starts his slow walk up to the garage.

“Where is he?” You ask.

“Working.” He replies.

You don’t meet eyes. He doesn’t stop. You keep standing watch and Roy goes in to talk to your family about the things he misjudged.

It’s after 11 AM now and your fathers office is too full. You and four dipshits and Roy and two sheriffs. Neither are Gator, and Roy seems unfazed by that. You stand off to the side, always out of the way just in case, and you listen to Roy get loud. It’s your fathers turn and then your brothers kick off and very suddenly there’s a vice grip on your bicep. It yanks you forward and makes you lurch off balance. The big spade of a hand wraps tighter when it drags you in front of your fathers desk and everyone stops moving.

“You see this?” Roy shakes you once. “This is fuckin’ collateral. The only thing that works around here is about to get taken away if you don’t explain just what in the blue fuck happened out there.”

You can’t help the genuine surprise that crosses your face. You won’t shake and you won’t whine but you do flash your wide eyes up at Roy. He towers over you and your family now. He’s lowered his voice, no longer yelling just making his point clear. His hand tightens further around your arm and the small gasp you let out goes unnoticed by the men in the room.

“Now the rest of the boys are gonna be up here in about five minutes. You’ve got that long to walk your ass out to your garage so you can explain to me why I wasn’t able to get in.” Roy continues to stare your father down and starts counting out loud after a few seconds when no one seems to understand his threat. It kicks everyone into movement and the office clears before Roy or you make a sound.

“This is just business sweetheart.” He still pulls you along but at least you have your footing again.

One of the clocks in the shop reads 11:30 AM so you’ve only been collateral for less than an hour. Roy keeps you close and you wonder if he’s just waiting for Gator to show up before he pulls a firearm. You think Roy’s the type to make him do that kind of thing, mean son of a bitch that he is. He knows you two circle each other like predators fighting for territory and maybe he wants to see his boy win. You hold no ideas that Roy would know anything about Gator and his midnight promises.

“Now you know something Mr. Williams, I do believe we’re both being taken for a ride.”

“You don’t say.” Your father mutters, both men bent over the hood of a car examining a stack of blueprints. The yelling hadn’t continued past the office but Roy did keep you in his grip. It’s loosened enough that you can turn to watch the final truck make its way up the long drive.

All four doors open and the last of his crew crawl out. You can see those brunette locks bobbing around behind the bed of the truck, all mussed up from him running his hands through it probably. It isn’t until he finally makes the corner, heading for the garage that you see his face clearly.

Squinting in the morning light, his right eye is turning purple. There’s a smear of dried blood on his cheek from his nose. Lip split and swollen and there’s a weird tightening of your chest. He’s obviously fine, still walking on two feet and still breathing but you can’t stop staring.

Roy noticed your turned head and glances over his shoulder to take in Gators appearance. “Tillman, good of you to join us.” He lets your arm go finally. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on this one?”

The turn of Gator’s head to look at you seems like a lot of effort. There’s a wince under the guise of calmness and you wonder what the rest of his body looks like under his heavy coat. You don’t want to catch his eye out here, don’t want to share a look or a sneer in case it gets weaponized.

“Why?” He asks bluntly and stares at the side of his bosses head.

“Well son, I got a point and a call to make and she’s the lynchpin keepin’ this garage on track today.” Roy gives the two of you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods down at Gator’s right thigh. “Do what you’re good at.”

The pause in Gator’s movement is palpable. You notice it, your father and Roy notice it. A slight jerk of his head while he stares his boss down and Roy just raises his eyebrows, asking for confrontation with that same dead smile.

Gator sighs heavy before unclipping the gun and racking the slide, an unnecessary movement so you know he’s buying time. He shifts it into his left hand and presses the muzzle slowly against the back of your head.

Everything goes quiet. It’s a familiar feeling but not welcome, not like the other night. The clearing hadn’t felt this way, not with the cold in your lungs and your neck hot from his mouth.

He wordlessly hands it to you, cold metal heavy in your palm as he points off into the distance at a thick trunk of pine.

You know how to shoot but this is special. It’s his gun that he uses for all the shit Roy asks him to do. It might just be a Glock, but it’s his Glock and that means something in the grand scheme of you two.

“Have you ever had a gun pointed at you?” You shift your shoulders around while you find a comfortable stance.

“‘Course I have.” He scoffs behind you.

“What’d it feel like?” You relax your shoulders and take a deep breath, finger flexing on the trigger. On your exhale you fire and he’s walking up behind you to slide his good hand down your arm. He works that gloved hand into your grip and pulls back slowly. His face on your right side, breathing hot against your ear while he draws the muzzle up on your left. He keeps your hand trapped under his as he gently prods your temple. Even through your beanie you can feel the heat of the gun and you swallow. Even through all your layers he can see your breathing get shallow, his own speeding to keep up. The big clouds puffing out of the two of you dissipate slowly but he can still see you lick your bottom lip before you worry at it.

“Kinda like this.” He whispers against your ear.

Roy makes his phone call and comes back all smiles, genuine this time. He claps your father on the shoulder and the man still seems unfazed. When he turns to Gator and cuts his hand across his neck, clicking at him to put the gun down, there is no pause that time. It’s holstered and safetied without a second glance and your ears ring. You almost feel like you’ve been watching the last eight minutes from outside the garage, not fully inhabiting your body or space.

The danger with Gator is something you normally look forward to. A pressure release that helped clear your head. This was nothing like that, a moment between you two brought on by external forces. You’re starting to understand that feeling you had earlier, the one that’d squeezed your ribcage tight.

“Dad.” You feel like you might be back in your body now even though your voice sounds a mile away. Quiet and shaky you need to get your fathers attention to ask if you can leave. You need him to nod at you and tell you to get the hell out of dodge.

There’s a heavy heat at your back but you won’t turn around and acknowledge Gator. Not right now.

“Father.” Said a little more firmly, the wobble gone from your voice after you take a deep breath. It gets his attention and the look he gives you has a hint of worry around the edges. “Can I leave?”

Your father nods at you and before he can open his mouth to tell you yes you turn on your heel and make for the house.

You thought you’d heard someone walk upstairs while you were busy steaming yourself in the shower. Laid out across your bed is Gator, legs bent over the footboard. He’s obviously awake, heels of his palms digging into his eye sockets and it makes his arms flex in his tight undershirt.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” You stand in the doorway toweling your hair. His coat and button up are tossed over his boots in the corner with his holster hung off the back of your desk chair.

“Too much noise.” His lips barely move. Still pressing his hands into his eyes, you can see the pressure on his forming bruise.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.” You say, throwing the towel in the pile of laundry by the door. He just grunts. “Thought that was my job.”

He drops his hands and looks down his nose at you. You watch him breathe heavy for a minute before he stares back up at the ceiling on a big exhale. “You doin’ okay?” He’s asks quietly.

“You goin’ soft?” You’re quick to call him out on his bullshit.

That makes him growl while he hefts himself up to sitting. His knuckles, bruised and split, grip the edge of your mattress. “I ain’t soft god damnit. You spun outta there after that fuckin’ asshole-“ He cuts himself off. Looks to the side and stares holes into your bookshelf while you stare holes into the side of his head.

“Oh don’t tell me you care Gator.” You scoff, trying to ignore that tight feeling in your chest again.

“I said I wouldn’t.” He rolls his tongue over his bottom lip a few times before he stands slow. “I told you he couldn’t make me.”

You shrug and tuck your hands under your arms. “Well you didn’t, so let it go.” Neither of you had brought up the ride again. You fully expected him to ignore it or pretend it never happened. Now though he stares heavy at you from your bed, his eyes roaming over the arm that Roy had grasped so lovingly.

“I was wondering if he left a mark on you.” He points a finger, bouncing it toward your arm. The bruise peaks out from under your t-shirt sleeve.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You ask lowly, jutting your chin forward. You slide your hands from your middle into your sweats pockets so he can’t see you picking at the side of your thumbs, your nervous habit brought on by his judgement. He finally looks you in the eye when he starts his walk across the small bedroom. You don’t move until his chest is pressed against yours and makes you step back. He grabs the door over your shoulder and throws it shut so he can crowd you against it.

“Only I get to do that.” He stares down at you.

“So you just get to make up rules about me?” You stare right back at him from under hooded eyes. This is the kind of thing that makes your heart race in a good way. He could pull his gun on you right now and you’d be all smiles. Probably even laugh when he’d press it up under your chin. He wouldn’t shoot you though, that’s the whole point. What everyone seems to miss.

“Yes. You told me so.” He says simply and drags his hand over your shoulder and down your arm till his grip covers the bruise. His fingers dig into the sensitive skin while he flicks his eyes between yours.

“Then what about this?” You grab the right side of his face, thumb resting on the bruised cheekbone. You press down and watch his face scrunch up.

“That’s business.”

“So’s this.” You shake your arm under his hand. “Roy said so.”

When he leans in you expect him to bite, to give you a matching lip to his but it’s a firm press. Dry lips that you’re becoming too familiar with. He still hangs onto your arm, uses it to pull you as close as he can, his breath huffed out across your cheek. He kisses you hard while your hands find their way up his undershirt, fingers skating over hot skin until he flinches away from you.

“That business too?” You lay your hand flat on that tender spot and he lets you go. Pulls his shirt over his head collar first and walks the three steps back to the edge of your bed. He sits heavy and jerks his head to beckon you over.

You don’t follow immediately, instead watching him unbutton his pants while you step out of your sweats. You’ve never seen him fully undressed so the dog tags clinking around on his chest catch you off guard.

“What branch?” You ask, pointing at his chest when he gives you a confused look. Instead of responding, he leans forward and hooks your knee to pull you so you stagger and stand in front of him. He doesn’t give you soft touches or light fingertips, his rough palm rubbing up your unshaved thigh, splayed wide so his fingers inch under the elastic of your underwear on your hip. While he explores, you grab the clutch of metal around his neck and scan it quick before he can snatch it out of your grip.

Tillman, Gator A.

9246106545

O Neg

Roman Catholic

“Catholic?” You raise your eyebrows, jingling the metal around when you catch a small oval between the two tags. He just hums disapprovingly and pulls the chain till the tags clink out of your grip. Instead of looking him in the eyes again you push a finger into a bruise forming on top of his shoulder, silently asking your question again.

“It doesn’t count if it’s business.” He looks up at you, frowning.

“Then you can’t be mad about Roy.” You don’t think you two have ever had a conversation this quiet before, even in the truck. Normally you’re too busy laughing gleefully at him while he pins you against something heavy.

“I’m mad ‘cause he used me.”

“He always uses you.”

“Not like that.” He slides his hand further up to grab your ass and pull you down to straddle his lap. “He knew what he was asking.”

He gets you out of your shirt and keeps you on him. Mouths at your chest and pulls skin between his teeth and makes you hum when he sucks a trail of muddled red down to the tops of your tits. You’ve got your fingers dug into his hair to hold him in place while you roll your hips, hoping he’ll take the hint and throw you off and onto your bed. Instead he grabs your chin, pinches it between his thumb and index finger and holds your attention.

“Just me.” He doesn’t ask. He gives you an open look like he’s waiting for you to nod your head. Instead, “What about you? M’supposed to just let that happen?” You throw your hand at his ribs and that tender spot. “We didn’t talk about you last time.” His small grip on your chin pinches harder. Gator pulls your face down so his lips brush against yours when he talks.

“I don’t let just anyone break my wrist.”

Your first laugh of the day skips across his cheek where it peters off into a breathy kind of whimper when you really think about that. The tears slowly leaking down his temples, hand cradled to his chest and the groan of pain that turned into a long groan of pleasure when he came.

“Say it then.” You challenge him with a harder press of your hand against those bruising ribs. “I’ll get the fuck up right now and leave I swear.”

“Just you.”

He heaves you off of his lap and onto your back. He yanks your underwear off and tosses them before ripping the rest of his clothes off to join them.

Just you.

Your hands dig in at his bruises, looking for a crack you can needle at. He leans into you to mouth at your shoulder before inching down to the ringed bruise and sinking his teeth in. The sensitive skin on the inside of your bicep imprints easily, his teeth sharp enough to make you gasp loudly. You try to jerk away reflexively but he hangs on, grabs your wrist to hold it down to the bed. He sucks on the thin skin once before letting go and running his tongue over the deep mark. Licks at you to sooth the sting and moves down your arm, nipping along until he hits your wrist where he runs his nose along and takes a deep breath. He catches your wide eyed stare before opening his mouth again, wedging your wrist between his teeth. It’s a slow build of pressure but you know if he bites you again like he just did, he’ll draw blood.

“Gator.”

His grip on your arm just tightens along with his teeth, a grin spreading out from behind your wrist. You want to tell him to be careful, for once in his life. The idea of a bleeding mark on your wrist giving you the first pause of your relationship until you notice a softness in his gaze. His cock is heavy against your thigh but neither of you move for friction, just waiting the other out for blood.

“Why did you text me this morning?” It slips out. He just bites down harder. “Were you trying to make me worry?”

He breaks skin and you yell, his teeth tinged pink behind his grin when he lets you go. There’s a role reversal happening when he keeps laughing at you and you keep scowling at him. His tongue sneaks out to run over the bite. He chases a small bead of red down your arm.

“I stayed up all night.”

“You’re up anyway.”

He’s not listening, or he’s being willfully ignorant. “I don’t let anyone else touch me, Gator.”

He drops his arm to his thigh but keeps yours in his grip. His jaw works back and forth like he’s chewing on his thoughts, your red still staining the inside of his lips.

“Not even the shop guys?”

You shake your head. His gaze drops to your wrist held limply in his fist and his face goes blank.

“I don’t care if you’re fucking anyone else, I just wanted…” You trail off quietly, unsure if you want to finish that thought.

“I’m not.” He sounds far away. “I don’t…really care much.”

“I find that hard to believe.” You laugh and he just scowls down at your arm. “I mean, every time you sniff me out you’ve got your hand down my fuckin’ pants.”

He’s tired and in pain. He doesn’t want to get into it. It’s easier to just lay you over a table than to explain his reasoning. It used to just be him and his anger up in his head but you’ve crept into the cracks somehow and he’s starting to think you might be able to read his thoughts. Too similar personalities skirting the borders of anger and dangling feet off the edge of sanity.

He can feel your eyes roaming, looking for a spot to dig in at and he snaps out of his deep thoughts. He crawls over you, leaving your bleeding wrist on the sheets, and hovers for a moment before dipping his head into the crook of your neck. It’s his favorite part of you, if he’s being honest and stupid. Even fresh out of a shower you still smell like you, that tang of metal and something earthy like you’ve been digging in the frozen dirt. He bites you once, a good chunk of flesh between his teeth before he lets go to move down your chest. He leaves a trail of pink tinted marks down your stomach as he makes his way between your thighs, strong fingers pushing and pulling your legs until he settles, one leg draped over his shoulders and the other one tucked up along his ribs. He keeps your hips pinned when he loops his arms around them. He lays a hand flat to help spread your lips, his tongue broad and flat when he licks a long line from your center to your clit.

You whimper, a sound he doesn’t think you’ve made around him before. He’s only ever tasted you off of his fingers and this first dip into you is rich and heady. He grunts into your parted flesh and your hands wind in his hair and pull him in closer. He takes his time because he can. In the quiet of your room he can barely make out the trucks slamming closed outside or the deep yell of Roy echoing off the trees. His phone vibrates from somewhere in the middle of the floor and it just drives him on more. Buries his nose deep in your cunt and digs his fingers into your soft thighs when you roll your hips against his face.

You make quiet sounds above him and pull on his hair and he doesn’t feel like coming up for air even when his nose starts to ache from being pressed into your skin. He won’t tell you any of this because that’d be against these silent rules you two have made up and enforced. Instead he focuses the tip of his tongue on your clit and when he uses his teeth for a moment you seize up, his name sighed out long to your ceiling.

He doesn’t give you time to refocus, just untangles himself from your legs to hitch them up on his hips before flipping you both. He rolls you on top of him, one hand flat on your lower back and the other guiding his cock through your folds. “Sit.”

No hesitation from you, just a shared groan when he stretches you and hits deep. It takes you a moment to to move again but the stuttered movement of your hips makes his eyes roll back.

“Does that feel good?”

“Fuck”

“Use your words, Gator. Does that feel good?”

He hears you fucking around with something but he can’t focus on much outside the wet heat of you. Not until he feels the cold press under his chin. “Answer me.”

His eyes snap open to find you staring down at him. You haven’t stopped moving, your tongue traces your lips and you grin. He should have known better than to leave his fucking gun within arms reach.

“Come on baby, tell me.” The tip of the gun digs into his chin and he’d be a liar for saying no. You don’t even have your finger on the trigger, laid flat along the body of it and he’s sure the safety is on. “Do you like this?”

“Yes.” That comes out a lot lighter than he meant.

“Just you and me.” Your eyes shine in the light filtering in, pupils blown wide while you ride him. You look crazy and you look tangled, your hair a wild halo around your head. He wants to look down and watch himself sink into you but you push his chin up roughly when he tries. With his head shoved back into the pillow, you lean on his chest and speed up and he’s violently reminded of the last time you did this, his newly healed wrist flinching away from you momentarily.

“Afraid I’m gonna break it again?”

“You’ve got a f-fuckin’ gun to mmm fuuuck-to my head, you tell me.” Saying it out loud makes his stomach clench, the fast pool of heat rushing when you grind down hard on him. The press against his chin falters for just a moment and he takes that second roll you over, back where he should have left you. Somewhere in the background noise his gun clatters on the hardwood and he pins you to the mattress. Drives into you fast and hard, his hand finding itself around your throat. The unhinged laugh you let out makes him feel crazy and the tether of his orgasm snaps taut.

Through the white noise he can hear you talking, can feel your hands sliding down his arm to hold his hand still against you while he fills you.

“Good boy.”

He shudders and shakes his head, releasing you when he hears your breathing get thin.

“Just me, yeah?”

He’s tired and in pain and he nods. Hazy thoughts swirl, brought on by your quiet praise and more than 24 hours of being awake.

“Stay here, okay?”

He feels heavy and tired and stupid. He keeps it to himself but the chaos of the outside is different from the chaos between you two and in that contained dissonance there’s a red drop of quiet. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he drifts all the same when you run a cool finger up and down his spine and he taste the remnants of that frozen earth still behind his teeth.

It’s dark when you wake up, Gator’s big frame heavy and languid, draped over your middle, head laying in the valley between your breast. Cuddled is the word you’d use but not out loud. He’s awake too, you can feel him blinking against your skin. His head shifting minutely when your fingers run along the edge of his scalp. Even in the dark of your bedroom you can see the bruises forming on his back under the red lines your blunt nails made. You won’t ask him about it but whatever Roy got him into today beat the shit out him. Gator takes a deep breath and you can feel his dog tags dig into your stomach, pressed between the two of you. “You getting up?”

“No.” He mumbles.

You’re hesitant to lay your hands on him in fear of him shrugging you off but when you let your palm slide down from his hair to the back of his neck he doesn’t move. When you walk your fingertips over his bicep he just tucks his hand under your shoulder. “Where’s my gun?”

“On the floor.” You roll your head to spot it next to your bed where you’d dropped it earlier.

“Is the safety on?”

“What are you, a cop?” You laugh and feel him huff out what could be a laugh. “Of course it’s on. I’m not stupid.”

“What time is it?” He isn’t moving at all, fully expecting you to have all these answers. You blindly feel around for your phone on your nightstand and wince when the light is too bright for the dark blanketing you two.

“It’s 8…PM. You got somewhere to be?” As if on cue you hear his phone vibrating from the pile of clothes on the floor. You wait to see if he’ll get up but he doesn’t react, just tells you no and rolls his head the opposite direction. When you drop your phone again he grabs your hand and plants it on the back of his head wordlessly.

The only window in here is level with your bed and you can stare out it directly to the massive garage out back. The flurries started up again sometime while you two were asleep and they whip by the glass, blurring the figures moving around outside. You can make out the lone figure standing tall by his truck, cowboy hat tilted up at the house and smudge of blue light by his head.

Fingers wound in Gator’s hair you laugh lightly, “Too bad, Butch Cassidy.” You whisper at the window. You can feel Gator’s jaw working like he wants to say something but he keeps quiet and stays put. Stays in your room. Stays in your bed. Stays between your chest and keeps his fingers twisted in your sheets.

Just you, he’d said. Just you.

#Gator Tillman x Reader #Gator Tillman Smut #Gator Tillman Fic #My Work #My Fic

103 notes · View notes