#v: gator

[say-al0e]

Something In Your Mouth

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: You've had a bad week and Gator's tired of the attitude. He thinks you'll feel better with something in your mouth. Warnings: A few degrading names, Gator's kind of a dick (not really but, sorta), rough oral (m receiving), and if there's anything else, let me know and I'll tag it. Pairing: Gator Tillman x fem!Reader Word Count: 3k (why am I like this? the world may never know)

The thud of Gator’s boots against hardwood floor echoed through the house as he navigated the familiar floor plan. Though your shoulders relaxed at his appearance, body no longer wound as tight as it’d felt all day now that he was home, you kept your place at the sink.

From the corner of your eye, with hands buried in lukewarm water, you watched as he shucked his vest and jacket - leaving both hanging over the back of a kitchen chair and serving as a reminder to ask him about tacking up coat hooks in the hallway when he had another day off - before his belt and thigh holster followed. You knew they’d all be dutifully moved into their rightful places later, but you still rolled your eyes at his habit of leaving pieces of his uniform scattered about the house.

As you continued clearing up the dishes, gaze pointedly on your work rather than your fiancé, you ruminated on the week you’d had. Nothing of note had gone wrong, nothing had been particularly taxing, but everything felt overwhelming. Things were average, normal, fine. But you’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed days ago and had been in a sour mood all week and it seemed that your mood had finally rubbed off on Gator as he huffed with each step he took.

Another roll of your eyes as he opened the fridge and rummaged through the produce and containers of leftovers to, no doubt, find the beer that had been shoved to the back but you said nothing. Even as you finished the last of the dishes and washed your hands, deliberately taking your time, you remained quiet and waited for him to break the stalemate.

Gator took a few more steps, shuffled around a bit more, before you heard him settle onto the couch. The crack of the can opening, a sip of beer, before he huffed an annoyed breath. “C’mere,” he demanded, voice even in the quiet of your home, “and get on your knees.”

There were a thousand words you’d been expecting to hear, a thousand snarky remarks you’d been waiting to sneer at, but the calm demand wasn’t one. With narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, you turned to face him. There was a moment of silence, filled only with the quiet drip of water running off drying dishes, before you folded your arms over your chest and lifted your chin in an act of defiance. “What?”

The order was clear, one you’d heard a hundred times before in similar situations, but the mood you’d been in for nearly a week made you want to roll your eyes at something that would normally set your skin ablaze. Gator’s own eyes narrowed at your question, brown darkening with an annoyance only magnified by the attitude you’d had all week, as he took another sip.

“On your fucking knees,” he repeated, enunciating each word clearly as his gaze traveled down your body and came to a stop at your chest. The thin, threadbare t-shirt you wore now felt impossibly revealing - left you feeling more naked than if you were standing bare before him - but you resisted the urge to lift your hands and cover yourself as he inhaled sharply through his nose. “Now.”

It was slow, deliberate, but uttered so forcefully that he left you little room for argument. Still, his gaze left you pinned to the floor. There was something impossibly heavy in the look he gave you, something that seared you to the bone and rendered you thoughtless - unable to remember exactly what you’d felt before feeling the weight of his full attention on you.

Though you were tempted to huff, to argue and demand that he make you, you were in no mood to fight with him. The sweep of his eyes over your frame had your skin prickling, feverish despite the snow falling outside, and dissolved any remaining fight. That anger, that warmth, was replaced with a desire so heady it nearly stole your breath as you crossed the room in a few short steps and dropped to your knees in front of him.

As you settled before him and glanced up at him from beneath your lashes, Gator took another sip from his beer. Those dark eyes never left your kneeling form, daring you to move - to disobey - as he wiped at his mouth with his hand.

Another moment of his intense regard, brows pinched and mouth set in a thin line. “You’ve had an attitude all fucking week,” he began, voice low as he tipped his head to get a better look at you. “I’ve tried to be patient and wait it out, but I’m tired of walking on eggshells in my own goddamn house. So, here’s what we’re gonna do.”

Gator sat back then, pressed himself comfortably into the plush of the couch, and spread his legs wide. As he reached for his beer, body stretching and biceps flexing, you weren’t quite sure where to look. There was the expanse of skin exposed by the white undershirt - the smooth column of his throat, the sliver of his chest, the strong curve of his biceps - or the camouflage fabric covering his thighs; it was all too much, more overwhelming than the unnamed emotions you’d been grappling with all week, so you settled for his face and watched as he scowled.

“I’m gonna drink my beer, and you’re gonna put that smartass mouth to good use.” Another sip of his beer then, and your eyes fell to his throat, watching as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “And when you’re done swallowing my come,” he continued, eyes flashing with blaze of fire when you inhaled sharply, “you’re gonna thank me for letting you. Then, if I’m feeling generous, I might fuck you later.”

An argument lingered on the tip of your tongue - a whine of, “That’s not fair,” or a withering, “Suck it yourself, asshole,” - but Gator was quick to quiet you before you could so much as open your mouth.

Cold fingers, damp with condensation from the can, fell to your jaw as he leaned forward to meet your narrowed gaze. “It’s in your best interest not to talk back,” he advised, warm breath fanning over your face as he pressed his fingers into your skin. “If I have to punish you tonight, I’m not going to be very nice.”

The threat was hollow - Gator would never hurt you, would never cause you any discomfort that you didn’t ask for - but it still sent a shiver down your spine. Your breathing had grown shallow, ragged in your own ears as heat bloomed in the pit of your stomach, and he knew that you were in the palm of his hand.

This was something that you both needed. Gator needed to be given control, some semblance of power in an otherwise powerless existence; you needed to step outside of yourself, to be given permission to stop thinking, if only for a second, and give in to your deepest desires. It was something you both loved, a dynamic that worked well, because you were equal in every way. You split the bills and the housework - though you did most of the cooking because despite Gator’s very earnest, very best efforts to learn, he still had miles to go - and, on days he felt overwhelmed with work or feelings he couldn’t quite name, Gator was happy to let you put him in his place.

But this was a game that you both loved. And while you weren’t thrilled about the discomfort you’d felt all week, you were thrilled with Gator’s solution.

Arousal, sticky and warm, flooded your veins as he released your jaw and tossed his arm over the back of the couch. He pointedly glanced at you, then his camouflage covered bulge, before he raised an eyebrow. “My cock’s not gonna suck itself, sweetheart.”

Immediately, you missed the weight of his hand on your skin but bit your tongue as you reached out to unbutton and unzip his work pants. There was little whining about his lack of touch or how desperate you were to feel him would do, not when you’d been prickly all week - not when you’d huffed at his efforts to comfort you with physical touch for days on end - so you did as you were told.

Gator watched intently, dark eyes tracking your every movement, as you tugged at the stiff material. When you were met with the absence of the black band of his briefs, you cast him an unimpressed glance. In response, he simply lifted his hips just enough for you to free him from the confines of his pants.

Seeing him bare always left you with warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach. Slick gathered between your thighs, a slow ache that reminded you of just how long it had been since you’d felt his touch - a hell of your own making, you chided yourself - and your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you shuffled closer.

The sight of him never grew less impressive, never less achingly beautiful, and you worried a little about the power he held over you as your hands began to move. With one hand pressed to his thigh, you wrapped the other around the base of his cock - hard, warm, tip ruddy and glistening with a bead of precum - and leaned in to trace the vein running along the underside with your tongue.

A hiss escaped him as his fingers curled into the aluminum of the beer can producing a tinny crunch, before his free hand fell to your head. Thick fingers tangled in your hair, gripped firmly as he shifted his hips, and you knew that was the only warning you would get.

While he usually enjoyed the attention, got off on being the center of your universe - reveled in the time you spent doting on him, making him feel larger than life with every swipe of your fingers or tongue - this was not the moment to take your time. He wanted release, wanted to claim you in a way that had you both burning where you sat, and you gave it to him.

Gator’s fingers tightened in your hair as you took the tip between your lips, pausing only to swipe your tongue and lap at the precum weeping from it. A deep exhale drew your attention, had you lifting your eyes from the sliver of exposed skin to his face - dark eyes trained on your face, watching intently even as he sank into the cushions - and you did nothing to bite back the soft whimper the sight of him drew.

Usually gelled hair had begun falling, a combination of moisture from the snow and his own frustration, and your stomach clenched at the few strands that fell across his forehead. You wanted nothing more than to reach out, to brush your fingers over his heated skin, but you knew he wouldn’t respond kindly in that moment. So, you settled for the next best thing and allowed your fingers to grip the plush of his thigh as you lowered your head.

The taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue drew a soft groan from you - made it difficult for you to remember any of the unwieldy emotions you’d been grappling with all week, difficult to remember anything other than Gator - as you built a slow, steady rhythm.

Even with the annoyance he’d felt, the ease with which he’d demanded you make up for your attitude on your knees, he still allowed you a few moments to acclimate to his size before the grip on your hair tightened. Heavy fingers pressed into your scalp and began to guide your movements.

“That’s it,” he hummed, using his grip on your hair to roughly fuck into your mouth. A few shallow thrusts, not quite pressing you down entirely, before he lifted his hips and you found your nose buried in the dark hair around the base of his cock. The tip punched at the back of your throat, hitting deep enough to draw a whine from deep in your chest, and Gator tutted at the sound. “This is what you needed, isn’t it? Needed to be used like a good little cockslut, put in your fucking place.”

When your lashes fluttered, breath coming in short puffs from your nose as your tongue swirled around the warm velvet of his cock, Gator laughed. It was a harsh sound, though not unkind, that quickly morphed into a moan. “Jesus, look at that.” With a clatter, Gator set the can on the coffee table and brought his hand to your cheek. He thumbed at the errant tears leaking from your eyes and exhaled heavily. “Look pretty on your knees, my good little wife.”

The wedding was still weeks away but Gator had taken to calling you his wife the moment he slid the ring onto your finger. And as readily as he rolled with the equality in your relationship, the give and the take, there was something about the game - the moments of pretend, the moments where Gator could play the part of big, strong man while you settled on your knees before him - that you both reveled in.

Sticky arousal pooled between your thighs and a quick glance at his face told you that Gator knew just how desperate you were beginning to feel. He could see the shift of your thighs, the heave of your chest; could feel the desperate press of your fingers digging into his thighs, the eager bob of your head as you took everything he gave you. 

Despite the ache in your jaw, the stinging in your knees, you swallowed the salty slick dripping from the tip of his cock as your eyes lifted to meet his once more.

“Much better use of that pretty mouth,” he continued, rarely able to remain quiet for long when you were settled between his thighs. “Hard to be a bitch when your mouth’s full.”

When you cut your eyes at him in warning - despite the throbbing in your untouched clit, the ache you felt as you waited eagerly for your turn to receive his undivided attention, he was toeing the line of too much - he reached for your free hand and squeezed it in apology. He was close, teetering on the edge of release after a week of lost attention, and you forgave him with a swallow around his cock.

The groan you received in return shot straight to your core, had you shifting your thighs and clenching around nothing. His grip grew harsher, fingers trapped tight in your locks as he set a brutal pace, and you sank into him fully as he chased his high.

A few more moments of the tip of his cock punching the back of your throat, his fingers pressed to your scalp, the depth of his voice as he loudly proclaimed his pleasure. Gator was all that existed, all encompassing and dissolving the tension of a sour week, and you found yourself moaning with him when he came with a groan.

Just as he’d ordered, you swallowed the bitter warmth of his spend. And when you were done, when he released his grip on your hair and allowed you to pull away, you opened your mouth and displayed your compliance. Gator hummed, pleased, and waited with an expectantly raised brow.

“Thank you for letting me swallow your come, sir.” It was a rasp, voice spent and throat ticklish, but it was exactly what he’d wanted. You could see the flash in his eyes - the confirmation that he would rather walk across glass barefoot than deny himself the pleasure of being buried between your thighs - as you fluttered your lashes at him.

With a hum, he reached out for you. He hauled you up easily, tugged you onto the couch to join him, and cupped your cheek in his hand. Warm fingers pressed into your skin and you were unsurprised by the eager press of his mouth to yours.

Gator tasted of mint and cheep beer - the Zyns an upgrade from the early days when you were met with the harsh bite of his dip and the acidic sweetness of Mt. Dew - but you melted into him just the same. His thumb brushed at the few errant tears tracking down your cheeks, wiped them away in the softest motion, and your heart clenched as you gently squeezed his wrist.

“‘M sorry for being so bitch all week,” you mumbled, eyes cast down to avoid his soft gaze as you stroked at the warm skin of his wrist. “Dunno what was wrong. Just off, I guess. Shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

A soft hum of acknowledgement escaped him, an understanding as he also found himself struggling to make sense of powerful emotions on occasion, as he leaned in for another eager kiss - an acceptance, forgiving. “You feeling any better?”

The question was muffled by your lips, warm breath fanning over your skin and needling at the already rubbed raw nerves, but you appreciated it just the same. “Mm.” You were - not wholly yourself yet but better, on the mend - but there was always a way to feel better. “You could always fuck the attitude out of me, just to be sure,” you offered, lips curving at the corners as you finally met his eyes.

“Brat.”

There was no bite, no malice in the word. It was soft, fond, and you could see the curve of his mouth as he fought a bright smile. The eyes that had been so dark all night had grown warm, honey brown and so sweet as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your mouth. The stubble that lined his jaw prickled your skin but it grounded you, kept you wholly in the moment, and you were grateful for it as his words cut through the haze.

“Want you naked on the bed when I get in there.” It was whispered against your lips, quiet but ringing in your ears as you felt your heart thunder in your chest. “We’ll get rid of whatever attitude’s left.”

______________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Fuck if I know, man. I just write what the inspiration tells me to write. I guess let me know if you want to be tagged if I write more for the garbage man.

[thesims2comics]

Stake out at the Bayou in Miniopolis with the Nerdies!

[rozeliyawashereyall]

Is Renzo X Liya X Ghary real

Oh yeah, totally, look at how real this is

But of course all three of them have to go through like 4 separate angst arcs in the shape of an extremely melodramatic spanish soap opera and THEN they decided "fuck it we poly"

/jk ... @cruisie and @anniekinsart for Renzo and Ghary

[oll13v3rdoesart]

Sketch Dump!!!!

Enjoy some shitty pictures of my sketchbook :]

characters in order:

My roblox avatar

Unnamed oc

Raelyn

Puppet Ollie

Elizabeth Afton

Pomni

Funtime freddy

Sailor Moon

Montgomery Gator (my human design)

My Sona

Miscellaneous design

Miku!

Joe Hatsune (shitpost)

Miku!

Miku again!

V flower's eye!

V flower!

Freddy fazbear

Materials used:

Canson mixed media paper (in a sketchbook that my stepmom's boyfriend helped me make)

Ohuhu 104 marker pack

various sakura liner pens

Miscellaneous white acrylic marker

[kanansdume]

Best part of the episode was getting to see the purrgils in hyperspace, not gonna lie. I gasped. Everything else was chopped liver after that.

[into-the-feniverse]

Bundle Up! ❄️

Wanted to draw Fen (& Dabi) in a winter outfit so I repurposed the S6 key visual to make this!

Template for reuse or repurpose: bit.ly/bnhatemplates

Combined graphic + goofy doodle under the cut:

[suppenzeit]

a fun exercise to do with your ocs is to figure out which cat from the cats musical they would be. not exactly in the sense of "which cat they like best" but more like "which cat would they be cast as" and "which cat fit their vibe best" (not the same in every scenario). you can even make frame it as "this character wants to be this cat, but is cast as this cat instead"

[fazeruined]

tag dump 1/?

[say-al0e]

Changes

Rating: PG

Summary: The changes in Gator were small at first, easy to miss. But when taken together, they really added up. (AKA I could fix him, when in reality, I'd probably just hit him with my car.) Warnings: General Tillman fuckery, Roy being Roy, Gator being Gator (mentions of misogyny, "traditional beliefs", Gator being annoying). Pairing: Gator Tillman x fem!Reader Word Count: 2k

The changes in Gator were small, at first - easy to miss if you weren’t looking very close. And for all the looking Roy seemed to do, Gator was very rarely in his line of sight.

Failure, mistakes and screwups - all of which Roy seemed to believe Gator achieved in spades - was all there seemed to be. Gator only existed when he made a mistake, when he fucked up, and for the life of him, the sheriff couldn’t see the good in his own son. Neither could Gator. 

Not at first, anyway.

But the changes came on so gradually, so easily, that no one could quite pinpoint when they began. The obnoxious, insecure, spoiled brat he’d been raised to be slipped away, piece by piece, and was replaced by a man he was proud to become.

First, it was the confidence.

Gator’s bravado, his entitlement - unearned, boisterous swagger his father instilled in him - was always loud. He boldly declared himself a winner, the best of the best, despite his shortcomings and refused to listen to anyone (other than Roy) who thought otherwise. He could be abrasive, at best, infuriating at worst, and rarely took no for an answer.

But it was obvious upon first meeting him that it was all an act.

The false confidence, the bravado, the entitlement - it was all a way to make himself feel better, worthy. He’d been a winner once, back in the glory days, and knew that Roy expected it to continue. Gator was supposed to follow in his father’s footsteps, carry on the Tillman legacy, but his adulthood seemed to be one fuckup after another.

Somewhere along the line, Gator’s luck changed and that confidence he’d earned slipped away. His father’s constant barrage of criticism didn’t help any, instead only chipped away at the real confidence that Gator had buried deep in the recesses of his mind, but acting as meek as he felt sometimes was never an option.

When you first met Gator, you saw right through him immediately. There was an insecurity, one he tried to bury with obnoxious banter and that bravado, but you saw him for who he was. And when you met Roy, it became even more obvious just why Gator needed the ego boost you gave him.

These days, after nearly a year of dating, Gator’s confidence was quieter.

That facade was still there, the bravado plain to see in the way he carried himself while on duty, in situations where he still felt he had the upper hand, but subtler now. That confidence was real, earned, something he believed. It was a value in himself, an understanding that he was truly worthy - and that he didn’t have to put anyone else down to be worthy - regardless of what game he won or title he held. He no longer felt the need to announce himself a winner, no longer felt the need to scramble in search of approval, and it made your heart happy to see.

And despite his initial misgivings about women and relationships, Gator made an effort to unlearn his father’s teachings and do his best to continue making your heart happy however he could.

In that pursuit came the physical changes.

There were a few that were generally attributed to him growing up. The decor in his bedroom -  wall decorations long gone, tossed into boxes somewhere; old sheets he never bothered replacing, discarded for something newer, softer (even though you never set foot in his room); trophies he kept on display, now boxed up in a closet - went first. Then came the wardrobe, with a few new pairs of jeans that intermingled with the camouflage and a few nice button-down shirts to wear to dinner. Then his hair, with a little less gel while off-duty and fewer caps.

Others - less time with a vape in his hand, less chew and fewer trips to the convenience store - were teasingly attributed to your influence.

Still, no one really paid much attention to those changes.

It wasn’t until the change in his temperament that others began to take notice.

For most of his life, Gator had a habit of whining. He threw tantrums, outbursts of anger that saw him yelling obscenities or leaving holes in walls, and had difficulty expressing his emotions without turning the conversation into a fight. There was no healthy expression of disappointment or anger or any other upset in the Tillman home but after the first time you left him high and dry for pitching a fit, Gator began to change his ways.

Gator’s temperament was the slowest change. It took a long while for him to understand the consequences of his tantrums, that you were serious when you told him you had no intention of tolerating an overgrown man-child and wouldn’t be coddling him. But after positive reinforcement - conversations in which you rewarded levelheaded dialogue and ignored petulant outbursts - he began to get the hang of it.

Soon, Gator began to mature. He formed his own opinions about the world - its comings and goings, what it meant to be a man, what it meant to be a partner - without his father’s voice echoing in his mind. He began to realize that the Tillman way was not the only way. And if his physical changes were attributed to you teasingly, those mental changes were attributed to you accusingly.

Those changes in Gator’s temperament, the easy way he handled disappointment these days - the way he no longer flew off the handle when he made a simple mistake, the way he accepted it as a lesson and strived to be better the next time - made Roy wary.

The influence you held over Gator was plain to see and he didn’t like the idea that a woman could hold so much power over his son. He worried that Gator had gone soft, that he’d abandoned the way things should be - the natural order of things - but when he began to truly look at you both, that isn’t what he saw.

And, luckily, that meant Roy approved of the courtship.

What he didn’t know, was that it was all by design.

Gaining Roy Tillman’s approval was, in the beginning, never something you longed for. You would’ve preferred pretending he didn’t exist but the harder you fell for Gator, the easier it became to see that you’d never free Gator from his tyranny - his brainwashing, his abuse - if Roy disliked you. 

So, instead of showing him your real self, you gave him a potential daughter-in-law he could approve of wholeheartedly.

Roy Tillman liked you because he thought you could be useful.

Every wife he’d ever had was a pawn in a larger game - the daughter of someone important or a woman who desperately needed a way out that only he could provide. And as the quiet middle daughter of a sheriff a few counties over, you were exactly what he thought his son needed.

Gator was never as effortlessly controlling as his father, never as natural a leader, but Roy saw you as a way to fix that. To him, you were meek - kind, quiet, deferential. Giving Gator a taste of power at home would make him hunger for more, give him the ambition to be better, to take over the family business.

The family you came from was kind, farmers turned lawmen somewhere along the way, and Roy imagined he could take advantage of it all. He imagined you’d all be useful, easy to exploit with your connections and your land, and willfully overlooked some of the red flags your relationship initially raised.

Though that change in Gator’s temperament was the most obvious, though it took months for Roy to notice, he made no secret of his appreciation. Gator had matured in the way he’d always wanted, calmer and steadier in his conviction, and took pride in his work now.

Even at home, Roy watched you submit to Gator, who was never unkind to you - only even daring to be something similar to firm in the presence of his expectant father - and defer to him in conversation. He watched you care for his son, cooking and cleaning and offering a sympathetic ear when he had a bad day, and delighted in the maturation of his son that you facilitated. It was an act so carefully constructed that Roy never once questioned its validity and for that, you were appreciative.

Those changes were appreciated until it became obvious just how significantly Gator had changed over the course of your relationship.

Gator had matured, grown more even in temper, and grown more confident. He’d become a man, someone his father could be proud of, and that encouraged Roy to lengthen his leash. Gator was given space to breathe, to become his own man and build a life with you. And, consequently, the space to truly find himself.

Without realizing, Roy gave Gator enough room to learn who he was when freed from beneath his father’s thumb.

Those values that had been drilled into him from boyhood - tradition, conservatism, inherent value, right and wrong and the shades of grey in between - went from known beliefs to open discussions.

Late at night, when Gator slept in your bed rather than his own - slipped into your bedroom under the cloak of night, pretending that there was nothing sinful happening when Roy made it a point to ask - he voiced his doubts. They were few, at first, questions that only arose because he’d fallen in love with you when you were almost the exact opposite of who he was raised to believe he should fall for. But it quickly turned into him questioning everything he’d ever known.

And, despite your deep-seated distaste for Roy - for the damage he’d done to Gator, for the way he treated people, for the asshole he was - you never pushed.

Every conclusion Gator came to, you might’ve helped lead him to but never forced him to accept. And when Gator began to question what would happen if Roy were to find out that neither of you were who you seemed, well, you simply wondered aloud if playing pretend would be enough to keep you both in his good graces until you could fully establish yourselves elsewhere.

So, for nearly two years - until your savings account had been padded and Gator’s loyalty to his father was dead and buried - you played pretend. Gator pretended to rule with an iron fist, the king of his own castle, while you bowed and scraped and remarked how happy you were to serve. 

Those changes all added up, made for a brand new man that you were proud to love and Roy was, for just a moment, proud to call his son.

But, in the end, the biggest change of all was one that was obvious from the start. Roy saw it right away - though he refused to believe it - and hated it more than anything at the end of the day.

The way that Gator treated your relationship was soft. Despite his raising, you weren’t property to be owned or a prize to be won. You were’t a right, granted to him just because he was the son of a powerful, rich man and would someday be the powerful, rich man. You weren’t his because he deserved you.

No, you were his in spite of all of that. And Gator saw you for what you truly were - an equal, a partner that deserved to be trusted and treated with respect and dignity.

And by the time Roy realized just how drastic the change in his son was, just how far gone he was - just how far you both were from his control - it was too late.

The changes in Gator were small at first, only visible to those who knew where to look, but now - after three years, a ring, and a U-Haul carrying you both far from North Dakota - the changes in Gator Tillman were impossible to ignore.

__________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Is this realistic? Absolutely not. Does Gator remind me of every guy I graduated high school with? Yes. Do I like him because he's portrayed by Joe? Yes. Would I actually date him? No. Again, I'd sooner hit him with my car. But he's cute. So, enjoy. No taglist because I'm not inflicting this garbage man on anyone. May write more for him but again, may not.

[ramenheim]

OOOHHH HO HO HO

https://www.doesthedogdie.com/are-there-alligators-crocodiles

JUST FOUND AN "IS THE MOVIE GOOD" SELF-UPDATING ARCHIVE!!

[gatorsnot]

literally me during my quiet spells on here thinking about how i can pester my mutuals when i finally come barreling back onto the dash

[gatortavern]

ahh, i do adore the old days of pokemon where you'd get a ton of odd glitches like this happening.

There's also the glitch in Stadium with at least a few glitch mons where if you look at them they turn into a Rhydon.

pokémon evolution chains we need

[nxtovirtxs]

today is a good day to blast some 100 gecs through the entire pizzaplex

[ ; I would never blast 100 gecs.. they're just small little babies. Plus not safe for them or the pizza-plex. I decline ya's offer to blasting or releasing 100 geckos into the place. ; ]

[suppenzeit]

the thing with gators is that if he lived in a world with modern artists he would listen to the igor album on repeat. would he get it? not sure but he likes the sound

[sicc-nasti]

I also just wanna draw some ocs. I’ve had a silly tf2 oc brewing in my head and I wanna get him out 💀💀

[sexilene]

I need more 80's slasher!rafe plsss lene!! 😘

ohhhh shureee!!! 💞 sorry if there are any misspellings!

𐦍༘₊ ⊹ warnings! 18+ - p in v, non con, over stimulation, violence, death, spanking, knife play, dark!rafe - ₊˚⊹

"rafe, i'm tired my feet hurt and- i just wanna go home!"

"hey, i took you out on a nice date that you wanted me to take you on!" he yells, clearly frustrated at you. 

"i didn't even wanna go on a date with you! i only agreed to go with you because you won't take no for an answer and you'd kill any guy that talks to me!" you shout back. you shift you balance to the other leg making you trip on the uneven road with the stupid little heels he advised you didn't wear, telling you to 'just go comfortable'. you walk away from him when he doesn't answer and just looks at you furrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes.

"HEY! don't walk away from me when i'm talking to you!" he yells back much louder than before, causing you to freeze and almost twist your ankle with the way you halted. turning around to face him, his eyes meeting yours and not looking away as he stalks over to you. 

"you better watch your tone with me. don't ever say some shit like that again, take it back," he demands, staring down at you. he grabs your wrist with a bruising grip when you don't answer immediately. 

"let go-"

"nah, you know what? im gonna show you somethin'." he wraps his arm around your waist and picks you up over his shoulder, carrying you back to his truck. the silence of the small neighborhood is suddenly disrupted by your loud protests. yet nobody comes out to see what's causing the commotion because rafe has already thrown you into your seat and buckled you in. a knife gripped in one hand as he uses the other to drive, both of you sit in silence as he drives out into the middle of nowhere.

"rafe, where are we goin'?" you ask in a soft tone, hopefully, to get him to soften with you as well. 

"shut up." he doesn't look away from the road, eyes still focused straight ahead into darkness being slightly illuminated by the lights of his truck. 

rafe finally parks the truck just before the entrance of a dirt path so that the tire marks aren't printed on the dirt just in case. he leans over and unbuckles you, then gets out of the car to go around and help you out. 

"rafe i'm really sorry about what i said, i know you just want to spend time with me- but you're scaring me!" 

"jus' come with me." he holds onto your hand tightly, guiding you through the dark forest just before a swampy lake. 

"why are we here..." you whisper 

"i wanna show you somethin', baby look." he points to where an obviously pale dead body of a young man lay floating not too far from where you two are standing, left to be eaten by gators. 

"oh my god..." you cover your mouth with your hand, looking up at rafe with teary eyes. 

"that's the asshole who'd perv around the girl's locker rooms-"

"oh my god rafe!"

"no hey- i'm not done. he's also the asshole who had creepy little pictures of you taped in his locker, did you know that?" he maneuvers his hands around to grab onto the sides of your face to get you to look up at him. 

"i got him to drive here, n'i got rid of him for you babyface, because i'm a good boyfriend right?" 

"you did this today?" you whisper.

"right before our date..." he whispers back.

you can bring yourself to do anything, tears rolling down your cheeks, he sighs and lets go of your face, running his hands through his hair. your body acting faster than your mind, taking the opportunity to make a run for it and find a way to call for help not even knowing what you are doing anymore. 

"jesus, you better get back here now!!! i'm not in the mood to play around!!" he shouts, pulling his knife out of his pocket and already chasing after you. you run as fast as you really can with the heels, heart beating so loud that's all you can hear. 

tripping over your heels again, your knees hit the dirt. you quickly throw off the heels leaving your white filly lace socks to get dirtied. 

"little bitch, didn't i tell you not to wear those stupid little heels....hmm?"

you shut your eyes after hearing his voice, knowing it's too late now. he bends down to you on the floor and lifts your chin up with the tip of his knife. tsking when he meets your eyes, manhandling you on your hands and knees, lifting your little skirt, and cutting off your panties making you shiver at how the cold air of the night hits your bare pussy. 

"rafe- no! m'sorry...m'really sorry!!" you whimper, closing your eyes shut when you feel his bulge in his pants pressing against your thigh. 

"have'ta put you in your place, cause like where the fuck do you get off runnin' away from me like that huh?" 

"i said i was sorry, please!" you sob, though you don't see him, rafe nods and presses the side of your face down into the dirt and pulls his thick hard cock out to press against your entrance. you scream when you start to feel the stretch, tears continuing to run down your face. to shut you up he stops for a second and stuffs your torn panties into your mouth to muffle your screams, then goes back to pushing himself in balls deep. 

"better quit it with the attitude, that's not how good girls are supposed to act. can't you see how much i love you? i kill for you princess and all i get in return is your fucking attitude?!!" he scoffs with a laugh, now starting a brutal pace, pounding into your poor puffy cunt with no time to really adjust to his size.

"jus' want you to be my good girl 'n listen to me cause i know what's best for you."

the only thing heard is the sound of his balls slapping against your clit, his groans, and your pathetic whimpers muffled by the piece of cloth in your mouth. a loud smack then ringing in your ears as he slaps your ass so hard it burns and leaves a sting that lingers when he grips the flesh in his big rough hands. you squeeze your eyes shut and tighten your pussy around him, screaming around the gag. he shushes you with an "easy girl, eaaasy" and smacks the same spot again, feeling how your ass cheek starts to get hot due to his assault.

"you gonna be good now? hm?" he taunts, taking the panties covered in your drool out of your mouth. 

"yes-yes! yes rafe, m'sorry." you breathe out, your hands clawing at the grass and dirt. 

“i know, i know...thaaaat's my girl, cream all over me." he can feel how close you are and how your cunt is starting to pulse around him harder. he reaches his arm around your waist and brings his thumb to rub fast circles on your clit making your eyes roll back and immediately cum all over his fat cock, squeezing him and leaving a white ring on the base of his dick.

 "atta girl." he doesn't lessen the assault on your body, continuing to pound into you and rub your clit to overstimulate you, causing you to weakly thrash around. 

"when you struggle it jus' makes your pussy tighter princess." he grips your hips to keep you from moving around too much, feeling like he can barely move at how tight you are clamping down on him. 

"stop- no more rafey, no more i can't." you mewl. 

"shhhh, juuus' one more i know you can do it baby."

he rams into you, his cock so thick stretching you out, you're moaning at how warm and good he feels in you that your brain just shuts off. 

"tell me you love me n' i'll let you cum. wanna hear you say it." he stops rubbing your clit and pulls your hips to be closer to him.

"can't- can't!!!" you whine all cock drunk.

"no, i know you can. c'mon..." he grunts and pushes your face into the dirt, keeping you there.

"i love- i love you rafe, love you so much!" you scream when you feel the bulge in your tummy and his tip kissing your cervix. 

"i love you too baby." satisfied he brings his hand back to rub your clit hard and fast. you moan out with your mouth open in an o shape, you cum for the second time. your hear your heartbeat in your ears as he spreads your ass painfully with a rough grip to watch how his cock goes in and out of your twitching cunt. 

"such a pretty pussy..." he grins, he pushes in one last time hard and fills you to the brim with his cum. panting he pulls out letting his cum drool out of your spent hole and that's the last thing you remember before losing all feeling and passing out.