gatorlovebot - Tumblr blog

[gatorlovebot]

work sucks, my love life sucks, i HAVE to get back into writing

[gatorlovebot]

Look. I’m gonna be that cool friend of yours that sits on the seat backwards to talk to ya. Because we need to make some things clear.

Don’t be a jackass to people. Block or back out.

This is an 18+ space for legal reasons.

This is a queer positive space.

This is a sex positive space.

This is a kink positive space.

This is a body-autonomous space.

TERF and SWERF rhetoric is not welcome here. RadFem rhetoric is exclusionary and hurtful.

Trans women are women; trans men are men; gender exists on a spectrum and we believe people when they tell us what they are.

Sex work is real work. Period. End of discussion. The exploitation of workers is not limited to sex work.

Thinking you’re morally superior to someone else is cruel and perpetuates stereotypes that actively cause harm.

Censoring your words is a violation of consent - people have tagged certain words to prevent them from seeing it. Censoring it violates their choice. (And also? Be an adult. Use the words as they’re intended to be used.)

People deserve to be cared for and have their basic needs met, regardless of status, identity or health concerns. (This includes mental health too.)

If you don’t like any of this, block or back out. Be an adult about it. This is not an airport, you don’t need to announce your departure.

Bigotry will not be tolerated.

We good? Good.

[gatorlovebot]

Here, you, uh.. You dropped this. I believe it's something like a newly moved in across the road neighbor Gaz with his shirt off, sweating under the sun, on his knees digging in a flowerbed to plant his tulips 'cause he likes him a pretty home, and then he pops open his larger than life water bottle and sprayes some on his head and the back of his neck while you play droplet race to which one dips beneath his pants the fastest, and then he looks over with those beautiful, shiney teeth of his sparkling as he smiles and makes a kissey face towards you while you stand there slack jawed the entire time in front of your large ass, freshly cleaned windows.

This is yours, right?

oops sorry it fell out of my pussy

ty for bringing it to me, idk what i would've done without my delicious neighbor kyle being a gardener while i stare at him like some creepy voyeur with my mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

hey but then you bring him over some baked goodies to him or something and you're just trying to be the kind neighbor alright (please god, don't let sharon walk past, the old hag doesn't know how to mind her own) and he takes it graciously, a velvety thank you in response and he's british --guys call the ambulance cuz you're about to flatline-- and then some little knee baby pokes his head from behind kyle and you're frozen, ONCE MORE, because he's got a girl some--

"i'm divorced. it's just the little pup and i."

😭😭😭😭

[gatorlovebot]

i’m also worried about getting fired feom my job because they put me in a new position that i’m inferqualified and undertrained for and i keep making mistakes because i don’t have any direct reports that know what i’m doing. i’ve been with this company for a decade and was put in this position only temporarily as a way to help out so i onow realistically i’m not going to get fired but the anxiety over it has been all consuming lately.

literally the least of my worries rn is my mom luckily. she had her first round of chemo this week and she’s still feeling great so at least that’s on positive in my life.

my “love” life is i see this dude i really like every 2 weeks because after every date i’m waiting for him to initiate the next one…but he never does so i’ve planned and scheduled the last 3 dates we’ve gone on. i’m trying to be secure and healthy and convince myself this is a fine pace for early dating but i also feel like i’m only being given crumbs and i hate it. he cooked me dinner on thursday and when the night was over he was like “lets go out to dinner next time” ans i was like “yeah text *me* about it” and yet here it is sunday morning and nothing from him. i’m not even sad about it i’m more so just debating if i even put up with this any longer.

[gatorlovebot]

my “love” life is i see this dude i really like every 2 weeks because after every date i’m waiting for him to initiate the next one…but he never does so i’ve planned and scheduled the last 3 dates we’ve gone on. i’m trying to be secure and healthy and convince myself this is a fine pace for early dating but i also feel like i’m only being given crumbs and i hate it. he cooked me dinner on thursday and when the night was over he was like “lets go out to dinner next time” ans i was like “yeah text *me* about it” and yet here it is sunday morning and nothing from him. i’m not even sad about it i’m more so just debating if i even put up with this any longer.

[gatorlovebot]

from the river to the sea

[gatorlovebot]

Anything happens in my life: “a sloppy style kiss from gator would fix all this. Alas, I must struggle onwards without it”

-🐶

oh my angel i would kiss away all of your problems if i could 🤍

[gatorlovebot]

let him suck on my tits last night like a baby and radio silence from him tonight hmm

[gatorlovebot]

This has been living rent free in my head for so long, inspired by this post

I don't post as much because I lost my will to draw, idk why.

[gatorlovebot]

no thoughts just plus sized reader referring to themself as an acquired taste and gaz asking for a bite

[gatorlovebot]

[gatorlovebot]

Simon is still very much sleeping when he mumbles in your neck "whatever you're overthinking I'll fix it tomorrow so just go to sleep." Because handling your business is encoded in his spine by now.

On a primal level Simon's brain holds your wishes equal with his own. And whatever you want you get.

You want to start eating organic, done.

You want that person killed,done.

You want an ugly ass shitsu, done.

Simon has no moral compass but he's got a spouse to please and money and unholy skills.

[gatorlovebot]

i’m so obsessed with my mutuals i need you all to know that you are like celebrities to me and i want to hear everything you have to say

[gatorlovebot]

you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.

cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out

ghoap (x reader)

-

You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.

Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.

“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.

You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.

Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.

“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.

“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”

You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.

“That’s– is everything alright?”

He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”

Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.

The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.

A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.

You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.

It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.

You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.

Their titles are as cryptic as their photos.

wet.avi; tail_plug.avi; no_prep.avi; with_price.avi.

You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.

johnny_leash.avi

The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.

The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.

It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.

A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.

“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.

The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.

A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.

There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.

“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”

The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.

The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.

The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.

You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.

“Yer recordin’ me?”

“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”

Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.

Your body betrays your moral plight.

Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.

His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.

Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.

The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.

But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.

You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.

The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.

Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.

“You want your snack, boy?”

Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”

Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.

Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”

The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.

You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.

It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.

breeding_my_boy.avi

Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.

Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.

Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.

You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”

You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.

It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.

Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.

“Wish I could breed you, pup…”

Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.

“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.

“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”

Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.

“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.

Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.

It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.

Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.

The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.

You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.

And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.

Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.

Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.

A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.

[gatorlovebot]

i am a fat reader defender until the day i fuckin DIE.

[gatorlovebot]

buck fucking wild to me that folks can readily accept the concept of being into breeding kink without ever actually wanting to be pregnant themselves, but cannot grasp the fact that the mental disconnect of sorts that allows that mindset might also apply to kinks that are significantly 'weirder'/'grosser'/more violent/less palatable

[gatorlovebot]

cw: unedited, mild misogyny? if you squint?

price x fem reader thoughts

John Price definitely loves being a little bit of an asshole. He just adores being the traditional dominant provider type for you and spoiling you, but sometimes you get a bit to spoiled. If he doesn't like your attitude he'll fuck you from behind with your face buried in his bicep, whispering the filthiest shit in your ear. " is this all ya needed love? hmm? big strong man to fuck you silly? little miss independent needs to be reminded who this pussy belongs too, yeah?" he has your face covered in drool and his arm covered in bite marks. He especially loves to grab you by the hair and pull your head back. "want to hear those pretty sounds love. Make sure the neighbors know I take good care of you" all you can do is whine and steady yourself in his arms as the sounds of his fast pace thrusts fill the room.