#i just can’t with cod

[mockerycrow]

why don’t you do character x character? :o

hi, anon!!

it’s just not something i like to write for the cod games. i’ve been into the cod games since i was a kid and that was just never something i did. i physically cannot ship these characters with any other character. i respect the folks who do write character x character—i actually indulge in character x character content from time to time, despite not shipping anyone—but as a long time fan? i just can’t. i grew up in the FaZe clan, bbcgaming, thesyndicateproject side of the fandom. shipping was just never a thing :’)

[softaestluv]

obsessed with the idea of onlyfans model! reader x Simon

Maybe you’re one of the biggest creators on the platform and you’re very well known after doing it for a few years. Except, you only do solo content, despite your peers constantly asking to collab or getting requests from fans to see you getting fucked.

Then, one day you post a video showing off some new panties and Simon’s tattooed and scarred hand just appears, squeezing the meat of your ass, claiming and possessive. A subtle message he’s sending to your audience as he spreads your cheeks apart, sliding your panties to the side and shows off your pretty pussy dripping with his cum.

[darkbunnylove]

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is a sore loser.

“But he's so calm and emotionally mature —”

No. Stop it.

You’re tryna tell me our golden boy —that high-achiever of a man, record-holder in selection, Price’s handpicked favorite, who definitely played every competitive sport imaginable in school and probably captained half of them —just shrugs when he loses? Be so serious.

It doesn’t even matter what it is.

Quiz night at the base? He's correcting whoever’s in charge. Demanding sources.

Card games? Man’s locked in like there’s a whole cash prize to win. Loses, and suddenly the rules weren’t clear.

Darts at the pub? He'll be quietly tallying wins on a napkin until someone else beats him. Then? No one’s keeping score anymore.

Oh and drills? Hah. You better believe Gaz is checking everyone's time twice while reminding Soap who finished first. But if he comes in second? He is already asking for a rematch before anyone can even breathe.

So, bold of you to assume he’d go easy on you just because you two are now dating.

Thinking about a cute little round of mini golf on a lazy Friday afternoon? Yeah, well, good luck, darling, because that man’s not trying to win just at love. <3

[mundanenonsense]

biker!simon x learnerdriver!reader

3869 words.

completely self indulged drabble inspired by what happened during my most recent driving lesson lol

enjoy xoxo

(edit: so there might be a part 2 coming…)

[next]

~

“We are in a 40 zone, you know you can go faster than 25? This will get you failed on the test.”

Terrie, your driving instructor sighed once again, looking at the speedometer as she rubbed her forehead with frustration. 

“Well, I’d rather be safe than sorry, there could be another car coming from behind the bend and-“ A frustrated whine escaped your lips as you squeezed the steering wheel tighter, shifting a little in the drivers seat before you gently tickled the gas with your foot, increasing the speed by a few miles. You’d been learning to drive for a month now, two double lessons a week, having passed your theory test with flying colours before you even decided to sit behind the wheel, this should all be a piece of piss. 

Well, it wasn’t. 

You cursed yourself for quitting your lessons when you were 17. Should have just done it then when you were a headstrong, confident teenager. Who would have known that 8 years later you would be a little scaredy cat, who was afraid of driving this big metal tin faster than 30 miles per hour?

Definitely not you. 

You were a great backseat driver after all, you just assumed it would come as easy for you if you were the one actually in the driving seat. 

Couldn’t be more wrong.

The responsibility overwhelmed you and fear of other drivers messing up was crushing any kind of confidence that you may have held.

You leaned forward as if that was going to make it easier for you to notice possible hazards as you took the turn.

“I know you’re scared of country roads, but you have nothing to worry about. Come on, gas, gas, gas.” Terrie tried to urge you on, but your foot stayed firmly in place as you silently stood (or sat) your ground (car seat). 

And then suddenly you flinched, a loud sound of an engine revving behind you made you jump a little in your seat, instinctively (and stupidly) making you attempt to turn to the side. Towards the hedge. The instructor immediately grabbed the hold of the wheel, straightening it up after your sudden jolt. 

“It’s fine, breathe, focus on the road, relax your shoulders, it’s just an idiot on the bike behind us.” She said, her voice soft as if she attempted to soothe you, used to the anxiety that ravaged you from the inside every single time you were in her car. She slowly let go off the wheel when you steadied your hands on it once again, taking in a deep shaky breath.

Your eyes snapped to the rear view mirror where you saw a large, black motorcycle ridden by an equally large man dressed in a black hoodie and pants, following you in little slaloms as if he was actively trying to show you how bored out of his mind he is. 

“What should I do?” You asked quickly, squeezing your hands on the wheel tighter as he revved the engine again, your knuckles turning white from the strain. 

“Well, if you’re not gonna speed up, steer to the left and let him overtake us, he should just go, there’s plenty of space.” Terrie said, looking over her shoulder as the biker started to near closer, sitting almost on the butt of your car. 

“Why is he doing this! It’s dangerous, what if I had to suddenly break!” You groaned in frustration as you let the wheel turn gently to the left, switching your gaze between the empty road ahead and the biker behind you. 

One thing Simon didn’t expect on his early morning ride to his mother’s house was traffic or any obstacles on the roads. Because nobody really expects that at 6am on a Saturday. The roads should be empty. And the majority of the drive from the base was smooth sailing. Perfect really. It was sunny, late spring in all its beauty with clear skies, chirping birds, bright warm sun and just calmness. He was able to push his Harley forward, not worrying about many drivers, leaning forward, feeling the strong engine beneath him and the wind rattling his clothes, music blasting through the headphones he wore under his helmet. 

It relaxed him. 

Soothed him.

Helped him get rid of the excess post deployment adrenaline that coursed in his veins. 

All he had to worry about in this moment was the machine beneath him and that was far easier than having to worry about the lives of soldiers who fought along his side. His friends. Brothers in arms who he both bled for and spilled blood for. No flying bullets, no blood, no screams, no thinking on his feet just to make sure he survived another minute. 

He had complete control right now. Over himself, over the bike and over the seemingly empty country road he was cruising.

It couldn’t be better.

That’s until he noticed a learner driver car ahead of him and with a little frustrated sigh he naturally slowed down, finally going within the speed limit. Not for long though. The miles on the speedometer were still dropping as his foot stayed firmly on the break when he realised the car in front of him was going much slower than he anticipated. 

Because for some reason, this idiot in the car thought it was okay to drive more than 10 miles under the speed limit. 

And yes, that idiot might have been a learner and Simon himself might have been an idiot for going a little (a lot) over the advised speed, but that didn’t matter now. 

Maybe they were gonna pull over? That must have been the reason why they were going so slow. Surely.

Nope. 

Apparently this wasn’t the case and he quickly realised it.

Simon revved the engine loudly with a sharp turn of his wrist, his eyes stuck on the little white car ahead of him. 

And then it swayed to the left right towards the hedge, before suddenly straightening up. He couldn’t help but chuckle under his nose, shaking his head slightly. How can a rev of an engine startle someone? At this point he didn’t even bat an eye to explosions happening 10 meters away from him or sudden sounds of firing guns. It was nothing. Pathetic.

Whoever was driving clearly didn’t plan on going any faster.

Simon thought it was a blessing that they’ve managed to move forward at all with how fucking slow the car was moving. 

No more fucking control for Simon.

All the control was in the hands of the the driver of the white learner car. You.

It’s not like he was in a rush. His mother was still probably asleep, he didn’t even announce to her that he was back. He rarely did. He preferred to just turn up. It avoided him any unnecessary questions that he much more preferred to answer in person than over text or phone call. He wasn’t even sure if he even remembered to turn his phone on when they returned to the base. Not like he had many people to contact apart from his team, his mother and Tommy and the former have seen him a few hours ago during the debrief anyway.

Simon didn’t need the unnecessary distractions. 

There was also nothing that compared to the smile on his mother’s face when she would see him standing unannounced in the door or when she would find him in her kitchen, casually sipping on his black tea after he silently sneaked into the house using his set of keys. Just like he planned to do today.

If only this god forsaken wannabe driver would move faster, he’d be able to relax sooner. He would be in one of the few safe places that he secretely cherished so much nursing his favourite tea, waiting for his mum to finally come downstairs and insist on cooking him a breakfast.

Normally he would just overtake, but the rural road that they were driving through was too wavy for him to do it safely. 

And as much as he was risking his life on the field, he wasn’t that much of a fucking twat to kill himself or anyone else in the close proximity. Like the learner driver and their instructor, who he thought must have been a shitty instructor letting them go this slowly. 

No, he knew when to take a step back.

But then the driver moved to the side, leaving him a wider opening. 

How lovely. Maybe he would get to his mum’s house about the time that he planned instead of next year.

He urged forward, flicking his visor up with a little curiosity, trying to catch the reflection of the person driving. He betted on an older person. Maybe a pruned grandad having to take some refresher lessons?

And as soon as he saw your wide, pretty, worried eyes, staring right fucking back at him in your rearview mirror, he could have sworn that the music playing in his ears paused, the world suddenly became brighter, his lungs got twice as full as he took a ragged breath and everything finally started to make sense. His assumptions went to fuck themselves. 

How could he ever be pissed off at someone with such pretty eyes? 

If you wanted to go slow, you had every single right to go slow. 

He would happily stay behind you, even if you moved at a snail pace, he would happily follow even if you decided to go even slower. 

Because that oh so beautifully and blissfully extended the time that he would be able to stare at your eyes. 

Because fuck, he was done in. Completely gone. Absolutely fucking fucked up.

Simon Riley would gladly write to the government or wherever he would have to write try to get every single speed limit around adjusted so that you didn’t have to go faster than you were going now. 

Your eyes flickered between the road ahead and his reflection in the rear view mirror, feeling his stare on you. Your cheeks reddened and panic settled. Why was he not overtaking? He was supposed to! That’s how the roads worked. If someone was going too slow for your liking, you’d overtake them. You were used to it, it happened before more often than you’d like to admit, but still.

“He’s not overtaking! What should I do?!” You squealed nervously. 

You knew you pissed off other drivers on the roads, which was one of the reasons why you always did both your weekly lessons on the early weekend mornings. It meant there was less of a chance of you feeling like a total failure since the streets were practically empty. And now having this biker practically sitting on your ass, catching his dark eyes every time you looked in the mirror, made you feel like you were gonna throw up. 

Was he judging you? Was he angry? Was he just staying there to torment you and make you feel like you were doing a bad job? Well, Mr Biker, tough shit, your brain was already working overtime guilt tripping you into thinking you were the biggest liability.

“We gave him the chance, just go back to the middle of the lane.” Terrie said calmly and turned around in her seat, looking over her shoulder at the biker.

And Simon wanted to murder that woman on the spot. It wasn’t the judgy, annoyed look on her face that angered him. It wasn’t the fact that she clearly shook her head at him as he watched her mouth something that he couldn’t quite distinguish. 

Her big fucking head covered the mirror view as she looked at him. Even if it was just for a brief few moments.

He couldn’t stare at you anymore. 

Well, he could. Eventually. Quite quickly actually.

But the few seconds that he couldn’t see those pretty eyes, which now glistened so beautifully with suppressed tears, seemed to drag out into eternity. 

Why were you so worried little driver? 

Did the instructor upset you? 

Did she say something nasty to you about your absolutely perfect driving? 

Don’t worry, you sweet little thing, you could quit driving with her, Simon would teach you better. He was a great teacher. Not that he ever taught anyone how to drive. But he taught plenty of people how to survive out on the field. How to handle a gun. How to disarm someone in all but 3 simple moves. Yeah. Simon would surely be able to teach you to drive. He would make sure you felt safe, since you so clearly didn’t. Whether that was in the car or in his arms as he cradled you so close to him, cupping your cheeks, stroking his thumbs lightly over the cheekbones as he gazed into those pretty, fucking eyes. He would bathe you in praises every time you did something right. Because fucking hell, maybe then those worried eyes would become a little less worried.

And if you wanted to quit driving altogether, that would be okay too.

Simon would happily become your personal chauffeur if it meant keeping your worries at bay. Although he would try to push for your independence, for the sake of it whilst he was out on deployment. But whenever he was back, you would never have to get into the drivers seat again if you didn’t want to. He’d drive your ass wherever your little, precious heart desired.

You’d make such a pretty passenger princess in his car, responsible for the radio, relaxing in the seat, his hand splayed on your thigh, stroking it tenderly as you looked at him with those pretty eyes that he could not hold himself back from gazing into at every single possible chance he got.

He’d slowly get you used to high speeds.

Well, higher than 30. 

Not ever higher than 70. 

Ever. 

Even if it was him driving.

He could never risk his precious cargo, whether that would be in a car or on the back of his bike as your arms would wrap around him securely. He would make you hold onto his hoodie or his leathers (probably his leathers, since he would have to set out a good example for you if he would make you wear yours too after he bought them). No more speeding for Simon. Not even to tease you. How could he ever risk you getting hurt?

You’d still cling on so tightly, no matter how fast he was going. He just knew it. 

His head shook out of the daydream as the flicker of your left indicator came to life and with each annoying twinkle, his heart shattered more and more. 

You were turning left. 

Well, not yet.

You were currently slowing down even more as you approached a closed view junction, even though it was a good 70 meters ahead.

You thoughtful little thing, so fucking considerate as you practically teased him with the dagger that you were about to pierce right through his chest. 

“Do you think he’s angry…?”

Terrie turned her head to stare at you with a deadpan expression as you asked the question, your eyes once again meeting Simon’s as you hesitantly approached the junction. 

“He probably enjoyed the nap.” 

That didn’t make you feel better. You were on a verge of a mental breakdown, stress manifesting itself in the tremor of your jaw, knuckles stiff and white from how hard you were squeezing the wheel. 

You hated every single moment of this. 

Felt like a liability. 

Maybe driving just wasn’t for you and you should get over the fact that until you were rich enough to uber everywhere, you would have to make do with the public transport. 

There were worse things than being squeezed on a bus with a tonne of grocery bags amongst strangers who hated this just as much as you did.

For example annoying every single other driver on the road. 

Your desperation to people please could not handle that.

“Can we not cut the lesson short today and just get me home?”

“You need to learn, I’m not letting you give up on yourself, come on, turn left at the junction and we will practice some maneuvers at a parking, okay?”

You nodded as you stopped at the junction, to assess if it was safe for you to move out onto the road, the black bike pulled up next to you, his right indicator on. 

Simon stared at you right through the window and fuck, if he thought your eyes were pretty, seeing your right profile was like bashing his already cracked heart with a hammer. 

For a moment he questioned taking a detour. All the tiredness and need for the comfort of his mother’s home suddenly disappeared and all that the man needed was to take a turn left and stay right behind you.

You hesitantly looked to the left, leaning a little over the wheel, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth before you turned your gaze to the right to check if there were any cars approaching (which there weren’t, this was a countryside road at 6am, duh). And by chance your eyes met again. 

Well, not strictly by chance. There was actually no chance in that whatsoever. You knew he was staring. You could feel it. His gaze never left you from the moment he decided to stay behind you instead of overtaking. You didn’t want to look back at him, but when you turned your head, you knew you couldn’t stop yourself. He was right there, looking right at you through the little gap in his helmet, where the visor had been lifted. 

His dark eyes narrowed, making him look almost angry, turning your stomach. You swallowed heavily, afraid that you might just accidentally throw up.

You felt guilty. 

What if you didn’t give him enough space to overtake and that’s why he was stuck behind you? Was he in a rush? 

He looks so angry…

Simon watched with curiosity, squinting a little, trying to ignore the glare of the sun in the closed window as your pretty, full, pink lips mouthed ‘I’m sorry.’ and he wasn’t sure if his heart could take it anymore. 

Why were you apologising little, sweet driver? 

He shook his head quickly, as you turned yours back to the road and he watched you attempt to set off. He wanted to reassure you. Tell you everything was okay. That he wasn’t angry. That you didn’t have to apologise for anything because even if you decided to fucking run him over at that painfully slow speed, making it a torture, he would probably thank you and ask you to do it again, if that was the only interaction you two would have. 

You tried to get away from him. From the stressful situation you’ve found yourself in. From the stupid wavy country road. 

Except that the car fucking stalled.

The frown on your face deepened as you tried to start it off again but it immediately stalled again, the car jerking forward a little.

You were so close to just getting out and walking your way back home. Eyes welling up with tears that stung and made everything slightly blurry. You didn’t care anymore. The words of your instructor seemed to melt into nothing as they filled the car with a calm tone, when she gently talked you through it. 

You tried to follow. You really did. Everything to get away and save yourself from even more embarrassment that made your cheeks burn like fire and your throat tighten, making it difficult to breathe. 

Clutch all the way down, gear into neutral, turn the key, gear into first and slowly release the clutch as you gas, gas, gas, gas! Come on, just use the gas, it wont hurt you! There we go, that’s it!

And just like that you were gone from him, driving away down the road, suddenly much faster than he anticipated you to, as he stayed at the junction, rubbing his eyes through the opening in his helmet. Simon was pressing his fingers hard, unsure if he was trying to erase you from his eyelids or permanently imprint you into them so that every time he closed them, he could see you.

“Fuck my life.” He murmured to himself and leaned his gloved hands back down on the handlebars as he set off, turning right onto the main road. 

Realistically, he knew he would never see you again. 

There was no chance of that.

He should have used that moment at the junction when you stalled, gotten off his bike and unscrewed one of the nuts from the bolts that held the frame of the harley together and dropped to his knee, begging you to marry him. 

From the short moment that he looked away from your face and towards your hands squeezing the wheel, he saw they were delicate, small, much smaller than his and empty. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Surely a nut would fit.

Surely.

And if it didn’t, he would drag you onto the back of his bike and take you to the nearest jeweller for you to choose an actual ring. 

He didn’t care about the price. 

If you were willing to marry him, he would spend whatever he needed to. 

And you surely would want to marry him, wouldn’t you? Would a promise of you never having to sit behind the steering wheel be good enough of a reason? 

What he definitely was sure of was that his mother would appreciate to find him in her kitchen sipping the usual tea, but this time with a pretty bird perched up on his lap. She’d been asking if he’s found anyone for years after all. 

Well, now he has found someone. 

He has found you. 

Except that you turned left before he got to do anything about it. 

And he was stupid enough not to follow. 

He didn’t even know your name, but he knew that you were the one who he was going to spend the rest of his life with. Future Mrs Riley. The woman who’s eyes he would gaze into every single night before you two fell asleep, and he would desperately try to drag out that moment, chatting your ears off, keeping you awake, keeping you entertained. 

Simon would do anything. Any. Fucking. Thing.

But he had to find you again first. And that may prove harder than anticipated since he knew nothing about you. He should have at least memorised the number plate to possibly use it to find you on the list of people the instructor insured onto her car. 

But if Simon Riley was good at anything, it was finishing what he started. He was conditioned into discipline. Self drive. Challenging himself. He enjoyed being pushed and working all the difficult shit out. And he wouldn’t give up until a bolt nut from his bike or a ring, almost as pretty as your eyes (because nothing could possibly compare to how stunning they were to Simon) was on your finger and you were right in his arms.

[s0fter-sin]

kneeling is a broad term for what ghost does with price

surrendering is slightly more accurate but even that doesn’t hope to touch the sheer desperation in the way he clutches at him; his body bowed low at his feet, his legs latched around one of his, hugging it so tightly to his chest his arms shake as he digs his face into his thigh

it’s only here that he can finally give in to the screaming; to the distant voice he strangles into silence every day of his life. the one who begs him to make himself as small as possible; do everything he can to hide from the ever encroaching demons growling and salivating at his heels

it’s only here, in the dark of price’s barracks, hidden by a bed at his back and a wall to his front, that he finally lets himself stop running; only between solid combat boots and worn fatigues does he let himself tremble and admit to the choking fear

he’d break open price’s chest if he could; crawl past his gushing viscera and curl up under his ribs, hidden in the warm dark

ghost clawed his way out of the grave with broken nails and gritted teeth but he wouldn’t mind being buried again if it meant being cradled in the safety of price’s insides. his warm blood and soft lungs would blanket him, mask the stench of his rotten flesh until he could even convince himself that, maybe, he too was still alive

he shifts, unnerved by his own longing, and price runs his hand over the crown of his mask the same way he’d card it through his hair until he settles once more

he grounds him over the long hours it takes for his white-knuckled grip to relax into a loose hold; for his face to stop grinding into the meat of his thigh and simply rest in his lap, his bracketing legs the only thing holding his lax body up as he floats, untethered by fear

[spidehpig]

my fever induced thoughts about bird is horny & ovulating x mean bastard ghost

mostly just rambling, didn’t check for coherency or grammar. i’ve been plagued by these thoughts and just had to get them out sorry.

ghost x reader

mean bastard ghost with a bird who’s been so needy and clingy all day long. he’s not really sure what’s got her panting and gagging for his cock like a whore, must be a cycle thing. either way he doesn’t mind, in fact he finds it amusing. he’s so used to just indulging himself, parting her thighs with his meaty hands and swiping his tongue along her folds as her little squeals and protests fall on deaf ears.

it’s not everyday that he’s the one to wake up to her trying to take what she needs from him. her pretty moans shaking away the last tendrils of sleep from him as the wet cotton of her panties rut against his thigh and her other hand gropes at his cock straining against his boxers. he has half a mind to push the greedy brat onto her belly and just mount her right there. but this unashamed desperation radiating from his bird is a rarity he’ll indulge in.

he feels a little sick satisfaction when her sweet moans break off into a frustrated little cries as his fist clamps around her waist, halting the desperate little grind of her hips. ignores her begging and pleading as he slips from the sheets. leaves her aching and wanting as she trails into the shower after him with a cute little pout.

keeps his face stoic as he pinches and flicks at her swollen nipples, his other hand pawing at her ass. working her up into a frenzy again, makes sure she can feel his heavy cock throb against her thigh as he cups her dripping cunt. thick fingers bullying their way between her lips under the guise of washing her clean. likes the way she shivers and bucks against him when his knuckle brushes across her clit. he quickly twists the rusty shower handle when she reaches for his cock again and huffs out a raspy laugh when she squawks at him as the shower water turns to ice. doesn’t look back as he steps out and tosses a towel at her.

maybe he shouldn’t punish his little bird’s confidence and needy demands. it’s not every day he wakes up to her wet and willing, so eager to milk his cock. but he has the time and patience today. maybe it’s boredom from such a long leave or maybe he’s just a bastard he thinks as he pulls her onto his lap later as he watches the game. fingers sneaking under the fabric of her tank top to pinch and twist at her nipples until she’s squirming in his lap searching for the friction of his hard cock. waits until she’s panting and whining again before pushing her off his lap a grunting at her to go fix dinner. gives his cock a couple of lazy tugs as she shoots him a dirty look and stumbles into the kitchen on unsteady legs.

later ducks his head under the kitchen doorframe to corner her against the counter to paw and grope at her pretty hips, feels the soft skin of her inner thighs are still slick. pulls back the second she sighs and arches back against him. he ignores the way she glares at him across the table as he shovels the dinner she made him into his mouth. and just to be a prick, finishes his game after dinner while she angrily slams the dirty dishes around in the kitchen.

waits until she’s finished until he prowls off into the bedroom and lights a cigarette as he settles against the pillows. sprawled out across the center of the bed, he finally shoves the waistband of his sweats under his balls to let his heavy cock spring free. precum already leaking onto his thigh as he barks at his bird to come take care of this.

can’t help but smirk as she hesitates in the doorway. unsure if this is just another one of his cruel tricks after he had spent all day teasing her. fists his cock and tells her to come take what she needs. almost barks out a laugh as her eyes widen and she quickly wiggles out of her panties and scrambles up onto the bed. licks his lips when he gets a glimpse of her already glistening cunt as she crawls up over his hulking body. has half a mind to stub his smoke out and sit her over his hungry mouth. instead he takes another drag as her thighs stretch wide on either side of his thick waist to hump her slick cunt along the underside of his cock.

he makes no move to touch her as she ruts and humps against his cock, the bed already creaking with her frantic movements. only pausing to grit his teeth as the tip of his cock catches on her warm hole as she rocks backwards again. lights up another smoke as she leans back onto her haunches to bury two fingers into her cunt when it becomes apparent he won’t be doing anything to help satiate her needs. pupils blown as he watches her sloppy cunt swallow her little fingers. not at all enough to prep her for his cock.

she doesn’t seem to care as she lurches forward and her nails dig into the fat of his chest as she rises up onto her knees, reaching back as she pathetically tries to line his leaking cock up with her cunt. her little grunts of frustration are music to his ears as she struggles to catch the tip on her hole again. movements faltering and sputtering a little when he blows smoke in her face. sweat glistening along her brow when she glares at him and finally manages to sink down a few inches.

his eyes roll back with how tight she is, half expects her to stop and beg him to finger her open. instead she grunts in pain and tries to bounce and wiggle her way down onto his prick. barely any leverage with the way she’s already risen so far up onto her knees just to straddle his thick waist, the cushioned mattress does nothing to ease her struggle. and fuck, watching her buck and bounce just to bully his fat cock into her greedy cunt is tearing at the remains of his control.

it’s not until her walls finally relax and she sinks down onto his cock with a yowl that he finally acknowledges her. cooing and taunting her for being such a needy slag, drooling over his cock all day long. watches the way a sob wracks through her body as her hands grip at the fat of his stomach trying to get some leverage to push herself up on his cock. barely manages to rise up a few inches before she’s letting out a frustrated sob and instead just grinds back and forth on his lap with his cock buried in her cunt, so pathetic.

she yelps when he slaps her tit and growls at her to ride him proper. sniveling after his cock all day long and she can’t even take it right? he decides he’ll let her whine and mewl and beg him to just take her as she grinds on top him. she can’t even take what she needs. maybe when she finally collapses from exhaustion will he flip her over and breed her pretty cunt. seems like he’s the only one that can give her what she needs after all.

[wordstome]

SOMETIMES YOU JUST NEED A BIG TALL GUY WHO GOES “!!! 😳” WHEN YOU FLIRT WITH HIM OKAY. SORRY FOR HAVING GOOD TASTE!!!!!!

[rainyramblesscramble]

day 1 of drawing one of the cod characters until I’m comfortable with trying to find my style

[verdantcreek]

art for sundowning by @losersimonriley ☀️

[altcvnningham]

like actually don’t piss me off

not news that adler is so obviously based off of robert redford (made all the more obvious that @mickstart convinced me to watch spy game and…. yuppp someone in the writer’s room was a fan of that one !!) but URGGRGGGH. i wonder if adler stole his drip on purpose……….

i lost the creds to the bnw pic of adler i’m so sorry pls lmk if anyone knows!!

[belliottbepp]

Nah.. I had to scribble this out before I went crazy about it 😭.. I drew this while fighting off a mental break down so it is not the best

I also drew it while procrastinating my last two drawings (rendering is taking me out)

We ALL know how he’s gonna make him pay 😳 the closet is glass brother

Can you guys tell I like RiDe

[ceilidho]

alpha!soap as your new colleague at work that smells that you’re going into pre-heat (which is normal, everyone usually ignores that in polite society) and keeps hovering around you at the office. Takes his breaks at the same time as you, follows you when you go to the bathroom and waits outside, keeps undermining you during meetings by saying you should be at home resting :\\ finds every stupid reason to have to be in your office and always closes the door behind him even when you tell him to leave it open.

[lemonwrap]

Thinking about Alone Ghost whose three heads can’t ever quite get along, always arguing and pissing each other off—but they unanimously come to the agreement that they really, really like Soap and they want to get all five of their hands on him as soon as possible, thank you very much

[spidehpig]

can’t stop thinking about soap being the kind of boyfriend that takes you on arcade or carnival dates. he definitely takes all of the games WAY too seriously. absolutely smokes everyone at skeeball. probably does those stupid punching bag/hammer strength tests just to show off in front of you. he doesn’t even let you win he’s that competitive. but it’s kinda funny and endearing. he wins a TON of tickets and then gets you the biggest fucking stuffed animal they have even as you protest and tell him that you have no place to put it.

his little mohawk popping around the head of the giant puppy stuffed animal he won you boyish smile plastered on his face while he ignores your protests. you’re stuck with the thing forever now.

[roachs-pet-roach]

okay so i js had a thought while fighting w/ my hair to look presentable:

Roach has weird hair. It’s too straight to be considered curly but too curly to be considered straight.

He treats it as curly hair (putting the curly hair shit in it and such) b/c if he doesn’t it gets frizzy (it gets frizzy anyways but its worse)

but he HATES it. he can never get it to look good and it’s impossible to figure out what the hell to do with it most days. Bedhead is the worst for him

Ghost and Soap love it. It’s fluffy. Ghost loves to gently run his fingers through it while Soap likes to mess it up more.

Roach can’t stand when they call it cute but at the same time he likes it. He’s very conflicted on his hair.

[theartgremlin]

It’s bring your kid to work day!