#hm gif
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Going beddy bye. Someone do this to me so I can:
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this is porn. to me.
bonus: okay you guys get it
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Remember. Mike was single here. Mike was single and thought he was gonna stay single here.
Mike was single and thought he was gonna stay single and thought he was gonna be single when Will moved when he prompted him not to replace him. Remember.
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#i opened photoshop guys#hm#hmmm#oscar piastri#Tbh i just love his litol face i the first one#81.gifs#if these suck its not ME i was hacked
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Harvest Moon: A Wonderful Life (2004)
#watercore#mine#my gif#gif#water gif#water stim#water#bridge#river#running water#gamecube#ps2#emulator#story of seasons#harvest moon#harvest moon a wonderful life#hm awl#hm#vg gif#vg water#retro#y2k#xseed#sosrf
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jake @ gimpo 240312
#enhypen#enha#jake#airport#tw: flashing#gentle monster#era: orange blood#oc#gimpo#240312#How To Take Care of Flashing lmaoooo#first two im happy about but last two?????#hm
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POV: Your friend gets a little silly
#nebula animates#fnaf moon#fnaf moondrop#fnaf dca#fnaf daycare attendant#dca#daycare attendant#thumbs up#i just wanted to test how animating the spinning head would be like#and uh#well uh#hm#we're here now#thumbs up hope yall like this
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ravenous. Obsessed. I'm exploding. You killed me. Space man is in love with alien. Will it love him back. If it does is it
Might it
I can't
"I loved you so much I ate you whole"
JAJUSJSUSJCHAJXGAJCGISHXJSHSUDJDNAJ
I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD AND THEN BAM URHQJDGSJS
NEW COMIC
I can't
I'm so. Dead😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
Sorry for this absolutely incoherent bomb in your ask box 👍
And that, kids, is why you figure out the romantic traditions of other species before you
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“#his beard just??? looks wet???” okay but Price having to talk to the team after eating you out and not getting a chance to make himself presentable 🫣🫣
you put this idea in my head (after i put it in your head) so now you have to deal with this!
➝warnings: cunnilingus, edge play (kinda), smut, P-in-V sex, creampie, D/s undertones; Price is a menace and the biggest dom; gendered anatomy, female Reader, female gendered anatomy
➝notes: this is so beyond messy, so sorry!! not even fun messy just. why would you do this, girl? messy.
➝word count: 2,4k
"Ah, cap—!"
Your knees quake when he presses the flat arch of his nose against your throbbing clit, tongue tracing figure-eights over the taut skin of your cunt, stretched around three thick fingers.
He grazes his knuckles over a spot inside of you, dragging the rough skin over your gummy, fluttering walls, until you gasp for him, choking out something that sounds like this name.
Price huffs, and the curl of his breath wisping over your soaked pussy makes your eyes roll, chin tilting back on the table he spread you out on. The one that, three hours prior, was used to plan a hostage rescue with the team.
(The very same team getting their things ready in the debriefing room for wheels-up in forty minutes.)
The wry bristles of his coarse burnt umber beard scrape deliciously over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and the feeling of it chafing your flesh raw makes you tremble, quiver. It's that equinox of pleasure, and the beginning edges of that delicious burn of irritation when he rubs you raw. Tender.
His other hand rests flat against your thigh, keeping it flush against the table. His thumb strokes your skin when you're good for him, a small modicum of comfort amid a storm of utter brutality. Of nearly twenty minutes of pure, delicious torture. The other he hikes over his broad shoulder, your heel knocking uselessly into the thick muscles of his back as he works you to the very top of a vertiginous mountain.
(Over and over and over again—)
"Sir—," you whimper, the word a featherlight cry from your chest. It makes him hum.
"Steady now, Sergeant."
Steady, he says, as if he hadn't been eating your pussy for twenty of the forty minutes, drawing it out until you were an overwrought, overstimulated mess on the table. All thoughts are caught in the sticky opiate mess of your head, rendered out into ashes, into wispy cries of his name (John, John, John—), or his title (captain, sir—), and please (please, please pleasepleaseplease—). It's muddled in bliss; in the bitter, maddening tang of dissatisfaction.
Price brings you to the edge of that delirious precipice, and then pulls back before you reach the top, leaning back on his haunches as you whimpered, begged, pleaded for him to let you cum, to just let you—
You'd look between your trembling thighs, then, as if you could somehow will the man to give into your demands, your needs, just by flashing the same expression that started this whole thing. Coy, saccharine sweet; lips arched in a smile that tasted sybaritic.
(Knuckles brushed against his when you curled your fingers over the straps of his vest, and used his steady, solid unmoveable weight to hoist yourself up, lips brushing the wry, rough hair covering his chin, murmuring: "you talk a lot, sir. I should find a way to shut you up—"
He'd given in, then, shifting on his feet as you peppered kisses to his ulotrichy jaw. "And what do you have in mind, Sergeant, mm? Want me to bury my face in your pretty cunt? Gonna shut me up with your pussy?"
You thought you won when broad hands slipped away from the grip on his straps, and curled under your thighs. He gave you no time to prepare yourself before he lifted you on the table, eyes Sapphire beds of desire as he loomed over you.
It was a victory, then.)
But now, no matter how twee you act, or desperately you beg him for release, he won't give in. Won't.
He just smiles at you. Grins. Chin wet, ruined, hairs sticking to his lips, matted to his cheeks, and he'd say (taunt):
"C'mon, Sergeant. You can't be about to cum already." Timbre drenched in sex and liquid with smoke. His eyes flash—florentine promises: a hymn to Hēdonē—and he waits, waits, until the high dissipates in your veins. "Don't be greedy, now."
You want to laugh, to scoff, but the weight of his hands pulling your thighs apart, the ghost of his breath against your cunt, the rasp of his tongue sliding over your slit, stems the words in your throat.
All you can do is thread your fingers through his messy locks, and get swept away by his pace once more.
There is no respite in this. Despite the pleasure his humid breath on your cunt brings, or the molten roll of his tongue running from your messy, weeping hole to your throbbing clit and back again, it's torture. Madness.
He circles your clit with just the soft tip, running figure-eights over the bundle of nerves until your thighs tense, clamping against the sides of his head, and locking him tight to your pussy.
A huff. Then, "tryna' suffocate me, love?"
It's muffled, and wet. Sticky from your drenched pussy leaking your slick down his wrist, his forearm, and saturating his beard until it turns the same dark shade as his cigars. Near black with how soaked you are. The bristles stick to his lips, and cheeks.
The sight when he raises his chin, damp hair sliding over your raw cunt, makes you lose it completely.
"C'mon, love," he groans into your cunt, nuzzling his beard over your sopping slit. The burn of it feels good—so, so good—and you break at the feeling of it. The indelible amalgam of pleasure that edges so sweetly into pain, into that raw quiver of a livewire.
It feels too much like sticking your finger in a socket. Licking the back of a battery. The shock, the jolt ricochets through your core until you leak dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins from every overwrought synapse.
"Price—ah, fuck—"
"Come on, sweetheart," your knees quake from the sound of his voice alone: heady with smoke, sex; a crackle, charred wood, that spills from his soaked lips, heavy with your slick. "You wanna cum? Beg for it."
Your hips arch, canting your greedy cunt into his eager, teasing mouth.
"Please, please—"
"Not good enough, love."
It's a grumble; pitched low and liquid, and you nearly cum from the timbre of his voice—molasses thick, and covered in ash—but he pulls his mouth away from your clit, and slides it down to push at the rim of your entrance. His fingers spread inside of you, scraping over your walls until your back arches, head gummy and soporific from the way he fucks your pussy.
"Price, please—," another rasping hum—disapproval—and he slows his thrusts until high begins to ebb. "Fuck, no, please—please, John, I need to cum—"
"Better."
"Fuck, sir, please! Let me cum on your tongue—I need it so bad—"
"Then cum for me, love."
It doesn't sound human when the command is scraped out of his throat. A mangled, thick demand; a smouldering ember.
You cum with his tongue laving over your clit, three thick fingers fucking insistently against a spot inside of you that has nirvana liquifying behind your eyelids.
Bliss floods through you like a deluge; a cascade of euphoria that snaps inside of you like a broken rubber band, an unspooling coil.
You melt into the metal below; bone dissolving into raw mercury. Blissed out. Drunk on the opiate high of his tongue and fingers, and the burning husk of his voice—molten commands dipped in ashes.
"God, that was—"
He stands in one fluid motion, and slots his hips in the loose, languid bracket of your legs. His cock falls on your mons, tip leaking prespend over your belly button.
There is no warning, no words. His hands slide under your thighs, gripping you tight enough to bruise, and then he's wrenching your pelvis up, cock rubbing, bobbing insistently against your slit.
"John—"
One hand leaves your aching flesh to grip his throbbing cock in his hands, sliding it down the mess of your cunt until it catches on your weeping hole.
"Oh, god—"
He catches your gaze as he rubs himself over you.
"M'not gonna fuck you, love—;" his cock slides to your clit, tapping his frenulum against your aching flesh when you whine, pout. You want him inside of you, pushed to the limit��
"Gonna be good for me, aren't you?"
You're nodding before the words are out—eager, docile; you want him, always. Your cunt clenches on nothing, desperate to be filled, stretched to the absolute limit by his girth.
But he won't. Not yet.
His cock is covered in your slick, and when he runs his palm down the length of it, you hear the sticky, wet sound of it as he fucks his own hand, bringing himself to the edge despite your eager, willing cunt right there. Right there—
You angle your hips up, and feel the engorged head of his cock catch on your rim. So, so close, so—
He pulls away, tutting at you. "Greedy little cunt, isn't it?"
You whine. "Please, need your cock—"
He leans down, pressing his chest against yours, and catches your mouth. It's not a kiss—it's a wet, sloppy mess of tongue, and teeth, but it makes you ache, makes you mewl at the taste of yourself on his breath, and the dripping state of his beard as it leaves behind a soaked trail over your chin and cheeks.
He's a mess. An absolute mess of your pussy, and—
His hips jerk, and he breaks the kiss to press his mouth to neck, teeth scraping over your flesh as he finally, finally, sinks inside of you, stretching you, pushing your walls to the mettle as you struggle to make room for him.
The head of his cock presses taut to the plug of your womb, knocking into it until you whimper from the too much too full feeling of taking him to the root.
"'M'not gonna last long," he promises in a hush, liquid whisper, voice quivering from pleasure.
You cant your hips into him until the grind of his cock inside of you sends you reeling through the opium haze of bliss that spoils inside of you once more.
"Cum for me, John," you choke out with a gasp when he meets your messy thrusts with his own, sloppily pounding into you.
His muscles quiver under your fingers, nails digging into his biceps as he pounds you like he's starved for it, desperate. And he is, of course. This whole thing has been just as much of a tease to him as it had been for you, and you know, know, he's close by the tells you pick up on. The divot between his brow, the clench of his job, the broken grunts that slip between gritted teeth, sibilant and aching, and the glossiness in his nautical blue gaze.
The grind of his cock inside of you is more than you can handle, but you take it, anyway. Your legs lock around his thick waist, hands cling to his arms, as he fucks you in brutal, deep thrusts; hips pistoning into you as he chases the embers of his own release.
You taste yourself when you press your lips to damp cheek, and whimper into his skin:
"Cum inside me, baby—"
You feel him tense, body coiling taut, and then he groans. Low and liquid, and you feel heat bloom inside of you as he cums, fills you up.
He grunts with each jerk of his cock as he spends himself within you, low and brittle; guttural growls of masticated words that make little sense when they squeeze through the clench of his jaw.
You take it all, holding him close as his lashes flutter, eyes roll, and his muscles lock over you. He looks good when he cums, when his face falls, lax and loose, mouth dropping open, as he spits the last of it inside of you where it pools, a molten puddle, against the seal of your womb.
Price's bones liquifying. He sags against you with a huff of your name, and something you can decipher through the roar in your ears, the rush of pleasure and the gossamer of sex that clings to your skin.
"That was—"
He's cut off.
His phone buzzes. The ring is familiar.
Times up.
You snort a little when he groans, and slowly, reluctantly, pulls away from you. His irritation bleeds into the torpor of his expression, cutting through the aftershocks of bliss.
It's uncanny, really, how he's able to reassemble himself into the shape of a leader with ease despite the scent of sex that clings to him, clogging the room in a thick, dense cloud.
He pulls out of you, murmuring a quiet sorry, love when you flinch at the drag of him against your bruised walls, and then tucks himself back inside his trousers.
Three minutes is all it takes and he's Captain John Price, a leader, superior; dependable man.
If you didn't feel the ache in your cunt from where he split you open with his thick cock, or the steady trickle of his molten spend leaking from your raw, chafed hole, thighs sticky from your own slick, and irritated by the rough scrape of his beard against delicate flesh, you might have thought nothing was amiss.
Nothing, except—
His face is flushed a bright red, eyes rippling with the aftermath of his ebbing pleasure. It's easy to hide, however—he might have been exercising prior to takeoff. Napping, perhaps.
But the way his beard glitters in the jaundiced light, wet and slick, is—
You open your mouth to tell him, but his hand falls, palm smacking against your inner thigh, cutting your words short with a sharp gasp at the sting in your flesh.
His lips curl up in a smirk when you flinch.
"Gotta go, love. Get yourself cleaned up, and I'll tell the others you're doing the last-minute check."
He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, but it does nothing to hide the dampness of his beard, the glossy sheen that coats his matted hair.
Price turns with a sharp nod.
(You blink at his back, and wonder if the gnarled thing inside of your gut, a twisting sense of possession and accomplishment at the sight of him, soaked from your cunt, should alarm you.
But you can't deny seeing him wrecked from you alone buzzes through your marrow in a way that makes your toes curl. Primal satisfaction, you think, and wonder when he'll notice how soaked you'd left him.
Moments later, through the thin walls, you hear Soap murmur:
"Did you wash your face before, cap? I think you forgot to dry your beard."
#HM#dunno how i feel about this one#captain john price#john price#cod mw2 smut#cod captain price#captain price x reader#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#captain john price x you#john price x you#captain price x you#captain price#i'm going through a crisis with my writing right now
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Harvest Moon Amccus / Natsume Super Nintendo 1997
#harvest moon#amccus#natsume#super nintendo#super NES#SNES#super famicom#bokujō monogatari#farm simulator#RPG#winter#hm
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Santa Clarita Diet So then a bat? or a monkey? | 1.01
#santa clarita diet#eric bemis#lisa bemis#lisabemisedit#ericbemisedit#scdedit#userbbelcher#userchewie#ruinedchildhood#netflixedit#dailynetflix#userjelena#userjl#userpayton#*#**#hm#mine: scd#mine: cool mom#mine: anxious teen#this is remake from 2019. lol
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what if we were teammates of 19 years who said things like "i remember watching you play in latvia, thinking how lucky i was that i was going to be your teammate" and "sid saved me" and "only for pittsburgh, always with sid" and "i just always liked him from the start. always have. always will"... and we were both boys
(and what if sports reporters wrote alpha/alpha romance about us. what then.)
#i'm sorry but the new r*ssi article? he was a man on a mission during the interviews: “at the start we were like WHO is going to knot WHO”#him: “the penguin's two alphas” me: ben affleck smoking.jpg#also i usually tune out halfway through his podcast but this episode was excellent highly recommend a listen#anyway sorry niche content but this is my favourite type of post to make :')#hm#gay#sidney crosby#evgeni malkin#sidgeno#pittsburgh penguins#hockey#long post
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#hongjoong#kim hongjoong#ateez#so this is An Angle#a particularly dangerous angle#i will say no more#hm#what ? you thought i was done editing this video? unlikely#ateez gif#hongjoong gif#maxsixgif
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Oscar Piastri | Canada 2024
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Forgotten Valley 2/∞
#story of seasons#a wonderful life#sos#awl#sos awl#harvest moon#harvest moon awl#hm#forgotten valley#awl edits#my edits#my gifs#gamingnetwork#gamingedit#videogameedit#gamingscenery#captures
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Minamitsu Murasa, Nazrin, Kogasa Tatara and Shou Toramaru - Hopeless Masquerade.
#touhou#hm#hopeless masquerade#minamitsu13.5#nazrin13.5#kogasa13.5#shou13.5#minamitsu#nazrin#kogasa#shou#murasa#minamitsu murasa#tatara#kogasa tatara#toramaru#shou toramaru
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