I’ve Watched That Landy Goal Probably 50 Times Already

say his name three times!…(Read More)

I CANNOT stop thinking about getting pounded against the wall by pyramid head, the only thing keeping you still against it so you don't fall is his big strong hand choking your neck soo tight that you could barely even breathe while your leg is wrapped around his hips and he's pistoling his fat veiny cock so deep inside of you with every hard thrusts, his tip kissing your cervix and exploring your tight walls with every rut of his hips against you, oh and it's big, it's long and so fucking thick it stretches your cunt so wide and open around him. He fucking ruins you and obliterates your poor little hole for anyone else that's gonna have you next so the only thing that your pussy would be useful and good for is his cock and his cock only, that's how much he stretches you and craves your hole, into a perfect match for his girth.

You're moaning and screaming but what's the point? It's not like anyone can hear you, you should’ve never let your curiosity get the best of you because who knows? Maybe no one is ever gonna see you again because he's gonna keep you there with him and fuck you and use your (his) tight hole whenever he fucking wants and feels like it to please himself, your his little plaything now, his little cum dump to fuck and fill with his load over and over again.

THIS ACTION WILL HAVE CONSEQUENCES

request literally anything you want fanfiction wise. i'll attempt to write for any fandom, ships, and characters.

masterlist ⤸

dms + asks are ALWAYS open. PLEASE ask anything you want. i crave human interaction.

life is like... strange.. or something...

LANDESKOG OH MY GOD I THIKK I JUST BLACKED OUT FROM JOY. IM NAMING MY FUTURE CHILDREN, CATS, EVERYTHING AFTER THIS MAN.

“i was gonna lose my shit if that last corner had cost me pole”

the blues vs jets game look like two teams trying not to win lmao

I WANT HIM 🚩

the house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only existed in early mornings, when the world hadn't quite woken up yet, but your brain was already humming with the simple rhythm of eggs sizzling in a pan and toast ticking in the toaster.

sunlight spilled through the kitchen window in long, honey colored beams, softening the edges of everything. you stood barefoot at the stove, wearing one of nate’s old t-shirts that hit you mid thigh, sleeves too long, fabric worn thin from years of washes and adventure dust. the only sound was the faint hiss of breakfast cooking… until you heard the floorboards creak behind you. you glanced over your shoulder and smiled. nathan drake, world famous treasure hunter, was standing at the bottom of the stairs looking like he’d been hit by a truck made of sleep. his hair was a mess, shirt rumpled from twisting in the sheets, pajama pants hanging low on his hips. but the thing that caught your eye, the thing that made you pause, was the fact that he was wearing his glasses. you rarely saw them. he usually only pulled them out when he was reading something fine print, or up late sorting through notes. he hated wearing them. said they made him feel old. vulnerable. but this morning? he’d clearly just grabbed them without thinking. they were a little crooked on his nose, still fogged from the heat of upstairs. you turned back to the stove, biting your lip around a grin. “morning, professor.”

he let out a gravelly huff that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “that obvious?”

you slid the eggs off the heat and looked back again, your eyes soft now. “you look good.”

he squinted at you through the lenses, already reaching up to pull them off. “nah, i look like my dad.”

you crossed the kitchen before he could take them off, catching his wrist gently mid-movement. “i said— you look good. keep ’em on. it’s kinda hot.”

his eyebrow arched, the beginnings of a smirk curling on his lips. “hot?”

you leaned in close, your hand brushing against his chest as you reached up and straightened the glasses on his nose with a featherlight touch. “mmhmm. the whole retired adventurer turned domestic husband with glasses look? big win.”

he chuckled, hands finding your waist like they always did. “you keep talking like that, and i'll forget about breakfast.”

“you say that like it’s a threat.”

he kissed you, soft and slow, tasting like sleep and warmth and everything safe. when he pulled back, he was still close enough for his glasses to bump lightly against your forehead.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, “you always this perfect in the morning?”

you wrinkled your nose. “i’m literally in my pajamas.”

“exactly.” he pressed another kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. “perfect.”

you rolled your eyes and laughed, dragging him toward the kitchen island with one hand while the other gestured toward the food. “sit down, professor. eat before the eggs get cold.”

he obeyed, dropping into the chair with a groan and rubbing his face, glasses askew. “married life’s rough.”

you set a plate in front of him and ruffled his already wild hair. “yeah. poor you.”

zak breaking oscar 😭