First taste is free
:3

Dumping what I have.

Cocks, thought I had more than that.

Have something I drew.

>>57939
Unf. Also, lol.

This is all I have on my hard drive that's vaguely porny atm. I know there's a bit more on pixiv.

>>57998
FFFFFyes Cody. Dat apathy.

Most of the stuff I have of him is with Gai, though. Anyone gonna mind a little Final Fight?

>>58023
by all means, GO FOR BROKE!

>>58025
There's a tragic lack of explicitness in most of them, but I'll post what I got.

I find this one to be one of the hottest pics of the bunch despite the lack of sexings.

Well, it is Cody and tentacles...

And here's some solo Guy.

In conclusion, Cody is the best character because

A) He's the only dude in the entire Street Fighter series who actually street fights

B) He's totally hot

C) He just doesn't give a fuck, man. He is out of fuck to give.

Also, I am so disappointed that I have never found prison rape fic. Perverts, you have failed me :(

>come back to thread expecting it to be dead and on like page 3
>see massive Cody-related imagedump

FUCK YES YOU ARE THE MOST INDIFFERENT IMAGEDUMP EVER seriously thanks so much, Cody's fucking impossible to find. I'm shocked there isn't more Ryu/Ken floating around since they're practically canon gay.

>>58075

If anyone was going to prison rape Cody there'd have to be six of them and he'd have to like, not mind. I could attempt to write this, however.

Also /r/ Dan if anyone has any. I fucking love Dan.

Hnnghghhhh Cody. Good work /coq/

>>58076
If you did write that I'd be thrilled to read it. And I agree, some Dan would be awesome, I love that dumb bastard.

>>58078

Well, you'll be pleased to know I jumped right on and got started. I'll probably be dropping more bits of this into the thread through the course of the evening if I don't get drunk/distracted.

***

Cody lies on his side at one end of the cell, propping himself up on the elbow of his good arm and breathes, as slowly and quietly as he can. His head low, his jaw hangs as he eyes the half a dozen men at the other end of the cell. Sitting on the floor, some of them leaning against the wall, they look straight back at him. Between them, a standoff is taking place.

These guys, they’re nobodies, they shouldn’t be a problem for him. But one of them caught Cody by surprise and shanked him in the back of his right shoulder before the rest of them jumped him. Cody’s been successful in fending them off so far but while the wound is far from a fatal one, now, the blood loss has exhausted him, and that’s what they’ve been waiting for.

And Cody knows what they want.

His clothes and the floor, and the wall he’s been slumped against for the last ten minutes, are soaked and smeared with his blood, but if they think Cody’s going to give himself up this easily, they’ve got another thing coming. Cody huffs, and glares at the men at the other side of the cell. They don’t react. They just keep watching him.

Every now and then they glance at each other, as if wondering between them if they can take him yet. It’s almost like a long, slow, drawn out chess game as everyone reasons each move, and occasionally repositions himself. Cody’s keeping a very close eye on the dark-haired guy who’s just shifted a little less than a metre towards him. They’re getting ready to have another go, he knows it, but they won’t risk it without all six of them coming at him together.

Suddenly there’s the sound of running footsteps from somewhere outside of Cody’s field of vision and the boot hits his ribs just as he’s turning his attention away from the dark-haired guy to look towards it.

With that cue the other five men rush in and there’s another brief scuffle, Cody recovering quickly from the blow to kick someone’s knee and break it before getting to his feet to defend himself - or trying to. It doesn’t go as well as he’d planned. He can barely get up from his knees but he scrapes enough naked, savage aggression together to discourage his attackers for the seventh time. The man with the broken knee slinks away, and the remaining five settle themselves at the other end of the cell again while Cody slumps back to the floor, panting raggedly. They’re wearing him down.

This has been going on all night, and Cody is tired. There were twelve men at the other end of the cell, originally. How they got in, he doesn’t know, but they are leaving when they get too hurt to find enjoyment in this any longer as well. The cell door must still be unlocked. The guards evidently don’t care; Cody causes enough trouble around here, coming and going as he pleases, for the guards to turn a blind eye. These guys expected that, too. In fact, they counted on it. Cody’s on his own.

Another half-hour passes in agonising silence but for the sound of Cody’s own haggard breathing. The world begins to get fuzzy, and no matter how hard he tries to catch his breath, Cody is finding himself becoming more and more exhausted. Through the fog that’s quickly gathering in his head, he knows that they’re going to gather themselves and try him again, any minute now. He expects it, but he’s far from ready for them.

He sees them rush him this time but can’t pull his sluggish limbs from the ground quickly enough to react, and as hard as he struggles against them he only lands one punch - he doesn’t know where, or on whom - before they mob him and drag him to the floor. He struggles with all his might but his body’s just not willing anymore and as four of his assailants pin his back to the ground the fifth grabs the collar of his prison garb and tears the front clean off it, exposing Cody’s sweating, quivering flesh to the cold air of the cell. The man holding his wounded shoulder down grinds it against the cement to distract Cody from fighting back. It works.

As he twists with the pain, Cody feels the weight of someone straddling him, sitting on his stomach. They grab his jaw and turn him to face them, and Cody writhes as they force their mouth against his. It takes a moment for him to react, biting the guy’s lower lip as hard as he can and not letting go. He’s not going down without a fight, they’ll have to kill him first.

Someone shouts a warning before their boot contacts harshly with Cody’s cheek. The blow knocks what’s left of his sense out of him; his vision blurs, suddenly everything sounds muffled as though he’s underwater. He can make out the sound of mocking laughter and tastes blood in his mouth, although whether it’s his, the guy whose lip he just bit or a mixture of both he can’t tell. His head spins. His body won’t do what he wants it to, either because of the people holding him down or his rapidly diminishing consciousness. But he’s still not willing to give in.

He can feel hands all over him, on his arms, his chest, his legs, creeping towards his inner thigh. The moment someone releases his arm to pull at his clothes he swings clumsily at the person he can still feel sat on him and hits something soft, probably their belly. He’s immediately grabbed and pinned down again but the man straddling him sounds winded. He wheezes something about teaching Cody a lesson and moments later he’s kicked in the face again, harder this time.

Blood fills Cody’s mouth. He splutters, coughing it up, but nearly chokes on it when he gasps as his trousers are torn off. He tries to turn, to reach, but between the guy sat on his stomach and the numerous hands holding him still, he can’t. It doesn’t stop him from resisting. At least, until someone takes off Cody’s underwear and, laughing, stamps on his balls.

Cody winces, the pain making his stomach lurch. He wants to throw up. Suddenly it sounds as though everyone is laughing as that hard shoe sole grinds into his crotch. He grits his teeth, his back fighting to arch against the weight on his belly until someone hits him in the head with something hard, and his muscles instantly go limp.

The others, seeing their opportunity at Cody’s weakness, cautiously ease their grip on his limbs, testing to see if he’s capable of fighting back when they aren’t holding him. It’s only when they’re sure he’s not going to lash out at them that they can really start to play with him.

And play they do. While those hands grab at him and pull at his clothes, Cody’s head is pounding. They’re dragging him, tearing at him like animals at a kill and he’s barely awake, only just hanging in there, just enough to feel it and hear it, although he doesn’t have the strength, it seems, to lift his head and see it. All he can see is the blurry line between the grey of the concrete floor and the dark shadow of the man kneeling next to him. Eventually, the pounding inside his skull wins out, and Cody slips into unconsciousness.

When he comes around, he’s being lifted painfully to his knees. Despite the pain, Cody finds his body too unresponsive to resist. His skin is exposed and wet, cold except for the blood still warm and sticky on his back, and sore where he’s been kicked and struck. Were they trying to see if he was still conscious enough to fight back?

Though he tries, Cody doesn’t manage to lift his head before he’s grabbed by the hair and it’s done roughly for him. He looks blearily at the dark-haired man standing in front of him, but can’t make out his face. He can’t make out the faces of any of the men stood around him, everything’s a sickening, wobbling haze. Cody can’t even tell how many people he can see anymore. Maybe more have come, now that they’re not frightened of him retaliating.

What little light there is is suddenly blocked out as Cody is crowded by, well, he can’t tell how many people. He doesn’t have time to think about it. Before he knows what ‘s happening, his head’s being tilted back and there’s a thumb in his mouth, forcing his jaws apart. He wants to bite but can’t find the strength to do it, and can only gag when the man holding his head up pushes his erect penis into Cody’s mouth, right to the hilt.

There are voices everywhere, but the way they echo inside the cell makes it impossible to hear what any of them are saying. Both of the guy’s hands are on the back of Cody’s head now, holding him in place as he experimentally pulls out of Cody’s mouth, then pushes back in. Cody can’t even formulate a response. He knows he needs to do something, but he can’t pull his muscles out of their inertia, and from somewhere in the murky depths of Cody’s barely- aware mind, there’s a horrible, stark realisation.

He’s going to fuck your face.

Knowing that it is going to happen does not make it better when it does happen. Now that he’s sure Cody’s not going to bite, the guy doesn’t waste any time getting down to business and it’s all Cody can do to keep himself from heaving as the head of his attacker’s cock repeatedly hits the back of his throat. He fights to get the feeling back in his face but all he succeeds in doing is closing his lips around the dick in his mouth.

It doesn’t stop until the grasp the man has on the back of Cody’s head tightens and he comes into Cody’s mouth. He pulls out, shouts at Cody to swallow and calls him a son of a bitch. Cody makes that out, at least, but before he can decide whether to oblige or spit the bastard’s load back at him - or even if he can spit - someone else grabs him by the chin and turns him just in time to shoot his own load in Cody’s face. A few moments later a third guy to Cody’s other side follows suit, over his cheek.

The two holding him up drop him after that, and Cody doesn’t quite catch himself, landing on his hands but sinking to his elbows when his arms won’t hold his weight. He coughs bitter, sticky white streaked with red onto the concrete. He has to get out of here somehow. Cody knows he can’t fight in this state, as much as he wants to, but this is only going to get worse, and he knows it. He has to get out of here.

Cody’s attempts to formulate some kind of plan are interrupted by a boot planting itself firmly in his side and knocking him to the floor and onto his back. There’s some resistance in his arms now, he can feel it, but it’s not enough to pick himself up with and the second they see Cody move, someone grabs him and holds him down. They’re not taking any chances.