#how dare you con

[maedre13]

[pigeonmidgeon]

hot take: i really hate the wednesday series and the animated addams family movies because they makes no sense for the addams family.

the most important thing to the addams’ is family. they would never ever in a million years send their daughter to a boarding school, in fact they would keep you alive for even suggesting such a thing, because you wouldn’t deserve something as wonderful as death. even if wednesday BEGGED they wouldn’t. you could never convince morticia and gomez to send their precious daughter away.

FURTHERMORE, there is no magical beings in addams’ lore. cousin it is just like that. thing is just like. lurch? he’s… undecided. (just like that). they’re freaks!!!!!!! that’s they’re whole thing!!!!!!! so take your werewolves and FUCK OFF!!!!

and don’t even get me started on their house being on a creepy hill in some random ass town in the animated movies. they live in central park. they live in a gothic mansion in the middle of central park. because that’s weird. they do weird things. it makes sense for the freaky family to live in a scary house on a haunted hill. however. that family living in a gothic mansion in the middle of nyc? that’s weird, so that’s what the addam’s do.

so basically everything addams family related made this century (besides the musical), are lame, and not canon in my eyes. thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

[clegfly]

Getting REAL sick and tired of how omori TikTok views sunny.

Like, they view any scene of him being emotionally vulnerable, affectionate, or even just making an expression outside of just being completely neutral as “mischaracterised”. He’s not some cool, stoic, unwavering badass, he is a traumatised teenager. Don’t cry whenever he dares to give his friend a hug or (god forbid) be SAD about something??? Isn’t like. Part of the point of his development about him allowing himself to break down the repressive walls he built when he shut himself in? And being able to rely on his real friends instead of imaginary versions? And isn’t the game like. Meant to SHOW that he still cares about them despite isolating himself?

It’s really stupid to get mad at a character like that showing emotion or affection personally, especially since he’s not used to expressing it properly after so long. But that’s just me

[sandinthepipes]

Can we talk about the un-chihuahuification of Mr Izzy Hands

[tr1cked]

i accidentally picked up the phone for a client who deeply disrespected my father in the past & i had to awkwardly lie that i took notes and would call him back …. they are all laughing at me behind the phone and i was like sweating my ass off.

[apocalypticdemon]

hmm. spiraling. fun.

[piratesmyass]

I will never get over how Izzy says

Foot.

[kingwu]

(i'm here to say i really enjoy reading the lore and world building that the avatar legends rpg books provide and also all the fun pc art aaaa)

[darkgryphon42]

Ok, but really fuck off OFMD (affectionately). Despite writing some original fiction, I haven't actively thought about writing fanfic in *does the math* 25 years. (I almost did for Good Omens but nothing ever sparked a plot in my head.) AO3 didn't exist back then, and neither did tumblr. I sat down last night to get some thoughts out of my head and emerged with 5 pages of notes. How dare you? Who am I? What happened?

[air-tuna-art]

Today I was at DCC and heres the summary of the batshit totally normal things that happened:

1. I got to see hundreds of spider people, like Literal hundreds. It was...Breathtaking

2. I came across that dream daddy god of war artwork in the artists alley. I was in Atreus cosplay...so that was something

3. I was made to put on cat ears for a photo, while as atreus so I guess the fandom is either going to be pissed at me or very very happy

4. D I C E

Overall rating: 10/10

[persephoneflouwers]

Why do some fans love to paint harry as a victim and Stringer/Sony as the predator when they're both on the same page, working hand in hand and making millions together? I will never understand this. And doing stunts IS HIS CHOICE HE AGREED TO ALL OF THEM HE'S NOT A CHILD HE HAS HIS OWN FREE WILL

And that is the whole point isn’t it

[soulchronicity]

if you ever wanna draw me anything really special, consider adding dragonflies

[slytherslor]

How fucking dare they.

[bluemoonbun]

Reader is implied to like feminine things, though gender identity is kept ambiguous.

Damian was a good brother. That’s what he always told himself. He was a good brother, a good son. He was cold, rude, and erudite, but he was able and willing to help anyone who needed it.

When he arrived at Wayne manor, Bruce told him the general run down of why you were to be avoided when it came to anything vigilante related. You were still pure, a year younger than Damian but without any of the pain. The only one in the Wayne manor that could have a shot at becoming a normal person. Damian envied that, but kept it to himself. His anger often boiled to the top, drops of green venom dripping from his mouth when you tried to annoy him into spending time with you.

Your complaints of him ignoring you was scalding water on his already raw nerves. Why would you complain about not being the center of attention for five damn seconds? He would trade anything for the life you had. A life where you could lay around after school and never worry about a rogue bullet lodging itself in your arm, or a poisonous plant releasing psychedelic spores into an open wound.

You could and would never join the Robins. You were weak; it was in your blood. Always sickly, always the pacifist. You wouldn't survive a day in his life. And you weren't living his life; you were living his dream.

But apparently the effort the family was putting in wasn’t enough.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed that the manor felt… off about two weeks before the fight with Joker. He couldn’t trace it for the life of him at first. When he realized by the second week that he hadn’t spoken to you in days, or really seen you around the manor at all, he wrote off the worms writhing in his stomach. You must’ve been busy with a class assignment and had little time to annoy him with your demands of time together.

After the fight, however, he was a war of a thousand emotions. How dare you leave them? Why would you turn away an easy life fat on nepotism for a group of murderers, con men, the dredges of Gotham’s society?

Were you truly that desperate to be acknowledged that you’d turn your back on the family who did everything for you? He hopes you’re happy there, since you were clearly so upset at not being given attention.

Over time, however, things start to change. A few days after Jason made a full recovery, Damian looked at one of the drones Tim managed to get a chunk of code from. It took a lot of trial and error, and the development of an entirely new program to grab some of the code before it bricked itself, and enough all nighters and energy drinks that any doctor would faint, but it was managed. The code was dense, optimized to work with the least bloat possible, well tagged variables, and even a handful of comments in the code.

//Buy Bane those Boston Donuts from the donut shop on 5th //Why does this code need to be here so it doesn’t auto brick itself. What is in the code protecting it from the wrath of God //Louie likes Texas barbecue ribs. Possible treat? //DO NOT FEED THEM WHOLE RIBS. COOKED BONES BAD. //SINCE WHEN WAS THIS VARIABLE A STRING??? IT WAS AN INT 5 LINES AGO //Help the hopeless lesbians get together. //Would Harley and Ivy dating make Harley my mom or Ivy my big sister? Both???

His eyes skimmed the retrieved comments, laughing at a few. It seems that Bane, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn were the most common subjects of the notes, though a few mentioning the Iceberg lounge asking what non-alchoholic drink you’d like added, or Riddler offering you another puzzle to keep your mind active. Even Joker was mentioned, though it seemed mostly transactional.

It was strange seeing you in this light. You seemed to have a lot of spice in you, but a heart made of gold. You were definitely surprised whenever one othe villains offered to take you on some trip to amusement parks, regular parks, even just willingly watching anime with you. It was odd to see. Surely someone at the house did those things with you? He didn’t but he was extremely busy with school and vigilantism. Jason was legally dead, so surely he had all the time in the world.

“How was I supposed to relate to them? They’re what, 12 and into shit like that one with the cat looking dog thing and the robot girl. I have shit to do. Y’know, managing Crime Alley?”

Well, Dick had come over to hang out plenty of times. Surely he’d spent at least a few hours with you every now and then? “I have an entire team and criminals to manage of in another city, Damian. I don’t have as much time as you think to do whatever it was with them they’d wanted to do”

Maybe Tim? “I have college and stuff, Damian. And I don’t have the energy to put into hanging around them. I’d probably just be sleeping most of the time.

Bruce? “I have to manage you, Gotham, and the Justice League, Damian. I barely have time for myself.”

… Alfred? “I tried, Master Damian. However I’m constantly pulled thin between so many tasks. Besides, all you have is school most days, and you’ve had summer vacations and weekends. Shouldn’t you’ve had plenty of time to spend with your younger sibling?”

… He did have the most time outside of vigilantism. And it took him a week to realize you were missing.

You had to realize that they were under extreme stress though, right?He couldn’t spend all his free time with you. He had his own friends to hang out with. How were you two even supposed to relate?

One day at dinner, the thoughts were thrashing in his head, slamming against soft tissue and tearing through brain matter. He aimlessly poked at the food on his plate.

“You alright, replacement?” Jason asked, pausing in his extremely rare dinners with everyone else. Alfred had promised him a tray of fudge to take home this time around, and nobody made fudge quite as good as he did.

“… They were gone for two weeks.”

Everyone stopped eating as he continued.

“Two weeks. Two full weeks before they showed up at that fight. Did anyone here even know? I only noticed after a week and assumed they were just holed up in their room with a class assignment or something.” He was rambling. Everyone was quiet and looking at each other. How did it manage to slip past everyone? They were detectives, for Christ’s sake.

They were your family.

—

Dinner ended with guilt wrapping around their throats and pulling.

Eventually, all of them found themselves in your room. It had been emptied, but showed no signs of struggle. All the small items, the comforter, and your clothes were gone. But what was taken left something behind. Copies of photos of you winning state level competitions, letters requesting your attendance at seminars, photos of gold medals and blue ribbons spread across the floor. Most damning of all was the most recent photo. A certificate by some big time tech company being handed to you. Edward Nashton stood behind you, a firm, reassuring hand on your shoulder.

When had this happened? They never remembered hearing of something like this. A news clipping on the back told them it was maybe a week before you left.

“The Wayne prodigy stated that their family had more important things to see to than such an occasion. I can’t imagine something more important that either of my kids being recognized by a multi-million dollar tech company! I remember postponing an anniversary with my husband to celebrate our child placing second in the science fair. But I guess that’s just the Waynes for you!”

That’s just the Waynes to you.

But it’s ok. He can make it better. He can be a good big brother. He can spend time watching anime with you and decorating your room with lace and fairy lights and go makeup shopping with you. You just need to come home. Now.

---------------- Taglist! Ask to be added! Edit: It is now closed!

@jjsmeowthie , @jsprien213 , @ladyrosemone

[fleurbly]

HEAVEN HELP THE HUNTED

summary: a hunt through the woods turns deadly when the man you swore to kill finally finds you — your back to the bark, his mouth at your ear, and no line left between hate and heat.

warnings: explicit sexual content, subtle dub-con, power imbalance, possessive/obsessive behaviour, toxic relationship dynamics, stalking, violence/physical aggression (subtle).

pairing: softdark!remmick x hunter!reader

word count: 3k+

DNI IF TAGS AFFECT YOU, MDNI

The heat of the night was thick enough to drown in, the kind of heat that pressed heavy on your skin and stuck to the back of your neck like a curse. The woods around you breathed slow and deep, every twig snap and rustle a reminder you were never alone. You hated that—the way this place held its secrets tight and whispered them only to those who dared listen.

Your dress, the blue one you wore to church Sunday—delicate, soft, and too pretty for a night like this—was soaked with sweat. The ruffles at the collar clung to your throat, the silk stockings beneath your skirt stuck wet behind your knees. You didn’t care. You’d worn it anyway. You always did. It made you feel sharp, like sugar wrapped in a razor blade.

Your pistol pressed cold against your thigh, tucked beneath your garter, and your knife rested silently in your boot. You were ready—always ready. For him.

You’d been hunting Remmick for months now, stalking the woods and fields where the shadows ran deep, following the trail of whispers and blood. You knew his hunger, his cruelty, but also the way he watched you with eyes that burned brighter than any fire. You hated him for what he’d done. Hated him for killing your brother—the only family you had left—because you’d refused him one too many times.

And yet, here you were, chasing ghosts through the night.

The moon was a thin sliver above, barely cutting through the canopy of trees. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves and your careful footsteps in the damp earth. Then—a voice. Low, smooth, and thick with that cruel amusement that made your blood run cold.

“Well, darlin’, you’re just full o’ surprises.”

You whirled around, pistol raised, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. He stood there, leaning against an old oak, his skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. That crooked smile—sharp as a blade—spread slow and sure across his lips.

“You always show up where I least want you,” you spat, voice steady but laced with ice. “Thought I told you to stay away.”

Remmick pushed off the tree, coming forward with a lazy step, hands tucked in his pockets like he owned the damn woods. “And I told you, sugar, I ain’t never leavin’ your side. Not ‘til you’re mine.”

You snorted, tightening your grip on the pistol. “You killed my brother. You’re not ‘mine’ anything. You’re a monster.”

The smile didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened. “He was just another step. You kept pushin’ me away, turnin’ your back when all I wanted was to hold you close.”

“Hold me close?” Your voice cracked with fury. “You think I could ever want you after that?”

He stopped just inches from you, gaze like a hunger that never died. “You want me more than you admit. You don’t dress like a fragile flower in these woods for nothing. You like the thrill. The danger. The taste of darkness just beneath your skin.”

You laughed, bitter and raw. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t I?” He leaned down so close you could smell the iron on his breath, the faint scent of something ancient and wild. “I know the fire in your eyes when you aim that pistol. I know the way your hands tremble when you’re mad. And I know how you dream about me when the night’s too quiet.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

“Stop,” you whispered, stepping back, trying to steady yourself.

“But I won’t,” he said, voice soft now, dangerously sweet. “I dream about you too. Dream about the day you’ll stop running.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I won’t.”

He laughed—dark and low, like a promise you weren’t sure you wanted to keep. “We’ll see, darlin’. I always come back. You’re mine whether you want to be or not.”

The night held its breath, and the woods seemed to lean in close, waiting.

You lifted your pistol again, aiming for his chest.

“Say it,” you hissed. “Say you’re leaving.”

He didn’t flinch. “Not a chance.”

Remmick’s grin deepened, eyes dragging over you like he was peeling layers off with a glance. He tilted his head slightly, that wolfish amusement curling slow at the corners of his mouth.

“Tell me somethin’, sweetheart,” he drawled, stepping just close enough that your finger tensed on the trigger. “You ever stop thinkin’ ‘bout that night in the barn?”

You stiffened.

He caught it—of course he did. His smirk turned wicked.

“Didn’t seem like much of a mistake when you had your legs wrapped ‘round my waist, beggin’ me not to stop,” he murmured, voice velvet-slick. “Hell, you damn near clawed my back open, remember? Still got the marks.”

You flushed—not from shame, but fury. Rage surged through your chest like wildfire.

“That was a mistake,” you snapped.

He chuckled. “Then it was the sweetest mistake I ever tasted. You said my name like a prayer and a curse in one breath. Thought the hayloft’d fall down with the way you—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Your fist cracked against his cheekbone with a satisfying smack, knuckles singing from the impact. His head snapped to the side with a grunt.

He froze for a moment, then slowly turned back to you.

His thumb wiped the blood blooming at his lip. He stared at it, then looked at you from under his lashes.

The smile he gave you wasn’t crooked anymore. It was sharp.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d hit me again,” he murmured.

You took a step back, pistol rising again.

But he moved forward.

One step. Then another.

No words. Just heat and purpose.

Until the barrel met the center of his chest. You could feel how still he went beneath it—unnaturally still.

“You gonna shoot me this time, sugar?” he asked, voice like velvet smoke. “Or just keep pretendin’ you don’t want me?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Try me,” you hissed.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“I already did,” he whispered. “In that barn. Twice.”

You shoved the barrel harder into his chest.

He didn’t flinch. He let the silence answer for him.

“I’ve been through your fire before, sugar. A couple of times, in fact. Nights you don’t wanna remember, but I sure do.” His voice dipped low. “Hell, I might’ve even lost count.”

You tightened your grip. “That all changed. Before, maybe I was a fool.”

Remmick’s eyes flickered. “You think that changed everything? Nah. It just made the game more interesting. You want to believe I’m the villain, but darlin’—you got shadows too.”

Your finger twitched. The sweat on your palm made the grip slippery. You didn’t know if it was fury or the bitter truth sliding down your spine like ice.

“I’m done,” you said. “Done with the nights I begged you to stop and the mornings I woke to silence.”

He stepped closer, voice low and cutting. “Funny. I thought you liked those nights—the way you fought, the way you gave in. You don’t wanna admit it, but part of you still craves that fire. Maybe that’s why you never pulled the trigger.”

You shook your head. “You don’t get to own me. Not now. Not ever.”

His grin twisted, darker. “Maybe not. But I’m still here. Still the shadow that follows you.”

Your laugh broke like a splinter, raw and tired. “Try me,” you repeated.

He cocked his head, almost admiring. “Been tryin’ all this time, sweetheart. And I ain’t done yet.”

You pressed the barrel harder.

Then suddenly—his hand snapped around your wrist. The gun clattered to the dirt.

Before you could react, he grabbed your arm and spun you, slamming your back into the bark of the oak. The impact jarred your spine, and the rough bark scraped through your dress like claws.

His weight pinned you, hot and heavy. The heat between your bodies was stifling, his breath grazing your neck.

“You think you’re in control?” he growled.

Your body fought his hold, but his grip was iron.

“You don’t get to decide,” he said low. “Not anymore.”

You pressed harder into the bark, as if it could anchor you. Your heartbeat thundered in your throat.

His hand slid down your arm—slow, possessive.

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel it,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours.

You shoved against him, wild and desperate. He didn’t move. Just watched you.

“See?” he whispered, thumb brushing your jaw. “You’re fightin’ me. But you ain’t fightin’ it. Not really.”

Your breath hitched. You shut your eyes, chasing any clarity in the chaos.

But when you opened them, he was still there. Still too close.

“Let me go,” you whispered.

“Why would I do that,” he murmured, “when I’ve finally got you where I want you?”

He leaned in, lips ghosting your ear.

“You came for me, darlin’. Deep down, you always knew you would.”

His hand slid down your jaw, tracing a searing path along your collarbone, his fingers brushing the damp silk of your dress. “You dress like this,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin, “for me. You wear these pretty clothes, you carry that gun, all to tease me, to drive me crazy. But you don’t get to play with fire and not expect to get burned.”

His hand moved lower, palm flat against your stomach, fingers splaying wide. You could feel the calluses on his hands, rough and real, a stark contrast to the smooth silk of your dress. His touch burned through the thin fabric, branding your skin. Your breath hitched as his hand grabbed onto the skirt of the dress, pulling the fabric tight against your abdomen.

“You want me to let you go?” he whispered, his voice a low growl. Or do you want me to show you just how deep this game goes?”

You refused to respond, to give him any satisfaction. But your body betrayed you, hips pressing forward slightly, seeking more of his touch. His smile widened, a victorious smirk that made you want to both slap him and kiss him.

His hand slid lower, fingers brushing against the wet lace of your underwear. You gasped, the sound ripped from your throat, raw and desperate. His touch was electric, igniting a fire that scorched through your veins. “You’re soaked,” he said, voice thick with desire. “And it’s not just from the heat.”

His fingers hooked into the lace, tugging it to the side. His fingers found your entrance, slipping inside with a slow deliberate thrust. “You’re tight,” he murmured, voice strained. “So tight and wet. You want this darlin’. Don’t deny it.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to escape. His fingers moved inside you, stroking, teasing, driving you to the edge of madness. Your hips moved in time with his fingers thrusting into you, betraying your body’s desperate need.

His thumb found your clit, circling it with a pressure that made your vision swim. You were so close, so damn close. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your skin and that was it. You came undone, your body shuddering against his, a cry torn from your throat.

He held you there, fingers deep inside you, thumb still circling your clit, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. When you finally went still, and as your dress slowly fell back down to your legs, he pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What do you say, darlin’?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “You gonna run from me again? Or are you finally ready to admit you’re mine?”

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving against his as you tried to regain some semblance of control. But Remmick gave you no quarter, his body pressing into yours, his eyes burning with a hunger that matched the fire still licking at your nerves.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. “But not from fear. You want more, don’t you darlin’? You want me to fill you, to fuck you right here against this tree.”

His words were crude, filthy, but they sent a fresh wave of heat crashing over you. You tired to push him away, but your hands were shaking, your body betraying you at every turn. He caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, his grip iron and unyielding.

With his other hand, he hiked up the skirt of your dress again, the damp fabric whispering against your thighs. His fingers found your entrance again, teasing, tormentating, but not giving you what you craved.

“You’re so wet,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “So ready. But you’re gonna have to ask for it, sugar. You’re gonna have to beg.”

You shook your head, a desperate denial. But your body arched against his, seeking more of his heat. He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Go on darlin’,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

His fingers slipped inside you, slow and deep, his thumb circling your clit. You moaned, the sound torn from your throat raw and desperate. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice a harsh command. “Say you want me.”

You hesitated, the words lodged in your throat like a bitter pill. But his fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder, and you found yourself chanting his name, a desperate litany that spilled from your lips like a secret prayer.

“Please Remmick,” you begged, your voice a ragged whisper. “Please, I need you. I need you to–”

“To what?” he cut you off, his voice low. “Tell me what you need.”

His fingers slipped from you, leaving you empty and aching. You cried out, a sound out of pure frustration, but he just smiled, a slow, cruel curve of his lips. “Tell me,” he repeated, his hand moving to the front of his pants. You watched, breath held, as he unbuttoned them, revealing the thick length of his cock, hard and straining.

“You want this, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “You want me to fill you, to stretch you, to fuck you until you don’t even know your damn name.”

His hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking slow and steady, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the beads of moisture gathering at the tip, could see the way his breath hitched. And you knew, with a certainty that shook you to your core, that you wanted it. You wanted him.

“Yes, “ you whispered, the word torn from your throat. “Yes, I want it. I want you.”

Remmick’s smile widened, a victorious smirk that made your heart pound. He stepped closer, his body pressing into yours, his cock hot and hard against your thigh. You could feel the heat of him, the power, the sheer masculine strength that seemed to radiate from his every pore.

"You're mine, darlin'," he growled. "Mine to touch, mine to taste, mine to fuck. Say it." You hesitated, the words a chokehold around your throat. But his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, and you found yourself nodding, a desperate, jerky movement.

"Yes," you whispered, the word a ragged admission. "Yes, I'm yours." Remmick's smile was slow and cruel, a triumphant curve of his lips that sent a shiver down your spine. He released your chin, his hand moving to your thigh, hitching your leg up around his hip.

You could feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and insistent, a promise of what was to come. "You're so wet, darlin'," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "So ready for me. But this is gonna hurt, been long since i’ve been in this pussy. You understand?"

You nodded, a jerky, desperate movement. You knew what he meant. You knew the size of him, the power, the sheer masculinity that seemed to radiate from his every pore. But you also knew the pleasure, the sheer, mind-numbing ecstasy that came with taking him inside you. And you craved it. You craved him.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice a harsh command. "Tell me you understand." "Yes," you whispered, the word a ragged admission. "Yes, I understand." Remmick's smile was slow and cruel, a triumphant curve of his lips that sent a shiver down your spine.

He pressed forward, the head of his cock slipping inside you, stretching you, filling you. You gasped, the sound torn from your throat, raw and desperate. The pain was sharp, a white-hot burn that seemed to consume every nerve ending, every sense.

He paused there, his body tense, his eyes locked on yours. "You okay, darlin'?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You want me to stop?" You shook your head, a desperate denial. The pain was there, sharp and insistent, but so was the pleasure.

The sheer, mind-numbing ecstasy of having him inside you, of feeling him stretch you, fill you, claim you as his own. And you craved it. You craved him. "Keep going," you whispered, the words a ragged plea. "Please, Remmick. Don't stop.”

He pressed forward, his cock sliding deeper, filling you, claiming you. The pain was still there, a sharp, insistent burn, but it was fading, replaced by a pleasure so intense it made your vision swim.

You moaned, the sound torn from your throat, raw and desperate. Your hips moved in time with his thrusts, your body betraying your every secret. He was so deep, so hard, so fucking perfect. You could feel every inch of him, could feel the way he stretched you, filled you, claimed you as his own.

"You feel so good, darlin'," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "So tight, so wet, so fucking perfect. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to take my cock, to be fucked by me." His words were crude, filthy, but they sent a fresh wave of heat crashing over you. You couldn't speak, couldn't think, could only feel. Feel the pleasure, the pain, the sheer, mind-numbing ecstasy of having him inside you.

His thrusts grew faster, harder, more insistent. Each one sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, each one drove you closer to the edge. You could feel it building, a tension that coiled tight in your belly, a pressure that grew with every thrust, every moan, every ragged breath.

"You're gonna come for me, darlin'," he growled, his voice a harsh command. "You're gonna come all over my cock, aren't you? You're gonna scream my name, beg me for more." His words were a trigger, a spark that ignited the fire that had been building inside you. You came with a cry, your body convulsing around him, your muscles clenching tight, milking him, demanding more.

Waves of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last, each one driving you deeper into the abyss. His thrusts grew harder, faster, more desperate. He was chasing his own release, his body tensing, his muscles coiling tight. And then, with a low growl, he came, his cock pulsing inside you, his body shaking with the force of his release.

He held you there, his body pressed tight against yours, his cock still buried deep inside you. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against your chest. And you knew, with a certainty that shook you to your core, that you were his. Completely and utterly his. And he was yours.