#messy writing sorry

[miitopia-cake]

I wish some aces would stop excluding other aces with complex sexual experiences. like I get why but you have to realize that being ace does not mean they don't enjoy sexual experiences and it's weird when you complain about allo people and boil it down to "people who have sexual experiences" and also shame people for their sex life and kinks as if your own community doesnt INCLUDE those people. because there are other aces out there who still masturbate, who feel sexually attracted to their own body, who barely experiences sexual attraction but still enjoys sex, who like consuming sexual media, who like sfw kink. being ace is so so much more complex than just "disliking sex". and also aromantic exclusionism in the same genre of posts is something i see a lot. especially aro allos. I hate hate hate seeing a community that SHOULD be inclusive boil down sexuality and exclude people.

[katthebanana2]

I made a quick reference sheet for my My Little Pony OC. Since my handwriting is a bit messy, I'll type it out to make it easier to read.

✨Beryl Burst✨

Bad at magic, but is really strong

Only uses horn to detect gems

Live in Ponyville, adopted by earth ponies

Mines for gems with hooves, tumbles them, and then sells them

[comfortyart]

Forced Retirement AU - Although Katsuki makes a near full recovery from his injuries, he's left with a heart issue that forces him to give up hero work. Izuku helps Katsuki learn to deal with his new found anxiety, frustration and low self esteem from feeling he'd failed - Izuku reminding him, much like Allmight, he gave up his dream instead to save others and that's what makes him a hero.

Katsuki is later invited to teach at UA by Toshinori, and eventually becomes the 1A teacher, finding passion where he didn't expect, and meeting kids who were inspired to become heros because of him.

[solieverse]

"darling," he whispers, ever so softly, the rasp in his voice reverberating through you and making you shiver. he chuckles silently at the little squeaks that leave your lips whenever your hips slam down on his cock as you look down at him with those pretty eyes of yours. for some reason, whenever he looks into them, they remind him of the stars he was so close to once upon a time. something that should be a bad memory but really isn't because you make it more nostalgic, in some kind of mysterious way. you almost make him miss it.

your hands are gripping onto his shoulders for dear life, nails digging into his skin in a way that should be painful, but instead just makes everything feel ten times better. he has a hand on your hip, gripping it firmly, his fingers forming slight dents in your skin. his free hand is wandering over your body, moving up from your clit to your tits, pinching your sensitive buds. he swears he's falling even more in love with you when you toss your head back and let out a long whine of pleasure when he does so. you look so beautiful.

how are you even real? he wonders. he's never had eyes for anyone the way he has eyes for you. he's seen and experienced so many beautiful things, explored so many different worlds in his dreams, in his past lives, but none of them compare to you. anything in any universe that is considered beautiful is nothing when it comes to you.

the way you moan his name is like the strings that play in his mind when he's feeling the rush of his highs, but somehow you're always able to make them sound like a beautiful symphony instead of just a jumble of noise like it used to be, before you. he wonders what type of magic you hold inside of you that makes you capable of making even the ugliest and most broken of things look so beautiful. he notices your legs are giving up on you and smiles at how endearing it is, the fact that you're practically struggling, but you need him so badly you're doing everything you can to keep up your movements. his hand grips your hip tighter, almost enough to bruise your skin, and he moves his free hand to your lower back to help you keep your balance.

he wonders, for a moment, if he knew you in the past life, or all those years ago. he can't really remember since it's been so long, and the memories of when he was cast out of heaven clouded his brain. but it's almost as if he can see for a brief second, something otherworldly when he looks at you, the way your skin glows with splendor when your back arches as you cum on his cock. for a moment it's like you're a real life angel right in front of him, it's such a sight to behold. was god testing him? were you sent to him as a lesson in disguise? would you be gone as soon as this was all over? whatever it was, he didn't care, as long as he got to feel you as close as possible even if you turned out to not be real when he opened his eyes again.

it's almost a relief when he does and he sees you there, still on top of him, panting heavily, eyes hooded, hair sticking to your face. a beautiful mess. the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen. he's so in love with you. he reaches up to brush your hair off of your damp cheeks, smiling and delicately taking your chin to make you look at him, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, the way you lean down to kiss him and smile against his lips making everything feel a little more real.

more real and alive, he thinks. he's never felt more alive than when he sees you like this—beautiful and wild and messy in all the right ways, all for him, because of him. there was nothing better than being able to love you in such a pure way, without repercussion, no matter how terrifying it was, because you remind him of himself before everything. before the jealousy and fury, before he fell from heaven and got his wings stripped from his back, before he was disowned by god himself. the fallen angel was redeemed from the depths of hell and found his heaven in your embrace, in your eyes, in you. you're everything he's ever wanted.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

unpopular opinion but whump should and deserves to be messy

"Yeah duh there's plenty of scenarios with blood and tears--" no. I want more.

I want pink tinted spit dribbling out of Whumpee's mouth. I want strings of saliva connecting between their busted lip to Whumper's tongue. I want drool running down the corners of their mouths because of a gag that makes it difficult to swallow.

I want sweat making Whumpee feel sticky and clammy to the touch. I want their skin to be slick and soaking into their soiled clothes. I want them to squirm in discomfort of a dirty shirt clinging to their back from precious fluids that are going to risk further dehydration. I want their hair to be continuously damp and hanging in thick strands in their face.

I want the scabs to turn white with pus and black with infection. I want old wounds to tear open and bleed a thick red. I want the pink flesh underneath to pulse and quiver, the sight of yellow fat and cartilage. I want blood vessels and capillaries to burst and spread over an area, I want burns to start brown and peel away to a tender pink.

I want Whumpee to vomit out of their nose because their mouth is gagged. I want bile to reek on their clothing and on their tongue. I want them to grow use to the taste of bitter blood and burning chyme forever in the back of their throat. I want them to have to snort and hack to be able to spit out whatever was still caught on their tongue or risk swallowing it down.

I want their tears to remain unwiped and crusting over their eyes. I want snot to smear over their cheeks and leave their lips uncomfortably tacky. I want their face to remain blotchy and red because they just can't get it clean. I want dirt and blood and skin to build up under their fingernails to the point they risk infecting their own wounds if they try and mess with it. I want Whumpee to only be sprayed down with cold water and an old towel, never any soap and never in all the creases of their body.

I want their bodies caked in grime and viscera and bodily fluids. I want Whumper to never give them the luxury of feeling clean and in fact actively making them more filthy each time. I want Whumpee's clothes yellowed and their hair matted and their skin sickly. I want injuries to never properly heal so that the only option is to amputate the necrosis. I want Whumper to force Whumpee to clean up whatever kind of mess they made by licking it off the floor.

I want arteries to spew like a garden sprinkler. I want the exposed roots of pulled teeth to dangle freely in their mouth. I want Whumpee's hair, including all of their body hair, to grow to unruly lengths that are constantly tangled and ingrown. I want them to find comfort in starving because it means there's nothing to risk throwing up. I want them to scrub their skin raw and bleeding, uncaring how much it aggravates their injuries or how the soap stings, the first chance they're given for a real bath.

I want it to be nasty!!!!!!

[quail-in-red]

Loved your trope mashup art! If you're still doing them could you do 25 & 44? 🥰🥰🥰

This might be cheating a bit because idk if it's a Flower of Romance per se... 25. Fairy Tale AU + 44. Flowers of Romance

[toonheartz]

BIGASS IMAGE TO GRAB YOUR ATTENTION

ok hi

so you MIGHT know disney is currently a pressure target due to their monetary contributions to the ongoing conflict! (idk what will get this post censored sorry) it's ok if you didnt. now you know!

let me just say, if you're the kind of armchair activist that only just goes around harassing fans of things instead of actual activism. ngl you're a prick. this isn't gonna help ANYONE and will either make the person A, think "wow this person is a jerk, i'm not gonna listen to them", or B, feel forced to apologize for being excited for one of their favorite, neglected series getting a remake and feel miserable.

this isn't how we get things done. this isn't how we make positive change. misery HALTS the motivation needed to drive change.

what we NEED to do is organize something to pressure disney to withdraw their funding. to let them know, yes! we are interested in your product. HOWEVER, due to what you're doing we unfortunately can't support you.

if we're loud enough, it may create a snowball effect of more people contributing. if anyone has any ideas of how we (individually or as a group) can pressure disney by telling them we won't support their product, please let me know!!

and if we win?

well, we'll have a game to look forward to :]

[zorosdimples]

DUSK, RESPLENDENT

pairing ⟢ astarion x gn!reader

warnings ⟢ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. not sexually explicit, but highly suggestive… smut-lite! descriptions of blood, blood sucking, bite marks, scars, etc. this occurs after astarion first feeds from tav. reader has breasts and a vagina and is called “beautiful” once (i swiped a line from the game).

word count ⟢ 1208

notes ⟢ this particular scenario has been rotting my brain since september. my first official bg3 fic—please enjoy!

It’s impossible to miss the heat of his crimson gaze scorching your flesh.

You’ve felt it ever since the night you discovered his secret: that quiet evening when the stars shined as silent sentinels, the embers of the campfire danced into ash, and the ghost of a breath roused you. You offered Astarion your neck—swanlike, untouched, vital—prey allowing predator a taste of divinity as he buried his glistening fangs into your skin. Agony bled into a hazy euphoria as the vampire fed on your lifeblood. You barely had enough stamina to push him off (lest he leave you drained and lifeless), rivulets of you the color of his irises running from his gums to his chin, dripping onto the forest floor.

Many moons have since passed, though your mind always revisits the feeling of his weight atop yours, the strength of his jaw, the vitality in his sated stare. The sun starts its golden descent as you bathe in a creek by camp. You scrub your skin with vigor, almost without care as you seek to shed layers of sweat, grime, and gore. The midsummer air is stifling and the cicadas play their shrill song, but the chilly caress of the water makes you giddy.

It takes no small effort, but once your hair and body are stripped bare (clean enough), you remain in the water and watch pinks and oranges and yellows bleed and bloom across the wide sky. Some may say that resting for even a moment in a situation like yours—with a mindflayer parasite in your brain—is to accept death. But if you were to die at this very moment, surrounded by beauty? You couldn’t dream of a more peaceful end.

You feel your visitor’s presence before you see or hear him. It starts as an itch at your nape, nagging and unsettling—insistent. “Enjoying the view?” The playful lilt of Astarion's smooth voice never fails to set your nerves alight.

As you turn to face him, the water laps at your collarbone. You spy the pale elf along the bank, donning only his breeches. Cheeky bastard. “I could ask you the same,” you quip.

“I am indeed.” Lithe fingers tease the waistband of his pants. “But I can't help but feel as though something is missing.”

Walking a few steps toward the shore, you reveal more flesh, water skimming the top of your breasts. “It wouldn’t happen to be a rogue vampire, would it?”

“And if it is?”

“He should join.”

You sink beneath the creek’s surface, allowing him some privacy and urging your face to cool down. When you plant your feet on the silty ground and stand up, you rub crystalline droplets from your eyes and blink a few times before your companion comes into focus.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greets with a smirk before approaching you, dexterous fingers grasping and pulling at the fat around your hips. “I can't help but feel as though you’ve been avoiding me.”

Without thinking, your fingers weave through Astarion's moonbeam hair, gently tugging on the curls. The elf pulls you closer with a pleased hum. “Whatever gave you that impression?” you ask.

“Don’t play coy; I haven't so much as gotten a breath alone with you.” His gaze softens; you see a flash of vulnerability, but all too soon, it disappears. “Do you…regret this?” A chilly thumb grazes the puckered scar on your neck. The featherlight touch plucks a shudder from you, your spine bowing—strung for him.

“Quite the opposite,” you admit. Your attention flits down to his lips. Maker, you know they would feel divine dancing with your own, slipping down to carry the tune across your flesh, skating lower and lower until—

“So,” he says, palms sweeping up your arms and the slope of your shoulders until they rest on either side of your neck. He strokes the delicate flesh, his touch unhurried yet charged; restless. “You wouldn’t begrudge me another taste, hm?”

Perhaps you should be embarrassed by how eagerly you want this to happen, how many times you’ve envisioned him tasting your blood again—and perhaps tasting something more (such thoughts have fueled many solitary searches for pleasure within the canvas walls of your tent). But living in the dusky shadows of near-certain death has made you hopelessly brazen.

You lean in, petal-soft lips grazing one of his pointed ears. “It’s yours for the taking.”

Astarion’s irises darken at your words, pools of congealed blood. He drops his head and presses a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to your scar, his molten breath warming your body, melding you to his touch.

He bares his fangs and bites you, piercing the puffy tissue, a satisfied groan rumbling his throat and resonating in your veins. The pain is dizzying but dulls quickly, the jarring sensation of knife-sharp incisors tearing your flesh carried away by the flow of the creek. Fuzzy pleasure soon clouds your mind. The sloppy lap of the elf’s tongue against your wound is all you can discern; you want to feel him everywhere.

The vampire’s moans shudder deep within his chest and reverberate through your body from where you're connected, vibrating lower until they settle in your core. A delicious pressure rocks against your belly and seems to relish the softness. It feels like he gluts for an eternity—like this is all you know—housed within a single, precious breath.

When Astarion surfaces, fangs retracting, you stumble in his embrace, coming down from your high. The ache of want remains as you rest your forehead against his freckled shoulder, and morphs into need as your vision clears. His eyes are unfocused, crazed with bloodlust; you’ve never seen them so red, glowing like moonlit wine. His chin is slick with ichor, and—absentmindedly or not, it’s impossible to tell—his tongue darts out to mop up some of the remnants of your sweetness.

One, two, three heaves of your chests pass before you crash together with a swiftness that betrays desperation, errant waves succumbing to the tide.

You never liked the tang of your blood until you tasted it on Astarion’s silken lips. It’s…cloying. The syrupy copper overwhelms your senses as the elf smears a claret gash across your mouth. He drunkenly sucks on your tongue, fangs nicking the muscle, urging you to give him more. Your fingers twist and twirl the pearly down that covers his chest as he squeezes your ass, pulling you so close that not even a whisper could get between you. You’re engulfed in a heady fire, one that can’t be put out by the cool water around you—especially as the vampire’s cock nestles between your clenched thighs, bumping against your clit.

A crashing sound in the surrounding forest interrupts your shared bliss. The moon ascended and the stars awoke while you were wrapped up in one another. Lightning bugs glimmer and flit through the dark woods, and you know that you both need to leave. Supper will be soon; any absences will be noticed. But before he pulls away, Astarion places a prim kiss on your lips.

“Meet me by the campfire after everyone else has fallen asleep,” he whispers against your cheek.

Your heart trills as you watch him disappear into the night—excited for the adventure to come.

[littlerequiem]

forever haunted by the fact that Levi sees himself as a weapon and feels like that’s his value in the world. because did he know? how much everyone cared for him? did he understand how special he is beyond his strength?

[milf-harrington]

29. putting ear over their heart, for steddie 💕

please enjoy some domestic fluff w the barest sprinkling of angst (like a tiny smidgen, barely a paragraph)

---

The apartment was quiet when Steve got in, back from lunch with Robin down at the cafe by her university.

It wasn't the kind of quiet Steve was used to, the kind that lurked in empty hallways. A dreadful, empty sort of quiet that sunk into your bones like water in the lungs of someone drowning.

This was a new sort of quiet: radio playing on the kitchen windowsill, the window by the couch left open with Eddie's ashtray tucked next to the cord for the blinds. Music and voices and engines from the street wafted in on the breeze, immediately dampened when Steve reached up and pulled the window back down with a thud.

It was a lived in sort of quiet. An Eddie's-either-not-home-or-he's-asleep-somewhere quiet.

Considering the window had been left open, Steve was betting on the asleep somewhere option.

Trying to stay quiet, Steve headed down the short hallway and pushed open their bedroom door. The blinds were open, and the bed was half made, the pillows left piled to one side with their cases folded on top like Eddie'd gotten distracted halfway through.

Steve snorted, fond, and stepped back into the hallway.

Their apartment wasn't big- two small bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen/living room combination with enough space for a dining table in between - so it wouldn't be hard to track his boyfriend down.

And it wasn't, Steve found him in the second-bedroom-turned-"office", stretched out in a sunbeam, like one of the stray cats he insisted on feeding.

He had one arm sorta stretched above his head, the other resting on his tummy as he snored into his armpit, guitar and notebook discarded to the side. The vacuum was in there too, and Steve had to step over it to get inside the room.

Apparently, Eddie had made a valiant attempt at cleaning while he'd been gone.

The thing is, when Eddie cleaned, he had to make a whole thing of it- turn it into one of his roleplaying games, with outfits and silly voices, or else he'd never actually get it done.

His usual version of a cleaning costume was to just keep his hair out of his face with a headband made out of a bandanna, folded into the cliched little triangle and all, and a long sleeved shirt so he could dramatically roll up his sleeves.

Today, he'd gone as far as to put on an old apron he'd accidentally stolen from a past job working at a deli. The duster he'd shoved in the front pocket was dangerously close to slipping out, only kept in place by the angle of Eddie's hip.

The thing is- Eddie was, like, a really deep sleeper. And he didn't tend to move much. And he was sort of just lying there, bandanna wrapped around the top of his head, hair splayed out under him, head tilted just enough to show off the long-healed scars in his cheek. And Steve was, much to his own dismay, a worrier.

And it had been a good 3 years since the spring of '86, and he could literally see Eddie's stomach rising and falling with each breath but-

But.

Feeling ridiculous, but knowing he'd just get more and more anxious until it became an actual problem, Steve sighed and carefully lowered himself into a crouch. He reached out, intending to shake Eddie awake, just to make sure he would, but paused as his fingers brushed fabric.

If he'd fallen asleep in the middle of the day, on the floor no less, then he probably needed it.

So, sticking his tongue out in a habit he'd definitely gotten from the man sleeping on the floor right now, Steve carefully moved the duster and the arm laying over Eddie's tummy and threw a leg over his hips.

He knee-walked backwards until he was hovering over his thighs instead, and then carefully laid down on top of him, turning his head so his ear was pressed against Eddie's sternum.

It took a second to settle, for the sound of shifting fabric to stop and then-

thu-thump. thu-thump. thu-thump.

He laid there for a little longer, just listening, just checking, until sun-warmed arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Steve didn't know if Eddie was fully awake, but he didn't say anything about waking up to Steve on top of him.

Instead he let out a long, pleased sigh. Dug his fingers into Steve's hair and gently scratched his scalp, movements slow and sleepy.

In a few minutes, Steve would sit up and ask Eddie what he was doing napping on the floor and Eddie will explain that he'd been cleaning, and then he'd gotten an idea for a song and he didn't want to forget it.

Then they'd get up, Steve hauling his boyfriend off the floor with dramatic grunts and groans like men twice their age, and finish cleaning the apartment together.

But for now, Steve just settled in a little more comfortably, listening to Eddie's heart beat.

[clemleur]

jj…& eating you out—walk with me! he loves doing it, especially when he’s bored. but when he’s bored, a has tendency to overstimulate you.

and i highly feel like he’s the type to leave little kisses on your clit when he’s done, not realizing how good it feels to you. he’ll keep doing it and you’ll feel that all too familiar knot in your stomach which you know means more juices are coming—you’d literally have to push his head away because he’ll make you cum again.

i have literally never thought about this ever (i think about this every single day since march when i watched obx)

jj, at his core, is such a lover boy and when you finally manage to break down all his walls, he’d be the most doting and loving boyfriend ever. he’s gentle, soft, sweet, and most importantly, so so in love with you.

so you really don’t have the heart to blame him when he lays you down, makes you spread your legs, and makes you an absolute mess.

and when you say mess, you mean mess.

he just does his job so well that you can’t help but get wetter and wetter by the second, adding to the mess he’s already creating with his mouth. saliva and juices mixing together and falling onto the bed, but it doesn’t matter to him. he’s face first pressed into your pussy, with clearly no mind because he’s managed to somehow fold your thighs behind his head, effectively caging him in.

soon you’ve managed to cum twice but he still hasn’t stopped so you pull on his hair and whine (too fucked out to really get your message across) .

“hold on baby, gimme one more yeah?” he lifts his head up at you, bottom half covered in the mess he’s made, but he’s looking at you with those adoring puppy eyes and you can’t help but let him just do what he wants.

[ohno-the-sun]

Greetings

I am on a quest to discover who has the deadliest Moon. So I have some quick questions to ask to determine just how bad he is

Has Moon ever hurt or killed anyone before the virus?

How many people has he hurt or killed after the virus?

Staff

Guests

Children

Does he have any control when he kills? Is he aware of his actions?

Thank you for your time

Oh my Moon is just a sweetheart!

He’s a little awkward but wouldn’t hurt a fly

Look at him!! He’s so friendly!

Seriously though in my headcannon universe Moon’s biggest sin is just being a little too jealous of Sun

He’s just an awkward guy, not really malicious

But when he gets the virus most of his worst most intrusive thoughts get brought up to the surface and leads to him helping with the kidnapping of children for Vanessa and almost murdering someone Sun is close with.

Worst of all he’s very aware of his actions, as they are all technically his own thoughts, just amplified and uncontrollable

[proosh]

I do think that it's pretty heavily implied to a degree that a lot of Gil's loud and hyperaggressive personality is something of a front and that beneath the performance he's much more internalised and rational than a lot of people/the fandom give him credit for. He's stated to be highly intelligent, have an interest and skill in music, is serious about study and education, and keeps to particular personal regimes that require a great deal of discipline and focus. Like, he's still a prideful, arrogant brute of a man but I do think Hima has been working to try and undo/soft-retcon some of that early characterisation tbh

[somethingaboutfireflies]

I want a fic where Tommy thinks Buck has feelings for Eddie and so he prepares himself mentally, making sure he's not going to be that hurt when Buck is going to realize it. He can't compete with a long co-dependant friendship anyway.

His speech is already ready: "It's okay Evan, I'm so greatful and lucky for the time we had! You deserve to be with someone you're really in love with! I only wish the best."

Buck is so confused. "Huh? Where's that come from?

And then Tommy is like "It's okay Evan, It's totally fine you know. I should have noticed sooner but I guess I didn't want to... I will be okay (lying to himself ofc) You really should tell Eddie."

A even more confused Buck: What? Tell what to Eddie?

Tommy: Your feelings for him. Listen I understand it's always scary to tell someone that you are in love with them"

Buck: But I'm already with someone I'm in love with and its you!"

So yeah the fic would end up with bucktommy happy ending yk.

[sprout-fics]

I saw possessive ghost leaving hickies (which YES. Love that for him - but I raise you pushy spanking if, for example, you don't answer fast enough or ur drunk on pleasure to get your attention back or just because

Last one for the night, thanks for tuning in all!

You’re drifting off. 

It happens on occasion. When you’re stuffed full of him, fit to burst at the seams. He’s an omnipresent force inside of you, hot, unyielding, a force that batters like a gale. Inescapable. Sometimes it’s too much, the sheer brute of his strength a terrible burden to bear despite the pleasure. It tugs at you, threatening to drown you, to sweep you under like a riptide and starve your lungs of air. 

In the overstimulation of it, your senses reduced to hazy aftereffects, you’re forced to retreat within the confines of your own mind. Like the escaping tide, you're drawn out into the dark depths, the roll and tumble of the waves bouying you from your own consciousness. 

It’s in those cases you hardly hear him, lost in the storm of cock-drunk haze only he can bring. 

He calls for you, but you’re sinking just as he sinks into you, plowing into the ore of you and releasing the pleasure there like ocean sapphires. 

Smack!

You gasp then, flood your lungs with air as he brings you reeling back to the present, to the ever-lasting sensation of his cock plunging inside your slickened, warm heat. 

“Stay with me.” He tells you, and there’s a concern underneath those words, growled as nothing less than an order you're forced to comply. His hands dig into your hips, bearing down on you as he stretches you completely, fully, to the point of pain. You think you’ll carry a piece of him forever with you, the way he scorches open your insides, searing you with only his name. 

Simon.

Even as you want to let the pleasure wash over you in a distant haze he forces you back to the present, forces you to endure every single second of pain, of pleasure, of his desire that’s carved into your flesh.

“I-it’s too much.” You whisper, and the words crack in your throat like the flash of lightning on the horizon. 

Simon slows but doesn’t stop, resorting to slow, shallow thrusts. Yet it only allows you the space you need to recover, to reclaim the emptiness inside you that he occupies so wholly, so completely you that you’re left hypoxic with the desperate aftereffects. 

His hand is in your hair, caressing the corner of your face even as your gaze drifts somewhere he can’t see. Lost against the horizon.

“I’ve got you.” He murmurs, and there’s a touch of gentleness there reserved only for you. His hands smooth along your sides, up from your hips to your breasts, settling underneath the swell of them before grazing downwards once more. The motion is firm, grounding, delicate despite the wide, calloused breadth of his palms.

Yet that gentleness is punctuated with another slap to your ass, gentler this time, but enough to have you pressing your face into the sheets with a lost, wanting groan. 

“Talk to me.” He murmurs, and this is Simon now, wanting to know, wanting you to tell him all you feel and more. Not just for your sake, but for his. 

“I-I…” You try, face half-buried in the sheets, trying to reclaim your mind enough to find the words. “It feels good. It’s good, Simon. Just-”

You shudder then, a little overwhelmed, a little in love with him, with the way he splinters you from the inside out but is always there to pick up the pieces. 

“Slower.” You tell him then, conveying the depths of your desire. “Deeper.”

He obliges without question, and you feel his warmth, his weight as he curls across you, hand digging into your hip as he grinds inside of you with a curse. 

“Stay with me.” He tells you again, and his lips settle in the flesh of your shoulder, preventing you from drifting, from escaping him again. “Until the end.”

You already told him you would. Until this end. Until the next one. Until the one that at last costumes you both. 

[wishingstarinajar]

Chapter two of the fic "Kill Or Be Killed" is finally done and up on AO3 for registered users.

If you give it a read, I hope you'll enjoy learning about Rewind's very first venture into the multiverse and the origins of his name.