#CW: distrust

[toffeesbabbles]

papyri? papyruses? + doomfanger

also bonus distrust sans because? I just wanted to draw blue being edgy that's it lol.

( underfell papyrus by @/underfell us papyrus from community and distrust/disbelief sans by oppolostic)

[oblisker]

shitty and dangerous friend vs literal eldritch god physically and psychologically abusing his ex-worshipper to the brink of complete insanity

[chaoticsorceress]

At first I thought I was overreacting to the IGN article when it came to Gale but…

It’s a bad thing to just be like “yea having a character off themselves for the world is the right ending” I wish they elaborated more on it. Yes, that ending feels tragic and I even think it’s written well. I don't see it as the right ending. In fact no ending should really be called the right ending because this is a game where players make whatever choices they want to make. They make their own story. 

Maybe if they explained more of it I wouldn’t be like this lol.

And maybe I am thinking too deep on this because these are just opinions but considering WHO they are coming from and how the game treats Gale at times… 

IDK how they are able to talk about Astarion’s own struggles with such care and then turn around and treat Gale like a joke constantly. EVEN within the game? Like it’s fine to joke about the characters but I feel like Gale’s own struggles get minimized so often it makes the jokes feel wrong. 

[fumifooms]

This is the incel Mickbell post 🎉 "Why do people see Mickbell as an incel?" you may ask, seeing some people around treat him like one, and there's no black or white answer, but: 

Incels are mostly characterized by insecurity and a persecution complex. It’s in the name even, involuntary celibate, which they wear as a badge, often even loudly and proudly. Some blame society and women entirely while some also largely blame themselves or the conditions of their birth with self-loathing, "I’m ugly no one would want me" etc etc, and both lash out at the world and self-isolate because of it. The incel community often serves as that desire for community and connection that lonely men who become incels crave and latch onto, becoming an echo chamber of miserable people enabling each other and agreeing about how much the world discriminates against them and hates their guts, fueling their hate targeted at everyone including themselves but offering some semblance of comradery. There’s mistrust of social systems often, a "I see through the matrix of society" sentiment, sigma males etc. To summarize with the help of wikipedia: The subculture's attitude can be characterized by resentment, hostility, sexual objectification, misogyny, misanthropy, self-pity and self-loathing, racism, sense of entitlement to sex, blaming of women and the sexually successful for their own situation (which is often seen as predetermined due to biological determinism, evolutionary genetics or a rigged game), rape culture and nihilism.

Of course Mickbell doesn't fit the mold quite that intensely and plainly, and Dungeon Meshi is a manga that largely avoids sexuality and romance, and yet- At its core being an incel is wanting to be loved and have a relationship but it turns you into some tar pit. With Mickbell, you can see several of these tendencies in him, but the key change is that women aren’t the target and sex isn’t in the picture. Resentment and hostility? Check. Objectification of the person he wants, entitlement? Check. Misanthropy? Well he sure doesn’t seem to think good of most people and the world. Self-loathing and self-pity? Check. Exhibit A and B and C and: 

Wanting to take away the rights of the person he craves attention and affection from because of his own insecurities that he’s undesirable and unlovable and that people could never choose him/want to stay. Your partner should be a possession that has no agency.

Believing that any interaction or interest outside of him is cheating or betrayal etc (not wanting Kuro to speak with Kabru or anyone without his monitoring)

Talking himself up as if superior because of entitlement/analysing his feelings would make everything crumble. Even as he puts his individual worth down he has to latch onto there being innate worth in him, something that makes him entitled to the attention and love he coerces out of Kuro, that makes it so he's owed it and deserved to take it- because he saved Kuro, because he's smarter than the people trying to trick them, etc. (for incels it's usually because they're a man or sigma or whatever)

He puts other people down (kabru) to prop himself up- everyone else is bad and dishonest but I'm a nice guy. Which combined with how isolating he is of himself and Kuro, he's literally doing a Mother Knows Best from Tangled routine, though he drinks his own koolaid about it too in most parts.

Mick implicitly called Rin a stuck up bitch because she didn’t laugh at his jokes. Saying she should smile to be cuter. He says she’s uncute and should want to be more charming, if Rin was a guy he would not be using the same language. (Flash misogyny analysis: with his sister and a lot of speculation, you could say he reflects chilchuck in this way, respects women as coworkers and people but still believes in gender roles and thinks of them as something to protect)

He's self-isolating by not trusting others and social systems/communities, like Kabru but especially the half-foot guild.

He has distrust in everything except self-hatred, because it’s supposedly the laws of the world. Of course they’ll leave him, no matter what they say or how devoted they currently are, of course everyone is out to get him- and if they say anything to countee this they'rexjust lying. It’s being possessive because of this.

Also don’t let them know just how genuinely important they are to you because that’d be showing vulnerability you can’t afford and giving them power and you have to keep the power in the relationship because otherwise you aren’t safe. He wants commitment onesidedly while still being able to be emotionally uncompromised on his end.

Like biggest takeaway is 1) he's insecure in his relationship because he doesn't think he's lovable enough for people to want to stay 2) that self-imposed pessimistic outlook of doom & fear of being alone fuels this whole behavior and he mistreat people because of it. Paranoid anxiety and self-pity and self-loathing, all that stuff. For more on Mickbell I'd link my analysis of him and- oh god oh wow oh no I tripped and my web weaving falls out and jippers this post slides out of my pocket excuse me......... Again, these things just show tendencies that are reminiscent, without really getting into the specifics of what makes incels this very specific movement. You absolutely do not need to consider him one, but hopefully this post explains well why some people see incel potential/vibes in him, so to speak. Sorry Mickbell

[ashclouds366]

if you think misandry is an actual problem you’re fucking retarded.

*points and laughs* guys look! my first anon hate!

[abluehappyface]

It's been a while since I've been growled at...

[kamil-a]

making my own post to tangent about my ocs on the one hand this strengthens my resolve that green1 has been physically abusive in one of their relationships as an adult which has always been internally true to me but something i generally feel i wouldn't include in any outward works bc its not like worth the hypothetical discourse. it would be a weird dubiously canon factoid only applicable in tumblr slapfights and tbh might still end up being that but.

anyway this post struck me bc id never thought of it from green's perspective mostly the perspective ive thought of it from is that the other characters need to navigate around green1 and refuse for their own personal reasons to abandon them and the difficulty of navigating around someone you love very much whos unpleasant and honestly kind of dangerous in your life. but much to think about re does green1 regret it do they feel like theyve done something wrong or justified etc etc

[metaphorthejesterdraws]

Oct 25 | Dangerous

(inktober)

i just wanted to draw egdy papyrus lol

[habitual-creatures]

Okay okay, we can leave you alone but you should bring her inside first

Bad shit apparently happens when any of us stay outside the house…

Can you help me up Jester?

Or inside it...

But that seems to be because of all of you...

I don't want you all in my house.

[mercurialmink]

Seeing you used to make me feel warm.

But today, the thought of seeing you sent me into a dysregulated panic. I trembled uncontrollably and felt like I was going to pass out or throw up.

I don't feel safe around you anymore.

[meowdei]

putting one of those metal muzzle on fox hybrid! Ayato so he doesnt mark you up 😩🤤 maybe even leash him…?

Okay I know this is about ayato but can we also imagine a muzzle on wolf wrio who’s aggressive and rough at first but slowly warms up into a big puppy

[nobuverse]

@miraruinada

"Jealousy is a marker of bourgeois greed."

"Greed? Ehehe. Aren't you funny. The best thing Athena ever did for us was give us that island. It was the closest form of peace we ever got from....your kind."

The goddess' lips are just able to keep themselves from turning into her deadly smile as the venomous words pour from her lips.

"Too bad for you~ I don't really feel like explaining my disdain for that meat-head right now. But you're rather cute...so I think I'll let you run along now while you still can."

[distinctlywhumpthing]

First Night Home pt. 1

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Aiden wishes he could know the way home by heart. Feel a sense of comfort, that indescribable pull, as familiarity marks the closing distance to the place where he belongs. It’s a foolish, naked yearning. One that hangs in the spotlight of his focus a moment too long, leaving him feeling just as exposed. 

He spreads his fingers on his legs to stop from curling them into fists. Curling his toes in his shoes is a cheap substitute for grounding himself but at least it keeps that look off Leo’s face. 

The one that confirms Aiden is a burden he didn’t sign up for, companion or not. 

“Almost there,” Leo says, pulling away from a stop sign and turning left. 

His stomach drops and he turns toward the window to hide his face. 

Just like the first night, he has no idea what to expect when they arrive. He should be able to grant Leo a fraction of the trust he has felt but is always unable to find when he needs it most. It’s overwhelmed too easily, road salt cloudy headlights on an unlit route, feeble light swallowed by darkness before it can illuminate anything more than the rush of pavement before it disappears. His catastrophizing is stunted by exhaustion but the longer they drive down the winding roads, the more his stomach knots and twists, anticipation-turning-to-dread the only mile marker he has. He worries about losing to his nausea, as much as a passenger in his body as he is in the car, heading toward the inevitable. 

When Leo turns off the road, Aiden panics even more, scanning the row of four identical condos, porch lights still casting a dim glow in the pre-dawn light. He doesn’t recognize anything, except Leo’s work van at the end of the shared driveway. Shame rises along with the bile in his stomach. It’s disrespectful to Leo and the invitation to share any part of his home—to entertain it as a place he could pretend to belong—if he can’t even recognize it from the outside.

For fuck’s sake, it’s the barest of minimums required to lay claim to any place.

He bites back his apology. Stutters won’t be the only thing that comes out if he opens his mouth just now. He wouldn’t be able to articulate the transgression anyway. Little progress he made earlier trying to explain he wasn’t trying to run from Leo at the hospital, that he was just trying to give him a shot at getting his life back. The one before he took on a damaged—

“Home sweet home.” Leo kills the engine and lets his head fall back against the headrest with a sigh.

Aiden lowers his gaze, guilt swirling in his stomach. Again, the apology is on the tip of his tongue but his eyes start to burn hot with tears. He will not cry again. He cannot. He bites the inside of his cheek and the taste of blood is a quick distraction. 

Worse than dissolving into a crying mess would be getting sick in Leo’s sister’s car. 

Leo’s on the move anyway. With another sigh, he gets out, leaving Aiden alone to clap his good hand over his mouth and force deep breaths in and out through his nose. He even closes his eyes to beg himself to be capable this time. Better for this second-second chance. Easier after everything. 

Little good it does. 

By the time Leo reaches his door, Aiden is resigned to ducking around him to throw up. The bar lowered to please just don’t get sick on Leo’s shoes. 

The cold air hits him in a blast when Leo reaches the door and helps him out. He blinks against the sharp sting of it, both hands gripping Leo’s forearm. Another lungful of brisk winter morning and the nausea settles. 

His next inhale is full of sky. Deep blue night softening with the light of day from one horizon to the other. A whisper of purple hinting at the brilliance of more colors soon to come. He could stay here forever, taking in the spectrum of dark to light, the stars fading out in the west and the sun soon to rise in the east. He watched the sunrise a few times from the bedroom window upstairs but he can’t remember the last time he stood under a sky like this. 

Or the last time he was outside in daylight at all. 

“Hon, you alright?”

Leo’s expression has probably passed concern because Aiden let a few tears escape. They’ve already slid down his cheeks, warm at the outset, their wakes chilled in the fresh morning air. 

He wipes his face with his sleeve, still looking up. “Thank you,” he hears himself whisper and somehow it comes out crystal clear. He wishes he could say more, thank Leo for this morning sky he had nothing and everything to do with. But he doesn’t trust himself not to ruin it. 

Leo doesn’t say anything back, just wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

As soon as they step inside, he wants to run back to the feeling he found under the sky. But Leo’s exhausted and he already waited with Aiden until the sun started peeking over the horizon. Watching the sun rise wouldn’t stave off the inevitable. It’ll be over in minutes anyway. 

Aiden winds up hovering at the edge of the kitchen, unsure if he should stay out of the way or help. The bags sit on the island, handles still standing at attention from being lifted there. 

Leo relieves him of any guesswork by setting a glass of water on the island. “Think you can drink this?” 

He nods, grateful for an easy opportunity to be obedient, and slides onto a stool, watching for any reaction from Leo out of habit, but he’s looking down. Aiden’s stomach knots when he realizes he’s reading the slip of paper from the doctors again. 

If Leo tells him to take any of the medicine, he should. He will. He’ll do anything Leo asks him to. Happily. If what Leo said about finding him is true, he owes him his life twice over, maybe three times if he considers—

“Aiden?”

He jumps and Leo quickly leans over to clamp a hand around his teetering glass.

“M’sorry.” He tucks his hands between his legs, apology not quite audible even to his ears. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“S’okay,” he whispers. 

Leo’s sigh makes him flinch before he can catch himself. 

Leo holds up his hands, one still holding the rescued glass. “Easy, sweetheart. We’re all good. It’s all good.” 

Aiden nods. He’s overreacting, reading into Leo’s every fucking exhale. He’s just overreacting but still, tears are building behind his eyes. He nods again, squeezing his hands into fists but the pain that radiates up his arms makes the tears fall. “M’sorry, m’sorry.” He shakes his hands out at his sides, swipes furiously at the traitorous tears, and refuses—refuses—to meet Leo’s gaze to see how completely exasperated and disappointed he is. “M’sorry, m’sorry—”  

“Aiden. Aiden.” Leo’s beside him now, warm hand on his shoulder making him realize just how much he’s curled forward. “Just breathe. That’s right. You’re okay, you’re good.” 

He nods, sniffling. He needs to pull himself together. “M’sorry, m’sorry.” 

“Hon, look at me.” 

He meets Leo’s eyes, letting himself shelter in the ease of obedience. 

“You’re good, it’s all good. We’ll figure things out together, step by step, in the morning—or, well, later today.” Leo’s soft chuckle, tired as it is, tempts Adien further into the lulls of earned safety and he doesn’t have the energy to resist. Leo rubs his shoulder. “Everything will look a little better after some sleep, yeah?” Leo goes to the sink to top up his glass. “Let’s head up.” 

His stomach drops and maybe even his lungs too because he can’t feel himself breathe anymore. He’s too busy trying to read Leo’s face. What about the mess upstairs? Should he get the bleach? Or is this the moment Leo finally punishes him? 

He follows Leo to the stairs, shoving his shaking hands into the pocket of the hoodie. He knots his fingers together as much as he can without it hurting too much. He’s not sure what they’ll find upstairs. He can only remember blurs and there’s no telling what happened after his memory stops. 

“Better get scrubbing, ‘359.” 

He shakes his head but the flashes of the facility tiles, covered in blood, are so bright in his mind. His hand gripping the banister feels far away, feet climbing the stairs even further. A few more steps and he’ll be able to see the bathroom. 

The blood, the tiles. 

“Aiden?” 

He flinches, attention snapping back to Leo a few steps ahead. “M’good,” he says, too quickly because Leo narrows his eyes. He walks back down and stops one step lower so they’re the same height. 

“There’s no— there’s nothing to worry about. I asked Jesse to come over while we were out.” 

He nods slowly.  

“Everything’s clean, it’s all good.” 

Aiden hopes he hides his shameful relief better than his lack of understanding. “Mmm’thanks…” It’s not enough. He’ll never be enough. 

Leo holds out his arm. “All good, hon.” 

At the top of the stairs, he goes the extra mile and flicks on every light in the bathroom. The brightness hurts Aiden’s eyes but the bathroom is indeed spotless. 

Like nothing ever happened.

Leo walks him to the second bedroom, sets the glass of water on the desk and clicks on the little lamp. “I’ll get you some clean pajamas.” 

The pressure in the room changes when Leo leaves. 

Aiden’s breath comes easier, inhale and exhale deeper. The air no longer feeling finite to leave space for all the anticipation that accompanies Leo. 

But his relief is quickly spoiled by the discomfort of idleness. 

Using the desk chair for balance, he strips to his underwear, neatly folding the dirty clothes to be put in the hamper in the bathroom. He doesn’t want to see the bandages on his hand or arms, nor the gauze taped to his elbow and collarbone. Any visible trace of blood and Leo will want to check them, clean the stitches, change the bandages, ask him how he’s feeling, if he wants to take something for it and he can’t answer, he can’t look, he can’t handle having Leo examine him like that, so careful like he’s breakable when he’s done all this to himself and— 

He covers his face with his hands. Tries to pull in a deeper breath but the smell of betadine under the bandages makes his stomach churn so he lets his hands fall. 

There’s a smudge on his upper arm. Rubbing at it with his thumb does nothing. He turns to see it in the faint light coming through the window— 

It’s blood. Dried blood, all over. A ragged stripe of it snaking across his upper arms and chest. He can see it spreading, hear the drip, drip, drip of the faucet he was shaking too much to turn off completely. 

He pinches his eyes shut and shakes his head but when he opens his eyes again it’s even worse. It’s everywhere, splotches up and down his arms, all over his torso. 

Splattered all over the bright, white tiles. 

He can’t get it off. He has to get rid of it. He has to wash away the blood. 

“Scrub those tiles good and clean, ‘359.” 

No, this can’t be happening right now. 

His breath trembles and he can’t fill his lungs anymore but it doesn’t matter because the sounds of his panic have already caught Leo’s attention. 

“Aiden?” 

He spins to face Leo, bumping into the door which hits the wall and makes him jump all over again. His apology comes out as more of a strangled whine. 

“Easy.” Leo makes his movements slow and deliberate as he sets the clothes down. “It’s alright.” 

Aiden nods along. Of course it’s alright. He knows it’s alright but he still can’t seem to catch more than tiny gasps of air at a time. It’s just Leo. He’s here with Leo. He’s—

“Hey, hey, look at me.” 

Leo doesn’t try to move any closer, just holds his gaze. “That’s good, just breathe. We’ve got all the time we need. There’s no rush. Just take it easy. Take some slow, deep breaths.” 

He hates how immediately possible it is when he can hear it as a command. 

“Good, that’s good. You’re good.” 

Hates even more that he sinks his teeth right into all the warmth and relief he can get from the shallow praise, a shiver running up his spine in its wake. But it helps and he can already stand a bit straighter, think, and see a bit clearer. 

Leo waits a few more deep breaths. “All good?” 

“Mhm, m’sorry—” He clears his throat. “I—I—” He steels himself and lets his arms fall, eyes locked on Leo’s expression. 

“Ah. I didn’t think of that.” 

Leo’s frown makes his heart race. He crosses an arm over his chest, as if there might be a chance Leo can actually see the hair-trigger reactivity he’s got tonight. 

“I’ll get a washcloth with some soap, I can—” 

“Please—” he chokes out, calves hitting the bed frame. He blinks away Harrison, standing over him, cold and indifferent while he begs and cries. 

“Okay, never mind.” Aiden is still holding his breath so Leo softens his voice. “Hey, hey, easy. Not that one, okay? Forget I suggested it.” 

He drags in a strained breath. “M’sorry.” Forces himself to take a step back toward Leo.

“It’s alright, don’t be sorry. I need to know these things, it’s good you’re telling me.” 

He swallows and looks down. Unsure if he’s more ashamed that Leo has to spell it out for him or that it’s necessary at all. 

“Well, I guess a shower is the next option. What do you think?” 

Aiden nods, trying to look at least a little more composed to face the bathroom. 

“Okay,” Leo says but he doesn’t move. 

Aiden looks down again to let him think. He wants to shake out his arms, and his legs too while he’s at it. Just because he can and that’s why it helps. But he doesn’t want Leo to think he’s impatient. He’d probably tip right over anyway. 

“Sorry, okay, yeah. Just a quick shower, I’ll help you.” He turns and Aiden follows. 

It won’t be as simple as that but it’s a lie of solace they’ll cling to like a life raft. 

Previous — Masterlist — Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight

@whumps-and-bumps @i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney

[dmitriene]

cw: hookup with an implication for more, aftercare.

you thought that this is where it would all end, a good sex, a mind blowing orgasm, a limp, shaking body, your skin tingling from the kisses, bites, and hickeys left by hungry thrill, leaving you covered with bruises and marks all over, from neck to feet, still parted thighs trembling in ecstasy that has not yet subsided, sticky from drying drops of cum and your slick, glistening under the dim lighting of the bedroom, and the pale light that comes from the crack in the bathroom door, while you rise from the tangled, rumpled sheets on trembling hands.

simon comes out of the bathroom just in time to see you hunched over the side of the bed, reaching for your clothes that are carelessly scattered all over the floor, deciding not to get up out of distrust of your currently wobbly legs, you hear his bare feet landing on the cold parquet floor, getting closer and closer to you until you have to muster up the courage to meet his face, clutching his white blanket around your naked body even more tightly, as if he didn't just fucked you, as if you're trying to put up a barrier, hide away from him.

his dense eyebrows furrow together in displeasure, like a tightened seam, drawn to cast a shadow over his already coal black, bottomless eyes, the pupils of which are lost in the shadow of the room around him, making it impossible to discern the hidden emotions within, trying to see at least a hint, hands hidden in the pockets of his sweatpants, sitting low on his muscular hips, enough to reveal the defined line of his abdominis muscles, coarse hairs that spill down from his belly button and below the waistband, hiding you know where, simon raises his arms to cross over his broad, muscular chest, softened slightly by some extra weight that covers his ​​muscles, each flexing with the movements, his voice quiet, and somehow that only makes it all more uncomfortable, the low, gravelly timbre with which he addresses you

“wher' do you think you're going?”

weren't you supposed to? gather all your belongings, get dressed and vanish from his apartment without a trace, leave no room for taking a shower or saying goodbye, that was the expected course of events, but what you didn't expect was the peculiar look of discontent in his squinted gaze and voice, which caused your eyes to widen like beads, your lips to purse and then pout in confusion, pressing your hands to your chest, withdrawing from touching your scattered clothes, and he won't let you, because before you have time to squeak, simon reached out to lift you up, suprised gasp filling the quiet room, tumbling from your mouth.

laying you back against the pillows propped up against the headboard, simon adjusts the blanket to wrap it comfortably around your bare skin, letting you feel the comfort of gentle intimacy before he turns around, as he turns around and walks back towards the bathroom without saying a word, and you're too stunned to ask or protest his actions, especially when he comes back with a damp, warm towel, sitting on the edge of the bed on your side, reaching out under the blanket gently to pull your leg out, rough, calloused fingers skimming a strip up your calf, to your knee, spreading apart and running the pleasantly warm terry cloth up your thigh.

his gaze is downcast, and you don’t have to maintain eye contact, taking in his features for countless times that night, the sharp jaw, the hollow cheekbones, the pale skin lined with silver scars that have long drawn together and served as memories, the thin line of his pale, chapped lips pressed together in concentration, the flutter of his long, blonde lashes, swooping down to the dark circles etched deep into the thin skin beneath his eyes, before focusing on the feel of his touch, the relief of having a clean, not sticky skin, the way his fingers press into your quivering muscles over the towel, as if massaging.

the towel comes into contact with your pussy and you clench your teeth slightly, whimpering quietly beneath your breath, it doesn't hurt, far from it, you're just sensitive enough, your gummy walls are probably now shaped just for his cock, remembering the feeling of searing warmth, the sheer girth, the sensation of being full, stretched at the seams and pulsing, sopping down his pistoning length, trembling in the tight, secure hold of his hands, pulled down to meet each relentless thrust, and now, it was catching up, making you a little bit achy, clit still hyper sensitive, limbs almost numb, as simon reacts to your quiet sound of discomfort right away, anxious, stroking your leg with his thumb as if to comfort you, rubbing circles in the warm skin, calming, whispering a low, raspy apologies under his breath, wiping you a little more before setting the towel aside entirely.

the sound causes simon's cock to twitch in interest, he knows, in his mind, that you whimpered because your body was still sensitive, however, his voracious hunger demanded to hear more, so he forces himself out of bed to take the towel away, to find out if you were thirsty or hungry, spreading his legs wide, though it didn't do much to hide the pronounced outline of him beneath his sweats, since he put no underwear, you noticed it right away, your gaze fluttering away in mild shyness, though it seemed like there was nothing to be embarassed about, before you looked away, but didn't move to leave the comfort of the bed, obeying his words when he grunted about you staying the night.

he won't let you go alone into the night, not in your current state, not after everything that has happened, so this time, you fall asleep pressed against a solid body and wrapped in a warm, tender embrace, his hands tightening their grip around the curve of your waist with each movement, as you adjust to find a better position, before letting yourself drift off to sleep, becoming limp in his arms, only to wake up in them, with the enticing aroma of a freshly prepared breakfast wafting through the apartment, prepared for you since simon opened his eyes this morning.

it's all too new, too unexpected, and what should have been a casual hookup is turning into more than that, however, you feel compelled to refrain from complaining, especially since he sits across from you with a peculiar look of fondness swirling in his warmed tawny irises, thumbing over your knuckles as you eat the meal he made, guided by his encouragement to finish your food, maybe take a refreshing shower, a kiss pressing against your forehead, lingering, and you find yourself nodding to his every word.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[theorist-fox]

Simon has feelings he doesn't acknowledge, until he does.

Word Count: 800

CW: sweet smut

Masterlist 🦊

If anyone were to ask—yes, Simon’s as heavy as he looks. And all those muscles and bulk are now folding you in half, knees next to your ears and back dipped into the mattress.

You’d like to elaborate further on how the hell the two of you had gotten here, but Simon’s already fucked you on his desk. Picked you up, pressed you backwards, and made sure the paperwork he'd been slaving over for the whole afternoon would stick to your spine as he screwed your brains out.

If you peeked above his shoulders, you’d see them still there, on the polished wood of his desk. Which consequently means that there is nothing in your skull right now, just shreds of your brain absorbing the resounding slaps of his skin to yours, and bits and pieces of your consciousness floating in a fog of bliss. 

Simon has never been particularly talkative during sex, only yielding sparse grunts or stuttered pants. Minimal sounds, really, especially when compared to the gentle croons you breathe in his ear, or the lovingly placed kisses at the hinge of his jaw.

However, in spite of the obvious imbalance, you never push for more.

The last thing you want is for him to step even farther out of his comfort zone. The lack of clothes and balaclava is already a great show of trust. The way he's pressing down on you, nose to nose, is a testament to the safety he feels in your presence—and it's enough for you.

But.

...It's just sex, isn't it?

He says it every time, ensuring you get it through your skull by adding a firm look to the sentence—one of those that curdle the blood of novices and enemies alike.

It's just sex, he says, but the more this whole unlabeled thing goes on, the slower he fucks you. Less and less are the times in which he takes you from behind, favouring the sight of your face instead.

It's just sex, but then he always kisses you when he cums, huffing heavily from his nose to catch his breath because his mouth is busy tasting something softer, and he doesn't seem eager to move away.

It's just sex, or whatever he tells himself, but he always insists you stay over, because not even the barracks are safe to walk alone at night—he's a soldier, knows what it means to see a bird like you, uniform or not, on her own at night. He's wary and distrustful of the likes of him.

It's just sex, and yet now he's grabbing you ever so gently by the jaw, redirecting your focus to his eyes. His mouth puffs warmly directly onto yours—humid breath you taste on your tongue and down your throat. His hips jerk downwards, meeting your sex in long, deep thrusts that have his cheeks turn pink and his eyes glossy.

He burns holes in your irises until you're forced to blink your eyes a little wider—enough to give him the same (unexpected) attention he's giving you.

His eye twitches.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he croaks in one breath, so harshly you think he's had to wrench it out of his chest.

Your heart stops. You're not quite sure, and he doesn't even give you the time to register it that he says it again.

"You're beautiful," he breathes to your mouth, shoulders hunching over as if he's surrendered to his own statement.

He's buried in so deep, pelvis flush to where you're still achingly sensitive and blissfully raw, that you're not sure whether his words are the ones snatching the breath from your lungs, or if it's the relentless way he plunges back in each time he draws back.

Simon shifts so that your legs can slowly fall down the rigid angles of his hips. You sigh as the ache in your hamstrings abates, and wrap your thighs more comfortably around his softer waist.

He studies, uncharacteristically captivated, each fine line he can find on your face, each wrinkle and dotted scar, each freckle and mole blending in your skin. Pitch-dark eyes trace your features as if he's never seen them before, as if it's the first time he does.

"Fuckin' hell," he croaks, sounding much softer, giving in.

And his hands come to cradle the back of your head, lifting it up from the plush of the pillow. He nestles in closer, and slots his lips with yours, guiding your bodies to slide against one another.

"You're beautiful."

It's just sex, he says, but then he kisses you as you cum, and he follows soon after, whispering praises you've never heard from him before, but ones that feel familiar all the same.

And he calls you beautiful, over and over, with the velvet brush of his lips on yours.

You're beautiful, he tells you—for the rest of the night, and the ones to come.

[aronarchy]

“It’s just a joke!!!!!!”

eugenics is a big scary word and yet people that would claim to be left-leaning can very easily be convinced to be pro-eugenics if you just never use the word. like oh you think "dumb people" shouldnt be allowed to reproduce? you think "dumb people" shouldnt be allowed to have children? its kinda scary