Ever think about how fucked up it is that the world’s ending, and all I can focus on is how good it feels to dig my fingers into someone’s skin when they’re begging for more? The line between pain and pleasure blurs so easily when you’re teetering on the edge of oblivion. Maybe that’s why I crave it—the raw, unfiltered connection, the way their body arches against mine, the way their voice breaks when they say my name. No heroes, no villains, just two people fucking like it’s the last thing they’ll ever do. Because it might be.