Your writing always makes me feel better and lifts my spirits. I love your descriptions and the way you develop your characters! I'm so sad to see one of my favorite authors go but I hope you're still happy and healthy in the future. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF! One day in the future we will meet, and I'll buy you tea. And a cookie. Seriously though, take care of yourself. I'll always remember you! I'm sure Takao anon, Cement anon and Detective anon and the others feel the same. Cookie anon loves you!
I wanted to keep this in my askbox but I really just want to publicly say thank you so much for the sweet and extremely kind message 🥹❤️ Miss you Cookie anon, and everyone!! I hope you are doing well and thriving. I really wish I could hug you UGH thank you for taking the time to write and send this to me, I love and appreciate you so much!
hello i know you dont accept requests anymore but i really wanted to say i appreciate ur work ur so great at writing （╹◡╹）♡ hope ur doing well during this pandemic !!
I wish I could keep this in my askbox forever but I just have to reply.....,,,,, thank you anon your message keeps me going I hope you’re doing great as well stay safe :”)
Hiii i just want to tell you that your blog is the best!! please don’t delete it coz it makes my day and i reread your works every night before i sleep!!
Thank you so much ;v; It makes me so happy that there are still people out there who read my work. I won't delete it, don't worry! Take care and stay safe!
ey yo recently have you considered writing for the fandom again cuz you're still my favorite KnB writer and I truly missed your writings for these baes. If not, well. ┐(￣ヮ￣)┌ just break it to me gently. Naw just kidding, I'll break either way Lol. k bye
Funny you should ask because I’ve come across some x reader fics on tumblr by chance lately and it made me feel nostalgic hahaha I’d say it’s unlikely I’m gonna come back, but my favorite saying is ‘never say never’ so
Hey guys, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m open for commissions/I have decided to open commissions for Ikemen Sengoku! I also write for Kuroko no Basket and Katekyo Hitman Reborn! Here’s the thing: I’m going to be raising the prices a little bit as of 1 February because I’m currently living in the city and I’m planning on moving out soon, so every little bit of saving up I do will really help.
Here are my current prices (strikethrough) and prices starting February 1 (no strikethrough). Commission before the end of January to enjoy lower prices!
Drabble (max 500 words) - $3 $4
Ficlet (max 1000 words) - $5 $7
One-shot (max 2500 words) - $8 $10
unavailable Thematic drabble set (5 drabbles per set) - $5 $12 unavailable
Customizable name/characteristics - $1 $3
Note that I tend to go way over word count most of the time, and in that event, you won’t be charged extra. Also note that KHR commissions are cheaper because I haven’t written for that fandom in a long while, so please refer to the prices on the commission form.
I’ll open 5 slots and will close them by the end of this month/when they’re full.
Fill the form here
Thanks for your support! Let me know if you have any questions.
hello!!! i am well aware of the fact that this blog is closed now but if you are still reading asks i just wanted to say that sakura/gentleness was one of the cutest and softest things i’ve ever read and it was so well written as well as all of your other works. thank you for writing such masterpieces!!!! i wish you the best in the future 💗
Bless you, you sweet thing. Thank you so much for sending this message, I’m really glad you did! And I’m so touched??? I can’t believe somebody is still reading my writings ;v; I hope you’re doing great!!
(This blog is discontinued but I thought you’d like to know!)
Hi everyone! Letters to You is officially on Ko-Fi!
As a token of appreciation for those who donate, I'm bringing in the Letters to Youevent! First introduced on baesketballers.tumblr.com and, later on, war-lords.tumblr.com (here and here), Letters to You is now going to be a continuing product on Ko-Fi. For the price of one coffee cup, you are eligible to send a letter to a character of your choice and receive a heartfelt reply from them. The answers will be private instead of published on my blog.
See letter-sending rules here. Everything is pretty much the same except for the following items:
Letter length can only be maximum 200 words.
You no longer have to use Submit on Tumblr, though the option is still available.
You can send your letter to [email protected] alternatively if you don't have Tumblr.
In your email, indicate the name under which you made a Ko-Fi donation so I know who you are!
For available Ikemen Sengoku characters, click here. For available Kuroko no Basket characters, click here. Message me for a list of Katekyo Hitman Reborn characters.
*Please indicate if you want a letter within the Message feature when donating! Conversely, let me know if you simply want to support without needing a letter in return (⺣◡⺣)♡*
*One coffee cup = one letter. If you donate more than one cup, let me know if you want only one letter for the whole donation or one letter for each cup.
*Announcements will be made if I'm closing this product momentarily due to real life duties, so please keep an eye on that!
aaaaaaaaaaaa I totally agree with Cookie anon: we'll always remember you and we'd want you to take care of yourself. You had times where you felt like you hadn't written well, but all I know is that your writing is one of the goddamn best I've ever read, alright! I have a bunch of your posts sitting in my drafts so I can revisit them whenever haha. Thank you for everything you've given us, and I hope only good days come your way. Cheering for you always! *hugs* -cement
CEMENT! Thank you, I’m really touched you think so. The blog is here for whenever you want to read any of the stuff. Thank you for always being such a supportive anon, I consider myself lucky to have people like you surrounding me. I’m so touched. Likewise, I’m cheering for you too! All the best in life!
Cookie anon here! *brings along a basket of cookies in a generic picnic basket* We should have a cookie picnic! I understand that you have to leave this blog and I completely respect your wishes. That still won't stop me from missing you! I read your Takao angst scenarios and I fell in love. I immediately clicked the follow button and would always read your writing. You're an inspiration and the reason I started writing. I'm gonna miss you soooo much! Can I just hug you forever and never let go?
Continued: Your writing always makes me feel better and lifts my spirits. I love your descriptions and the way you develop your characters! I'm so sad to see one of my favorite authors go but I hope you're still happy and healthy in the future. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF! One day in the future we will meet, and I'll buy you tea. And a cookie. Seriously though, take care of yourself. I'll always remember you! I'm sure Takao anon, Cement anon and Detective anon and the others feel the same. Cookie anon loves you!
Boy, am I really lucky to have such a supportive person like you! I’m really touched. Always so nice to me, always bringing me cookies, this time a basket of them (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ I can’t believe you still remember them! The Takao angst scenarios were written probably last year? Wow. Thank you for respecting my decision. It’s also made me so happy that you started writing! I’m gonna miss you too, a lot. And yes, you can hug me and never let go, but we’ll have to think of a way to handle toilet-related situations LMAO (●´艸`)
Such kind words! Take care of yourself, too! OMG tea time with Cookie Anon is like such a surreal thing... Maybe we will meet in real life. Hit me up. I’ll always remember you too, I wish you success in writing and all your other endeavors! I love Cookie Anon back!!
After a little over two years of running this blog, I decided to stop.
If you think this is sudden, I think I saw this coming a while ago, looking at my writing quality and how there’s less excitement in the fandom—completely understandable. I’ve lost almost all interest in answering asks, and for some time the only motivation was really to make your day, one way or another. I don’t want to lie and say that the notes weren’t discouraging, either. It wasn’t the main factor that made me stop, but it did contribute.
Thank you to all 1.6k of you for following this blog—I especially apologize for the ones that just followed me—and for engaging with my writings, for being really nice to me, and for being good friends during my stay.
This blog is officially an archive. I won’t delete it so everyone can perhaps read old stuff if they feel like it. As an overall experience, I personally enjoyed doing all the writing here, and I want to keep it as a memory. Who knows, when I feel like it I’ll drop something new here, though I think that’s going to be very unlikely.
I’m not quitting tumblr. You can message me anytime here on this blog or on my main. I’ve shared my Discord handle here as well. I’m also opening a new scenario blog for an otome game that I’m really engrossed in. If you play Ikemen Sengoku, please check it out! Technically, it’s not goodbye heheh
I hope you guys had fun reading my stuff as much as I enjoyed writing them. I’m kinda sad that the baesketball fire in me has almost died out, but that’s life, I suppose. Sometimes we just move on. I’d rather think of this as a new beginning rather than an ending.
Gaby my love welcome back!! How about some Kasamatsu? I know, I know, big surprise right? ;)
@ourneverendingpossibilities Two birds in one stone! I’m not sure if this kind of story suits him, but I was so inspired… Enjoy!
Reader’s gender is supposed to be unspecified, but let me know if I slipped. Also very little dialogue? I hope it’s not boring.
Also contains adult-ish themes, but none too NSFW. Semi-NSFW, maybe.
This piece is long! Placed a Keep Reading so as to not flood your screen.
One: a business arrangement is not love.
The wedding reception was fast. The two of you showed convincing displays of affection, sharing a few kisses on the lips and holding hands when necessary. To the naked eye of the public, you and Kasamatsu Yukio looked just like two people in love. To a select few, however, the wedding was merely an act.
“That was kind of exhausting,” you sigh, tipping the champagne glass to allow you to chug all of it in. Kasamatsu doesn’t bat an eyelash, helping himself to the liquor.
“Yeah.”
Although the two of you are not in love, you are not enemies either. Dressed in matching robes (complimentary, from the hotel staff in celebration of your tying the knot), you and your husband across one another on the balcony overlooking a spectacular view of the city. Not exactly the way you imagined your wedding night to go—drinking with your spouse until the edge of sobriety, that is—and to be fair, probably not how he imagined it to go as well.
You’re doing this for duty. He’s doing this for the same reason, but mainly for his father. That much you know.
You decide to cut the silence first.
“Now that we’re stuck together,” you say, the sound mixed with your sigh of fatigue, “might as well make the most of it.” The proclamation catches your now-husband’s attention, because those metal blue eyes look at yours almost glaringly. You smile, averting your gaze from his in favor of the view.
“What I’m saying is that we could at least be friends. Think of me as your roommate.” You continue, and the nostalgic visions in your head of university days cause you to break out into a grin and a small laugh. Perhaps it’s your mind’s own way to protect itself from the truth that you just got into a business marriage.
He scoffs, presumably amused at your antics. Your optimism is infectious. Kasamatsu suddenly doesn’t really mind the arrangement, not when his assigned partner is trying to exploit the most fun out of it.
He proposes a toast to the roommate agreement, and the two of you continue to drink the night away.
Two: you don’t fall in love with your roommate.
Kasamatsu Yukio might seem like an incredibly practical, straightforward individual upon one’s first impression. Like a trained assassin, his mannerisms and course of action are geared towards the completion of a goal—definitely not the type to lay back and smell the flowers.
Yet you have seen him laugh openly like he’s nine again. Many times this months. From your spontaneous and deadly tickle fights to some lame joke you made, from late night comedies to just… simple conversations.
You’ve learned to understand him better in the period of three months of sharing a living space and a ring on each of your fingers.
You might have learned a little bit too much.
Because you catch yourself staring at his back while he flips the pancakes. Because your walls tumble down as he asks you how your day was. Because you feel your heart might burst when he ruffles your hair and whispers ‘good night’. Because he acts like he cares.
One morning you wake, the blue lights of dawn filtering in through the blinds, and he is a painting. Beautiful, undisturbed, eternal.
And you realize you are falling for him.
You exit the apartment early that day, before he wakes, making sure to leave behind a note on the fridge with some near-acceptable reason to get out of the house at 6 in the morning. You can’t bear to face him knowing that you just. might. love him.
Three: you don’t get jealous of your roommate.
His father’s health deteriorated. He isn’t doing well mentally. You are almost always left with the shell of Kasamatsu Yukio when he comes back home after a hospital visit. You fix him a warm drink always—fall may have just begun, but the cold air does not hold back.
But his heart, too, has grown cold.
2 a.m. and he’s gone from his side of the bed. You are only awake because of the annoying urge to go to the toilet. Worried, you call him once, twice, no response. Trying to stay up all night for him doesn’t work—you can’t help but fall asleep at 5 a.m., at least half an hour before he comes back home. You don’t see him until the next night because of work, but when you do…
“Where did you go last night?”
“Out.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, taking into consideration his fatigued mental state thanks to his father’s condition. “Seemed like it. Where?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Dinner that night is cold and silent, the click-clack of silverware against plates seems louder than they usually are, as if intimidating you by showing just how not-your-business his nightly outings are.
You’re in a business marriage, after all.
Soon, that one night out turns into two, and then three, and then five times in two weeks. You lie in bed restless for all those occasions, until you decide to earn the truth from somebody else’s confession—one of Kasamatsu’s aides, a man that just joined the company, oblivious towards the charade that is your marriage.
You don’t have to pretend much to be a worried wife. You’re already worried. The aide sees that, and does his best to dig around. He finally tells you, through text, that your husband has been hanging around one of his closest friends. They’ve been spotted at multiple nightclubs, each visit rousing huge numbers of people to crowd and gather there.
If you know one person in Kasamatsu’s circle that is all about the night life, it’s Kise Ryouta.
The blonde is also all about the women—or men, depending on his mood, so they say—and a bitter taste enters your mouth. You aren’t eating or chewing on anything.
Jealousy enters your system like bile. Kasamatsu, club-hopping, a woman or man (also depending on his mood, you think) hooked on each of his arm. He’d drink, brood, looking like a fine damaged hunk with the top two buttons of his shirt open. You’ve seen that sight before during the first days of his father’s diagnosis. Although it’s hard at first for you to concoct that image in your mind, thanks to Kasamatsu’s usual virtuous and morally strong behavior, you quickly attribute it to the stress he’s had a lot of recently.
An angel fallen. Not uncommon to hear people turn to sex when they want to escape from reality.
He probably doesn’t find you to his tastes.
Maybe he likes his girls and guys a little wilder, wearing revealing clothing and purring on his lap, calling him something kinky like daddy or master. Maybe he wants them to giggle next to him, playfully drawing circles on his chest and whispering provocative things in his ear. Maybe he prefers to have them at the back of a nightclub, scarcely hidden in the shadows while he claims them.
You remember him flipping pancakes.
Asking you how your day was, ruffling your hair and whispering ‘good night’. You remember him smiling, and you cry yourself to sleep.
Four: you’re bad at lying.
His father has almost fully recovered and it’s as if nothing has happened. He starts talking to you again like he didn’t disappear at least three or four times a week in late September. He’s suddenly your good friend again.
You, on the other hand, have a hard time pretending everything is okay. It’s hard enough to keep up the act in public, when the two of you are together, but you have to put that mask on even in your own home. You’re crumbling inside. Cold. You want to push him away, but that will lead him to question.
And you can’t bear to let your feelings slip. It’s clear that he doesn’t feel the same, judging by the midnight escapades, the way he shuts you out. You’re suffering alone.
“Are you okay?”
He’s asked that a billion times today, you duly note, and you try your best to give him that eye-smile you gave the people at your wedding. It’s a charmer. They always fall for it. The corner of your mouth twitches weakly, and inside, you know you’ve lost.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” he asks, clearly concerned. You take a glance at those metal blue eyes and immediately look away, pretending that your platter of toast and scrambled eggs is way more interesting.
“I’m fine,” you repeat, trying to sound final.
“____________, you’ve been acting really weird lately.”
How do you even respond to that? You sigh, feigning exhaustion but really, it’s frustration. Frustration towards your silly feelings that decide that it’s better for you to fall in love with him, your fake. husband. living together with you under the guise of a fake. marriage. It’s for fucking money.
“Work’s just stressing me out.”
“I know you better than you think,” he says, setting down his fork and knife. “If it’s work, you would’ve already ranted to me a thousand times about it already.”
“This one’s different,” you mutter, “I can’t really talk about it.”
“The hell does that mean? Our companies are close to a merger—you should talk about it.”
And then you look at him straight in the eye, breakfast forgotten. He looks at you, confused yet hypnotized. Your eyebrows crease just the slightest but enough for him to see from across the table, the tightness of your lips also visible. You’re sending him a message that you’re not even aware of. Your face tells him first. Your eyes tell him next.
Your lips tell him last.
“I can’t talk about it.”
A chord strikes in him, reverberating in the chambers of his soul, sounding like a whisper, but its echoes shout. He understands. You don’t see it yet.
Five: he’s bad at lying.
The next few days pass with him being so unusually close to you. The roles have reversed: in the fall, you were always beside him like a blanket, full of warmth and embracing him just in case he decides to wilt away. This time, in the wake of winter, you’re the one escaping him, and he’s watching, touching a piece of you to make sure you don’t. Your wrist, your shoulder, your cheek.
He witnesses moments where it’s as if he has thawed you out—your eyes are always quite telling—but in a second, the sign is gone, leaving him wondering if he merely conjured it.
And then one day he talks to you after dinner. You have a few strands of spaghetti on your plate, but he half-drags you to the couch, ignoring your excuses of being tired after work.
“There’s someone,” he says.
You swallow. So your imagination turned out to be true. The dinner sitting in your stomach threatens to make its way back out, but you brace yourself and continue. Feigning mild surprise, you reply, “I see.”
The voice barely sounds like you. Has that much life and energy escaped you?
“You know where I’ve been. September.”
“Yeah,” you answer, mouth dry. His eyes pierce through you, and you can’t find it in you to look away no matter how much you need to.
There’s a bitter smile on his lips, like an unspoken apology. “Kise has a way of roping me into doing things that I… don’t really want. But you know I was in a bad place. I wanted to forget the truth.”
“I understand,” you answer again, more robotic than genuine. Your mind is reeling yet still. This is happening. Who knows what’s going to happen to you. Maybe he’ll have the divorce papers ready by tomorrow. He’ll tell you you need to pack up.
You’re leaving him.
“Kise invites me to the places he frequents for drinks—or more. You know him. He insists that he knows some people that might help take my mind off of things.”
You’re silent. Does he really need to tell you all this? Couldn’t he just leave it at that and tell you to go? The couch and the floor it stands on suddenly doesn’t seem so stable. Kasamatsu looks down at his hands, clearly trying to get a bearing of himself, and you take the chance, praying your voice won’t come out shaky.
“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me,” you say. You can do this. The faster you get over this, the better. He doesn’t have to see you cry. “I’m okay with whatever you do from here on out, though I’m more concerned about your father. I can help you with the divorce lawyer—”
“—but you don’t understand, ____________, I’m married to that someone.”
A hand cups your cheek and your mind turns blank, like a film reel cut short. He looks down at your knees, swallowing, his other hand clenching and unclenching. He chastises himself for being reduced into a mess, but there’s no time to stop.
“You’re glowing. All the time, around the house, like a fireball. I thought I was going to live in a cold apartment for the rest of my life. After the wedding, you made me laugh for the first time in months. You roped me into tickle fights. You somehow made me want to make breakfast for you. You’re impossible to defy. Every night we sleep on the same bed, I have a growing urge to take you into my arms and hug you.” He chuckles, the refreshing sound breaking his stream of words. “And to think it started with me wondering how it feels to have you sleep against my chest.”
“Kasamatsu—”
He has a thumb on your lips, caressing so gently it makes you want to cry. Your eyes water, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.
“Don’t call me that. Call me like we’re in public.”
“…Yukio.”
“Louder.”
“Yukio.”
“Tell me the things you tell people when we’re in public.”
“I’m happy with Yukio.”
“Tell me more.”
“I… love Yukio.”
He presses a kiss on your temple and you sob, cupping your mouth.
“Tell me more,” he repeats, softer this time.
“I love you, Yukio.”
His lips meet yours and you see stars behind your closed eyelids, the salt from your tears barely registering. Kasamatsu’s hand snakes to cup the back of your head, urging you gently to take more of him. You sigh, and he takes his chance. Warmth slips into your mouth and you moan at the taste of him, something you’ve only been able to long for, your fingers running up his sculpted chest. The two of you part for air, and even then, his lips still hover over yours, hot breath tingling your skin.
Hiii I've been waiting to send something to your askbox for ages! I seriously live for your scenarios cause you really are a great artist! I want to send in Kise Ryouta, if you don't mind writing for him. ;w;
Hey! Thanks for the kind words, I’m really honored. I hope you enjoy this one!
Fem!Reader because NSFW
Also adult-ish themes so please turn back if you’re underaged
“I’m scared of sex.”
The bar counter is slightly cold under the touch of your fingers. The place isn’t crowded at all, the only people occupying the sleek counter being you and this handsome blonde stranger. You don’t know how you got roped into a game of Truth or Truth with him—oh wait, you do: you got dumped (cheated on, to be exact, but same difference) and decided to spend the rest of the hot summer night in this dive bar.
The rest is probably fate.
You are only five shots in—one for every truth you tell—and he watches you with amused eyes despite your rather serious proclamation.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he says, and you inwardly chastise how low your standards have gone for admiring someone with an inkling of politeness, “have you?”
“Have I what.”
“Had sex.”
You stare at the empty shot glass. “Yeah.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
Loose lips sink ships, or so they say, but you find a weird sense of trust talking to this man. His pierced ear and pretty face should warn you otherwise. He’s probably looking to score. Funny enough you don’t feel like pushing him away, none of the alarms in your mind ringing. After catching your now-ex in bed with somebody else, you learn to trust your gut feelings more. He keeps an eye on you, a little bit of concern swirling in those golden eyes. They say, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.
You tell him anyway. About how hard it is for you to open up to someone—cliché, but very real, and the fact that he doesn’t laugh at you tells you that he sympathizes. How you feel about your body: good one day, bad the next. How you gave everything to that person. How cold you became when you saw him with another woman, spread out on bed the same way he likes (liked? you don’t know) to have you.
Kise Ryouta watches as the words spill out of your lips, glazed from the alcohol you just drank. Spellbound, he thinks, maybe you’re some sort of mage. He doesn’t believe in soulmates or love at first sight or stuff like that, not even when he was young. There’s hardly any room to be naive when you’re at your late twenties. Not in this economy—that was a joke. Not in this society.
You finish your story, and he can see from the way you tuck your hair behind one ear that you are slightly embarrassed. Who wouldn’t be, having poured out your whole feelings to a stranger in a bar? His eyes follow the movement of your fingers to your ear, tracing the shell of it, lingering to the earlobe before wandering towards your lips, jaw, neck, collarbone, the bare skin behind the first button of that blouse—
If stares could kill you’d be dead for sure.
He’s starting to rethink his standing about soulmates. How could he feel such a connection between the two of you, if that age-old concept isn’t true? Was it just attraction?
Instead on your skin is heat. He is clearly checking you out, examining your body. By the looks of it, he doesn’t dislike what he sees. In fact, the darkening of his eyes suggest otherwise. You swallow, feeling very much like a mouse deer being eyed by a cheetah. The only difference is that you’re enjoying it.
“Very brave of you to tell me all that,” he comment, pretending that he didn’t just undress you with his eyes. There’s no way he’s admitting that your vulnerability turned him on—not that you weren’t such an eye candy already. He had a reason when he approached you, after all. Those fake-polished girls sickened him. You’re like a damaged kind of beauty, a fallen angel. Once innocent, now broken.
Maybe he has a new fetish. Kise drinks his fifth shot.
“Truth or truth,” you ask customarily, not looking at him. Those eyes might see through you, might let him know what you need. His lips purse into a dangerous smirk as he glances at you. You only stare back at him because he’s gotten off his seat. Is he leaving? Your sour self did not provide much entertainment, you guess, but then why does it feel like electricity when he stands next to you?
“Truth,” he answers. “I find you very, very attractive.”
“Oh, god,” you moan, blonde tufts of hair between your legs as the beautiful stranger laps on your juices, your jeans around your ankles. The two of you barely made it inside your apartment because he decides that it’s best for him to eat you out right against the door, as if you had no neighbors. You faintly remind yourself to hold the sounds in. It’s three a.m. and people are going to call the cops for domestic disturbance.
Kise realizes your effort and dislikes it. With incredible strength, especially for a man that is only borderline sober, he lifts you up, forcing your legs to lock around his head, and walks further inside the apartment. You provide him with measly directions, littered with pants and moans that make your sentence near incorrigible. “Second—ah!—door, to the left, ngh, mmmh.”
By some sort of miracle, he kicks the door open, leaving it ajar in favor of throwing you on bed. His eyes flash for a moment, enjoying the way your bra-clad breasts bounce upon the impact, but duty calls, and his mouth seeks your core once again.
When you cum, he takes all of it greedily. You become an infectious paradox: his thirst is quenched, but at the same time, he wants infinitely more, and his whole body sings for it.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers, finger on your clit as he leans down to capture a turgid nipple, his lips still slick with the essence of you. You moan out, the dulcet sound beckoning him like a siren.
“Ryouta,” he whispers, followed by a grunt as he moves to your other breast, “call my name.”
You wake up in the late afternoon the next day, blushing at the soreness of your body. A quick look at the bathroom mirror reflects the marks he made on your skin, but you can’t find it in you to be mad at him. You can recall quite a bit from the night before. You were only a tad bit tipsy, after all.
Your mind decides to replay a particular moment when he makes you watch him slowly sink himself into you and you cup your mouth. Stupid, lewd, touch-deprived mind.
After a much deserved shower (you made sure it was ice cold), you walk towards your nightstand, meaning to charge your phone since you obviously forgot to last night. You nearly fail to tie up the towel around your body when you see a piece of paper next to your night light.
08-134-5509If you feel like more rebound sexor coffee. Whichever you feel like doing -R
