some people really do need to start reminding themselves that the answer to "why didn't the character just do [something entirely different]" is often simply "because then there wouldn't be a story"
Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it
The first time Satoru Gojo realizes he made a mistake is when he can’t find you on campus.
At first he thinks it’s funny.
You’ve always been easy to find. The west library corner seat by the window. The campus café at 10:30 with a vanilla latte and that same notebook you pretend isn’t a diary.
But after the breakup?
You vanish.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Your Instagram, phone number, Snapchat — blocked.
He stares at his phone in the Alpha Tau living room while music blasts around him and someone hands him another drink.
Blocked.
“Damn,” one of the guys laughs. “She actually did it.”
Gojo scoffs like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll get her back,” he says cockily.
Like he’s not the one who said it. I need to focus on football.
The lie sounded convincing at the time. The scouts were watching. His coach kept yelling about discipline. Everyone said relationships were a distraction.
So he broke up with you.
Clean and quick.
Two weeks later, he’s drunk at three different frat parties, shamefully sneaking out of sorority house hookups before the sun even rises.
And somehow that’s when he realizes something feels wrong.
———-
The First Attempt
He tries texting.
It doesn’t go through. Still blocked.
He laughs to himself. “Dramatic much.”
But that night he still walks across campus toward the all-girl dorms.
Except the front desk girl just shrugs. “She’s not here.”
Gojo frowns, “What do you mean she’s not here?”
“Means she’s not here.”
He stands outside the dorm building for ten minutes before leaving.
The next day he tries again. Still no sight of you.
Flowers
A week later a bouquet arrives at your dorm. White lilies and baby’s breath.
Attached card: —SG <3
He doesn’t even know if you like lilies. You used to talk about flowers sometimes, but he never listened carefully enough to remember, and now he regrets it.
The desk girl tells him later you picked them up without saying a word.
Still no message back.
The Letters
Then the letters start. The handwritten notes made him feel romantic, he was sure this would get a response out of you.
The first one is simple.
I know you blocked me. I deserve it.
Let me know if you wanna talk
-Satoru <3
No response.
The second one is longer.
I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the responsible thing.
Please unblock me xoxo
The third one is messy.
He writes it at 2 AM after a party he left early because some girl laughed too loud in a way that sounded a little too much like you.
I keep looking for you around campus.
You used to sit by the west library window. I checked yesterday. You weren’t there. Are you avoiding me?
- Toru
Your Favorite Snacks
The dorm desk starts receiving packages. Your favorite chocolate. Spicy chips.
Strawberry gummies you always bought from the vending machine during late-night study sessions.
Deliveries of your favourite bubble tea.
The desk girl starts recognizing his name. “Another one from the football guy. I told him you weren’t here again like you asked.”
Meanwhile
Gojo’s reputation doesn’t change. He’s still the star player. Still the loud one at parties. Still the guy everyone thinks has everything.
But lately he keeps checking doorways. Scanning crowds at football games. Looking for someone who isn’t there.
The First Time He Sees You Again
It’s raining. He’s leaving practice when he spots you across the quad under a blue umbrella.
For a second he thinks he imagined it.
But then you look up. And your eyes meet his.
The look on your face isn’t anger. It’s worse.
It’s indifference.
You turn and keep walking. Gojo’s heart drops straight into his stomach. He can’t let you escape after all this time of chasing you.
“Hey—!”
You stop slowly. You look over your shoulder. “…What?” Your voice is calm.
Gojo suddenly forgets every speech he rehearsed. “I—did you get the letters?”
“Yes.”
“…And?…will you please talk to me?”
You stare at him for a long moment “Goodnight, Gojo.”
Then you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, watching you disappear.
Sooooo in my mind, few things drive jean more feral than a high heel with an ankle strap 👀🩷 He wants to unbuckle that thang up against his shoulder and plant kisses there
A;DLKFJA;LDKJFALJKLAJFDFLKAJ
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jean is a man who takes his time to FULLY APPRECIATE a woman's outfit. He'll start with soft, sweet, slow kisses from cheek, down your throat to your collarbone, down your chest, your tummy, your hips (he gives you a little bite here), down your thigh, your calves, until he gets to that delicious ankle of yours and slowly unbuckles the strap and takes your shoes off.
ruling a nation is hard. good thing he has you – his beloved wife, and personal stress relief after especially hard days.
when urgent matters turned from a day away from you to three, and then three days to a week, you got worried.
"nothing that concerns you, love," he mutters, watching the way your lips spread to take him wider. your cheek presses against his inner thigh as you get comfortable.
his dark strands tickle your forearm as the back of his head meets the onsen wall. your gaze flickers up, watching how he slams a hand over his mouth. the other flexes, clenching and unclenching fervently, before finally cupping your jaw.
you jump at the feverish warmth of his palm as your mouth vibrates against him. firebending leaves his hands constantly heated. even now, it’s something you’re still getting used to.
he tries to be a gentleman.
really, he does.
composed, poised, graceful – all words used to describe the man in front of you.
suguru definitely embodies these qualities.
so well you don’t even realize how badly he’s falling apart right now. your tongue dances along the length of his cock, grazing that soft spot in the back of your throat.
saliva drips down your nightgown, leaving you breathless when you pull back.
he nearly loses it.
and without thinking, suguru thrusts – hitting the back of your throat and leaving your eyes glossy when you look up at him.
his chest heaves.
once.
then twice.
your tongue runs along the base and back up, leaving a soft kiss at his leaking tip. he tilts his head down, hair disheveled from unraveling under you.
“missed me this badly, love?”
you nod slowly, eyes glued to his.
“yes, my lord,” you mumble. your hand finds its way to your dampened undergarments, sliding past the waistband and touching exactly where you’ve needed him.
for a week.
it’s a surprise that either of you lasted this long.
his gaze dips lower, where your hand disappears into the lace. you whimper as your fingers meet that sensitive nub, slick and aching all for him. suguru opens his mouth to speak, breath catching at how your hair falls in your face as you grind against your hand.
a smile tugs at his lips as he brushes a strand out your face.
“you’ve been suffering without me, haven’t you?” he says softly, caressing your cheek.
a gasp escapes as you chase that growing feeling in your core. you nod again, praying that you finally catch it.
“sugu–,” you pout. “y-you left me alone… for a week.”
he leans down, face level with yours.
“my apologies, beloved,” he nods, kissing your temple. his lips trail down to your cheek, peppering kisses along your cheek.
his fingers curl beneath your chin, guiding your head back slowly. the angle leaves your throat exposed immediately. suguru hums at the sight before pressing a kiss beneath your jaw.
Satoru Gojo is the top masseuse at this fine establishment - he's the best at giving his clients the happiest endings. Yet you are by far the most tense damn girl he's ever touched.
"Shit, you're all locked up," he mumbles, those long fingers gliding across your muscles, pressing into your skin with that jasmine scented oil. "You good, sweetheart?"
"Mmm, not really," you mumble, sucking in a breath when he starts pressing harder on your sore, aching muscles. "Ah! You're so rough!"
"Well normally I just finger girls, you actually need a damn massage," you snort and he chuckles a bit, pausing when you turn your head to look at him, pretty eyes all dilated.
You're so fucking pretty.
This elegant pretty that comes from being in your late twenties that is his weakness - Satoru is twenty three but he loves a thirty year old milf. He just can't help his tastes, really, especially when they blush all sweet like you.
He's no poor college student trying to make it, no - he's rich enough to buy this entire spa twenty times over. Satoru is here for the joy of it, carpal tunnel and all can't stop him from making sure he got these clients off. Nothing really is as fulfilling as watching a woman come apart under his long fingers.
Making them squirt is truly a fucking art form.
But he never has felt this much tension, he's having to put his actual skills to use for once - and honestly? Satoru was better at fingering than rubbing backs.
He tugs that tiny towel down, till it's barely covering your ass, thumbs gliding in on those cute dimples. He vividly pictures how pretty your hips would be in his big ass hands - breedable hips that are wreaking havoc on his brain.
He's usually pretty unaffected, used to this, but the way you arch and whine out fucks him up.
Satoru kneads those thumbs into your hips now, a couple stretch marks right on them making him throb - he's not kidding when he says he loves a milf. You're gasping out, little filthy sound ruining him, he can't help but raise a brow.
"Hmm, husband not doing it for you?"
"I'm separated now..." You mumble, peeking at that spot your wedding band left a line.
You're still technically 'married' to your shitty husband Naoya, who had always been terrible, but recently fucked someone right in your bed, and had the utter audacity to act offended when you left. So what better to cheer you up, then to have someone work all that frustration out?
"Bad split?"
"You could say that..." you can't stop arching up a more, he takes the hint and slides his hands up your ribcage, eliciting a soft little moan.
Fingers glide down the sides of your breasts, your cunt is dripping wet then - the very recent memory of your cheating husband washed away with every glide of long fingers on your skin.
"You like me touching right here, sweetheart?" He asks softly. you moan, nodding. "Then turn around for me."
You obey easily, blushing a bit, his hands brushing oil on your tits, making your lashes flutter shut, covering up just a bit.
"Don't, you're sexy.."
You blush even more if that were possible, breasts rising and falling as his huge hands knead that flesh, plucking at your nipples. Satoru moves to stand right over your head, the view of his cock tenting his pants fucking you up.
"You're getting the highest tip," he snorts at that.
"Oh?" He's gliding more oil across your tummy, leaning over to part your thighs and eye your slick pussy, hesitating just a bit - this is where he likes to let the clients guide him. "Put my hand where you want."
"Oh..." your heart hammers in your chest as you slip it down further, he lets out a soft little moan when his fingertips are right between your slit. "Mnh!"
"You don't need any oil there," he muses softly, teasing fingers slipping up your slit, making you jolt as they toy with your twitchy clit. Your hips arch as he teases your entrance, slick pouring from your little hole down his fingers. "So wet already, we just started the massage.... your little cunt is so needy."
All you manage is your eyes rolling back in your skull - your man just never made you cum, and your own fingers didn't feel close to as good as those five inch fingers did.
You swear they're bigger than your ex's cock.
Rough fingertips dip in your slick just to the first knuckle, slutty little moans escape your throat at it.
"Feel good?" He murmurs softly, one hand holds your thigh apart, the other swirls around your messy cunt and sliding in. "You're so tight here, too, I think need to loosen you up."
"Please," this slutty masseuse with pretty blue eyes pumps your pussy full - stretching you out with these sweet nurn6, that spongy spot he presses, making you gasp out, back arching off the little bed. "Mnh, there, there!"
"Shh, not too loud," he leans fully over you to press a kiss on your inner knee - that was not protocol, not when he couldn't stop thinking of drinking your pussy and breeding you. "Your cunt is already so loud."
You huff, earning another chuckle, when suddenly you can't help but tug at his zipper, sliding so your head dangles off the bed. He pauses, blushing and looking down at you, fingers sliding out.
"What are..." You look up all pretty with hearts in your eyes for him, biting your lip, thighs shaking.
"I really want your cock in my throat, I'll pay so much more," he almost laughs.
Paying him to suck his cock!?
"You sure, sweetheart? This is for you."
"I'll love it if you would like it," you turn around, on your elbows and knees, looking right up at him as he frees his cock. "Is this special treatment?"
"It is, can't say anyone's touched me," he mumbles, suddenly nervous, when you've got your mouth wrapping his cock, his head falls back, groan slipping from his throat as that tip grazes the roof of your mouth.
You didn't look the type to suck a dick down your throat like you have no gag reflex - but here you are, swallowing him like you can't get enough. Your oiled up ass is arched, Satoru reaches a long arm over you, one hand entangled in your hair, the other finding your hole and fucking his fingers in and out.
The loud sounds of your squelching pussy and his cock choking your slutty throat are loud, the stupid ass spa music falling on deaf ears as he thinks he's in love with your mouth.
"F-fuck you're... too good at..." He's never one to be at a loss for words, but with every glide of his pretty pink tip in your throat, you're swallowing impossibly more of him. "That's it - fuck, just like..."
Satoru bites down on his lower lip as he shoves the back of your head so he's choking you with his length, curling his fingers just right so you squirt right down him. Dripping in rivulets you're making the biggest mess, squishing sounds loud when he rushes his fingers side to side to make you squirt even more.
"Mmmph," tears streak down your eyes as you swallow Satoru's cock, thighs shaking on the leather bed, nails pressing into well muscled thighs. His grip on your head tightens as he bends over, fucking your throat even faster
"Want me to use your throat, cum deep inside it, huh sweetheart? Use your mouth like a pretty toy till all my cum makes you full?" Your answer is to desperately suck, two of his hands now on your head. Hips snapping, cock fucking in and out.
For a woman who had nothing but missionary and a little spit on your cunt as lube, you've never wanted to please like this. You want him to use yojr throat - fuck you would let him use every hole he wanted, looking up at him to see his flushed cheeks through your watering eyes.
"Mnh, m"gonna..." he cups your face to hold it in place, cock bottoming out so his drool soaked balls press on your chin. He pumps so much cum his knees are weak, he damn near has to cling to the bed as you keep sucking. "That thirsty? Gonna suck me dry..."
You keep sucking even as he is sensitive, Satoru pulls back and looks at the mess he's made of you, cum having slipped down your chin. He gathers it and slips it back between your lips.
"Open for me, pretty."
You eagerly listen- you, a soccer mom having this white haired masseuse spit in your open mouth in a filthy string. You eagerly swallow him up, earning him yanking you to your knees, kissing you right when the little timer goes off for his next client.
"Oh," you flush as you realize just how much you loved that, tying your robe hastily and almost bouncing at the door before he stops you.
"Hey," he tilts your chin up, pressing you against the door. "Can I see you again? Like... dinner or..."
"You want to go on a date? With me?"
"Nervous about a date but you just let me spit in your mouth?" he grins and you cover your face now.
"Oh god..."
"Pretty please?"
He is pretty sure he is in love when you give him your number and peck a kiss on his cheek.
and when he has to cancel his next client, it may or may not be because he's jerking his cock to the way your juices are still coating his fingers 💗
hiiiii Deeee may I squirt some lube on your brain and suggest Kafka Hibino + finger sucking? 👀
18+
kafka stares up at you, words dying a spectacular death somewhere in the back of his throat as his jaw silently works around what's left of his absent thoughts. he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he hit his head a little too hard during training earlier.
something wet hits his cheek, and his dick throbs where it's currently trapped beneath the steady pressure of your abdomen rocking against his own.
you moan, the sound muffled by the two thick fingers currently trapped between your lips, and kafka thinks he could live with the fact that cumming in his pants would really be one of the least embarrassing things he's done lately, all things considered.
he feels a hot, wet trail of sticky spit work its way down the middle digit, sliding down past his wrist, and he swallows hard, nearly biting his tongue in the process. because if his fingers weren't otherwise occupied borderline fucking your mouth, he thinks he'd probably find his own mouth panting against the sloppy mess you've left in his palm.
(it's the way you grasp his forearm when his fingers nearly slip from your mouth that does him in. the desperate, needy look in your eyes when you take his fingers to the last knuckle and whine as you suck on them, frantically rocking against him as you chase your orgasm. and shove him over the edge of his.)
i'm crying imagine moby dick but instead of chasing a legendary whale you're chasing the biggest dickprint known to man and descending into madness from tryst after tryst until you meet him and his crotch basically glows
ive been talking to Amy all day about the knight and im OBSESSED with the idea she had about you, being highborn, being your husband's guide through the political and social aspects of the court.
one day you block him from the front door.
"You are forbidden from going to the capital."
the knight reaches to stroke your cheek. "It's only a day's journey, lamb. I will be back within a week."
"I am not allowing you to leave to see the king's court dressed like that!" you point to his cloak and garments. your husband furrows his brow hard, inspecting himself. "They are stained and ripped!"
"My appearance doesn't matter, my performance is battle does." Clothing wont fix his face or scars.
"Nonsense." Clothing has always been important to you; half of the gowns you wear are made by your own hand, the fabric supplied by your father. There's been a pile of things set aside for your hubsand, but he refuses to stay still enough for you to measure. "I am coming with. There are clothes I have half sewn for you that I can finish. The rest we will buy when we arrive."
"We will be late to the council meeting-"
"And then you can blame your wife."
usually your husband rides a horse to the capital, but you have forced him into the carriage with you.
"You look regal in a high collar," you say and you work a hem. "Why are you even being summoned?"
The knight adjusts uncomfortably, looking out the window to avoid your focused expression.
"They wish to move troops back into the north in case of uprising," he whispers, voice low. "It's a terrible idea. Forcing already exhausted men to march hundreds of miles before the cold season ends is just going to lead to illness, infighting, and death."
"They don't listen to you when you tell them these things?"
"Rarely."
"Well, then make them listen. Why have a commander if they insist on ignoring him? You have earned their respect."
at the capital, you stand up for him in ways he didnt know he needed. Another member of the council greets him coldly, biting his name out with an overly polite statement that might be a jab-
"Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but you must not have heard," you say, hand coming to rest on your husbands chest, your mdoest ring glittering on your finger. "My husband has been titled as Lord of The Ironhills because of his actions as Commander of The Royal Legion."
The man blinks slowly, one eye slower than the other. "I am very aware, miss."
"Oh, forgive me! You didn't use either title, so I assumed you did not know better," you laugh. The joyous air you keep has this deeper, more pointed undertone. Many of the spots he overhears in the capital have this rhythm to them, but he never has the ability to bit back in the same way. "And you may refer to me as lady."
The man is clearly unhappy, but he turns back to your husband. "Forgive me, my lord."
and the knight realizes that his position here may grant him more power that he thought.
suguru teaches you the correct way to worship >^_^<
"do you want to learn?" suguru asks, and his eyes meet yours again, dark and endless and utterly consuming. "do you want me to teach you how to worship properly?"
yes. the word is right there, burning on your tongue, ready to spill out. but you hesitate, because somehow saying it feels like crossing a line you can't uncross, like stepping off a cliff into an abyss you can't see the bottom of.
he waits. patient. unhurried. he knows what your answer will be. he's known since the moment he caught you lingering in the shadows, trembling and wide-eyed and full of hunger you didn't have a name for yet.
"yes," you breathe finally, and the word comes out ragged, desperate, full of all the things you've been too afraid to name.
"then kneel."
the command is quiet, but it resonates through you like a bell, like a prayer, like something inevitable. your body moves before your mind catches up, legs folding, knees meeting the cold stone floor. the impact sends a jolt through you, grounding you, reminding you that this is real, that you're here, that you've chosen this.
he looks down at you, and the approval in his eyes makes your stomach tighten with something that feels almost like triumph.
"good," the priest says for the third time, and each repetition of the word feels like a mark on your skin, a claim, a possession. "you learn so quickly. it's beautiful to watch."
he steps closer, close enough that his robes brush against your shoulders, that you can feel the heat of him radiating down like sunlight. he reaches out, and his fingers card through your hair, gentle at first, then fisting at the roots, tilting your head back further, exposing your throat to him completely.
"worship begins with submission," he says, and his voice is soft, almost tender, even as his grip tightens just enough to make your breath catch. "with accepting your place. with understanding that you are here to serve, to please, to offer yourself up as a vessel for something greater than yourself."
suguru's thumb strokes along your temple, a gesture that might be soothing if not for the intensity in his eyes, the way he holds you like you're something precious and something disposable all at once.
"repeat after me," he says. "i am yours."
your throat constricts. the words feel huge, too big to fit past your lips. but his grip in your hair tightens, just slightly, and the flash of pain sends heat pooling low in your belly.
"i am yours," you whisper, and the words feel like a key turning in a lock.
"i exist to serve you."
"i exist to serve you."
"i offer myself freely, without reservation, without shame."
your voice trembles but you repeat the words, each one carving itself into your chest, reshaping you from the inside out. when you finish, his grip loosens, and his hand slides down to cup your cheek with devastating gentleness.
"perfect," he murmurs. "you're perfect."
suguru guides you forward, and you go willingly, crawling on your knees until you're positioned between his legs, looking up at him from this new vantage point. the stone is cold against your knees. the candlelight flickers across his features, casting half his face in shadow, making him look like something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on your perspective.
"now," he says, and his voice drops even lower, intimate and dark, "let me teach you the next lesson."
his hand finds your chin again, tilting your face up. his other hand moves to the tie of his robe, loosening it with deliberate slowness, giving you time to watch, to anticipate, to feel the weight of every second stretching out between you.
"worship takes many forms," he says as the fabric parts, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest, the defined lines of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that disappears below his waist. "prayer. sacrifice. offering." his robe falls open completely, and you see him, hard and waiting, the sight of him making your mouth go dry and your thighs press together. "but some of the most powerful worship is done with the mouth."
"you want this," suguru says, not a question. "i can see it in your eyes. in the way your lips part. in the way your thighs press together on the stone floor."
you nod, unable to form words.
"then ask for it."
you swallow hard. "please—please let me—"
"let you what?" his voice is silk over steel, patient and cruel. "use your words, little one. tell me what you want."
"let me take you in my mouth," you whisper, the words burning on your tongue. "let me worship you."
his smile is slow and dark. "that's better."
he steps closer, close enough that his cock is inches from your face. you can smell him—warm skin, salt, the faint trace of incense. your hands clench in your lap.
"open your mouth," he commands.
you obey instantly, lips parting, tongue resting flat. he guides himself to your lips, not pushing in, just letting you feel the weight of him against your bottom lip.
"take me in," he says, his voice dropping lower. "slow. i want to feel every inch as you take me inside."
you lean forward, parting your lips wider, and let the head of his cock slip past them. the taste of him floods your senses—warm, slightly bitter, intoxicating. you close your lips around him and your tongue darts out instinctively.
"that's it," he breathes, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. "just like that. now take more."
you slide forward, taking him deeper, feeling him press against your tongue, then toward the back of your throat. you gag slightly and pull back, but his hand holds you steady.
"breathe through your nose," he instructs, his voice calm, hypnotic. "relax your throat. you can take all of me. i know you can."
you try, forcing yourself to relax, and when you move forward again, he slides deeper, filling your mouth completely. your eyes water but you don't pull away. you look up at him, and the sight of his half-lidded eyes, the slight flush on his cheeks, sends a thrill through you.
"good girl," suguru murmurs, and the praise makes your cunt clench. "now move. set a rhythm. let me feel your devotion."
you start to bob your head, finding a slow, steady pace. your hands grip your own thighs, desperate for something to hold onto. his hand in your hair guides you, not forcing, just directing.
"faster," he says, and you obey, your pace quickening. "deeper. yes—just like that. don't stop."
the sounds fill the chamber—wet, obscene, punctuated by his soft groans and your muffled whimpers. he tastes like need, like power, like everything you've been missing.
"look at me," he commands, and you lift your gaze, meeting his eyes while his cock is buried in your throat. "i want to see your eyes when you come undone."
you moan around him, the vibration making his hips twitch. his grip tightens in your hair.
"you're so beautiful like this," he says, his voice rough. "so desperate to please. tell me—" he pulls back slightly, letting you breathe, but only for a moment before pushing back in. "tell me who you belong to."
you can't answer with your mouth full, so you hum around him, the sound desperate and pleading.
"say it," he insists, pulling out completely, leaving you gasping, a string of saliva connecting his tip to your lips. "say it, and i'll give you what you need."
"you," you choke out, your voice wrecked. "i belong to you."
"good." he strokes himself once, smearing the moisture across his length. "now open again."
you do, and he guides himself back into your mouth, this time setting a punishing pace, fucking your throat with deep, steady thrusts. tears spill down your cheeks. your nose is pressed against his pelvis. but you don't pull away. you take it all, because this is worship, this is surrender, this is exactly what you asked for.
suguru's breathing grows ragged, his hips stuttering. "don't stop," he grunts. "don't you dare stop until i—fuck—"
he buries himself deep, and you feel him pulse against your tongue, hot cum flooding your throat. you swallow, desperate to take it all, and he groans, long and low, as he spills himself into you.
when he finally pulls back, you're trembling, your lips swollen, your face wet with tears and saliva. he strokes your cheek with his thumb, gentle now, almost tender.
"you did so well," he murmurs. "perfect little devotee."
and you know, as you kneel there, breathless and ruined, that you'll do anything to hear those words again.
don't isolate no matter how fucking broken you feel even if every attempt at connection proves futile do not stop reaching out to someone something somewhere please
Sometimes, fanfiction is carefully plotted out stories, with plot points and call backs and themes that all tie it up in a meaningful and exciting way.
And sometimes fanfiction is, ‘Watch me do a fucking KICK FLIP off this cool sentence!! Also here's some sex'
Both are beautiful forms of writing.
kill the part of you that cringes @karasimpno - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
dededos
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