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“ In. Out. In. Out.
Tommy focused on the heavy movement of his chest, the ragged intake of breath and its release, in the hopes it’d somewhat distract him from the pain that shot up the sides of his cheeks. He kept his breaths as small as possible, not wanting to rip out the stitching that barely held his face together. The thread was made for sewing up clothes, not wounds, and whenever he twitched and moved slightly, it rubbed the insides of his cheeks raw.”
Dream goes a little too far in exile. Also, conversations about the arcane mystery known as Gender.
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what the fuck /pos