Tumgik
ofallthingsnasty · 12 hours
Text
Look I will write it but urgh. NSFW abo nonsense below.
Alpha Soap who kidnaps beta reader to some abandoned warehouse because she's "in heat". She keeps crying that she's not an omega, he keeps saying he can smell her slick and growling at her to stop hiding. Makes her try to make a nest then makes condescending comments about how bad it is. Fucks her with no lube or prep because she's built for it so doesn't need any. Knots her through her screeching, coos at her he knows how good it must feel. Makes her try to purr. Doesn't matter that his bark doesn't work how it would on an omega because she's so terrified she'll follow his orders regardless. Sinks his teeth into her neck to add her to his pack.
For the best he says, she's so insatiable his little slut omega that he needs his pack or he'll never be able to fully satisfy her. Isn't she lucky his pack are willing to take on such a terrible brat of an omega? So kind of them to bring all sorts of plugs so even when a knot isn't in her, she's still kept nice and full of their cum. It'll settle her they say. That's what omegas need after all, they need to always be covered in their alphas scents, full of their cum and attentive to their every need. Sometimes they'll bring another omega in and fuck him through heat as a demonstration. But they'd hate for their cum to be wasted on an omega who isn't theirs, so she'd better crawl over and clean out his ass properly.
So she'll be a good little girl and stay chained in her nest in this warehouse while they train her to be a proper omega. If she'd just give in and stop fighting then they promise they'll take her home and they won't need to punish her so much. Doesn't that sound nice? They'd even give her a bath. I mean they'll need to make sure to rub their cum right back into her skin after, but after weeks in this warehouse doesn't a bath sound nice?
By the end of the month she is their perfect little omega. Begs for knots so nicely, always wants their clothes to put in the big soft nest they've set up for her at home, never wears underwear under their oversized shirts and is willing and eager to take them whenever they ask. Of course they're not setting her up to fail just so they can punish her again, but it's only nature that when she denies her omega instincts they need to get her back on track even when she pleads and says she didn't mean it. It's for her own good <3
53 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 18 hours
Text
I have come to the conclusion that I like pulling teeth very much and that it's very satisfying to do after getting socked with all the urgent cases. That way I don't have to send anyone away to get a root canal later. No. We eliminate the problem RIGHT NOW and everyone is happy...
Tumblr media
I ♥️ pulling teeth
4 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 1 day
Text
does gojo know he’s a commodity? not in the jokey, slack jawed way he plays it off as “of course i am, have you seen me?” but like in his bones do you think he knows that he’s nothing more than a pretty gem, touted as the difference between ruin or prosperity, to ward off evil? that he’ll be shown off, used, adored (at least in that fake way people love all before things) and most of all expected of. performing the way a commodity does, the stick of a sucker between his teeth, sugar coating his tongue and keeping his mind off of any creeping thought he can’t simply laugh off and wave away.
i think he doesn’t wanna know.
122 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 2 days
Text
haunting, haunted, haunts, part 2 (part 1 here)
cw: death, noncon/rape, dubcon, threats of violence, dismemberment mentions, murder, d/s dynamics if you squint (and not healthy ones either), unsatisfying sex, unedited
you can't hide in the garden shed forever. not if you want to keep a little sanctuary to run to when things get really bad. if you stay in there too long, they'll figure out where you are by process of elimination, and if they catch you there then it'll be the very first place they look next time. it's your best bet to use it sparingly, only in cases of real imminent threats.
you rush to hide upstairs in the house, dodging the sounds of soap calling for you, asking for your mouth, your hands, your pussy, your ass, whatever you'll give him, bonnie. he sounds more and more annoyed the longer you hide, ducking into closets or through walls to avoid him. eventually he gives up, and seems to content himself by finding ghost and pestering him with a 'c'moan, lt. cannae find the lass anywhere, help me find her, or give me a hand with this yerself'. you can almost hear the eyebrow waggle through the walls as ghost just sighs in return. the house gets quiet when they go outside to look for you together, and you're able to relax again for a bit, knowing your pursuers are looking in the entirely wrong place. finally you're free to explore at least the upper floors of the house in peace. you hadn't gotten to this part on the house tour, and, damn, this would have been a cool place to live if you hadn't fucking died. it's already furnished, the furniture modern and tasteful, with a few throw rugs, decorative pillows, and ornamental books scattered around for showing's sake. had you survived the stairs, you probably would have pushed mo and libby to pick this place.
you can see soap and ghost through the window, out in the yard. soap's hanging onto ghost's arm, batting his eyelashes at the bigger man with a flirty little smile on his face. ghost just pushes his palm to soap's face, shoving him to the ground. soap just laughs loudly as he lands on the grass, beaming up at ghost, kicking at his ankles playfully, and blowing him a kiss, flirting shamelessly. absolutely nothing about ghost's body language indicates that it's being reciprocated- stiff shoulders flex a bit as he looms over soap.
large hands suddenly snake around your waist, pulling your back flush against a broad chest, and you can tell by the red sleeves and the scratch of rough whiskers on your skin as he kisses your neck that it's the captain.
"captain, please-" you say as you try to wriggle out of his grip, hoping he'll be a gentleman and let you go, despite knowing better.
"don't mind me, sweetheart. you just keep doing what you're doing." he murmurs, making you gasp a little as he sucks at the juncture of your jaw and neck.
"all i'm doing is watching ghost and soap- oh my god!" you yelp as you watch ghost take a knee, unsheath his knife, and bury it hilt-deep into soap's skull, causing soap to go crosseyed, twitch, and then lie still on the ground. you feel the captain pause his kissing to look over your shoulder at the scene outside.
"oh, never you mind that, they've been at it for decades. soap tends to cling like a tick, and when ghost can't handle it anymore he ruins him for a few hours to get some peace and quiet." he says casually, as if he was remarking about the weather.
"ghost can do that? he- he can hurt us?" your voice shakes with fear as you recall his hand around your throat in the garden the other day.
"we can all hurt each other, sweetheart. he and i are the only ones equipped to do it efficiently." the captain says, and you hear the shk-shk of him raising and lowering his sword in it's scabbard, a reminder that he's armed, too. he chuckles as he feels you stand a little straighter in his arms as soon as you hear it.
"do you think ghost would- i mean, do you think i should be worried?"
"couldn't say. he's done gaz in a few times just because he was bored. none of it's permanent, if that helps. longest i've ever seen for soap to recover was a day." the captain mumbles against your neck, one hand kneading at your tit, the other digging his fingers into your soft stomach. all you can do is hold onto the windowsill and wait for it to stop as you watch ghost kick at soap's unmoving form on the ground, throw his head back, and laugh. it's a horrible sound, bone-chilling. you wonder if ghost was always like this, or if death made him this way.
"what's their deal? they said they killed each other?" you ask, hoping to distract the captain enough to stop molesting you for a moment.
"they did. i saw it all, the whole grisly affair." he continues kissing along your neck until you turn to look at him. he huffs a laugh and tugs at your waist. "make you a deal. you come to the couch and sit on my lap, and i'll tell you a story. how does that sound?"
you just nod, letting him escort you by the arm to the couch, beaming at you as settle onto his lap, his hands squeezing at your hips and thighs. he doesn't seem to be crushed under your weight, which would be a lot nicer if you didn't secretly want to knock the wind out of his sails by crushing him a bit. the captain seems to get lost in your softness for a moment, nuzzling at your soft shoulder, and you gently tap the back of your hand against his chest.
"captain. i was promised a story." you try your best not to sound whiny. you're not sure how successful you are. he just chuckles as he continues to paw at you, his hand sliding to your hip and digging his fingers in as he rocks his hips under you a little.
"right, right, of course. it was halloween night, 1986. this neighborhood wasn't as developed back then, fewer houses around, this one was just finishing construction at the time. had all the walls up, roof on, but not much else. most developed thing on the property was the garden shed, which the builders used to store things sometimes. ghost was hiding around back, watching groups of people walk down the street all evening. any time there was someone walking alone, he'd run up behind them, cover their mouths, and drag them off to take them apart in the back garden. fascinating thing, really, watching him work. he's got very impressive skills with a blade, like a butcher or a surgeon. watched him kill a handful of people that evening, chasing them down in the dark, quietly stabbing them to death and piling their parts inside the garden shed. got rather full by the time soap came 'round." the captain reaches over and squeezes your tits. "did i ever tell you that you're built quite like my elizabeth? good woman. proper woman. never would have sat in my lap so sweetly. haven't thought about her in a good long while..."
"captain- you were telling me about soap." you interject, trying to get him back on topic.
"too right, sweetheart. apologies, i was distracted. anyway, soap was walkin' down the street, drunk as a skunk, mind you, and ghost popped out from the shadows to grab him, just like all the others. now, our soap also used to be military. was discharged just the year before, so the boy knew how to fight. gave ghost a real run for his money. an impressive scrap, really, although ghost will never admit it. after maybe a solid ten minutes of fighting, soap lost steam and ghost took the opportunity to slash his throat open. soap went down, of course, and ghost thought he'd killed him, which is the only reason i suspect he dropped his knife on the boy's chest when he went to open the garden shed again. seemed surprised as hell when he turned back and soap buried the damn thing in his leg, talking about taking ghost to hell with him. simon bled out pretty fast after stumbling a ways. both of them died within minutes of one another, with the garden shed door still open."
"wait- then why does soap act like he's in love with ghost?"
"he is. took a long time for him to come 'round and stop trying to hop the fence, but eventually he did. his fans had a little seance for him just outside the gate, apparently someone said something about fated souls and the he got it in his head that he and ghost are soulmates, destined to spend eternity together." price shrugs as his hand slides inside your dress.
"wait- ah, shit- fans?" you gasp and price plays with your tits, squeezing just this side of too hard.
"used to be a musician. from what i hear, he wasn't tremendously famous during life, but apparently death made his music more popular. enough that people visit the house every halloween, anyways. stand outside the gate and talk about it. makes ghost bloody furious every year." price murmurs as he starts nuzzling behind your ear.
"can you blame me? all that killin' i did, and its that git that gets me remembered?" ghost grouses from behind the couch and you try to jolt out of price's lap, but he grabs you with strong arms and settles you back against his chest.
"is-is soap going to be ok? out there?" you ask nervously, eying ghost's knives.
"why? you give a shit?" ghost mocks.
"only because that i'm scared you'll do the same to me." you admit, and both the captain and ghost laugh.
"he'll be fine, love. like i said, a couple hours on the lawn and he'll be back to grousing about a headache and hanging off of simon again." price assures you, hands now sliding up your thighs and under your dress.
"you know, could've spared 'im that if you'd just let 'im find you earlier. would've been you 'e was botherin' instead of me. then 'e'd be gettin' 'is dick wet instead of twitchin' on the ground." ghost hisses at you as the captain's clumsy fingers reach your panties. it's overwhelming, being groped at by a clearly under-experienced victorian while being taunted by the literal ghost of a serial killer. you can't help but squirm a little.
"settle, sweetheart. i did what i said, now just let me- let me explore a little, eh? you've been so sweet, letting me play. just a bit more, all right?" price coos.
"you know what you're doin', price?" ghost asks, and for once it doesn't sound mean or cruel. the captain shoots him a look anyways, the tips of his ears turning red.
"i'm figuring it out." he grumbles, forcing his fingers inside of you, and it's so sudden and uncomfortable that you yelp and flinch. price does a good enough job holding you still with one arm wrapped halfway around your middle, but it's ghost, who snakes his hand around your throat, that convinces you to hold still.
"you know, captain, if you need instructin', i can 'elp. it'll just be between us, yeah? this one won't say nothin', will ya?" ghost flexes his hand over your throat and you shake your head. "see? i'll just talk you through it, and in no time you'll be good enough to 'ave our soft miss beggin' f'you. gotta start slow, middle finger first. thassit. now put your 'and flat like this-" ghost presses the captain's hand down flat against your body, encouraging him to use the heel of his hand to grind against your clit. you jerk and gasp, and both men chuckle in your ear.
"oh, you like that, sweetheart? feels good?" coos the captain, and it makes you feel a little ill at how sincerely he seems to be asking, like you're his lover and not, like, his prisoner or whatever this fucked up relationship is. you bite your lip and stay quiet, unwilling to admit that, yeah, unfortunately, it's really fucking doing something to you, having him finger you open under the guidance of the scariest person you've ever met. god, how fucked it that?
"give 'er another finger, ring one. ah, yeah, you feel that, captain? the way she arched 'er back? she likes it. give 'er tits a squeeze, know she liked when gaz played with 'em." ghost instructs, and you feel more vulnerable than you ever did in life. you're an open book to this monster, one he's reading to yet another monster, exposing you completely. the captain's free hand squeezes at your tits, and you can feel price panting against your neck, his cock hard under your ass.
"you like that, love? need me to keep going?" the captain purrs into your ear.
"please..." you find yourself rocking your hips, trying to meet his fingers as you rub your ass against his lap. you can feel how hard he is underneath you, and it's difficult not to notice that he feels big. there's a stinging slap to your face that pulls you immediately back to reality and out of the floaty headspace you'd been slowly sinking into.
"you call 'im sir when 'e's inside of you. you 'ear me? show the man the respect 'e's due." ghost growls in your ear. grabbing a fistful of your hair and shaking it, and you yelp in fear and pain.
"yes, yes sir, i'm sorry sir, i didn't know-" price just shushes you gently, the start contrast to his gruff, vicious counterpart. it feels like having a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, except they both want to ruin you.
"shh, shhh, it's all right, love. you didn't know, but you do now, don't you?" the captain asks, and when ghost releases your hair, you nod like your afterlife depends on it.
"yes, sir."
"smart thing, isn't she, captain?" ghost says over you. "you think she deserves a reward?"
"what did you have in mind, simon?"
"your cock in her cunt." ghost says bluntly, and the directness of it knocks both you and the captain a little breathless. ghost just laughs at you both, circling around to the front of the couch, staring down at you as he pulls you to your wobbling feet and off of the captain's lap. "couch or bed, captain?"
the captain is still catching his breath on the couch, obviously hard in his pants, as he looks you up and down like a hungry animal. "bed, i think."
"come along, then." ghost says to you as he tugs at your arm, dragging you across the hall to a bedroom. you glance down the hall to see gaz loitering at the other end, and pointedly ignore his wink. ghost shoves you inside, practically throwing you towards the bed. "get ready for 'im. hike your dress up and pop your tits out."
you comply with shaking hands as the captain eventually saunters into the room, tips of his ears still red and a concerned look on his face. he says something quietly to ghost, something you don't catch. the lines around ghost's eyes soften a bit as he puts a hand on the captain's shoulder.
"of course. don't you fret about that, you just get up there and show our girl 'er reward, yeah? look, she's all ready for ya." ghost encourages with a pat to the captain's shoulder. price looks at you, and the concerned look on his face slides away to pure lust, his feet seeming to automatically carry him over to you as he crawls onto the mattress, taking you in.
"think i want to give you three fingers first, just be patient, yeah? you'll get your reward soon enough. don't want to hurt you with it." he says, shoving his fingers inside of you again without ceremony, and it makes you flinch a little. he must misinterpret it as you feeling good, because he beams down at you as he works his fingers in and out.
"you know captain, if she ever puts up too much fuss i can stab 'er in the 'ead like soap. give you a few hours to play 'owever you like." ghost says, voice low and rumbling.
"i'm sure that won't be necessary, simon. you like being good, don't you sweetheart?" price says as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you, his palm grinding against your clit and leaving you almost entirely breathless. you hate how much it's working for you, this mix of fear and humiliation and pleasure all thrumming under your skin as you feel yourself start to go a little boneless on the mattress.
"yeah, yes, yes sir... fuck..." you babble as he bites his lip in concentration, spreading his fingers apart a little as an experiment.
"curl your fingers like this." ghost says, demonstrating in the air as he watches. you can tell when the captain does it because your eyes immediately roll back and your shoulders lift off the mattress slightly. you're breathless and seeing stars, and it's hard to remember your own fucking name anymore. "lookit 'er. absolutely barkin' for it. go on, you've been good long enough, captain. take what's yours."
the captain leans down and kisses you, giving you a few more thrusts of his fingers before pulling them out. he's a better kisser than you'd thought he would be, seeming to lose himself a little in the slide of his tongue against yours. his lips don't leave yours as he settles between your legs, his hands roaming every inch of you, wet fingers digging into your softness as he moans his appreciation into your mouth. he only breaks the kiss to sit up on his knees, unbuttoning his pants and jacket, and pulling his shirt open a little before he pulls his cock out, glancing up at your face nervously like he's waiting for you to say something rude.
"i... i understand why you wanted to give me three fingers now. sir." you tack on the honorific with a quick glance to ghost. "it's- you're very big, sir."
"you just keep bein' good f'your captain, and 'e won't 'urt you with it. 'e'll make it feel real nice, won't you?" ghost says from the bedside, his arms crossed as he watches you.
"i will." the captain whispers reverently to you as he drags his cockhead up and down your folds, a little smile growing as you gasp when he nudges your clit.
"you see that? that's the money right there. you play with that little thing and she'll be screamin' in no time. but first," ghost walks right up to the bed, one knee perched on the mattress as he leans in towards price, carefully avoiding touching him as he crowds into the captains space. "get yours, john. give that pretty pussy a proper fuckin'. you deserve it. go on."
price lines himself up and slowly pushes in, and, fuck. he's big, and the stretch is significant. there's a groan caught deep in his chest that rumbles the entire time he's rocking his hips forward, until he bottoms out completely with a grunt.
"bloody hell." he pants as he leans down, sliding his arms under your shoulders and putting his weight on his forearms, keeping you close as he pulls out a little and then thrusts back in with a groan. the pace is slow and a little erratic at first, but he seems to be enjoying himself as his hips twitch and he drops his head to your shoulder, his beard scratching your exposed skin.
he reminds you a little of the first boy you ever let take you to bed- just a little too pussydrunk to be any good. it's fine, as long as he doesn't get too rough you'll get through this easily enough. you close your eyes so you can think about that boy again, how good it felt to be enjoyed so thoroughly, even though it didn't necessarily get you off. it's easy to pretend for a minute, and it almost makes you nostalgic when he starts really chasing his orgasm, knocking the wind out of you as he fucks you hard. the bed shakes as he humps you like a desperate animal, keening and growling in your ear through loud panting, the side of his face plastered to yours, his beard scratching your cheek.
"elizabeth, i'm- i'm going to- fuck!" he grits out, going rigid as he cums with a drawn out groan. you just stare at the ceiling, avoiding ghost's gaze as you reconcile that it was never an attraction to you, just the fact that you make a decent proxy for his dead wife, that got you in captain price's bed. you can't tell if that makes it better or worse. at least before you could flatter yourself into feeling desirable, but knowing you're a stand-in for some other fat broad kind of stings in a way you didn't expect. you hate that you care about it. you can't look at him when he sits up a bit to look at your face, and you're glad for once that you can't burst into tears.
"oh, sweetheart, i'm so sorry." and to his credit, the captain sounds like he means it as he gently strokes his fingers along the side of your face, trying to encourage you to look at him. ghost looks absolutely murderous over his shoulder, and you can hear alarms going off in your head. danger, danger, fix this now before it's too late!
"no, i- i'm the one who's sorry, uh, sir. of course you miss her. of course you do. come here, i'm sorry." you say as you pull him into your arms, holding him close as you run a comforting hand up and down his back. ghost maintains a painful amount of eye contact with you, and it makes you babble even more, a desperate attempt to verbally bail the water out of a sinking canoe. "i don't have the right to be upset, sir. it's sweet that you miss her after all this time. romantic, really. you must have been a wonderful husband."
ghost nods to you once, seemingly pleased with your response, and turns on his heel to leave, stalking out of the bedroom without another word. you and price are alone, his forehead pressed to your collarbone, holding onto you just as tightly as you're holding onto him.
"tried to be. i loved her, but i- i don't think i was the kind of man elizabeth had envisioned marrying when she was a girl. she always said i was too, uh, passionate for her." you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at that. as someone who's been on the receiving end of his wandering hands, you're pretty sure she'd meant horny.
"you are very passionate, sir." you say honestly, and he must detect the small laugh in your voice, because his shoulders start to shake and you can feel the warm huffs of laughter on your skin.
"i suppose you would know. relax, sweet girl, i haven't forgotten you. i'll make sure you-" he reaches down between your legs, and you grab his wrist to stop him.
"please don't." you blurt out, feeling bold with ghost out of the room. the captain looks up at you, eyes narrowing. "i- i admit i'm still a little out of sorts, being called the wrong name. please, i know you could make me, but- just don't. not now."
he pauses a moment before resting his head against you again. "all right, fair enough. next time, though, i want to feel you cum on my cock."
the two of you hold each other in bed for what feels like an hour, until you both hear soap loudly grousing about how bad his head hurts from the garden. the captain just huffs out a laugh and pecks you on the cheek.
"alright, i've had my fun. you go play hide and seek with soap now, eh? that's a good girl."
you're off like a rocket, using the sound of soap's loud bitching to play your game of reverse marco-polo. you just barely missed soap entering a room you exited when you see gaz jerk his head towards the basement door. you nod your head in silent thanks, phasing through the door and throwing yourself into the dark. you're only two steps into the cellar when you feel yourself get shoved up against the wall, a knife pressed flat against the side of your face. it's hard to see in the dark, but what looks like a white skull hangs in the darkness, looming down on you.
"you listen up: price is a victorian geezer, yeah? far as i can tell, wife was a frigid thing, and 'e 'ardly got the opportunity to get 'is cock wet. kept 'im at arms length at all times. man 'ardly knows what to do with a pretty girl now 'e's got one. you're gonna 'elp 'im figure it out. got a lot of lost time to make up for, don't 'e? so i'll make you a deal- you just keep bein' good for the captain and i won't fuck you up with a knife to the skull f'givin' soap a 'ard time. kick the little bleeder in the bollocks for all i care. but you let price 'ave whatever 'e wants, whenever 'e wants. and no more fussin' about what 'e calls you when 'e fucks you. you 'ear me?" ghost hisses, knife pressed to your temple.
"i do, yeah, loud and clear. zero questions." wild that you can feel your heart racing despite not having one anymore.
"good girl. off you pop. and if the old man calls, you come running, yeah?" ghost asks rhetorically, eyes smiling behind his mask.
"yeah. of course." you say as you fight panic, scurrying away the second he removes the blade from your face and yelping as he swats your ass, heading straight to the garden shed to catch your breath and despair over your afterlife for the rest of the night.
108 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 2 days
Text
I dragged that tooth out today like it owed me money but I was sweating the whole time. My hardest extraction yet and I couldn't have done it without Youtube videos... It was so ankylosed into the bone because of the root canal treatment it got years ago, so I had to break off the crown and section the roots with a bur until I was able to slowly extract all three one by one. But I had to cut a trough in first on each for my lever. Agh. Got my workout in for sure
Tumblr media
5 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
When you first introduce him, Simon instantly knows that he hates your now ex-boyfriend—especially after he broke up with you only two months into the relationship, and the reason behind it sets his teeth on edge.
You’re perfect and so sweet; how could he—
“He broke up with me because…I um…Do I really have to say it? It’s embarrassing.” 
He bumps his knee into yours because he really fucking sucks at saying the right thing when the moment calls for it. “You don’t have to say anything.”
With a huff, you get a little flustered and glance down into your glass of beer, brows furrowed. “I couldn’t make him fit.” 
It’s so soft, but he hears it as if you’d shouted it across the bar.
The only thought he can think of is that your ex-boyfriend is an idiot once he has your back pressed up against his chest and trembling thighs spread over top of his. Three of his thick fingers already work deep inside of you, filling the room with filthy squelching sounds and your breathy moans.
His thumb carefully drags over your clit, loving how you twitch in his arms. “See? Someone just needed to stretch your little pussy properly, huh?”
“Mhm.” You nod, pressing yourself further into him, thighs butterflying open. “It feels so good.”
“You’re so loose and wet. I bet my cock would slip right in.”
Your walls clench and flutter around him, and it takes everything in him not to toss you onto the bed and fuck you into his sheets. “Simon, can you fuck me? Please?” 
It’s hard to deny you when you ask so sweetly, but he can’t give you what you want—not yet. You whine when he pulls one of his fingers out, but it cuts off into a surprised squeak when he grabs your smaller hand to bring it between your thighs. 
“Put one of your fingers inside your pussy.”
You turn your head to look up at him, kiss-bitten lips pulled into a pout. “But—”
“Come on, love, be good for me.” Teeth nip your jaw as a warning. “I know you can be so good for me.”
Slowly, you ease your finger in beside his with little pants of his name. His cock jumps against your back as he watches your cunt open up to suck in the intrusion—it makes his stomach twist. Simon traps your finger between his and curls them alongside his inside you, tearing a sharp cry from your chest.
“You’re so gorgeous.” His words are raw, rumbling somewhere deep within his chest. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. So full. Better than your boyfriend ever could.”
Tumblr media
Masterlist
6K notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 3 days
Text
siphon, part two
john price x f!reader part one | two | three | four ~2.1k words cw: noncon, spanking, kidnapping, implied stalking
Everything hurts when you stir. Your neck's bent at an angle with your head shoved in the corner of the crate, and your right cheek is slightly swollen. Your knees press toward your chest with your arms looped around them in a cocoon. You tighten in on yourself before stretching with a groan – only for your feet to immediately hit the cage's wall and your wrists to stick together. Your eyes snap open, and a panicked noise tumbles out.
Padded cuffs connected with a short chain bind your wrists together, and you face the rear of the kennel, which has been shortened to less than half its previous length using a grated insert. The empty space on the other side taunts you. 
After a frustrated thrash, which does nothing but smack your head, you take deep breaths to mitigate the utter terror threatening to send you into a tailspin. Then, you carefully shift, experimenting with your limited mobility, turning to face the door. Very quickly, you realize there's only enough room to remain curled in a ball. Your joints and muscles are fucked.
To make things worse, the dispenser's water supply is also halved, and you can't reach it without contorting painfully. Burning, angry tears threaten to spill over. You do not regret biting John, not with what he tried to do, but what next? Would he still feed you? Let you use the bathroom?
How long you tremble in the dark, you don't know, but John does return.
His thumping footsteps announce him. He unlocks the room's door and flips on the light. His mouth is a grim line, his countenance radiating disappointment. Beneath his arm, he carries a metal folding chair. Your blood runs cold.
John shuts the door, unfolds the chair in the center of the room, and unlocks the cage. He pops it open, then sits and runs his palms over his legs, flashing a bandage wound tight around your bite mark. 
He simply sits. Stares.
You don't stretch your legs out the door, afraid of what will happen if you put even a toe outside the box.
Maybe ten minutes pass before he sighs and closes the door. He folds the chair, leans it against the wall, and leaves you alone in the dark once more.
He doesn't feed you until the next day. When you ask to use the bathroom, he makes you crawl on your bruised knees and cramped legs. It's mortifying how you relish the trip to and from the toilet, but it's at least exercise.
Judging by the feeding schedule, it's another three days before he repeats the chair thing.
You muster the nerve to speak a few minutes into the new ritual.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Come take your punishment."
Punishment. The smaller space, the withheld water, the crawling — none of it was punishment? All you had to do was ask?
"Sooner you take it, sooner you can sleep on a bed."
Your eyes flit back to him so fast that he chuckles and pats a knee. A bed. His bed, no doubt. Dread licks up your spine with the implication. But…a bed means another room. More territory to scope out escape routes. However, the bite incident makes you wary about getting close to him again.
"What if I don't take the punishment?"
John huffs, seemingly amused by the question. "You will. Whether you take it today, next week, next month…It's your ticket out."
You are really, really loath to let him touch you. To allow him to make you do things. But if you remain in confinement, your muscles and nerves will fray further, and if you get a chance to escape, you'll need your strength. 
I can't believe I'm doing this.
Swallowing hard, you begin to awkwardly extract yourself from the crate. You clumsily roll to your knees, pure pins and needles, and duck through the opening.
"That's it, sweetheart. C'mere."
You wince the whole way, the chain between the cuffs tinkling quietly as you hold your wrists out in front. You're uncertain if you can stand or walk unsupported. From the crick in your neck to the spasms deep within your thighs, all signs suggest trying to do so will result in failure.
The exertion leaves you panting by the time you reach John. You scarcely meet his eye before he hauls you up, the entirety of your musculature erupting in agony as he bends you over his lap. It knocks the wind out of you. A broad arm stretches over your back, and a hand grips the waistband of your pants. 
"Sorry it had to be this way, darling."
With alarming speed, John yanks your jeans down, closed button and waistband catching skin, taking your underwear with them. Your shriek is reflexive, as is your thrashing, and fingers thread through your hair, finding all the sore spots, tightening until you still. Your limbs ache, draped over his lap like this, yet it's simultaneously the softest surface you've felt for days.
"I hate doing this to you, sweetheart, but I can't let your poor behavior slide."
Your face burns with indignation and hate. This is a clear escalation. You know that until you make a break for it, things will get worse before they get better.
You flinch as he runs his rough fingertips along the sensitive skin of your upper thighs before giving each cheek an appraising slap. He hums and smooths his hand over the globes of your ass as it jiggles slightly. The tension sits thick as he fondles the flesh.
"We'll start with twenty."
Start?
The first two hit harder than the smack he gave your face. You lurch in place under his arm and an inhuman screech tears out of you. The next few follow in rapid succession, with barely enough time for your addled brain to process a thing, still stuck on start. He changes the pace, the blows continuing erratically, making it impossible to anticipate the next one. He stretches the twenty out, pinching and pulling meanly between strikes. All the while, you babble incoherently through tears, choking on whatever nonsense the torment coaxes out of you.
While the pain hogs the stage, revulsion sits front row. Unbidden arousal blooms at the apex of your thighs and slowly dribbles down your skin. In the haze, you try to rationalize it, come to your own defense. You never liked it rough. Never dealt with pain well and never liked it. You are certain you still don't, and yet-
"Good fuckin' girl, did so well for me."
The spanking stops. 
"Should've done this earlier. A bit of discipline, and you're all soft."
You don't respond. The tears slow, but your body quakes. John pets you, whispering his affections as his knuckles skim carefully down your spine and over the raw skin, gentling you like an animal or something equally pitiable. Despite the sheer fucking nightmarish circumstances, you find yourself starting to oddly float. Held securely by his arm on his lap, your entire body gradually slackens. You push away the lingering burn of the punishment, imagining sealing it in a jar and setting it on a shelf. Without thinking, you shift in search of comfort, pressing your thighs together. It is a mistake. He inhales sharply.
"Hmm?" He feigns incredulity and immediately slips his fingers down the cleft of your ass and parts your thighs. He was waiting for that.
Fuck.
"Oh, sweetheart," John purrs, relishing the state of your pussy. He withdraws his hand to adjust your position on his lap, forcing you to hold onto his leg and the chair when he raises your ass further into the air. He maintains his grip over your middle and his hand returns to your folds. He plays with the mess you've made of yourself, fingers audibly gliding through the slick.
You involuntarily jerk and twitch, struggling to bite back the moans his touch elicits. Your mind distances itself from humiliation and fear. Whatever shame remains wears down quickly under his ministrations, and in its stead is searing need. This isn't about what's happening. It's–It's about getting out of here.
John slides his thumb through your wetness, its tip teasingly circling around your hole but never quite dipping in. The movement is tortuously slow, stoking the heat right along. 
"Ask for it," He commands softly but firmly. "All you have to do is ask."
You tremble as he taunts you. The desire pooling between your legs makes it difficult to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak, but you know what he wants. Your voice wavers. "Please…Please make me come."
Without hesitation, his thumb sinks in with a squelch, and he sets a surprisingly steady rhythm, given the fervor of his spanking. He alternates between shallow thrusts and deeper strokes as far as it will go. His thumb massages the sensitive front wall, making your breath hitch. It isn't until his other hand slaps your ass again do you realize he's released you. You balance on his thighs, and part of you thinks to scramble off, but another smack makes you clench around his thumb with a moan, vaporizing the idea.
John groans in response.
"There it is," He growls.
He retracts his thumb, replacing it with two fingers, and picks up the pace. The digits bully the wet heat of your walls, and a finger taps at the furl of your ass, making you whimper. It doesn't press in, and you hate the way the simple threat of it makes you squeeze his fingers tighter. He murmurs a shower of praises — so good, keep making those sounds, what a pretty fuckin' picture — uttered just for you.
Your control over your mouth falters, the last of your resistance dissolving into gasps and whines as heat coils tightly within your belly. You feel the dam breaking as his fingers work, drawing out a traitorous pleasure that makes a mockery of all the fight you had put up so far. You'd taken blood, hair, and skin from this man — but he was taking something far more precious from you.
"You're close, can feel it," He rasps wickedly, fingers pumping relentlessly.
You are. You are close. On the precipice, at Hell's overlook, desperately trying to ignore how you got there and the monster who led the way. Everything contracts. Every emotion you've carried for the past week floods back into your head, tightening, building that exquisite and horrifying pressure. The only mercy is that when you blink, almost delirious, you see the floor and not his smug, evil face.
Then, before you careen over the cliff, everything stops. John pulls his fingers out with a chuckle, and you choke on a sob. Despair rips through your body, throwing open doors in search of release when pleas and questions brokenly rush out of your mouth. No, no, no, no – It claws after your rapidly dissipating orgasm, running away without you.
A wet sucking noise behind and above you reels you back to reality, and a hum smothers the last embers of your ruined orgasm.
John tuts. "You didn't think a few slaps were the punishment, did you? No, sweetheart."
He starts to rise, taking you with him. Your body occupies a strange, uncomfortable space, cramped and sore from confinement, loose and limber from nearly coming. Needless to say, you don't fight him when he manhandles you onto the chair. You yelp when your raw ass hits the seat. Though warmed by John's body, it's cool enough to draw out the sting.
You lean back, chest heaving, eyes readjusting and locking onto his smiling face. At this angle, somewhat backlit, he looks appropriately sinister. For a few minutes, you simply look at each other. You pointedly avoid the bulge in his pants. Then he bends, cupping a hand to your jaw, clearly intent on kissing you. You wrench your face to the side at the last minute, and he chuckles against your temple, then noses the fading bruise he left the other night. 
"We'll work up to kissing, then."
His brain needs to be studied. Every time you think you understand his motivations or reasoning, he breaks the pattern. Work up to kissing.
"I'll take you to the bath, then we'll have lunch. Sounds nice?"
He pats your bruised cheek without waiting for an answer and directs you to the floor again. You weep the whole way to the bathroom and again when he settles you into the bath.
The soap smells like jasmine, and the shampoo like lavender. Small comforts.
Comforts he obliterates by dipping a hand into the water, snaking it between your legs, and opening his mouth.
"Say 'thank you'."
"Thank you."
283 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 3 days
Text
i am watching some videos on tooth extractions to prepare for a tricky one tomorrow and this pic some dentist put together sent me
Tumblr media
why is that thang wearing shoes dhjfhdj he didn't even mention it in the video ... 😭
4 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 3 days
Text
corrupted priest!crocodile who takes an interest in you the moment you walk through the cathedral doors, a saintly vision of purity that has his cock twitching in interest already.
the innocent, doe look in your eye was almost too good to be true. he’s never met someone so shy, so willing for guidance.
it was almost too easy to get you to kneel before him. after a few sessions in the confessional booth, he summons you to his office in hopes of helping you with addressing the urges you had been telling him about.
how you cling to sheets at night, writhing in pain as you yearn for pleasure — the pleasure of a man who isn’t your god. the one that would be close enough though, who will guide you in his name.
at least that’s how crocodile spins in, his deep, authoritative voice telling you that it’s okay to engage in these acts with him because he’s a disciple of god and of course that makes him trustworthy.
it’s how you find yourself on your knees, mouth full of his cock as he repeats bible verses to you, slowly pushing your head down further after he finishes each one.
even though your drooling all over him, gagging with each inch he shoves down your throat, it’s all in the name of god — you must repent for those vile thoughts you confessed to him only moments ago.
and when he cums, your mouth hanging open for him, tongue lolling out as your whispered prayers roll off of it, he baptizes you in a flood of his cum, washing over so you can begin again. as his.
amen.
271 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 4 days
Photo
Tumblr media
480 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 4 days
Note
Hey Nasty, I don’t know how you feel about corrupt priests and sacrilege so don’t open this drabble if you’re uncomfy, but wanted to share it anyways cause I came across it and thought of you :3c
https://www.tumblr.com/tetzoro/743973016501878784/corrupted-priestcrocodile-who-takes-an-interest
!! That's so sweet, thank you for thinking of me! I'm not uncomfy with it - but I grew up non-religious, so I think I just don't get the appeal of those topics (not to mention the weight!) Christianity is that strange thing that permeated my childhood without me ever really engaging with it, it's hard to describe. Kinda feels like watching an ant farm as a kid, I'm just on the other side of the glass lol
But the thought of Crocodile in a position of power and taking advantage of that... Woof... 🥵
Link for anyone curious!!
0 notes
ofallthingsnasty · 4 days
Text
Forced pregnancy is extremely horrifying in yandere/dark settings, but something about your captor being childfree can be creepy, too. A baby might be able to take some attention from you, might soften them up a little (because don't they love you? Don't they want to play house with you?), might give you something to live for, something to fight for.
But a childfree captor? Imagine being taken and slowly realizing that you'll have to play pretend with a horrendous freak for decades. The only eyes you'll ever see again, the only touch you'll feel, the only skin you'll smell. You'll know them and only them, everyone else is a plastic figurine on the TV screen, on paper, in the window, in their words when they tell you about their day. They are your god now, the center of your life.
Just you and me now, sweetheart.
34 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 5 days
Text
siphon, part one
john price x f!reader part one | two | three ~2k words cw: kidnapping, implied stalking, alcohol, vomit, attempted sexual assault/noncon, violence
"I'll give you time to reflect on your poor behavior."
John closes the padlock with a rueful smile. He crouches in front of where you sob in the corner, babbling a mixture of pleas for forgiveness and release. He flicks the water dispenser, checking the siphon's slow drip and humming with pleasure when a fat droplet pools at the end of the nozzle. At the door, he sighs and glances back, then shuts and bolts it behind himself, leaving you alone in the wire dog kennel.
You cry a while longer, unsure of the exact time. When you came to hours ago, you first saw an orange and pink sunset framed by white birch and sugar maple. Too pretty a view to appreciate, bound and gagged, tossed over the shoulder of a strange man. You squirmed and protested, earning a pat on your backside and a verbal warning. You soon learned John didn't give many of those out.
It's fucking humiliating, drinking water from a device meant for an animal in a cage meant for an animal. You lay on your side, unable to fully extend your legs, grappling with both rage and despair. The cheap plastic tray-like bottom of the kennel is cold and hard, with no other way to cushion your head than your arm, which eventually goes numb. You toss and turn. Sleep is a stupid idea. John could return any minute. You stay awake thinking of what specific 'poor behavior' was the last straw since he refused to tell you.
It had to be dinner. Your 'welcome home' dinner.
He left you trussed up on the corner of a sofa while he cooked. Whistled a happy-go-lucky tune the entire time, ignoring your whimpering. Terrified, you watched the lumberjack of a man flit about the rustic kitchen as if it were routine to have a hostage in his living room. He wiped your eyes with a dish towel, set you on a chair at a table set for two, and popped a bottle of champagne. His blue eyes were sharp and unrelenting in their focus as he rattled off a toast. The rope around your hands and ankles didn't come off until he cut the sirloin on your plate and put the knife away. You ate at his insistence, staring at the meat, tasting only ash.
When the champagne ran out, he produced a bottle of red wine. He played waiter, standing at the side of your chair, setting a long-stemmed glass beside your plate. Made a few quips about the tasting notes. You sucked in a breath at the familiar damask print label, eyes darting up to see the sheer, unmasked delight on his face.
"Your favorite," He said. "Anything for my sweetheart."
It was a good bottle. Local. You only ever found it at one place, the 'fancy' liquor store a block down from your apartment. The steak churned in your gut, forcing you to lurch to the side to spill the contents of your stomach on the floor. John set the wine down with a thunk, cooing and rubbing your back, murmuring little nothings meant to comfort you.
He gave you sips of water, dabbed your mouth with a napkin, and cleaned the floor, all with the stoic focus of a monk. Quiet, precise, and efficient. He cleared the table, then escorted you to the washroom, where he let you brush your teeth. You thought he'd take you back to the kitchen, but when he led you with a hand on the back of your neck to a bedroom, fear seized you anew. You dug your heels in, fingers curling weakly around the door frame, eyes bulging out of their sockets.
Right. You remember now. You fought literally tooth and nail to get away from John, leaving angry scratches over his thick arms and indentations of your teeth on his fingers. You'd blacked out somewhere between the bedroom and the crate. That was the 'poor behavior'.
You glance at your nails in the dark. You can't see them well, but blood, hair, and pieces of skin are beneath them. Maybe if he kills you, it will be how they identify him. That thought is the only comfort you've had all day.
~~
Heavy footsteps and whistling wake you, your body instinctively pulling itself to the rear of the kennel. Rubbing your eyes, you stare at the crack under the door. The locks disengage, the knob turns, and John fills the frame. He stands at the threshold and scans the room before sauntering in, giving the cage a wide berth. He stares at you, and you stare at the items he carries: a thermos and a tin.
He abruptly steps closer, startling you, then crouches. He pulls back the lid of the can, and instantly you smell brine. It's tuna. He pushes it carefully through a gap in the thin bars, then checks the water level, refilling a few ounces with the thermos – all with the fastidiousness you witnessed at dinner but with an unexpected detachment. There is no trace of the excitement he showed with the wine bottle.
You don't eat the fish. Your stomach and throat still burn from puking. If it upsets him, he doesn't show it. He merely pulls the tin back through the cage when it's clear you're not in the mood. However, you have another pressing need, one you thought he'd address without asking, but he rises to leave, forcing you to speak. It's worth a shot.
"Can I use the bathroom?"
He stops, casting a sidelong look. Waiting.
"Please?"
John's grip is a vice around your arm, delivering you to the washroom without delay. Your face heats when he remains in the doorway, hands clasped at his front. Waiting again.
It's not enough that he's kidnapped you and made you sleep in a crate. No, you must suffer the indignity of pissing in front of this psycho, too. 
You maintain eye contact out of some shred of tired defiance you have left. Exhaustion, fear, and nausea drained you of most of your fight, at least for the moment. You finish and then wash your hands, but he hauls you back to the kennel before you can dry them. He locks you in and leaves—all without a word.
By the time he returns with 'dinner' - more tuna - you have an appetite. He watches you pluck the flesh from the tin. It isn't until his breathing grows heavy that you realize he's hard, transfixed by the way your fingers touch your mouth. You shove the half-eaten fish back through the cage, horrified. His blank expression doesn't change. He collects the can and leaves once more.
The entire revolting cycle repeats on the second day. He still doesn't speak.
On day three, a sick wave of desperation gradually ebbs through you. You need him to talk—to say anything. You need to talk. It's not as if you're overly social, but you at least...email. Chat. Speak to cashiers and baristas. Sometimes, your neighbor. Fuck, you hope someone notices your absence. Your landlord will at the end of the month when the rent check fails to arrive, but that's weeks away.
Three days in, and you're lonely. Disgusting.
Self-loathing doesn't stop you.
"Is it because I scratched you? The kennel?"
Genuine surprise flashes across John's face before it returns to a state of control. His eyes crinkle with a soft smile. "No, sweetheart," He says simply, then screws the cap back onto the thermos.
"Then why?"
John doesn't respond until he stands to leave. He looms over the crate, any trace of warmth in his expression gone.
"You didn't say 'thank you'."
~~
Dinner is different. 
First, John opens the kennel door. Second, a small plate of crackers accompanies the tuna. He remains standing, expressionless and mute. It takes less than a minute for you to crawl forward, right to the mouth of the cage, and sit cross-legged.
You eat everything. If he's feeding you, he wants you alive. As long as you're alive, there is opportunity for escape. You swallow the last bite of crackers, and he produces a tiny foil-wrapped chocolate. Your mouth waters. After three days of bland tuna, you would eat a clod of dirt if it looked appetizing enough.
His palm closes around it when you reach up, though, and his head tilts expectantly. Waiting.
"...Thank you."
The magic words. The expression conjures life back into his eyes. John smiles, unwraps the chocolate, and crooks a finger to beckon you closer. Finally, he speaks. "Come here."
You momentarily shelve the repugnance clawing at your ribs and edge closer. If entertaining this takes you out of the kennel and the room, you will do it. The chances to escape are higher elsewhere, so you tell yourself.
Your knees creak, but you sit on your haunches outside the kennel. The wooden floor is marginally cushier than the plastic.
"If I let you have this, will you behave? Mind your manners?"
You go the extra step, hoping to garner his trust, rather, his belief in you. "Yes, John."
It works. He grins and offers the morsel again. "Lovely. Here."
The bitterness of dark chocolate has never tasted better. You nearly moan, eyes fluttering shut, but suppress it. You can't erase the image of John palming himself through his jeans on the first day.
As if you plant the idea in his mind, the sound of his belt buckle unfastening cuts through the silence. Your eyes snap open to see him leer with undisguised want. He whips his belt out of its loops and toys with the leather. You fall backward, catching yourself on your palms, and scoot back to the cage.
"C'mon now, you agreed to behave."
"John, please…"
For a big man, he moves fast. He grabs your hair by the crown before you can evade and yanks.
He nearly rips a chunk out with his aggression. Panicking, you yield a little, grunting when your nose connects with the solid muscle of a thigh. Your hands smack into his legs blindly, fingers clutching denim, then push back. He tightens his grip on your head and forces you to the ground. Cheek meeting wood, you claw at the floor, shrieking as a knee presses between your shoulder blades.
"Please—don't do this!" 
Your begging turns shrill as he captures your wrists, ensnaring them in his belt at the small of your back. The ease with which he does it suggests he's done this shit before. He's practiced. The weight lifts, and he hoists you to your knees by the makeshift restraints. Sparks of pain burst behind your eyes as you try to hobble away, hearing the rustling of clothing.
"No you don't."
John pulls you back, bringing you to eye level with his erection. It strains against his boxers, and he pushes your nose into a damp spot when you resist. The proximity and faint musk make your face scrunch.
The grip in your hair returns. You try to twist your head away as he grabs at your jaw with his other hand. It's clumsy, his pointer finger and thumb slotting over your mouth instead. On impulse, you bite. Your teeth sink into the webbing, hard enough that he shouts and tries to yank back, but you clamp down.
He frees your hair to latch his hand onto your jaw again and squeezes until you're forced to relinquish the appendage, but blood and skin come away with your teeth. You barely catch sight of the damage when he backhands you.
You collide with the floor, a sharp, bright point of pain flaring at your cheek. He quickly follows, kneeling to pinch your nose and clamping his palm over your mouth. You twitch, struggling to resist.
John breathes heavily and clicks his tongue. "You're lively today," He chastises and praises all at once.
The last thing you hear is a tired chuckle before the world goes dark.
230 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 5 days
Text
I just booked myself a little city trip for my upcoming week off, just before my birthday and it gave me THE thought for a little birthday event 🫣 my goodness... What if you decided to celebrate on your own... Got a little drunk in a another city and a stranger took advantage of that... Would be a shame, no?
7 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 5 days
Text
Imagine noticing that Sanji gets a not-so-subtle boner whenever he watches you eat (which is... an awful lot) and confronting him about it.
And he flails ands wails and says that it's not the fact that you're eating that makes him pitch a tent, but the fact that his food makes you happy (and that he's absolutely not one of those feeder guys, he swears, while on his knees, trying to convince you).
Worse yet - he isn't even lying. You wouldn't know but he's actually just getting a little happiness erection every time you enjoy the fruits of his labor (= his love), the fucking freak. He's head over heels over the fact that something that came from his hands made you smile like you've been kissed by the sun herself.
12 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 5 days
Note
You're back Nasty!💖I did not realize how spoiled we where with your frequent posts until you got a new job lmaooo😭( Congrats by the way! wish you the absolute best 🎉🎉)
Tumblr media
💕💕 Aaaah you're the second person to tell me that!! I also didn't realize just HOW much I just posted my silly little brain farts on here, haha. I feel like I've said this a million times already but the hours of my new job are fucking stellar, I just need to get more experience in. The shifts as is are perfect for keeping up with writing and they are one of the reasons I love the office a lot. I want to try and be more conscious about my free time and next week, I'll try! I need to learn how to balance work, chores, hobbies, life! And I will. I'm only three weeks in so there is still hope 😆
(And thank you so much!! I'll definitely need it, everything is new and exciting)
2 notes · View notes
ofallthingsnasty · 5 days
Note
We miss you nasty :(
Tumblr media
I miss you too!!! I have sooo many ideas but I am just so busy... I want to try doing a couple of sprints every day this week because I have a new Sanji/fat girl idea AND I have a huge burst of inspo for one of my OC/Reader fics that I really, really want to use before I drop that wip again.
Life is really good right now, I just need to find a new routine and that might take a little while, unfortunately 😭💕 But I'll be back, my daily train commute plagues me with daydreams for fics...
2 notes · View notes