#cw: drugging

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - The Sacrifice

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Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Perhaps the most frightening part for Kris is the realization that whatever is happening, has happened before.

And yay, this comic's all done! A full setup for just how Kris ended up in the Dark World!

#lynx art #Eldritchrune #deltarune au #cw: cults #cw: drugging #cw: paralysis #cw: human sacrifice #kris #toriel #asgore #...and sorry I'm not naming everyone else #guess who is who it'll be fun! #not fun for Kris though

[etdanger]

AHHHH omg pls tell me u see the vision with corrupt cop mingyu and neighbor nice girl who’s super sweet !! she’s innocent but not stupid and mingyu likes that but she just pays him no mind

CW: NONCON, DRUGGING AND SOMNOPHILIA.

first, this 98% background story and 2% smut, literally, more of mingyu just being fucking sick in the head than anything but i really liked writing this so, and second, kinda fuck the police i guess-

the hot, older, seemingly normal cop next door that gets interested in you since the day he knocked on your door to introduce himself and offer you his number because “you’re so young… and alone too, it can be dangerous around here” clearly flirting and you simply nodded, gave him the biggest smile, a “thank you” and closed the door on his face.

you’re so sweet and nice and clearly such a good girl, so pretty too, he does everything to try and get your attention and yet nothing but smiles and few conversations from you. but he knows you’re not stupid and thinks you’re playing hard to get, convinces himself you looked at him differently once, and that just drive drives him further into his obsession with you and that’s where his not so normal side comes out.

listen, i don’t think he will ever admit out loud that he’s stalking you but that definitely what he does. he is a cop and that comes with certain benefits, he’s just using those to get closer to you. totally the type to find out where you work and ask his superiors to have his route reallocated to the area so he can spend all his day looking out for you. discovers your favorite cafe close by and starts casually ordering there too, acting all surprised when he hears your voice calling him, starts offering to take you to places and is quickly to brush it off when you say you can’t disturb his job, claiming it’s a “slow day, nothing really happening”.

you get what i’m saying here? he’s the type to use his job as a way to slowly insert himself into your life, your personal space, and it totally escalates to more extreme things. i can see him starting to find ways to scary you, to make you need him and his help, sending you creepy texts from random numbers through the day, pictures of yourself, even finding ways to break into your house in the middle of the night, making noises to wake you up or leaving things for you to find. his chest gets filled with such a sick satisfaction when you finally call him one night in tears and whispering, asking for help because there’s someone in your house and of course he is there in a minute, gun in hand and everything. so nice he is, taking your shaking body in his arms and reassuring you you’re safe, he won’t let anything happen to you. and of course, of course he asks you if you want to sleep in his house that night, or how many nights you want obviously, if that would make you feel safe, kissing your forehead so gently when you look up with teary eyes and nods.

he wraps you in a blanket, makes you tea, insists you take his bed, he won’t mind sleeping in the couch. listens carefully to everything you have to say about the things that are happening and wipes your tears when you cry, reads the texts you received as if he wasn’t the one who wrote every single one, looks at the pictures… promising he will make everything on his reach to find out whoever this person is, you can trust him.

and honestly i don’t care that this is too cliche or whatever, he would put something on your tea. like, i think that at this point he would be so desperate to have you, he doesn’t care anymore, just the sound of you crying and saying you needed his help, feeling your shaky form against his body, all of that was enough to make him hard, to think he wouldn’t try to touch you would be nonsense. so yes, he does puts something on your tea, enough to not have you opening your pretty eyes for hours, and stands for a few moments at the bedroom door watching you sleep, loving smile on his lips seeing you so relaxed in his bed, cuddling one of his pillows.

walks closer, as if you could wake at any giving moment, and sits by your side, brushing hair out of your face, leaning down to kiss your cheek and corner of your lips, breathing into your smell… he’s such a creep, for christ’s sake. runs a hand up and down your arm while the other palms his cock through his sweatpants, quick to pull your top up to get a good view of your tits, not holding back on grabbing one, yes, he should be careful, not leave marks, but he waited for so long for this, jerked off under the shower so many times thinking about you… speaking of jerking off, starts pumping himself by instinct, too lost on feeling your body. would try to resist but end up parting your legs and licking his fingers to toy with your pussy, groaning a bit too loud upon feeling your little clit and how tight you are, not properly wet, barely taking the tip of his index finger— but it’s okay, he will have time to make you wet for him in the future and fuck you nicely. spills all over his hand between groans and whispering things such as “you’re going to be mine, uhm? you’re meant to be” and “going to make you my pretty little wife, come home every day to you waiting for me here”

sigh… totally normal man who just wants a little wife.

#asks #seventeen smut #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu smut #cw: noncon #cw: drugging #cw: somnophilia

[venusandsaturnsrings]

boothill is many things. a gunslinging outlaw, a ninety percent metal man, someone who’s attitude definitely reflects in his appearance, but most importantly; a nuisance. a thorn in your side. an ear grating bother. he knows this and he takes advantage of it, especially when your hands are tied up with plenty other business. unfortunately, things took a more literal sense.

you had been sipping a glass of something at a table in a small saloon, celebrating a coworkers birthday who you couldn’t even remember the name of but it was an excuse to get out and, besides, they said they’d pay for the first round of drinks so who were you to decline? people had been dancing in front of you and perhaps your chosen activity of observing had gotten too meticulous as you hadn’t noticed the slinking shadow drift past, nimble fingers dropping a pill of god knows what into your drink. the sweet and citrus flavour of the cocktail masking whatever taste could’ve been left as you continued drinking with your head in your hand. as you got to the bottom of the glass, your eyelids felt heavy and thus did you take the cue to get going home. after bidding a couple farewells and good wishes to the birthday person who’s face was a blur, you stepped out into the cold breeze feeling sluggish; as if you’d had ten drinks and not just one. squinting, you steadied your breath before walking, neglecting to notice that same figure sauntering up behind you. it was the smell of gunpowder and musk that alerted you, spinning around faster than you should have and nearly hitting the ground if he hadn’t caught you in time with a half-hearted chuckle. bubbles clouding your vision, you could only internally groan at the smatter of white, black, and red before you were out cold.

coming to, the first thing you noticed were the tight bindings keeping your body uncomfortably still. thick rope wrapped around your torso and wrists, forbidding you from moving even and inch. wherever he had taken you, it was dark and damp with only the sound of your breathing to keep you company up until the telltale ‘click’ of his shoes and the concurrent ‘ting’ of his spurs. a cold metal finger slid across your chin and only then did you notice how blazingly hot you felt all over. you sucked in a breath, waiting for him, boothill, to say something but he uttered no more than a low hum as his fingers drew icy patterns down your neck and chest. a shudder wracked your body and he moved in front of you, his eyes holding some sort of emotion you weren’t quite familiar with on his face; somewhere between his ‘hand it over’ greed and ‘nice shot’ dry praise. he settled between your now untied, when did he do that you wondered, legs with his metal frame pressed firm into you. never before had you considered the intricacies of his body but with him so close and a different kind of pressure against your crotch, you figured he had some sort of… attachment. fear whipping through your chest, it was then you realized what exactly this evenings plans were for him and they were punctuated with his usual tacky speech.

“c’mon, darlin’, let’s play a bit. this cowboys gotta bullet special for ya’.”

#cw: dubcon #cw: aphrodisiacs #cw: drugging #this man bringing me back to life #boothill… i won’t u… i’m arching my back… i need u…….. #cowboy… southern accent… stupid speech patterns… #*salivates and moans* #boothill x reader #boothill x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you

[suchafaunystory]

Need

A faun, forced to take a powerful aphrodisiac, leaving her so horny. so leaky. and so needy.

she’s on her knees before you, begging with her eyes as much as her words. she drools, staring up at you, mind filled with images of all the things you can do to her…

every touch sends pleasure though her thanks to the drugs in her system leaving her so sensitive. the more you use her, the more you fuck her, the less coherent she becomes. her begging rapidly devolving into broken words and needy, horny noises as you do what you want with her. begging and begging until she can do little more than drool and moan as her body is taken advantage of.

it’s unclear if her mind will ever recover, be she certainly doesn’t seem to mind~

#cw: intox #cw: aphrodisiacs #cw: dubcon #cw: drugging #tw: drugging #faunposting #my smut #smut #hornyposting #bottomposting #totally not inspired by a GWA by Winterlee97 on red dit #*wink wink* #I made smut

[lovelaetter]

[MONSTERFUCKING + DRUGGING + SIZE KINK] jennie who develops a huge size kink after meeting you, her tentacle monster girlfriend, and thinks about your cock and tentacles all day.

jennie who glads open her mouth wide to suck one of your tentacles so she can get a taste of the so sweet venom that come from them and acts like a aphrodisiac for her, making her body burn and her get so needy she basically humps anything, whining and begging you to help her.

jennie who you find one day toying with her ass and tease her saying there’s no way she’s taking you in her tight ass hole, she cries when you fuck her pussy, but she blushes hard and says she actually wants to take your cock in her cunt and tentacles in ass, pussy visible clenching around nothing while she says the words.

monster girlfriend that gets so turned on by the idea too that you decide to help her prepare herself, taking your time every day to finger her ass, sending her to work wearing an anal plug and giving her little tasks during the day like “can you go to the bathroom and take a picture of how wet your pretty cunt is, sweetheart?” or “fuck yourself with the plug a little and record an audio while doing it, tell me how it feels” and jennie whose holes clench whenever she sees the notifications from you.

jennie that loves to look down whenever you’re fucking her so she can see the bulge on her stomach. also, jennie who loves the feeling of your cum inside her, pretty eyes rolling back whenever she feels you spilling inside her.

monster girlfriend that loves to fuck her standing, against the wall or anywhere that requires to hold her while in your monster form just because of the size difference, jennie looking so small in your arms, bracing herself to you while you easily bounce her body.

jennie who cums instantly the day one of your tentacles finally slides inside her ass while she is taking all of your cock too, grabbing the sheets and crying, hips meeting yours cause she desperately needs more, ready to pass out if that means she gets to cum again and again like that.

for everyone that asked me for tentacle monster x jennie! trying this new post format, more direct, easier to get my horny thoughts out than making background and all.

#writing.txt #blackpink smut #jennie smut #cw: monsterfucking #cw: drugging

[cor-lapis-candy]

A couple of y'all wanted more of the idea of Tighnari with a fellow fox/fennec hybrid reader and you know what so do I.

(I wrote this on my phone so excuse the typos)

So let's get that for y'all, also should probably mention that this is with afab lower anatomy in mind, but the readers chest ect will not be mentioned.

CW for dubcon, light drugging, and that's about it.

You were your mother's child, from the similar flicking fennec ears on your head to the quick snapping reflexes that had saved your skin so many times before, not to say you got nothing from your father just with hybrid traits it was passed via the hybrid parent, hence had it been your father as a fennec hybrid you would have been very very lucky to have inherited his traits.

And yet, those very reflexes your mothers blood had given you hadn't saved you from one very foul sweep of a ruin machine's arm during one of your scouting missions. It should have been so simple, head to the southern border look for what or whoever had been chewing through the leftover machines and report back, but look at you now.

One bum leg for the next few weeks and a subtle ringing in your ears from the mortar blast that had rocked your shit and landed you back in the city for rest and recovery till the next rostered month. And to call the med centre a relaxing place to stay is a complete lie, sure your room was a little further back and sure your nurses tried to keep it down, but it is a medical clinic and there is always going to be noise.

And yet one other patient had brought a little peace, using the gardens just like you did to find some peace, the long fluffy ears that twitched fiercely as one of the nurses wheeled a patient across the gravel were a perfect match for your own ears movement. Now afternoons are spent sitting by the fountain chatting softly to each other, laughing and snapping quips at each other as if you had been friends for months and not meer days.

It is rare to meet someone like Tighnari, and even rarer to meet another hybrid like yourself, sure you had met a few cat hybrids and one dog or wolf hybrid but fennecs were rare, probably due to how it's basically a one and done when it comes to partners, one love, one life, one chance and that's it.

Maybe that's why you lunged at the chance to be a Matra scout? Living dangerously and not having that one chance at love taken from you early in life, maybe it was better this way, you could be free to work and actually meet someone who you wanted to settle down with and enjoy life. But somehow, between the rest, the walks through the gardens, and trying your best to get away from the loud nurses and doctors you had completely ignored the way your room had slowly been packed up and here you are now, standing with your small bag of belongings waiting for someone to tell you why you were being transferred and or who was ment to be helping you now.

Tighnari was beyond excited that his request to have be transferred to the vile with him, sure he had to get cyno involved, you were one of his scouts after all, and yes it was unethical behaviour of him to have you put under his care just due to your status as a fellow fox hybrid, and yes he was aware how this would look if anyone found out he had pulled the string for this to happen, but you would be so much better under his care, safer, easier to be in contact with.

Hell maybe you would fall in love with the forest watchers and join him as a ranger, if you held the same rank as him it would only be a minor infraction but as it stands now, if he was to take you and seat you on his cock it would have major expectations and there would be more then just a slap on the wrist for the both of you. But for now you were with him, resting on one of the Sumpter beast as they slowly move towards his rangers base and outpost, it would be a long ride and he had you by his side till then.

Time healing with Tighnari was easier than in sumeru city, quiet days and nights, easy conversation and surprisingly a visit from the general mahamatra as well, being temporarily relieved of duty till healed was par for the course but somedays it was a little rough with the medicine that Tighnari made you knocking you out and leaving you dazed for hours on end.

Tighnari only had your best interests in mind as he mixed the herbs and medicines together, making a very familiar mix that was mainly used to help him quell his heats and sadly when taken outside the days of a heat it was more akin to an instincts release, pulling the human from hybrid traits and leaving people like the two of you more susceptible to the animalistic sides of yourself, sure it was underhanded but you kept pushing him away, batting off his hands and hiding from his touch.

Once was fine but now it was getting too much and sure you could hate him later but it was high time you came to him to bury yourself in his hut, ring yourself with his nesting blankets and let him scent you like he had been working towards back in the city.

He was fully healed and your were closing in on it, a week or two off being good to go back to scouting, a short period till you would be able to leave him, sure he wasn't about to full on drug you or anything but he did need you coming back to him, need you scented like him and letting every person with any sort of scent sharp nose know that you were his, you belonged to him and him alone.

Loud noises and sharp smells had you shuffling towards one place in the vile, Tighnari's but was so quiet, so nicely scented with something that was scratching the back of your mind just right, where else were you to go? The forests smelt like danger, the hut you shared with another patient smelled like metal and blood, and the walkways creaked so sharply that even covering your ears only Brought the noise down from deafening to ear splitting.

Your fellow fennec could yell at you later, grumble and trade barbs with you over how you had destroyed his den and nest, but for now it needed to be rearranged and made perfect for you.

The sight of you sleeping in his blankets, buried in his scent, so peaceful and at ease in his domain, sure you and messed with his bed, messed up his normal and heat nesting blankets, and there was definitely less than enough space for the both of you but he could make it work, lay his tail over yours and press on close so his ear would flick against yours as you slept, if he was lucky and the archons smiled on him you would move closer to him as you slept, curl into him and seek out safety in his familiar scent.

You woke up warm, comfortable and safe, tucked up like you had been as a kit, tail wrapped around another and ears tapping against someone's cheek as you press closer, they smelt good, friendly, like a safe place to nap and bask in the sun. Only there are no birds chirping, no chattering people, nothing but wind, rustling leaves and sniffing?

Who was sniffing? Were you sniffing? Was the...wait. who were you wrapped up in? Who was sniffing you, pressing so intently against your neck, almost drooling against you?

"Back in the land of the living are we? I never thought of coming back from patrol to find someone nesting in my bed... Well someone other than me of course."

Oh, oh that's right, you had been overwhelmed, driven up the wall by your instincts and now here you are, nested up with Tighnari, a friend and the person in-charge of making sure you're healed fully. Sure this was comfortable but it wasn't appropriate in any sense of the word, tugging or well trying to pull away from him was useless, your body was still healing and heavy with sleep, all you and managed to do was half drape yourself across the edge of the nest huffing and flicking your ears at the laughter from behind you.

"in any case, it's good you're awake again as it's well past time for the medicine you usually have at dinner but seeing as you slept through dinner and my attempts to wake you, it's now or never."

Without his gloves Tighnari's hands seem slender, elegant almost, and yet still threatening as they pull a small pouch from the mess beside the nest of blankets you were draped over, the small brown pill was more than familiar by now and the bitter taste it filled your mouth with was just as unpleasant as the day you first took it, the scrunch of your nose and flattening of your ears had made your fellow hybrid chuckle and apparently it still dose.

Like every time before this and likely every time after, the pills worked fast, the once tense and alert ears on your head turned slack almost drooping as you limply curled back into the nest, warmth at the top of your list of things to find. That and nipping at the fingers of whoever was inching closer and closer to your face, needle like teeth catching their wrist and leaving small pin prick like marks in warning to stop, and yet instead of a yip or whine like your brain told you should follow the action there was a growl.

Something deeper than you had expected, something that had you pressing your nose against the palm of the person in the nest with you, huffing and whining in a show of apologising. The only time you had ever heard such a growl was in your teen years and the memory of your mother growling like that at your father was a muddled one, painted in streaks of playful jabs and something else that as a teen wasn't any of your business.

But now, that growl was pointed at you and the whining was not working, the person you had nipped was still huffing and growling, like someone had challenged their leadership, like your little warning nip was a claim of dominance and not something playful and meaningless. No you were opening your eyes to slotted green ones and flattened black ears that twitched as the man looming over you bared his teeth. This wasn't playful, this was a challenge, this was assuming control over you, this was...

This was him claiming you, his mate, his companion for life, this was that once and only once in your life moments and with the haze of unrestrained instincts and deep growls, there would be no coming back from this for either of you.

This was what little clothes you had worn before stumbling into his hut being torn off, shreds falling in patchwork with the nest as you whine and keen in hopes of taking back the challenge, of getting the teeth that are buried in your shoulder released and the bruises and hickies held off, as while your dazed mind was loving the display, the sheer overwhelming control that was being displayed, there was that human niggling voice saying no, to buck and wiggle, to scramble over the edge of the nest and get free, and yet the deeper, more primal parts were winning.

Each buck was more a grind, each wiggle for freedom was more a flick of your tail and the scrambling leaned more into simply presenting, showing off the way the display had effected you, had left you slick and ready for what your mind was telling you would be heaven, it would be everything you needed and more. Even if the air was thick with a mix of Tighnari's scent and your cloying slick there is no heat in your veins, no rut to make his knot swell and lock in you.

But even then, there was nothing to stop him from acting as if it could, as if the moment he came, panting and digging his teeth into your skin again, that he could not pull you back keep you full of his flagging cock and make sure that the ring of white around the base of him grew with every time he pulled you in, pushing his cum deeper and deeper into you and leaving a more permanent mark on you.

#genshin impact smut #genshin smut #tighnari smut #tighnari x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw: dubcon #cw: drugging #corposting

[glimmeringtwilight]

Can you write a Part 2 of the pantalone and dottore oneshot where dottore finds the reader and brings them back?

Oh boy CAN I. This isn't super well edited because I've taken much longer than anticipated writing this, but it's 4k words and editing it properly would take maybe another 1-2 days fhjghjkghjkg also excuse any inaccuracies with the Harlow's monkey experiment, I'm rolling mostly off my recollection and a quick skim of a wiki page.

Cut Me Open, Bleed Me Dry

Continuation to Gilded Cage, which can be read here.

Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader(implied)

Word Count: 4.2k

CW: NSFW, torture, mild gore, drugging, kidnapping/captivity, yandere themes, threats of mutilation, noncon, implied somnophilia, AFAB READER (I know I usually do gn but being nondescript didn't fit the writing this time, sorry!)

It’s cold. 

That’s the first thing your mind registers when you come to. The second, is the throbbing and insistent pain behind your temples as consciousness slowly comes back to you. 

There’s a sour taste in your mouth. Your tongue feels like cotton, your fingers tingle with pins and needles as numbness slowly fades from them, and you immediately know you’ve been drugged. Even with the fog of sleep and the drug still clinging to your mind; even as your thoughts are waterlogged and you’re treading water just to piece them together, you know where you are.

Dottore always did like to use the same drug every time he sedated you. 

There’s a blindfold covering your eyes, pressing uncomfortably against your lashes when you try to open them, but there’s no gag to accompany it. That must mean he wants you to talk. 

You decide to stall. If you thrash, beg, or scream, he’ll know you’re awake. And you’ll be subjected to whatever it is he’s going to do to you a lot sooner. So… you don’t do that. Instead, you keep your breathing steady, holding still against the cold metal table you’re strapped to. 

Sure, it’s only just delaying the inevitable, but you’ve gotten good at drifting away whenever you wake up on his operating table. It’s the only thing you can do to cling to the frayed threads left of your sanity. 

In a way, the blindfold helps. Dottore usually doesn’t blindfold you, but Pantalone… 

You close your eyes, focusing on the pressure of the fabric covering your eyes to distract yourself from the bite of cold metal against bare skin, and you drift. 

You’re in bed. It’s warm, if only under the sheets. You’re not… home, but if you’re being honest with yourself (you rarely are, these days), you don’t really remember what home was like, anymore. So you settle for the empty imitations of it; the dreary and beautiful halls of Pantalone’s mansions– he had to move you around, a few times, but never told you why, when you’d asked. You know now. 

You’re… in bed. It’s cold. You’re shivering. You can hear Pantalone across the room; he’s saying something, but you can’t– you can’t hear him. Why can’t you…?

You’re in bed, and you feel gloved hands tracing up your arms, fingers pausing to tap playfully against your pulse, and then your head is being lifted so deft fingers can untie the knot holding the blindfold. 

The fabric is pulled away, and red eyes meet your own. 

You’re not in bed. You’re with Dottore, strapped to an operating table. Reality crashes into you like a bucket of icewater, and your trembling increases tenfold. 

“Enjoy your rest?” He asks, monotone. He’s not smiling, and it’s the first time, you realize, that he hasn’t smiled when he’s had you on his exam table. 

You don’t respond, and Dottore’s face stays carefully blank as he regards you. “...Hm.” 

The Doctor steps away, out of sight, but you don’t try to follow him with your gaze, listening instead to his receding footsteps. 

It still doesn’t feel real. Undoubtedly, part of you knew that, as tightly as Pantalone held on, it was only a matter of time before Dottore sunk his claws into you once more. 

But part of you wanted to hope that it wouldn’t happen, that Pantalone would be able to shield you from him forever. Because though Pantalone treated you more like a beloved pet than a person, it was still better than this: pinned under the microscope and picked apart piece by sinewy piece by Dottore. 

Dottore returns to your side, and you count ceiling tiles, willing the ground to open up and swallow you into the abyss. Or better yet, to swallow him, so he can be surrounded by darkness as deep as the pitch of his soul. 

You’d pray if there were any gods to hear you. But you know better. The prick of a needle, chased by the burn of whatever he’s injecting into you, and you know that the gods– or perhaps just the blasphemous parody of gods that had sunk their teeth into Teyvat long ago– had abandoned you. 

Gloved fingers trace a slow path down your sternum, pausing just below your diaphragm and pressing down until you wince in discomfort, stopping when you do but not yet easing up. 

“Comfortable?”

“No,” Comes your hoarse whisper. Your eyes stay pinned on the ceiling tiles overhead. There’s specks of blood you can barely see from where you lie. You wonder how much of it is yours. 

“Pity.” 

The hands continue their slow descent over bare skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He pauses again once he reaches your pelvic bone, drumming his fingers there before pulling away entirely. Glass clinks against glass when he steps away again, and you feel a hand grabbing your chin before the narrow mouth of a test tube is pressed against your lips. 

“Open,” He says, grip tightening on your chin, and you do. You know better by now than to fight him.

The liquid inside of the tube sloshes out as he pours it a little too quickly, and the rest of it burns the whole way down your throat, sickly-sweet. Dottore pulls the tube away when he’s sure you’ve swallowed it all, wiping the excess dribbling down your chin with his thumb before dipping into your mouth to smear it against your tongue. 

It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it was he gave you. You think he injected you with a muscle relaxant– you realize too late when your fingers stop responding to your attempts to twitch them (not that you could do much to struggle otherwise. The straps pinning you to the table hold firm).

As for what he poured down your throat… 

Dottore is across the room washing his hands when you begin to sweat. You can hear the sound of running water, and while you’re sure it’s only for a minute, it feels like an eternity as the chill of the room begins to hurt, turning sharp and biting. 

He comes back over when you whimper, with a fresh set of gloves and a scalpel. You regret looking, forcing your gaze back to the ceiling and breathing through your teeth. You try to count the blood specks on the ceiling, the cracks, the tiles– anything and everything to distract yourself. 

The blade of his scalpel grazes your wrist, leaving what you’re sure is no bigger than a papercut, but it burns so much more than it should, ripping a muted whine from your throat. 

Dottore hushes you, continuing to cut through the straps. You know he could just undo them, instead of ruining them by cutting through the leather, but he wants to see you squirm. 

He doesn’t nick you again, but it doesn’t matter. The pain of the cut on your wrist stings so insistently you can’t manage to drift, to distance yourself, away from him and from what he’s doing to you. 

When he finishes with the last strap, he sets the scalpel down on a tray beside the table– one you refuse to look at, not wanting to see the tools laid out there; to see what he intends to do to you. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself, and you try to believe it. 

You’re lifted and positioned so you’re lying on your stomach now on the table, and he has the barest amount of mercy left in him to turn your head to the side so your nose doesn’t smash against the metal surface. 

“Now, this is going to sting a bit, dear,” He starts, once you’re positioned how he wants you, “But you’ve suffered worse, hm? Bear with it.”

It’s detached, the way he speaks to you; so unlike the usual underlying excitement that drips from his voice whenever he’s laid you out on this table in the past. It’s.. horrifying. The safety net of his obsession that’s saved you from worse in the past no longer feels safe, anymore. If ever it did. 

Cool metal ghosts over your spine, the flat of the scalpel dragging over skin before stopping to rest below your shoulder blade. He pulls away and you hope that’s it, that he’s just going to toy with the threat of hurting you instead of actually doing so, but then cold metal returns and it’s the only warning you get before sharp pain bursts from just below your shoulder blade as he begins to cut. 

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and you can’t focus on anything but the white-hot pain as it spreads from the tip of your scapula to the tail. 

It hurts. You think you must be sobbing something similar, but if your cries are coherent, Dottore doesn’t pay them any mind. There’s a ringing in your ears that drowns everything out, your vision blurs, and you’re still reeling from the pain of the first incision when Dottore moves to your other shoulder.

You taste copper and you realize you must have bitten your tongue at some point, but the pain doesn’t compare to the sensation of fire lapping at your back– to the nerves firing off, overloading your senses with undiluted agony. 

Something is forced between your teeth and you bite down immediately out of instinct. He’s saying something to you, now, but his voice is muffled, like your head is underwater. You’re drowning. You can’t breathe, swallowed up by the capsizing waves of sensation.

Pain traces a blazing trail down your spine. Your head is swimming, black spots dancing in your vision, and you close your eyes to succumb to the mercy of unconsciousness.

You’re not granted that mercy. 

Instead, the sensation of ice chases away the heat, the fiery agony dimming as a freezing numbness settles in. 

A voice cuts through the fog. “Open your eyes before I decide to remove them.”

You open your eyes, looking back towards Dottore through the film of tears over your eyes, the blur of pain. Dimly, you can feel his hand gripping your jaw again, but the feeling is distant, disjointed. 

“Good.” Red eyes scan over your form, less cold, this time, as he appraises his work. “I’d like you present for this.”

You mumble a slurred “Where elsh would I be?” around the gag stuffed in your mouth.

“This-” There’s a harsh pinch to your arm that you can hardly muster a wince for, too exhausted from the pain he’d already put you through. From the corner of your eye you can see the glint of amusement in his eyes fade at your lack of reaction, “-is here. But this-” Gloved fingers tap at your temple, “-is not. Stay present. I’m being gentle with you.”

He’s not. He’s really not, but you know he could be doing so much worse, so you nod and make him a promise you can’t keep, like you’ve done a thousand times before. 

Dottore stares at you for a long moment, and you resist the urge to let your eyes glaze over, to stare off into the distance. You level your unsteady gaze at him instead, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. Your efforts are rewarded with a dispassionate simper, and Dottore picks back up the knife. 

You stop looking. 

The pain ignites anew, duller now, no longer white-hot. It’s still insistent, inescapable, and you wish you could crawl out of your own skin.

A line drawn down your back with the knife, like your body is a canvas, your blood the ink, and Dottore the persevering composer. 

There’s a study that comes to mind. You remember reading about it, one rainy afternoon as you took shelter from the rain in a quaint library in Sumeru, procrastinating your own studies. Before everything… before this. 

The study was done on monkeys. They were separated from their mothers young, placed in cages with a wire mother, which provided milk, and a cloth mother, which provided nothing but comfort. 

Survival or comfort. That was the study. The monkeys chose comfort, only going to the cloth mother for food when they were hungry and spending the rest of their time with the cloth mother. 

You’d always wondered, then, what you would choose. As Dottore pushes something into one of the incisions, gloves slick with your own blood, you think you know. 

Dottore stops. “Say again?”

It’s hard to get the words out around the gag, but Dottore seems to understand you regardless. 

“Oh. Poor thing,” It’s a cold comfort, the blood-slicked hand that pats your head. His voice is flat, not condescending or patronizing like when Pantalone simpers at you. But you can hear the amusement creeping into his tone, and it’s enough. “We’re almost done. I’ll give you something for the pain in a moment.”

Something for the pain, he says, as though he hadn’t already given you something, turning the low burning flame of shallow incisions into a raging inferno. 

There’s a cut to your arm, this time, deeper than the rest. It burns, but it’s overshadowed still by the throbbing and insistent agony in your back. Something else is pressed into your arm, and Dottore finally sets down the knife.

The room is spinning. 

A hand returns to pet your head once more, matting it further with your own blood. You slowly become aware of just how cold the room is, heightened by the sheen of sweat covering your bare skin. You want to go home. …You’re not sure where home is, anymore. 

There’s another needle, a sharp sting and then a dull ache settling in like a bruise at your nape. It doesn’t take long for the pain to dull, and you fight the wave of exhaustion that chases on the heels of relief, not wanting to aggravate him further by slipping into unconsciousness before he lets you. 

You try to stay awake. You really do. But with your heartbeat echoing in your ears, the warm hand resting atop your head, and the pain dulling, unhooking its claws from your consciousness, you drift. 

When you wake, you’re still in the nightmare. You’ve been moved to a stiff, sterile bed, lying on your stomach to not agitate the wounds on your back. It feels like Dottore must have cleaned and bandaged you up already– a small comfort.

The injuries ache dully, but more concerning is the feeling of fingers digging into your hips.

“Glad to see you’re finally awake, my dear.” A pause, then a lewd squelch as he pulls his other hand out from between your thighs. “I was starting to get bored.”

Dottore thumbs at the edge of the bandages encircling your back, humming. “That spoiled brat thought he could hide you from me forever.” He leans down, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck and causing the skin to prickle with goosebumps. You shiver at the contact and he smiles against your skin. 

“Oh, but don’t worry.” You cringe when his hand, still wet, taps you on the cheek. “I’ve already made something to keep him busy. You don’t mind that I took a bone and tissue sample while you slept, do you?”

It’s a rhetorical question– one that you don’t bother to answer and that he doesn’t care to hear the answer to, regardless. Instead, Dottore seems to be interested in the space between your legs once more, hand running down to smear the arousal he’d coaxed out of you in your sleep against your inner thighs. 

“Pity that you’ll have to be on your stomach for this,” He muses, chuckling quietly at the way you flinch when he slides two fingers back into you, “I do so love seeing your reactions.”

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when he curls his fingers against your walls, grinding his thumb against your clit. It aches, just a little bit. Like you’re sore. Like he’s been doing this for a while.

It’s almost mortifying, actually, how well he knows your body. The building pleasure drowns out the lingering ache of your injuries, and it’s hard to focus on the shame coiling in your gut when there’s something else coiling faster and brighter than the shame. 

“Mm, faster than I’d expected.” Dottore mutters from behind you, increasing the pace of his fingers as his other hand slips beneath you to press down on your stomach, right over where his fingers curl against your walls. 

Your thighs spasm, trying to close around his wrist, and he tsks, moving his other hand to hold one thigh against the bed as he presses a third finger around you. Your vision whites out, and Dottore doesn’t stop pumping his fingers inside you until you’re whimpering and twitching from overstimulation. 

“There. Good.” 

There’s a wet pat to your thigh, and you hear him walk off to grab something from the other end of the room. He returns with a jar of… something pink, some kind of salve, and dips his clean hand inside the jar to scoop out a generous amount of it. 

He applies it between your legs, over your clit, pressing some of it inside you and deliberately rubbing his fingers against your g-spot, eyes crinkling in delight at the oversensitive spasm that runs through you. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it does. 

It burns. Not in the same way as the pain did when you’d woken up on the operating table, but suddenly it feels like your cunt is on fire, all of your attention forced to the way Dottore’s hands feel as he rubs the excess off against your labia. 

You barely register the sound of Dottore unzipping his pants, but you do register the sheer, overwhelming relief you feel when he immediately presses inside of you, the head of his cock dragging against your walls before coming to a halt just below your cervix. 

He begins to thrust, mercifully not commenting on the keen you let out the second he starts moving. 

Dottore sets a brutal pace, snapping his hips against yours, grabbing one of your thighs and lifting it higher on the bed to get better leverage. You can feel his balls slap against your clit with each snap of his hips, the sound of it drowned out by your hiccuping moans. 

Your second orgasm is ripped out of you suddenly, embarrassingly fast. You choke on a moan and tighten around him, distantly hearing the doctor laugh as he fucks you through it. It’s getting hard to think, to focus on anything but his cock hammering into you. 

Unfortunately, Dottore seems keen to talk, while you’re still coherent enough to listen.  

“You know,” he begins conversationally, gloved fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh as he slows his pace to a slow, maddening grind inside you, “The femoral artery is right about-” he fumbles for a second, then his fingers are digging bruisingly into the flesh, “-here. If I were to cut you here,” You feel him lean down to breathe against the shell of your ear, “It would take about… Oh, I don’t know, three, four minutes for you to bleed out.”

You go still beneath him, holding your breath and he slows to a stop, relishing the way terror makes you tighten around him. It’s hard to focus, to think through the fog of lust, but the sudden, blatant threat still manages to cut through the haze like a knife. 

“I won’t, of course,” He tells you after a beat, laughing cruelly at the tentative sigh of relief you let out. “Not to you, that is. You’re my favorite test subject, after all.”

Dottore resumes his pace, loosening his grip on your leg and letting it drop limply back against the table. 

You think that’s the end of it, until he speaks up again, halting his thrusts briefly to tuck your legs under you and cant your hips up higher. “What wouldn’t kill you, however…”

One hand finds its way to your stomach again, tracing light circles around your navel. “I could remove most of your small intestine, and you would survive.”

“N-” You begin to protest, but another harsh thrust cuts you off.

“Not comfortably, of course, depending on how much I remove.” His hand floats down, pressing harshly against your clit and forcing another sudden orgasm from you. He waits for you to come back down before he speaks again. “If I take too much, we’d need to adjust your diet. But…” 

His breathing is picking up now, getting more labored. “I could, hah-” He leans down, breathing hotly against your neck and trapping you against the bed with his body. The movement drags against the bandages, agitating your injuries. “I could… Take just a little bit. A few feet.”

“No-” 

“Quiet.” He snaps his hips harder against yours and you bite your tongue, drawing blood again, to stifle the sob that bubbles up. “I could take a few feet, make a leather collar out of it… Make you wear it, sew it to your skin if I must-”

His fingers continue circling your clit and you blink back overstimulated and terrified tears, his hand on your hip tightening painfully. You can feel the next high approaching and you desperately hold it back. It’s hard to think. In the back of your mind you know you need to say something, do something to stop his train of thought before he decides to act on it-

Dottore growls against your shoulder. You can feel his scowl as he presses his weight harder against you, but it twists into a smile at your responding pained gasp when the bandages drag against the incisions. “Ah- hah, I won’t, of course,” He pants, nipping at your throat, “I could do that to just any test subject of mine, my dear, but you’re more than that now, aren’t you? Just tell me, again, that you love me.”

Again? 

“You’ve already said it before. Once more won’t kill you.”

It takes you several long moments, not helped at all by Dottore continuing to rut into you distractingly, but you remember. He’s right. When he was cutting into you, when you were desperate and delirious from the pain, you’d choked out the three damning words around the gag. 

It was done out of desperation. You’d wanted the pain to stop, and it had. Dottore had stopped after you’d said it, taking pity on you instead. 

One more time couldn’t hurt, right? It’s such a small price to pay, a white lie so he doesn’t hurt you further. 

“I- ah, nnnm-” He doesn’t slow down his pace for you to get the words out without stuttering, but you’re too exhausted to feel ashamed of the way that your voice cracks with pleasure. “I love- love you.”

“Yes,” Dottore’s cock twitches inside of you, and he snarls against your neck. “Good. You don’t have to mean it, yet. But you will. You will.”

It’s spoken like a promise; one you’re unable to dread as your mind starts to blank, focus drifting to your next orgasm as Dottore’s thrusts become wild, desperate.

The head of his cock batters against your g-spot with every stroke, pleasure and overstimulated pain lancing through you. Your thoughts are fuzzy from lust, unable to focus on anything but the heaving breaths against the shell of your ear, the wet slap of skin-on-skin, the hiccuping moans and noises of pleasure he pulls from your throat. 

Teeth sink into your shoulder at the same time Dottore pinches your clit, and your eyes roll back as white-hot pleasure lances through your veins. . 

He growls, the sound vibrating against your shoulder, and you shudder when you feel him cum after you, cock twitching as he shoots his load deep inside your cunt. 

The world comes back to you slowly, in jagged pieces. When you crack your eyes open once more, you’ve been moved so your legs are no longer tucked up under you, lying comfortably flat on your stomach once more. 

Dottore comes back from the other side of the room with a vial, and your face scrunches in revulsion as he presses it to your abused hole, collecting the cum that oozes out. A gloved hand pats your head affectionately before he pulls away. 

“Get some rest. I have something that I need to… attend to.” Sleep. You can do that, certainly.

He waves his hand, and you vaguely hear him speaking to the clone that immediately comes into view– who was probably stationed in the corner the whole time, taking notes or something. You wouldn’t put it past him, and from the way some of them stare at you a little too long, a little too intensely, you’re sure many of his clones would like to do a little bit more to you than just watch and take notes.

As Dottore leaves, and his clone wipes you down with a rag, knuckles brushing against the inside of your thighs a little too deliberately to be innocuous, you’re reminded of the cloth monkeys again. 

The clone moves to rest his hand atop your limp one once he’s sure Dottore has left, and you curl your fingers around his own. His hands are cold without the gloves, just like his progenitor’s. 

You choose comfort too.

#yandere #dottore #il dottore #dottore/reader #il dottore/reader #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #yandere dottore #yandere il dottore #yandere dottore/reader #genshin #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #dead dove do not eat #cw: noncon #cw: drugging #cw: torture #i'm so sad the childe fic vanished from my top posts and the zhongli modern au was buried #it's JUST DOTTORE #LITERALLY NOTHING BUT HIM #WAAAGH #what have i become.... i have lost sight of myself.... of my noble journey..... #my writing #one day i'll format these prettily. not today though. i'm lazy #enjoy the meal xoxo #smut #not sfw

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - A Gathering

1 | 2

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

With Asriel away for his studies, Kris is invited to a secret gathering! Not as a guest, though.

Phew, finally got to finishing this comic! Second half will be up tomorrow!...

#lynx art #Eldritchrune #deltarune au #kris #toriel #asgore #cw: drugging #cw: cults #cw: paralysis #Kris would never suspect the pie!! #tried to push the lighting on this one but IDK

[sea-owl]

I have decided that Sophie's response to Araminta calling Portia a manipulative, ill-bred thief in the isekai au is to have her bestie Michael help her steal something from Araminta while their other bestie Philippa distracts the mothers.

Gift to @amybonehouse / @lyramundana because rereading some of her additions to my post helped inspire this

It was way too easy to break into Araminta's Burton Street home. ( Sophie took some glee that the new Earl had kicked her out of the Penwood house) These people didn't even lock the servant's entrance! But no matter, it just made Sophie's job all that much easier. She had already spent days scouting the place so she knew where her target would be. With Michael helping her with the actual theft and Philippa distracting the mothers this should go without a hitch.

Araminta had made a mistake when she called Portia a manipulative, ill-bred thief after stealing one of their own maids away. Now, she gets to deal with a real one. After all Sophie has a set a principles she likes to live by. Her two biggest ones being she'll never have a child out of wedlock, and two there's always a price to pay for one's actions.

Araminta owes payment and Sophie has just come to collect. It will be a fun challenge as well. Sophie's never stolen a person before.

"So, what are we stealing that requires the use of our fake hack?" Michael asked as he and Sophie snuck around the servant's passage.

Sophie threw a smile at her best friend. "Posy."

Michael's footsteps faltered for a moment before falling right back in line with Sophie's. "So we're kidnapping your stepsister?"

Sophie shrugged. "You call it kidnapping, some call it rescuing." Sophie had seen that without her there, and now openly known as Portia's ward, Araminta's cruel nature had turned on Posy. Only difference was that Posy is known as Araminta's daughter, she can't be openly cruel like she was with Sophie. So, every jab Araminta would have to make would have to be at least attempted at subtle. Very bad attempts that even a blind man could see.

"So, what are we doing with her after?" Michael whispered. They were close to Posy's room.

"Why join the family of course," Sophie answered like it was the most obvious thing. "We'll find a place for her, I know there's a little warrior in her begging to be released."

"Portia and Mary going to have our heads, or worse throw several pairs of shoes at us."

"Philippa is distracting them until we get Posy trained up. And with the season so dull they're not watching us as closely. After that we'll say Posy ran away and the darling mothers offered shelter. Now shush, we're here."

Sophie pushed on the servant's entrance to Posy's room. Posy was asleep in her bed, exactly where Sophie wanted her to be. She couldn't help but coo over the perfectly, pretty, plump girl. She'll be such a wonderful addition to the family. Taking out the special tea Phillip and Kate made together designed to keep one unconscious, Michael slowly lifted Posy's head while Sophie fed her the drink.

Posy had awoken at some point during this but the tea was already taking effect. "S-Sophie?"

"Shh," Sophie whispered, tipping the tea further into Posy's mouth. "It's okay Posy. You'll be in a better place soon."

Michael scooped Posy up and out the servant's passage they went. Again, they could have at least locked the door to give Sophie some sort of challenge. Oh well, she got the new family member she came for.

#bridgerton #what if everyone got isekaied besides violet #what if spouses remembered isekai au #villainess isekai au #sophie beckett #posy reiling #michael stirling #isekai and yanderes au #tw: drugging #cw: drugging #the other villainous “children”: new family member! #the mothers: oh baby come here and let us mother you properly!

[venusandsaturnsrings]

sigh… i need to talk more about frat boy taru, he’s plaguing my mind…

he’s a nasty sleaze not above drugging you to get his way. star of the football team, top grades in all his classes, a slew of students and professors alike wrapped around his fingers, and yet he’s enamoured with you. perhaps it’s the dichotomy between yourself in him. a slightly egocentric and manipulative sinner wrapped in a pretty package of false smiles, teasing fingers, and suave comments versus your own doe eyes, bashful nature, and innocently dense disposition. his cock throbs at the mere thought of imbuing you with his own degeneracy. make no mistake, the whispers of his vile nature are true, but he’s got a soft spot for you. give him what he wants, no needs, and you’ll have the world in your soft palms. maybe you just need a little push, a bit of sabotage here and a dash of nauseatingly sweet touches there and you’ll be his.

#cw: manipulation #cw: drugging #fratboy childe #fratboy taru #fratboy au #childe x reader #tartagalia x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

[typhoonvash]

this will be an open starter, but it is dark, so be warned cw: medical body horror, kidnapping, experimentation, etc.! mute thread now if you do not want to see it.

⩥ "anonymous" asked:

You dart across the dusty plain, drawn by the cries of a child in distress. A girl, no older than seven, stares at your arrival, tears streaming down her dirt-smudged face. You offer a comforting smile, aiming to ease her fears, but your heart pounds with a sense of urgency. The girl sniffles, her trembling form seeming to relax. She rushes forward, arms wrapping around your neck. You're taken aback by her sudden affection until a sharp sting pricks your neck. Suddenly, the world spins. You stagger back, a hand flying to your neck to pull out a tiny syringe. The girl retreats, her frightened facade melting away as she watches you with cold, calculating eyes. Voices murmur around you, growing louder as your vision blurs. Hazy figures circle around you, their legs the only thing visible before darkness takes hold. When you regain consciousness, you find yourself bound to an operating table, the harsh glare of spotlights above you. A murmur of anticipation fills the room, the chatter of an audience hidden in the shadows beyond the lights. A figure steps forward, a scalpel glinting ominously in their hand. You open your mouth to protest, but all that escapes is a muffled scream — a mask was over your mouth pumping an anesthetic into your lungs. It burns, and you cough violently, struggling against your restraints. The surgeon stares at you for a moment before pressing the blade against your flesh starting the first incision. The blade glides across the marked line on you and then he grabs forceps to pull the layer of skin back.

Vash the Stampede is rarely one to be caught off-guard.

He's fallen for the same trick before—a young child in danger, a child lost, a child freshly orphaned—but what is he supposed to do? Ignore them? No, they all deserve the benefit of the doubt. Vash has saved more children than he has fallen for victims of traps, well, saved temporarily at least—often some other tragedy would befall their homes after he saved them.

Because Vash is the Humanoid Typhoon, and disastrous winds follow in his wake.

This child's location was tipped off by a mourning mother and a rowdy group of thugs. The mother's husband recently died morbidly and her daughter saw; the girl ran away in shock somewhere to the north. Vash comforted the mother, promising to bring her baby back, but he wasn't the only one to hear the story—the thugs had as well.

Unfortunately, selling children is often more lucrative than returning them.

So no, Vash couldn't ignore this, and he had to head out quickly before the bandits could get to her. They met near an abandoned warehouse, where the blond had no choice but to incapacitate them. The battle was bloody, and left him with a few fresh wounds, but eventually all four of the bandits keeled over, hopefully long enough for Vash to get in and get out.

She was well-dressed and gripping her hat against her face before looking at Vash with dark, tear-stained eyes. The Stampede stated his intention to bring her home, and she ran up to hug him—

Mistake. Needle prick. Darkness.

⇉⇉⇉

Bright sterile lights. Glares bouncing off from chromatic medical tools. The hum of machinery, computers, space age technology. Murmuring.

Vash can't move his limbs. There's a breathing mask covering his nose and mouth, pumping something into him—anesthesia, he thinks—but it could be anything. His clothes are replaced with a scrappy medical gown, which feels completely pointless as Vash peeks at the doctors—scientists?—cutting him open.

Wait. Cutting him open?

He breaks into a cold sweat as he nauseously realizes he can't feel it. Worse still is the drowsiness, sick feeling, and vulnerability of it all. If he screamed, it wouldn't matter; no one will find him here. There's a glint of hope that Wolfwood would notice him gone, but how would he know where to look? Maybe Knives would see these scientists operating on him like—

Is this what Tesla felt? Is this what Wolfwood felt?

The panic, the trembling, only serves to annoy the scientists. The anesthesiologist says... something. Everything is too muffled, like Vash's head is full of fluff. He's drifting... drifting...

#// i will create more lighthearted open starters later but *someone* craves violence today and doesn't mind sharing it #tales from the typhoon #[living legend; open starters] #[if god won't save you i will; canon] #cw: medical #cw: drugging #cw: kidnapping #[silent hums; anonymous]

[redd956]

Prompt 10

CW: Blood, Suggested Themes of Drugs

Villain does everything with a smile. Not a small or faked one, it is a genuine cheek to cheek grin. Causing chaos and interrupting Hero’s day is the highlight of Villain’s day. 

To Hero they’re a spiky itchy slightly infected thorn in their side. Though Hero isn’t the only one who despises hearing that confident unbridled voice chime, they are sure that they hate Villain the most out of anyone.

Villain bests them everyday. Whether that be how Villain tends to win the battles more often, or how Hero never seems to capture them. They always book it right before telling Hero whatever they demand at the time. And without fail, Hero ends being the more bloody, more tired, and more frustrated one afterwards.

Hero despises that smile that Villain boasts.  Their blood boils over those oddly more fashionable clothes, and the dark tinted sunglasses Villain never goes without. Today is different, because it is relief and catharsis that instead pumps Hero’s blood.

They stare in awe at their own achievement. Villain remains slumped against the cold concrete behind them, a smirk still on their face. Their expensive clothes are slowly stained by a growing red spot, tightly clutched underneath their own hand. Though laughing, and weakly at that, their free hand shakily brings itself up in the air.

Hero’s eager disbelief quickly turns into disappointment, when they realize the gesture is a high five.

Villain spouts, “High-five! C’mon. You finally got me good. You deserve it.”.

“I’m not falling for one of your tricks.”, Hero drones, marching over to the defeated trickster.

Before Villain can add some banter to the atmosphere, Hero snatches them by the collar of their shirt. For a second the smile disappears, but it quickly replaces itself. Doing so fails to hide Villain’s now upward eyebrows. Hero brings them closer to their face to such a point that their words bounce off Villain’s nose as puffs of air.

“You’re finally going to explain yourself!”

“What can I say? I just love chaos, and you’re so easy to rile.”

“No! I know you work for someone. Character C/Leader has all the evidence.”. They pause, waiting for villain to respond, but nothing is said.

Hero aggressively shakes villain, and adds, “You’re going to look me in the eyes and answer.” They snag the sunglasses off of Villain, and toss them to side. With a pitiful plastic skitter they slide across the ground.

Villain’s eyes glare at their rival. Hero cannot explain why, but they aren’t what they ever expected. Darkened bags sit underneath Villain’s almost glazed over stare. They appear so deep and puffy that there is no way they are recently formed. 

It makes Villain’s eyes look sunken, their sockets defined. It makes that smile on their face look like one of out of nervousness and anxiety. Their pupils are dilated into large pools of circles, bloodshot reddish-white surrounding them.  Hero understands immediately that the glare isn’t looking at them, but at a strange distance through them.

Villain squints at the wave of light hitting their sensitive eyes. Their energy begins to pour out of them, both physically and through their wound. They want to tell Hero so bad. The idea wells as tears in their foggy eyes. They can’t do it. Otherwise Supervillain will never let them sleep. Supervillain will never take them off it.

Heavy eyelids turn into a slow blink, and Villain is unable to open them back up. They know they can’t leave Hero hanging like they did their high-five, so they murmur almost incoherently.

“I...just want my...my sunglasses...back...”

#villain #hero #villain whumpee #supervillain #whump #sleep deprivation whump #I hope this suffices #whump stuff #whump prompt #are these even prompts #whump villain #villain whumper #cw: drugging #cw: blood #drug whump

[lovelaetter]

Monster!reader fucking yeji with their tentacles after getting her all wet and needy from an aphrodisiac (consensual ofc) until she’s close to passing out from all the orgasms she’s had🧎🏻

CW: MONSTERFUCKING, DRUGGING

this might not be everyone’s cup of tea but it is mine so 😭

yeji being so excited because the whole tentacles + aphrodisiac thing was something she wanted to do since she learned you could do it. not being able to contain her eagerness, giggling lots and being extra touchy with you. not going to dig deep into tentacle monsters biology here, like, how it works or where they come from, that’s up to your mind, but i like to think of you dripping aphrodisiac from your mouth, just like saliva but your body understands it’s time so it changes naturally… her whimpering against your mouth as she tastes it, breaking the kiss only to say “it’s so sweet” and crashing her lips to yours again, addicte

giving a bit much to her, so minutes and she’s already lost, laying in bed and playing with her tits, thrusting her hips in the air, hole already dripping. moans loud just at the mere feeling of a tentacle sliding up her body, taking hold of one of her tits and the very tip flicking her nipples. another one slides up and you’re sure she cums just from that, eyes rolling back. playing with her tits for a moment, appreciating the view of her wiggling her body and bucking her hips, before spreading her legs open, teasing her by how wet she is, how much slick is covering the inside of her thighs

one tentacle not being enough for her so two sliding in and out of her pussy with squelching noises, making her scream and babble nonsense, saying she’s so full, it feels so good. moving her to the side like she’s just a doll and letting your fingers wander between her asscheeks, her puckered hole opening easily for you as she begins pushing back against them, so desperate to just have every hole filled

cleaning her up after and she’s so tired, can’t barely move or keep her eyes open, but as you expected the aphrodisiac effects take a bit longer to end since she took a little too much so even as you two lay in bed all cuddled up she still manages to hump your thigh, coming one or two more times, crying against your neck… needy baby <3

#asks #itzy smut #yeji smut #cw: monsterfucking #cw: drugging

[anniebuddy]

Cassandra Cain and Ghost: Shared Trauma, Shared Motivations

ababababa okay not a huge analysis, started as just a little character thing i liked w/ Cass (+ Elisa, more on her) in Ghost/Batgirl: The Resurrection Machine,,

Early story spoilers ahead.

CW: Sex Trafficking, CW: Drugging (Complicated by a mid-story reveal but clearly coded as such), CW: Kidnapping (As much resonance as I find with how some of these subjects are dealt w/ by the characters, they’re all potentially not as gently delivered/handled as they could be. I did get triggered.)

In the Ghost/Batgirl series, Batgirl meets...well, Ghost. From what I know, she’s a Dark Horse character. But basically, she has a similar story to Cass; having been used and manipulated to be a weapon. Batgirl doesn’t know this at first. Nor is either girl aware of the fact they’re investigating the same missing persons case. When they do stumble upon one another, each acquires confirmation of just what happened to the missing women. They were victims of a form of sex trafficking. Specifically, they were sold to a very skeevy strip club “under the influence” and forced to perform. 

And without any words, I feel there’s still already a clear understanding between the two on just how morally vexing this is for them;

Ghost/Batgirl #1

“But I’m glad to see I’m not the only one in the world with a sense of moral outrage.”

Now, this could just be referring to the fact that Cass happened to be following the case too. But even so, I think it speaks to the connection they share in this moment.

Cass & Ghost both sympathize with these girls for a distinct reason. Unlike most of Cass’s exploits beforehand, this isn’t down to her trying to save a life from certain death (which, don’t get me wrong, is still certainly important to her and tied to her trauma, as well as just important in general) - it’s to save a life from falling into the hands of another person. From having their bodies used for another’s benefit.

It obviously isn’t the exact same as what Ghost and Cass went through, but it strikes the same chords. Hits the same triggers. Brings out that same urge for justice in each of them.

For Ghost’s part, we got some indications on just how personal this case will feel for her before she could even put the pieces together on what’s going on. She has this to say upon arriving at the strip club;

Ghost/Batgirl #1

Can I just say how much I appreciate the clear lack of slutshaming in her frustration? What she’s upset about is how the power imbalance between the performers and clientele can be abused. Much like she was.

And immediately after meeting and rescuing Debbie Scoggins, the girls start following leads. And they aren’t shy about their anger with this sleazebag.

I believe Cass pretty quickly picked up on a lot of where Ghost’s rage was coming from. And could certainly relate to it.

Which is why she almost immediately feels she can trust her.

Ghost/Batgirl #2

So, Cass and Ghost are a cool duo! And Cass continues to morally kick ass.

I’m actually really sad these girls never met up again (to my knowledge). And how obscure Ghost seems to be in general...

Bonus: Cass & Ghost threatening more gross men;

#cassandra cain #elisa cameron #cw: sex trafficking #cw: drugging #cw: kidnapping #batgirl #black bat #orphan #ghost #ghost/batgirl: the resurrection machine #dc #comics #this was supposed to be way smaller skjdhskdhs #may edit later #analysis #headcanon #it would be cool if you followed/interacted 👉👈

[glimmeringtwilight]

On this mountain, a cold wind blows

Here's the Albedo fic for the 500 celebration! Hope you enjoy! Thank you all for being so supportive and patient even though updates have been slow lately <3

Pairing: Albedo/Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

CW/TW: Drugging, yandere themes, non-consensual touching, implied non-consensual somno.

You’re beginning to think Albedo’s hiding something from you. 

It’s been storming all week– evident from the howling of the wind, the rattling of the window panes, the obscured snowy expanse beyond the glass. 

You’re only here because you’d gotten stuck in the storm, and you’re incredibly lucky that Albedo decided to brave the storm to collect his supplies from the cave you’d taken shelter in. You don’t remember much of what happened– just taking shelter to wait out what you thought would be a quick storm, falling asleep, then… waking up here.

He told you that he’d found you curled up and freezing, unresponsive when he checked on you. There was no way you’d have made it if he hadn’t found you, but he was wise enough to leave that much unsaid. 

That was a week ago, and by now you’ve gotten over the hypothermia after a few days of close, slightly intrusive monitoring from the alchemist. He means well, though, and you’re grateful for him saving your life, so you didn’t protest his hovering. 

Despite the circumstances, he doesn’t treat you like a burden; doesn’t seem put out that he has to share his cabin with you for the time being. You help around where you can– when you can, as Albedo seems hellbent on not letting you lift a finger, insisting that anything more than just wandering around the cabin or reading is too great a strain for you while you’re recovering. 

Recovering from what, you don’t know. You feel fine, and though you had a mild cold the first few days of your stay, Albedo’s diligence and thorough treatments got you over your illness faster than you’d recovered from any in the past. 

You want to say his concern for you is a little endearing, but… you’re not sure. Albedo’s a little strange. 

By all accounts, you should be grateful. Well… you are grateful. He saved you. He saved you, and yet… You can’t dispel the unease that coils in your gut when you catch him staring at you instead of his research, when you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth, when he brushes those cold finger against your forehead to check your temperature, when he watches you a little too intently as you eat. 

“I just want to be sure you’re eating well.”

“You look a little feverish.”

“Just a little something to help you sleep, should you need it.”

He’s just concerned for you, even if his behavior is a little odd– puts you on edge just a little bit. You try not to think about it. He must not get out much, much less speak to other people very often, living up here. 

It’s fine. It’s fine, you tell yourself, and you force yourself to believe it too, because it’s better than the alternative. When you look out the window to an endless expanse of white, snow so thick you can’t see much beyond the sill, you know you don’t have much choice. 

One week turns into two, the howling winds and rattling window panes becoming a familiar background noise as you keep yourself entertained with the books Albedo keeps on his bookshelf.

His oddities gradually stop putting you so on edge, and it’s a little endearing how awkward he is with you, if anything. You enjoy the company. Granted, he’s your only choice of company, but at least he’s pleasant enough to be around. 

He doesn’t have much for you to do in his cabin; he has a few history books on civilizations you’ve never even heard the names of, and he lets you help him with his experiments when they’re safe enough. Most of it is just handing him clean beakers and test tubes, but getting to watch chemical reactions taking place is fascinating nonetheless. 

The third week trudges on, however, and you’re beginning to get a little stir crazy. The storm continues to howl outside, and cabin fever sinks its claws into you. 

Albedo insists it’s not safe to make the journey back down the mountain yet, and no amount of begging on your part has made him budge. You considered just making the trip down yourself, but you can’t find any of the supplies you’d taken with you on your journey up. Albedo tells you he didn’t have time to retrieve them from the cave when he’d found you, that he’d instead just rushed you back to shelter to warm you up. 

But the storm hasn’t once let up or died down. The howling winds have been a constant background noise, and you don’t think you’ve ever known a storm to drag on this long, not even on the very peak of Dragonspine. 

When you bring this up to Albedo, there’s this weird look in his eye before he brushes you off, saying something about a “Skyfrost Nail” making the climate here unstable, and such storms aren’t really so uncommon up as near to the peak as the two of you are. 

He’s been going out more lately, too. Whenever you ask to tag along he tells you he only has one coat, and that once the storm clears he’ll look for your supplies or, failing that, stop by the nearest town to buy something warm enough to safely get you back down the mountain. 

But the storm never clears, and it's too dangerous for him to make the trek back to the cave where he'd found you. His outings are mostly spent looking for herbs and specimens, and most of the trek is wasted clearing a path in the snow anyway, he says.

It’s boring when he leaves, with not much else to do but watch the hearth or read the same history book for the fourth time. He has other books, sure, but many of them are clearly intended for learned scholars; their jargon far too confusing for you to really understand. 

So, today you watch the hearth, alternating between that and drawing shapes in the fog gathering on the glass of the window. You should ask to borrow some of Albedo’s art supplies; you think you remember seeing him painting something a week ago. He wouldn’t let you look at what it was, though… Maybe he’s just not confident enough in his abilities. 

Eventually, the window chills your joints stiff from drawing absent-minded shapes in the condensation, the fire in the hearth starts to burn low, and Albedo still hasn’t returned. It’s starting to get dark out, so you get up to toss another log onto the fire to keep it going. 

Something shiny catches your eye just as you’re turning back to return to your seat beside the window, and you pause.

In the ashes, something glints at you. A coin? You reach forward and catch yourself– you can’t just stick your hand in the ashes while the fire is still going. But the poker you’ve seen Albedo use in the past when tending to the hearth is nowhere to be seen. Weird. Did he misplace it?

Albedo likely won’t be back for another few hours if he hasn’t returned by now, and you have nothing better to do, so… You walk around the cabin looking for something to fish out the coin without burning yourself, eventually settling on one of the ladles from the kitchen. …You’ll be sure to wash it thoroughly when you’re done. 

You scoop the coin (and a lot of ash) out from the hearth, dumping it out onto the ground beside the fire. It’s filthy, and without thinking you try to wipe some of the ash off the face of it, burning your thumb. You pull back with a hiss, returning to the kitchen to run the burn under some cold water (and clean the ladle while you’re at it). 

Thankfully, the burn is mild. Just a little bit of irritation, nothing Albedo will notice and fuss over. He mother hens enough as-is. 

When you come back to the coin and the small pile of ash in the living room, it’s finally cool enough to pick up. You clean it off with the corner of your shirt, holding it up to the light of the fire, and your stomach sinks. 

This is your coin. This is your coin, given to you at a young age by your grandfather before he passed. 

For good luck, he’d told you. It was an old coin he’d found when he was an adventurer, leftover from the ruins of an ancient civilization. You can even see the deep scratch left in the surface of it, from one of the many stories your grandfather told you while proclaiming this coin had saved his life. 

What is your coin doing in Albedo’s hearth? You’d kept it with– no. 

No, it was with your other things. Albedo said he left your belongings in the cave. But there’s no mistaking it: this is your coin. From the scratches on its surface, the dull splotches of corrosion, to the worn details on its face. 

You’re not given much time to dwell on it, interrupted from your racing thoughts by the sound of turning locks, the loud cries of the wind and a rush of cold air at your back before it’s quickly muted, and the door slamming shut. 

“I’m back.” 

You look up from the floor to the alchemist kicking the snow off his boots and hanging his coat on the hanger besides the door. He pauses when he turns to you, turquoise eyes taking in the sight of you still kneeling beside a pile of ash near the hearth. 

“Are you-”

“This is my coin.” You interrupt, holding up the coin for him to see. “It was in the hearth. Why?”

“Ah.” And he turns away, adjusting his boots to sit properly beside the entry before moving past you toward the cluttered desk he keeps in the corner. “I should have checked the pockets, then. My apologies.”

“What?”

“It must have been in your jacket.”

“You burned my jacket?” You fist the fabric of your shirt, fingers curling around the coin so harshly it bites into your skin, “Why?”

He turns back to you, those sharp eyes flitting to your clenched fists, then to your thumb. "You're injured."

"Albedo."

Albedo's already turning away, heading for the hall– to grab the first aid kit, you suppose– and you grit your teeth.

He's not listening, but you know from your stay here with the alchemist that losing your temper and snapping at him will get you nowhere. You bite back the indignation burning hot on your tongue.

"Albedo. I'm fine." When he looks back at you over his shoulder, you emphasize your point with a grin that likely looks more like bared teeth than anything else. "Just answer the question... Please."

“I told you, didn’t I? I had to cut it off you when I found you.” He most definitely did not tell you that. Frankly, you almost want to smack yourself for not asking.

“So you just burned it? I could have patched it up!” 

Albedo at least has the decency to look embarrassed, at that, but he doesn’t offer an apology. Instead, he heads back towards his desk and says, “I suppose you could have,” and starts thumbing through his notes. 

You suck in a breath through your teeth, about to argue further, when you realize something. 

Albedo said he burned your jacket. You put your coin with the rest of your things in the bag you were carrying before making the trek up. You know you did, because you remember quietly joking to yourself when the weather began to turn that it was because you hadn’t kept the coin in the breast pocket of your jacket– close to your heart, like your grandfather used to. 

“Albedo?” Would he tell you the truth if you asked? If he’s lying to you, would he come clean if you pry? Should you?

The anger that was building in your chest dims, cooling quickly as trepidation takes its place. ...What reason would Albedo have to lie?

Your eyes flit to the space where the fire poker should be. Albedo doesn’t look up from his work, already engrossed in whatever it is in the notes he’s reviewing, “Hm?”

“...Nevermind. I’m going to bed.” He hums in affirmation as you stand, and you hesitate by the hall to make sure he doesn’t follow you. You don’t go into your room, stepping as quietly as you can manage into his. 

This is a bad idea. You don't want to piss off the man who saved your life– who has been kind enough to share his home with you until the storm passes, but...

Something in your gut encourages you to look. You just need to check one thing, and then you'll drop it. You have to know.

He’s never explicitly forbidden you from his room in the cabin, but you still refused to set foot inside until now, at most lingering in the doorway to ask him a question on the rare occasion you found him in there instead of at his desk or in his study.

But he did ask you to stay away from the closet. If he did have your things, he couldn't have burned all of it, so... Maybe that's why you were instructed to stay away.

Still. You hope you're wrong.

Your heart feels like it’s crawling up your throat, the distinct feeling of "you shouldn’t be here" suffocating you, but you have to know. You stumble through the dim lighting, hardly waiting for your eyes to adjust before you’re stepping further into the room and groping around for the door handle to the closet. 

You find it after a few tense seconds of searching blindly in the dark for it, hand curling around the handle before you’re pulling it open. You’re about to start looking for a light source when a voice pipes up behind you. 

“I suppose I should have expected this,” Albedo says, and you barely register his hand pressing firmly against your back, between your shoulder blades, before he’s shoving you into the closet.

You land harshly on an uncomfortable, lumpy pile of… something, head knocking against the wall. Stars erupt behind your eyelids and when you open your eyes light floods your vision. You hear the door slam and lock behind you, Albedo’s voice coming out muffled from the other side. 

“I’ll be right back.”

“Albedo-” You start, forcing out the words as you struggle to process, spots dancing in your vision and vertigo overtaking you as you prop yourself up, “Albedo, what-”

“You wanted to know, didn’t you?” His voice gets farther away and you can hear him leave the room, heading down the hall. 

You’re about to call out after him– “What? Come back!” –but the hand you’re propping yourself up with slips, paper crumpling under your fingertips, and you glance down. 

It’s you. Sketches of you, hundreds of them, many of you in your sleep. There’s a few of you reading or staring out the window, or staring blankly into the hearth, one of you out cold at the table after a meal. 

Most concerningly, many of these sketches seem to be of you in various states of undress, scars and scrapes from your adventures penned in horrifying, careful detail. 

You can’t take your eyes away, gaze flitting from picture to picture as your head continues to swim, bile building in the back of your throat. 

You sit there, staring at the collection of drawings in horror, until Albedo returns. The closet door swings open and he grabs you by the arm before you can scramble away, dragging you out of the closet with a strength that doesn't match his lanky frame. 

“Albedo-” 

“Hush. This will only sting for a moment,” He says, producing a needle and frowning when you flinch away, trying to pull your arm from his grasp. “It won’t kill you. It’s just a sedative.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about-” You start, but he doesn’t let you finish the thought, yanking you into his chest by the iron grip on your bicep. 

There’s a sharp pinch at your nape, chased by the burn of the drug entering your system, and you fall limp.

“Why?” You whisper. "Albedo, why?"

He doesn’t respond, loosening his grip now that you’re no longer struggling and instead opting to wrap an arm around you.

You close your eyes.

The wind howls outside.

#meh #yandere #albedo #yandere albedo #albedo kreideprinz #albedo genshin impact #albedo genshin #yandere albedo genshin #albedo/reader #albedo x reader #yandere albedo/reader #genshin #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere albedo kreideprinz #dead dove do not eat #cw: drugging #cw: noncon #(just in case. this is sfw and he doesn't actually do anything other than draw reader naked lol) #(but it can certainly be read as noncon somno so I'll tag it) #cw: somno #been drawing blanks on what to write lately tbh #it has been edited at last! #i think i fixed the few things about it i was feeling rather on #>:)