#drugging tw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

killsaki · 1 year

Text

final girl. ☆ surely all the girls being murdered in your town having something that fits your own description is a coincidence… right?

izuku midoriya x female!reader

4k words | part 2 (tbp)

cw/tw : yandere!izu, quirkless/loserboy!izu, stuttering, stalking, drugging, thighfucking, facial, male masturbation, noncon, somnophilia (kinda), alcohol, oc side character, kidnapping, murder (mentions).

“you’re not seriously going out, are you?” comes from your doorway, you turn towards the voice in just enough time to catch sight of your roommate inviting himself into your room, as he always does, before plopping himself down on your mattress.

you sigh before answering, knowing he’s about to spout some of his repetitive nonsense.

“of course i am, fuzen.” he blinks at you with his usual unamused expression, heterochromatic eyebrows slightly raised in a way that you’ve come to learn is a signal for you to ask more about what he’s saying. you take the bait. “but, why do you ask?”

“you’re the target of that serial killer.” you purse your lips at his immediate and dramatic response to stop yourself from laughing, you really shouldn't entertain him all the time. he’s mentioned a few things that could probably cost him his job for disclosing the, in his words, eerie similarities, that you have had with all the victims of recent murders.

it started with things like how they all had your eye color, or that they were all described to have your height and build. you passed those off as generic things, but fuzen didn’t. it spiraled into things as specific as one of them having your hair. well, their hair, but it was the same length as yours, the same color, and her body was found with it styled with the same way that you’d fallen in loved with and wore repeatedly that week. one girl was found with copies of the jewelry that you frequently wore, another even had her nails done almost exactly like your new set.

the longer it went on, the more insistent your roommate became about you listening to what he had to say. but you always changed the subject, figuring that the less you know the easier it’ll be to shake off the cold feeling on your back you sometimes get after leaving the apartment.

“i thought you were a stealth sidekick,” you laugh him off, yet again. ”when did you get demoted to a detective?”

“why does your room feel weird?” he asks suddenly, adjusting his sitting position like he’s been made uncomfortable while he looks around your space. “has someone been in here?”

“uh, yeah, me.” you suck your teeth at him before turning back to your vanity and get back to finishing getting ready.

“why don’t you believe me?” he asks, you can tell he’s a little irritated and it makes you feel bad for always brushing him off.

“‘zen… i know you care about me, i’m sorry.” you meet his gaze in the mirror, finding him already looking back at you. “maybe you’re just overthinking because you care about me?”

he nods slowly, before cracking a grin and shaking his head, “nah, i’m probably just jealous because i don’t have a stalker.” he rolls his neck and you wonder how much truth is in his words. “though i’d probably prefer it without the murder.”

“i don’t have a stalker.” you retort while he chuckles to himself before standing.

“you know,” he stretches his arms, fingertips touching the ceiling as the hem of his shirt lifts to reveal his toned stomach, something you quickly look away from. “that habit of immediately denying stuff that you’re anxious about is gonna bite you in the ass one day.”

his mouth is good at keeping you from being attracted to the rest of him.

“but not today,” you speak matter of fact, “because i do not have a stalker.”

“right, yeah.” he sniggers, clearly not believing a word from you. “didn’t you say you felt like you were being followed home the other night? you should think harder on the description—”

“anyways!” you cut him off, knowing that he’s not going to stop talking unless you make him. sometimes you’re not sure if he actually likes having conversations with you or just the sound of his own voice. “shouldn’t you get back to tying some red thread between the pictures and articles hung up on your wall mr. detective.”

“fuck off.” he flips you off from where he’s now lurking by your dresser, leaning against it as he’s focused on checking his phone. “i know you think i’m joking, but they put me on the west end so i’ll be patrolling over by the party if you–”

“oh! my rides here,” you lie, jumping up to slip past him and out of the conversation. “so, i’ll text you when i make it back home since you’ll be on patrol and i won’t see you again tonight, right?”

“wait!” he calls after you, annoyed by your sudden escape, as you slip on your shoes. “text me if something happens with your ride and i’ll walk you back!”

“bye, fuzen!” you yell back, walking out the door. “love you!”

/// /// ///

maybe… fuzen wasn’t just talking to hear his voice. maybe, there’s a small possibility that you do have a stalker.

you could chalk it all up to your roommate giving you anxiety about the whole situation, or that you’ve had a few too many already. but you can’t deny the fact that from the moment you stepped out of your apartment building until you climbed into your ride’s car, you felt something watching you.

it was a hot gaze, a familiar one. it could’ve been a neighbor, you reasoned to yourself as you waited for kirishima to arrive, and that theory sounded best as you repeated it to yourself at the party, laughing with him and his friends and downing drink after drink. until the chill on the back of your neck reappeared, despite how warm your blood is from the alchol. and no matter how much you looked over your shoulder to try and find some kind of source for it, there just wasn’t anyone there.

“you good?” sero asks when you fail to reply to your name being called.

“huh?” you turn to him to find the whole group looking at you with concern, your face flushes at how ridiculous you must look, being so skittish. “oh, i’m fine,” you force a laugh, hoping it seems genuine. “think i just had a little bit too much.”

“no sweat.” kirishima nods towards the glass door behind him and you try to ignore how sero and denki exchange glances. “let’s go get some air.”

“yeah, okay.” you hope the earth swallows you whole as you follow behind him.

you regret coming, regret not shutting your door while getting ready, regret letting fuzen talk his mouth off at you for so long about it. you’ll chew him out about it tomorrow.

you take a deep breath as you walk out the glass door, kirishima’s large palm rubbing soothingly on your back helps settle the nerves. there’s a comforting warmth that takes over the anxious heat as you lean into him.

“sorry i’m being weird.” you mumble as he guides you into his chest, melting into him and the sound of his steady heart beat.

“you’re fine,” you feel the arm holding his cup raise, the pause between his words meaning his downing the rest of his drink that smells way too strong. “don’t worry about it.”

the two of you sway for a bit, his arms around you and your head on his chest with the muffled music as ambiance.

it could be blamed on the alcohol but in this moment, you’re thankful you have kirishima. thankful for how it took absolutely no time at all for you to get comfortable with him, how it felt like an instant connection when he silently prompted the two of you to play tictactoe in the margine of your notes. something that quickly snowballed from passing messages to walking you back to your dorm, and then hang outs as his frat house.

he’s always offered himself as a stress relief for you, making sure you’re comfortable while you’re with him and pressing you about it any time that you seemed tense. there’s been a few awkward moments where you thought he’d tried making a pass at you but he’s always been quick to clarify. plus he’s so warm, like… really warm. his arms feel like a blanket around you. god, how is someone so big and bulky also so soft? you could probably fall asleep like this, surrounded by him.

“hey.” you’re pulled from your thoughts, and from where you were tucked into him. “you knocking out on me?”

“sorry.” you giggle, at his ever playful expression. “you’re just so comfortable.”

the smirk on his face is a harmless one, you think. and it’s awfully pretty.

“bakugou needs me at the beer pong table.”

“i don’t need you, fucker.” you hear the blonde shout from where he stands at the door. did he yell at him before too? “they just don’t want me to embarrass them by beating their asses by myself.”

kirishima laughs. ”you stayin’ out here?” you hesitate, but nod. you feel better, but the thought of facing his friends again so fast is a little too intimidating. “i wont let anyone come out here and fuck with you.” he squeezes your hip before chasing his friend inside. “come watch me when you’re ready!” the redhead calls to you from where he now hangs out the door, his toothy grin clear as day even from this distance.

you only wave back, your dizziness telling you it’s not a good idea to raise your voice right now.

you let yourself stumble back against the wall before pulling your phone out. you try three times to call fuzen and it immediately cancels before you realize you have no service where you’re standing. you curse under your breath as you push off the bricks and force your legs to carry you around the corner of the house. finally a full bar of service, you have to focus on the blurry phone icon while your thumb finds its way there.

why is everything so hard?

you manage to fumble your phone before you’re able to start the call. it feels like there’s a brick in your skull with how heavy your head becomes as you bend over to reach for the device. just as your finger tips touch your screen, there’s big, rough ones which grab at your hips. you don’t have time to scream before your arm is wound behind your back and used to press you against the brick of the house. you lose any hope of grabbing your phone and yelp as your chest and cheek sting at the harsh contact. your vision spins as you blink in the dim light, you can’t even make out the shape of the person behind you.

”don’t scream.” the stranger speaks in your ear, though slightly muffled, it still makes you freeze all the same. the adrenaline delays the recognition of the cold blade at your back, a knife. how were those girls killed again? you immediately nod, further scraping yours skin against the jagged edges of the brick. fear courses through your veins as he takes hold of your free arm and brings it back with the other, wrapping a large hand around both to keep them in place.

you try to plead with him when his knife moves from your back, the threat of it gone, or maybe all the alcohol making you bold enough to speak.

“i haven’t seen your face.” you whisper, hoping it was low enough for him to allow it. “you don’t have to kill me, you could just let me go.”

“let you go?” he asks, surely it’s your intoxicated mind, but he sounds genuinely confused, almost hurt by your words. “i can’t,” he mutters and you whine as your heart hammers in your chest. “i f-finally have you.” you hear the man sigh behind you before he presses his face into your neck, you can hear the echo in whatever metal he has wrapped over his face as he inhales deep against your skin and your body instantly reacts with chills shooting up your spine. “you smell so good.” he begins to pant as his free hand gropes at your body. “so m-much better than any of them did.”

“please… don’t,” you beg when he reaches your breast, where he squeezes it just enough to hurt before clumsily rubbing his fingers over your nipples through the cloth.

“but i knew you would.” he continues as if you didn’t speak, as if your words don’t matter. “you’re the b-best, the only good one, only you.”

his hand drags from your chest down to your waist where he starts to struggle with your bottoms. and your eyes begin to feel with tears at the inevitable.

“please just let me go.” you try again, hoping for just an ounce of pity. “i really won’t tell anyone.”

“i’m sorry.” his body pressed up against you, shoving you farther into the hard wall, ”i’m sorry, angel,” you finally realize just how much bigger the man is than you. “im just–i can’t stop. i need you.” his grip on your arms disappears as he opts to use his large stature to keep you pinned, with both of his hands to work your bottoms down to your knees before he’s humping against your ass. “i wanted to wait– wanted our first to be special.”

the deadweight feeling at the back of your mind aches to takeover, the dizziness, the fear, the effor it takes for you to just breathe right now it far too much, so you succumb to it all– making you completely helpless. all you can do is stand there and hope he’ll let you go once he’s had his fill. not that it’s easy, there’s bile churning in your stomach when you hear the click of his belt, feel the shuffle of him tugging his own pants down.

you have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from crying when you feel the heat of what has to be his cock prodding between your thighs. the only thing keeping any distance between its heat and your most vulnerable parts is the underwear holding the last bit of your dignity together. but once he wraps his arms around you—which squeeze you so tight you think you’ll burst— and he angles you so your hips stick back enough for him to rub between your thighs while pressing up against your cunt, you’re sure you’ll throw up regardless.

he, however, groans at the contact. “s-so warm.” you can hear him begin to pant as his hips start rhythmically pressing into yours, the force alone enough to jolt your body against the wall. “f-feel so good.” you can taste blood as you hold back your sobs. it feels like an eternity passes, each groan and inhale against your nape makes you more nauseous until your body has had enough.

being pushed too far from the fear, the drinks, and the pain, it causes you to collapse on yourself. everything seems like it fades as you fall slack in the stranger's arms. maybe if you die while unconscious, it’ll be okay. at least you won’t feel the pain.

sounds come in and out like you have bad radio service, your eyes too heavy and body too weak to get a good sense of what’s happening, but you hear—

“t-this? my girlfriend drank too much s-so i’m j-just—“ comes from somewhere around you, somewhere close.

“awww!” you hear, whiney and dragged out from some girl who definitely had more than you tonight. “you’re such a good boyfriend for babysitting.” your heart aches when you try to fight, to move, to scream and you’re far from successful.

“i wish my boyfriend let me drink that much.” if you could just tell one person what’s happening, if you could just show even a little bit of struggle, someone could save you. “you’re even carrying her! so cute!” if someone could just see your face, maybe they’d see that this is not who you arrived with, someone could tell kirishima. “you guys get home safe~!”

you feel like a boulder is set on your chest, the weight of your failure weight bearing on you when everything’s quiet again.

/// /// ///

you don’t know how much time passes before you’re able to bring yourself out of your useless state until you’re finally able to blink your eyes open and take in your surroundings. it’s all blurry at first, but the furniture in your line of sight slowly starts to resemble that of the setup you have in your room. there’s your vanity, your nightstand, this is your comforter, a weak smile works its way onto your lips.

you could cry from the relief. whatever happened, whether it was all a dream or something you won’t be able to remember, you don’t care. you’re home.

you toss your head back into your pillow, taking in a deep breath, catching the smell of what's likely your own sweat before you try to stretch your arms out, the needles stabbing into your hands making you feel the need to shake them to fix your blood flow. but they don’t budge, and the sound of metal clanking makes you shoot your eyes open and then you feel it.

your grogginess to blame for you not being able to the cuffs that encase them before. nor the sinking weight that kneels beside you, a large figure looming over you looking that much more daunting with the light behind him illuminating only his towering figure as he hunches over you, huffing and whining with his cock only inches from your face.

your lips tremble when the false sense of safety washed away and you look up past the movement of his hand, slowly taking in the dark green mess of hair that falls around his face, the chunky metallic mask that causes each of his heavy breaths to be echoed before you meet his eyes, the wide, terrifying green gaze that burns back at you makes you wish you were still unconscious.

“o-oh.” he’s so loud as he shoots out his load across your face and the bare parts of your chest, thick and hot where it lands. you cringe as your name is chanted off his lips and you squeeze your eyes and mouth closed, not wanting to let yourself be any more violated than you already feel. your head pounds as you feel the urge to cry, but you can’t seem to force yourself to.

“i didn’t—i didn’t finish earlier,” you hear him mutter above you, “and it hurt—looking at you,” a hand smoothes along your hairline, making you jump at the contact, and he retracts. “s-sorry… you’re just… so pretty.”

“can i…” he starts and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to answer if he actually asks you a question. “can i take a picture? it’ll only be for me, i promise.”

“please…” your voice is weak and you have to try and gather some spit to swallow to allow yourself any more volume. “don’t…” your request is sure to be ignored, he’s seemed to do whatever else he’s liked.

“you’re r-right,” you feel the mattress rise once he disappears from beside you, “another time.”

you try to test your voice again, you’re not sure how long it’s been since what you can last remember, but if fuzen wasn’t on patrol, he’d be in bed. if only you could scream.

“i’ll clean you up, is that o-okay?” you don’t reply, only tense when the warm cloth wipes at your skin. “sorry, again. i feel like such a pervert.”

you open your eyes again once they’re clean, and staring at your curtains, you try to think. you can’t even speak, can’t move, can’t fight. how long are you going to be so helpless?

“are you okay? i know i probably scared you…” you wish you could scoff. “could you at least look at me?”

you don’t move to face him, not wanting to look into those horrifying eyes again. just the thought of him, next to you now, staring at you with them makes you shudder with fear.

“look at me.” he grips your jaw, reminding you how big his hands are as he forces you to turn towards him. you avoid meeting his gaze. not wanting to know if it’s just as piercing as before, instead, you take in the green mess of curls, how they stick about and fall into his face. you can see him staring at you, but still, skip over making eye contact and make out the freckles at peek out from behind the metallic mask that seems to be slipping, making you close your eyes again.

if there was any small chance of you getting out of here alive, there’s no way you can see his face.

“hey–”

“your mask,” you whisper, and his grip loosens as soon as you speak.

“oh,” he mumbles back. you can hear what you guess is him toying with it, but you realize as you peek up, was him removing it. “guess i don’t need this.”

with his face fully revealed, you can feel yourself sinking into acceptance of your fate.

“you’re staring…” you can visibly see him swallow, his eyes darting between yours and the floor. “am i attractive?” a soft smile grows on his lips at him complimenting himself as if you’d really said it. “i’m happy you think so.”

“i have a roommate,” you speak, voice cracking.

“what?” his eyebrows drawn together, face set in a scowl before he pushes himself from your bed. “you need some water.”

“he’s a hero.” you try again, even as he walks away and you’re sure you’re out of earshot. “a strong one, and he’ll be home soon.” you pick your head up to watch him throw the door open, and all of your hope for your roommate saving you drains as you stare down a hallway that doesn’t belong in your apartment; you’re not home…

if you saw any typos, no you didn’t !!<;33

reblogs + asks + feedback appreciated !

#bnha smut #mha smut #my hero smut #izuku smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya smut #izuku x you #bnha x you #mha x you #stalking tw #yandere tw #drugging tw #noncon tw

2K notes · View notes

scara-meow-che · 1 year

Text

then they were roommates ┃ sweet deception with thoma

CW. NSFW (MDNI), afab! reader with no set of pronouns, roommate! thoma, use of sedatives, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it!), pervert! thoma, noncon, he takes pics of you, male masturbation, pervert and a bit ooc thoma ♥︎

AN. another reposted work. i promise that i'd be posting new ones soon <3 just a little more from my part on actually editing the drafts that i have here but anyway, enjoy our ooc pervert, roomie thoma!

thoma is the sweetest roommate you’d ever ask for!

besides the fact that he constantly reminds you of the tasks you have absentmindedly forgotten or prepares breakfast in the morning, he also helps you with your projects whenever he has some time to spare.

you also want to take note of the tea he always makes!

“hey thoma! you haven’t told me what brand this tea is.”

the weekend had just arrived and you were left sprawled in the comforts of your blankets while watching another rom-com with thoma. he was laid adjacent to your side, the two loveseats occupied by your tired bodies.

“silly, how many times do i need to tell you that i handmade this! you can help me pick up the ingredients tomorrow morning if you want,” thoma offers with a smile. he can see how you immediately perked up in interest, nodding your head in agreement. “well, just make sure that you sleep early now since i often leave around 5.”

and he hears you grunt afterward.

“come on now, you wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this, yeah?” he encourages you, standing up from his seat. he eyes you, taking a huge sip of your tea before dropping down the cup on the nearby table. he shudders, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips before he reaches out both his hands to help you stand up.

as you do, you can feel your body slipping into a relaxed state, almost stumbling and falling back into the seat. but thoma was fast and had an arm wrapped around your body, gently cradling you in his warmth.

“easy now,” he mumbles. it felt quite nice to be wrapped in his embrace as the nature of his being caring seeps through while he guides you to your room. “getting sleepy now, aren’t you?”

you hummed, feeling the softness of your blanket caressing your skin as thoma gently lays you down on your bed. as each second passes by, you find your eyes can barely keep themselves open. and before you were consumed by sleep, you can hear the faint whisper from your roommate, a sweet smile etched on his face.

“sweet dreams f/n.”

it was truly sweet, thoma had always been like this every day and you barely notice the patterns. he is someone so kind, dependable, selfless, and caring so you trust him. there’s never a reason to doubt him, not when he had you gullible just as he wanted to.

don’t get him wrong but thoma genuinely cares for you. he likes you, a lot. but the intensity of his emotions quickly becomes too much for him to handle. you were so pretty, so perfect in his eyes that he can’t help but give you what he thinks you’d want, what you’d like, what you’d find worthy of your affection.

but he thinks that fucking you when you’re asleep is something you wouldn’t approve of.

when he sees the steady motion of your chest, lungs pumping air in and out of your relaxed and vulnerable state, he’s quick to adjust your body, letting you lie flat on your back and your legs pressed on each side. you’ve always looked beautiful to him, no matter what you wear, no matter how unkempt your hair was.

and he finds you most beautiful spread out like this for him to take. an angel you are in his eyes.

he groans when he feels his cock ache inside his tight pants. you’re just that perfect, fuck, he’s so damn lucky that he’s the one who gets to share this apartment space with you and not just a random bastard who wouldn’t treat you like he does.

he just hope you wouldn’t find out the debauched person he can be.

thoma wants to put all the blame on you. you should be held accountable for how adorable you are, and how your beaming eyes always had him hooked whenever you tell him what happened in uni. you should know that he’s utterly smitten from how much you cling to him, trusting him to the point where you don’t even notice that the tea he makes was the very reason why he had you pressed down like this.

of course, he wouldn’t dare hurt you. he’s not an asshole who just takes advantage of you like this and ends up hurting you in any way or form. thoma would spend the time preparing you, holding you, and pleasing you before he could even please himself.

as he had your legs spread open, he would gently remove your pants, revealing you in your underwear. he finds it cute how you wear this particular pair every weekend, the soft pastel red cotton undies he always love!

then he would notice how you’d shiver, feeling the cold gust of wind welcoming your flushed skin. thoma would cover you up with the blanket he made for you, smiling as he remembers how you were elated to receive this from him.

as he provides you a source of warmth, he would continue and leave kisses on your thighs, his large hands pressing down to spread your legs wider. he dares not leave any hickeys, as much as his mind tells him to mark you already. he can do that later when you’re finally sober enough to know what the hell he’s doing.

after leaving feather-like kisses on both your thighs, thoma would press two of his fingers between your clothed cunt, sliding up and down your slit. he can hear the gentle hums of satisfaction escaping your lips.

“even when you’re in deep sleep, you’ve always loved being pleasured like this, huh?” he whispers, putting in some pressure that the tip of his finger glides down your clit. “we wouldn’t want to mess this though,” he adds before he hooks two of his fingers to the band of your underwear and slowly pulls it off your body.

with your lower half exposed for his eyes to feast on, thoma almost came at the sight of your cunt slightly shimmering from your slick. he curses under his breath, impatient because he just wants to shove his cock but had put an immense focus so to mentally stops himself.

before he even loses control, he moves his head down and has his lips close in your cunt. he hums, satisfied, tasting you as his tongue laps up and down your clit. he can finally taste you, so sweet against the sensitive flesh of his mouth. you were addicting, thoma can’t help but give your pussy lips a kiss before he had his whole mouth sucking on your poor cunt.

he felt your thighs occassionally close back from the sensation, your eyebrows furrowing that your sleep-induced state tries to focus on the pleasurable feeling you’re receiving between your legs.

“you’re so damn cute,” thoma mutters before he goes back on assaulting your sensitive clit. he wants to hear you moan, to hear you whimper about how good he’s treating you, how good he was on eating you out, on pleasing you but that can wait.

after flicking his tongue on your sensitive nub, he had two fingers slowly pumping in and out of your hole. you were so wet, so ready for him to take but he wants to make you cum first. thoma goes back on sucking on your clit as his fingers smoothly go in and out of your hole, adjusting it to reach the most sensitive spot inside that he knew by heart. you were so warm, so tight around two of his digits.

the pleasure he gets from fucking you like this had him rutting his hips down the bed, cock itching to shove itself inside your warmth and have your tight walls snuggle it closer. his pants' already ruined from his pre. he groans as he does so, eyes peering up to witness how your back softly arched from the vibrations he had let go on your clit. thoma can feel how close you are, your warm walls sucking him in with fervor.

“that’s it f/n. go on, cum for me,” he says even if you won’t even hear him or know that it was him pleasuring you like this. your walls clamped on his fingers, your hole gushing out so much slick as thoma didn’t stop sliding his digits in and out to ride your high.

your body was still shaking a bit from the aftermath of your orgasm when thoma swiftly moved up and pulled his hard and aching cock out of his already-ruined pants. he hissed as the warmth of his hands made contact with his skin, quickly rubbing the bulbous head on your cunt to relieve himself from the pain.

“‘want you so badly, f/n, just let me—” slowly, he pushes himself inside your walls, grunting at the sudden tightness engulfing him. he eyes your body, those emerald hues watching every twitch of your eyebrow and how your chest lets go of a shaky breath as he finally pushes all the way in. “fuck, you feel so good around me.”

thoma’s head was spinning at the view he’s getting of you even more when he looks down to where you’re both connected. his long girth feels just perfect to be inside you, smoothly sliding in and out. hell, he wanted to roughly bend you in half and shove himself as deep as he could but you might wake up. he doesn’t want that but fuck, you’re making it so hard for him.

in seconds, he rocks his hips against your body, his thighs softly smacking against your butt as he slowly ruts himself in your core. thoma bites down on his lips, focusing on being gentle while getting the most out of your cunt. he closes his eyes, savoring how your walls sucks him in, tightening every time he bottoms out. he was so big yet he had managed to have you adjust to his size perfectly, molding you to have his cock alone.

he was close, the pleasure so intense on bis lower half he had somehow let go of his focus and started a rather quick pace in fucking you. he hears you whimpering, his mind thinking that you’re awake and was ushering him to go faster, that you’re close too, that you want him to make a mess out of you.

“anything for you, f/n. fuck, i’d do anything for you,” he utters with a moan, sweat glistening on his forehead, his balls slapping oh so loudly against your thighs covered with your slick. and he pulls out, groaning as his cold hands started to jerk on his sensitive cock before he lets out his thick cum just right outside your hole.

thoma could barely keep in his moans, shivering at how he coats your pussy lips with his load that you looked so damn messy but fuck, you’re just so beautiful in his eyes.

“i love you,” he whispers but gained back his focus in seconds when he hears you humming. his eyes darted back to your face only to see that you’re still fast asleep.

thoma sighs, shaking his head, and went back down to look at your cum-stained cunt. he could just jerk again at the sight but doesn’t want to wake you sooner than he’d think he might. but, before he puts your legs back down and it let relax, he pulls out his phone from his pocket and quickly took pictures of your body, more on how he ruined you below, angling it where he can see how he had claimed you to be his.

with this sweet smile on his face, he bends down and slowly left a kiss on your forehead.

“sweet dreams, angel. i hope that we can spend more time soon.”

#⇲ full streams #nsfw.txt #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #thoma smut #thoma x reader smut #drugging tw #tw drugging #noncon tw #tw noncon #tw somnophilia #somnophilia tw

2K notes · View notes

antlerqueer · 6 months

Text

Yellowjackets (2021-). aka The Gay Wrongs Show.

@lgbtqcreators battleship bingo: free choice

236 notes · View notes

tgirlrobot · 17 days

Text

Mmhmm, okay sweetie. Yes. You're a "free terran", and yes you can "go home with your free will". Now come here and get your dose of class D's and A's, then put on this adorable dress! Mistress has a day out planned, and if you're good I might even let your feed yourself!

(Gosh you're so cute when drooling out of your mind with that wide-eyed floret stare as you play with the others)

#human domestication guide #drugging tw #extreme domination #look. being a floret is hot #ok?

113 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 1 month

Text

All We Have Is Each Other

CW: Intimate whumper, captivity, defiant whumpee, biting, creepy whumper, obsessive whumper, noncon kiss, vague noncon references, drugging. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 1: Duel

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

Takes place during Jax’s second captivity. As always, Jax is used with oversight and permission from @comfy-whumpee)

Savvie rolls dice every time she uses the mortar and pestle in the kitchen to grind up one of her collections of pills and mix it into Jax’s drink.

She’s always gambling with the drugs. The first part of the game is seeing whether he’ll drink it before he realizes there’s something in it. If she doesn’t mix it well enough, he’ll see the cloudy bits floating around in the glass and look at her with terrible sad eyes. Sometimes she can’t take it. She just takes the drink right back out of his hand and pours it out, makes him a new one.

Other the other hand, sometimes his sad voice and sad eyes piss her off worse than anything else could, and she just tips it up until he chokes and makes him finish it anyway. Or shocks him, pressing the button to the remote and watching his muscles lock up, knowing he’ll look sweeter once he’s fighting the way his muscles jerk afterward, the unconscious twitches he can’t quite get rid of as the aftermath works its way through him.

Sometimes he even looks scared. Those nights are some of her favorites. Savvie never loves Jax as much as she does when he is scared of her.

But... she can’t keep him scared all the time. What kind of marriage would they have if she did that? No, the drinks aren’t to scare him, they’re just to make… to make things easier. And she doesn’t always do it! She doesn’t always drug him, but it’s enough that he never trusts her. She knows that. He doesn’t… trust easily.

That’s okay.

Their relationship got off to a rough start, that’s all, what with Jax starting off as one of the staff, bought and paid for. Plus, Jax’s dad convinced him Savvie was evil, once upon a time when he ran away from her. Taught him to hate her. She had to have her uncle fly all the way to England to bring Jax back, and it’s taking years to undo all the damage that stupid old man did.

That’s okay. He’s getting better, he’s definitely getting better. He is. He has to be getting better.

Still… he’s not an easy man to be married to. Not with having to keep an eye on the remote to his shock collar so he can’t take it off and try to run away again, not with the way he watches her sometimes like he wants to dunk her head into the toilet and hold it there until she drowns. Putting stuff in his drink just lets Savvie be able to relax.

She doesn’t have to worry about what he might do when he’s so high he can’t do much of anything. Besides, it’s only like one out of every ten nights, sometimes twenty, sometimes she even goes for a month or two without doing it.

She really doesn’t even want to. If he would just learn to be happy without it, she wouldn’t have to keep drugging him, would she? If he’d just stop being so difficult about being her husband… but that isn’t fair. He can’t be any better than he is, not really. Jax just… isn’t wired that way.

So she has to help him a little, to make it so he can have nights when he can’t stay mad at her. Or at least nights when his anger isn’t able to simmer in there behind his eyes while he says Yes, Miss Savvie or No, Miss Savvie like there’s a gun to his head.

Still. Trying to give him these evenings where both of them just relax… it’s always a gamble.

Even if he drinks whatever she makes without realizing it’s spiked, he doesn’t always react the same way. If she’s lucky - if her dice rolls well - the drugs make Jax… softer. He’ll lean against her when some of his strength slides away, not seek out touch but loathe it less. Those are the nights she can coax a sound out of him that isn’t clipped or tense. She still thinks about the night she gave him a back rub and he genuinely fell asleep sitting on the floor between her knees, his head drifting until it rested on her leg, the knots of tension slowly loosening beneath her kneading hands until she got distracted by the movie and forgot what she was doing.

Sometimes he smiles, when he’s blurry and unfocused. Smiles, enough to show teeth even… God, sometimes he even laughs at some of Savvie’s jokes. It’s rare, but it happens. She loves those nights the best. Those are the nights that their marriage almost feels normal… if she just ignores the dilated pupils and the way he can’t stand up on his own.

Sometimes he gets so foggy he can’t stop laughing, which is irritating but at least adorable to watch and take videos of to make him look at later on the next day when he sobers up again. Sometimes the side effects make him too scared to smile, his eyes darting nervously everywhere watching the movements of shadows he swears are watching him. She… tries not to give him those pills anymore.

The nights tend to end with her telling him to take off his shirt so she can enjoy the view, or even his pants, too. She usually waits on that, though, because it doesn’t matter how good the drugs are - he always hesitates when it comes to taking off his pants, as soon as his fingers touch the boxers with their oddly rolled waistband.

It reminds him he doesn’t want to be here. Makes his addled mind come back to the collar he wears around his neck, to the reality of the life they’re living, the marriage Savvie has built all by herself whether he wanted to or not.

And he… he didn’t want to.

So normally she waits on the getting naked bit until they’re in the bedroom and what he wants matters so much less that neither of them think about it any longer. The drugs, at least, make it harder for him to slow her down in there.

Savvie tries not to think about that, because she doesn’t remember it that way. She likes the nights best where he doesn’t even try to fight, just lets her pull him upstairs and she gets to bury her hands in his hair and tell him what to do and have him, languid and loose-limbed, follow every command without the tension and misery he usually carries into their bed.

She doesn’t always roll well.

Sometimes, she rolls snake eyes… and she gets this, instead.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jax groans, words slurring around the edges, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He pushes clumsily away from her, nearly falling off the couch before he manages to catch himself. “For… f’r fuck’s sake, Savvie, what the fuck.”

His wedding ring glints, light from the TV bouncing off the deceptively plain platinum band. She’s hit all over again with a wave of love for him, for the life she’s built after he was brought back home to be hers forever, just like he always should have been. She’d been an idiot not to see it, not until he was gone and she spent years in prison dreaming about getting him back.

“Fuck’s sake what?” She asks, voice light, smiling at him and poking him in the shoulder where they sit on the couch.

He doesn’t slap her hand away, but she sees him look at her and… he wants to. His expression is dark. The light is bouncing off his hazel eyes, too, giving them a strange sheen of white that wipes out the color, obscures even his dilated pupils slowly taking over the iris. “What the fuck was it?”

“What was what?”

“What the fuck did you give me?” He goes to push himself to standing only to have his knees buckle beneath him, crashing him to the floor, barely catching himself on his hands. Savvie’s mouth waters, and she swallows, trying to ignore the flutter of fascinated interest in watching his fingernails scrape the rug as he tries to steady himself. “What the fuck is it, Savvie?”

“It doesn’t matter,” She answers, without changing her own tone, leaning forward with her arms resting on her thighs. Her hair falls in heavy waves down her back and over her shoulders. “It’s not anything that could hurt you.”

This time, he doesn't say Miss Savvie or try out the sad eyes. Instead, he looks away. She can nearly hear his teeth grinding. “Yeah, but once I’m all fucked up, you will.”

“Don’t be rude,” Savvie chides him, but she doesn’t move. He looks good, on his hands and knees on the floor. Well, he looks good all the time, really, but he looks even better on his hands and knees. She knows the physique he’s built with the workout routine she makes him do, knows the muscles there hidden beneath the green sweater and jeans he’s wearing. “You’ve been stressed all week. I’m just trying to help-”

“Fucking shit, the hell you are!” He manages to sit back on his knees, then collapses back until his back hits the edge of the couch cushions, upright through sheer force of will and a bit of good luck. His hands lay limp at his sides, now. When he turns to look at her, his eyes don’t focus quite right - but the fury in them is clear.

Well.

Tonight’s not going to be the best night for them, then, she supposes. She feels the edge of a headache starting up, and sighs, looking mournfully at the movie she’d pulled up for them to watch. Another night, then. A night when the gamble pays off and doesn’t backfire. A night when he can’t remember how to be angry at her.

“Fine,” She says, heavily. “I’m not trying to help you. I’m trying to help me.”Her own voice changes - drops almost a full octave from her usual carefully constructed diction and sweetness to something sharper. “I’m making tonight easier on me. Making you less… less-” She can't think of a good way to end the sentence, so she just lets it hang there between them.

Jax snorts, looking away again. His head keeps lolling forward until his chin nearly touches his chest before he jerks it back again. “Yeah, I fucking know,” He manages, but his slurring is getting worse. “Shit f’r brains.”

Savvie sniffs, but the fake tears aren't coming as easily as they usually do. She probably accidentally gave him too much again. It’s just sometimes so hard to remember exactly how much the dose is supposed to be…

“I don’t enjoy you being cruel to me any more than you enjoy it when I do it to you, you know,” She says, suddenly… so tired. She spends so much time and effort creating a marriage herself out of a man her uncle bought for her once and abducted for her the second time, and she’s doing this all on her own - no one helps her, not really. And Jax never gives up.

She’d been sure he’d start to settle in and understand by now, but he just… he just doesn’t. And she’s so tired. Her fingers toy with the little black remote to his shock collar. Maybe she should just… just give up on having a good night and punish him for the cursing until he just bites off his stupid tongue.

No, wait.

She likes what he does with his tongue, when she gives the order. He’s so good with it now. Maybe… maybe just a small shock. Just to remind him he's hers. She takes a deep breath. “Jax… get on your-”

“On m’knees f’r discipline?” He starts laughing before she can finish, cutting her off, letting his head fall totally back against the arm of the couch until he’s staring at the ceiling. He sounds wild, almost like an animal. Her quiet watchful husband is feral, and Savvie resolves never to give him the pill she gave him tonight ever again. “Yeah, fucking… fuckin’ do it. Second I don’t play along, there y’go. Bzzzt.” He cackles, a cracked bark of laughter she’s never heard him make before. “Shut me up so you don’t hear me say it.”

Savvie’s heart twists. “Say what?”

The laughter dies in him as suddenly as it appeared. He turns his head, or tries to - it mostly just falls to one side until he’s looking at her. Their eyes meet, his all black pupil and hers with nearly no pupil at all. “How much I fucking hate your fucking guts.”

“You don’t hate me.” She says it firmly, as if he’s being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, Jax. You don’t hate me at all.”

She takes a deep breath. Married couples have fights, even ugly ones sometimes, and they work it out-

“Yeah. I… I really do.” Disgusted, that’s the tone in his voice. Disgusted with her. “I do. I hate you.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The look he gives her is such a blatant are you a complete fucking moron that she can hear his voice even though he doesn’t say a word.

“No, hold on.” She waves one hand, dismissing her own question. His eyes briefly follow the movements of her fingers, distracted by whatever the drugs make him see there. Trails of light, maybe. It’s probably beautiful. “Hold on. I know why-”

“Do you?” His question is sharp, snapped, even as his every muscle can barely tense enough to move. “Do you fuckin’ really?”

“Yes. I do.” Savvie’s too tired to talk him in a circle tonight. She’s just… too exhausted by her bad gamble, bringing neither the snuggly Jax or the scared one, but this angry, vengeful animal instead.

Her headache is getting worse.

She grabs her glass of wine off the coffee table and chugs it so fast a little drip escapes the corner of her mouth and runs down her chin. She has to wipe it away, wincing at the… at the idea of how that looks. Her mother would have had a fit about it. If she hadn’t died years ago. “Because I had you kidnapped.”

Jax is silent, for a beat. He squints at her. “Fuck… what’d you say? Might be hearin’ shit.”

She laughs, softly. Not her usual laughter, crafted to fill up a room and put all eyes on her. This laugh is barely there, but far more genuine. “No. You're not hallucinating, that shouldn't happen with what I gave you tonight.”

“Oh, good, not this fucking drugging, then, jussss-” His head falls too far to one side and he forces it back up, groaning. “Jusss… others.”

“Only one of the pills does that. And you were cute when you thought there were monsters in the bathroom.” She gets that flat stare from him again and this time she can't hold eye contact, looking down and away, still fiddling with the remote to his collar. “I just. I do know what I did, Jax.”

“Yeah, I fucking know you know-”

“I had you kidnapped.” She takes a deep breath. It feels oddly good to say, like a scene in a movie confessing to a priest. A foul-mouthed priest she’s been sleeping with for over a year. The thought makes her smile, just a little. “My uncle had people watching you, and when I was ready, he knew where you’d be and he abducted you for me. I know that. I know that you’d run, if you could. I’d take your collar off right now if I thought you’d stay without wearing it.”

Jax is silent for so long she briefly wonders if he's flat out forgotten how to talk. Then he shrugs - or tries to, his arms don't quite follow his commands. “You’d find somethin’ else, some other reason for shit ‘round my neck. You fuckin’ like it.”

For the first time, she doesn't deny it. “I do.” She laughs at the way he looks almost comically surprised, unable to keep his usual closed-off expressions in place with the drug coursing through his veins. “What? Can't a girl have a kink?”

“Sure fuckin’ can, but you… you don' have a kink, you got… goddamn victims.”

“... I… yeah. But it-... that's not my point. It isn't about the collar, Jax. Your wedding ring does it for me, too. I could barely wait to get you home after we signed the marriage certificate.”

The glare is back. His hatred is blistering her skin. She watches him try to stand, making it nearly upright before he falls back down again with a heavy thump.

Her mouth twitches. “You want help, sweetie?”

“Ffffuck you.”

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking so nicely.” She giggles at her own joke.

He mumbles something she can't quite hear, trying to stand one more time but quickly giving up. He makes it onto the couch, at least. Savvie stands, turning to grab his ankles, shifting so he’s lying on his back, head and feet each cushioned by the arms of the comfortable, overstuffed couch. He struggles weakly, and it's hard work, but she gets him where she wants him. She barely breathes, taking in his chest rising and falling under his sweater, how his inhales are coming more sharply.

She can't help herself.

Savvie climbs on top of him, like she’s done a hundred times. She straddles him, sitting on his hips and leaning down to kiss his neck, nosing under his jaw. At first, his head tips back in resignation - but then he curses and pushes at her weakly instead. “Don’t.”

She grabs his wrists and shoves them above his head. He’s so weak, the drugs have taken all that muscle and made them… useless at holding her off. There’s a shiver of excitement down her spine. “Uh-uh, sweetie. You’re the one who said to fuck you, remember?”

She feels a thrill at saying fuck, like she’s still a kid sneaking swears in her room when her parents won’t overhear.

“Don't,” He groans. “Sav-... Savvie, stop. G’t off me. I hate you.”

“I know.” She smiles down at him. His eyes meet hers, tired and bleary. Furious and almost resigned. “I know you hate me, Jax… but I love you.”

She leans down, her hair a waterfall curtain, blocking them both off from the world. She can smell the cologne she buys for him, blended with her own pricey perfume. His wrists jerk against her grip and she digs her nails in until he grunts in pain and the skin gives beneath.

“Savvie,” he whispers.

“Sssshhh.” She lets go with one hand, shifting both his wrists to her other one, and presses a finger against his lips. “I love you so much,” She whispers. “And I don't need you to love me back, sweetie, I don’t. I just need you to lie for me.”

She kisses him, then, pressing her lips firmly to his. For half a second, his mouth is slack and unresisting even as his body shudders with disgust. He’s warm, his skin burning up beneath her. Her mouth moves against his, trying to get him to answer her, to open up.

His lips gently part. For a brief moment, Savvie feels the rush of victory.

Then he bites.

Pain blooms in a sudden flare as his teeth bury themselves into her lower lip and he jerks his head to the side, sensitive skin tearing.

“Shit!” Savvie jerks backwards, staring down at him wide-eyed. She can taste her own blood in her mouth. It’s smeared on his lips and his teeth like badly-done lipstick as he gives her a smile that's really a snarl. “Oh my God, Jax-... how dare you-”

“Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me!” He gets his arms more or less under his own control and shoves her off of him. She crashes into the coffee table, the legs giving out, tumbling her to the floor. Pain spikes hot and demanding along her hip where she hits the hard angle of the corner and she finds herself the one lying on the floor, while Jax slowly sits up, wiping blood off his lips.

Her blood.

Savvie pulls her fingers from her mouth and gasps. There’s a smear of red, bright and vibrant, the unmistakable sense of blood trickling down over her chin. She tongues at the wound, then winces as the pain flares bright, like he’s bitten her all over again. She considers tears - looks at the loathing in his eyes, the absolute rage written in the lines of his face - and then decides they’re wasted on him tonight. Instead, she just shakes her head. “That hurt.”

“Good. Don' like bein’ the one fucking bleeding for once, huh?” His eyes drift closed. He struggles to open them again, to keep his eyes on her. “Shit feelin’, isn't it?”

“God.” She swallows. Blood on her tongue is making her feel nauseous and she gets to her feet carefully. Her mouth and hip throb. She’s going to be so bruised tomorrow, going to ache so much. “You’re awful sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He grins. He hasn't bothered to try and get the red off his teeth. “I know. So… so fffffuckin’ get rid of me, then.”

Savvie snorts, limping a little as she moves to pick up the spilled wine bottle from the floor. She could shock him now - that’s what she would usually do. Or call Isaac and have him carted off to spend another month locked in the kennels with the dogs. He… probably doesn’t care about that, though. Anything to get away from her. Anything is better than her, to him.

“Get rid of you?” She drinks the last swallow in the bottle, washing blood down her throat with the wine. “Then what, Jax? I should just… live here alone, without you, for the rest of my life?”

“Fucking-... yes, or go fucking die. I don't fucking care.” The flush of hot anger bleeds away, his voice softening a little. “I don't… don' care, Savvie. I don’t care about you.”

“No. You do.” She feels a burst of desperation to make him understand. “You hate me, right? That’s caring about me, still.”

“Savvie-”

“No. I love you. You are mine, and I am keeping you. This is love, Jax. What I feel for you is true love.”

He shakes his head, swaying a little where he sits. He tries to push her away again as she takes him by the arm but his burst of energy seems to have used him up. He lets her, in the end, get him onto his feet. She leads him on his unsteady legs out of the room, and he stumbles along with her.

“S'not love,” He mumbles. She keeps an arm around his waist to help him balance. “Fucking… fuck you. Let me leave, Savvie.”

He doesn't have the strength to push her away, not anymore. He has to use her to stay up as they take the stairs one at a time, although after three or four he jerks away again and uses the railing, leaning heavily against it as he drags himself upwards, inch by inch, step by step.

She lets him pull away, watching his determination to not need her, how badly he doesn’t even want her. There’s a canyon inside of her, something dark and deep that hurts so much worse than her hip or her torn open lower lip, threatening to claw its way out as she watches the man she has forced to play the role of her husband do anything he can to avoid her touch.

Her jaw sets. “It is. It is love, and you know what? It’s all the love you’re going to get. Ever. No one else will ever love you.” Savvie’s voice stays low. “You’re not… you’re not lovable, Jax, but I don’t care, I love you anyway. Nobody else would. No one is ever going to even want to love you but me.”

He slumps. The fight’s all gone out of him, for now. Her gamble failed tonight and Jax is buckling under the weight of what runs through his veins, the heavy expectations in her eyes and her smile and her devotion.

“Fuck,” is all he says, barely a whisper under his breath.

Savvie sighs, touching her fingers to her lip again. The bleeding has slowed but there’s still a spot of red. “Goes both ways, though, I think.”

He doesn't look at her. “What?”

“This… how much you hate me… how I had to kidnap you, and put that thing on your neck to keep you here, how you wish you were anywhere but here with me… you know, I, I get it.”

He has to stop at the landing and lean over, resting his forehead against the wall.

She lays a hand on his back, leaning over to speak right against his ear. “I get that your hate is all the love I’m going to get, too, Jax. Nobody else will ever love me, either.”

Her throat feels tight, and she can’t tell if she really feels the twisting nerves in her stomach, the sense of dread, or if it’s part of her act for Jax. Sometimes even Savvie isn’t sure when she means the things she says. Sometimes, even worse, she really does.

“All we’re ever going to have is each other.”

He doesn’t answer her. But when she takes his arm in her hand, he allows himself to be dragged along towards her bedroom. The fight might be gone, but so is the feeling. There’s nothing in his eyes that shows he even heard her.

That’s okay. She can be honest, in the dark, in the middle of the night, knowing that he’s too drugged to remember anything she said when he wakes up again. She’ll lie to herself again by morning. So will he.

She just needs him to lie.

@whumpyourdamnpears consider this my evil savvie gift to you

75 notes · View notes

yandere--stuck · 2 years

Text

Yandere!Joker kidnapping you and keeping you locked away in his hideout. Of course, you're terrified. Trembling in fear, flinching at the slightest of movements - and worst of all, not letting J hug you or have you snuggle with him.

Well, that simply won't do, now will it?

"I'm sorry, darling, but I'm afraid you've forced my hand," He shook his head, pouting as he plucked the trick flower from his suit pocket.

Your eyes went wide the moment you saw it. Stumbling back, you turned to run - only to be captured in the harsh grip of two of Joker's men. They spun you around to face the Clown Prince of Crime even as thrashed in their grip.

"I can see you're very overwhelmed. And I'm so sorry for not taking your feelings into account! All this running around, hiding from the cops and Bats. Your nerves must be shot! So... How about we do something to take care of that, hmm? This'll make you see the funny side of things..."

You screamed so hard and loud your throat burnedas tried in vain to fight back, uding up all yoyr strength, begging for mercy and for Joker to stop- but it was too late.

With a squeeze of the flower, gaseous toxin flooded through the air, flooding into your nostrils and down your throat as you inhaled to scream.

You were dead. You were dead. This was it. You were going to die as a madman cackled above you, watching as you writhed in pain and laughed through a painfully wide grin.

You waited, eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down your face as you waited for the agony, for the laughter, for death.

But, nothing came.

You opened your eyes, exhaling with a sigh as a wave of calmness washed over you. Your whole body felt light yet heavy. Everything felt so slow.

You hadn't even realized that you'd been released from the men's grip until Joker pulled you into his arms, nuzzling you. And for some reason, you didn't feel the urge to fight back. You just wanted to relax. Maybe sit down. And The Joker was so warm, so maybe being close with him like this wasn't so bad.

A giggle escaped you as you hugged him back.

"I'm sorry I had to scare you like that, dear, but you should know I'd never expose you to my toxin," The Clown purred. "Just good, ol' nitrous oxide."

Oh. Laughing gas. It was just laughing gas. Haha. That's funny.

As Joker maneuvered you over to a nearby couch for you to sit, Joker sunk onto the seat beside you, pulling you close to him.

"Well, nitrous oxide and a few other things," Joker mentioned with a grin. He pressed a kiss to your cheek. "But, you don't need to worry about that."

And you didn't.

2K notes · View notes

collabwithmyself · 4 months

Text

⚠️ domestic abuse (physical, implied verbal), child abuse (physical), drugging of a child

Wanted to revisit On The Topic Of Movesets with how the story has updated since then.

#collab doodles #collab ocs #pmd #pmd hope au #hitoshi #aoi #akiko #abuse #abuse tw #drugging #drugging tw #long post

73 notes · View notes

adrift-in-thyme · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 9: Mistaken Identity

Read on Ao3

- Legend & Hyrule

- Summary: Legend is mistaken for Hyrule

CW for drugging, blood and injury (specifically to a character's neck), a character nearly suffocating, and a very near-death experience

---------------------

The world is in flashes of light and color and sound. Muffled yells, orders he doesn’t understand – they collide, pounding against Legend’s aching skull.

Rough hands yank him into a standing position (he hadn’t even realized he had been lying prone on the hard ground). He stumbles, cursing.

What in Hylia’s name had happened to him?

He remembers bits and pieces. Flitting images, parts of memories that he can just barely snatch. He was walking through a dungeon, he thinks, and somehow had been separated from the others. And then he had come upon a chest and opened it…

Everything after that is hazy. Far hazier than the other memories are.

His befuddlement is infuriating. He’s the veteran of hero business. He knows everything but everything. Yet he can’t even recall how he ended up where he is. And he certainly can’t collect his thoughts enough to figure out an escape.

Ropes find their way around his wrists and ankles now. A gag pulls tight between his lips. He wavers and bumps against one of his captors’ hips. They shove at him, blurry faces leering.

“Take him outside!” One of them shouts. The sound reverberates through Legend’s head and he cringes.

By the golden three can they not be a little quieter?

Suddenly, the ground tilts, dipping as he rises without moving a muscle. In the next moment, he finds himself slung over someone’s shoulder like a bag of grain.

His sluggish mind struggles to comprehend. Dimly, he realizes he should fight back. Clumsily, weakly he tries. But his body is as uncooperative as his mind. Whatever runs through his veins is too potent to be pushed aside by anger and fear.

His captors laugh at him, the sound grating and infuriating. It brings to mind Agahnim’s patronizing cackles as he had shot beams of magic at his face.

“Don’t worry you boy,” someone sneers in his ear. “It’ll all be over soon. So unfortunate for you, though, that you won’t get to see him.”

More laughter. Legend shuts his eyes, willing the world to stop moving, stop tilting.

“Indeed, and yet, it will be your blood that resurrects him. Intriguing isn’t it? That a hero possesses the power to resurrect Gandondorf.”

Legend’s eyes fly back open, his blood running icy cold.

What on earth…

He has heard tales along his journey with the other heroes, tales of a boy with blood that can bring back a great evil. But he had never heard enough to decide whether or not to believe it. And he certainly knows that boy is not him.

A chill hits him as they leave the darkness of the building. If he squints he can make out the sky, lit by twilight’s glorious glow. It reflects upon the sand and cliff sides in shades of shell pink.

But he hardly sees it. Panic has surged through the haze now and he struggles, still feeble, still uncoordinated, yet more desperate than ever.

His blood is incapable of resurrecting that evil man. If it were, he would know. These people, however, obviously didn’t get the memo. And in order to try and achieve their dastardly goal, they undoubtedly will need to extract quite a bit of blood. Possibly, enough to kill him.

Legend would really rather remain alive.

His thrashing is as fruitless as before, though. All it earns him is a few grunts of pain from his captor, and a very unpleasant plunge down into the sand. He hits it with a muffled groan.

But seconds later he’s up again. Hands fist in his hair, dragging him into a standing position. Cool metal presses against his neck.

“You know the spell, don’t you?” Someone hisses. “Well, get on with it.”

A small group of the masked men band together a few steps away from him, muttering in a language Legend has never heard before. With every word their voices grow louder. With every word his heart beats faster.

Whatever drug they had given him is slowly draining away and as it leaves, utter terror replaces it. He dares not fight now, however, not with the sickle that is biting at his throat. It will strike soon anyway, but some innate instinct forces him to prolong the seconds in which he isn’t choking on his own blood.

Every moment counts, he guesses, especially when you know they’ll be your last. Too bad he’ll spend them restrained by coarse ropes, a stranger’s grip, and the substance still clouding his mind; trembling from pain and cold and a nauseating mix of terror and fury.

It has been a long time since he felt quite this helpless.

The chants grow steadily louder and take on an eeriness that sends shivers running laps down his back. And then one of the men raises his voice into a shout. Before Legend has a moment to prepare, his captor brings the sickle across his neck.

A stinging burn encases the spot. Blood floods his throat. Eyes blown wide with panic, Legend struggles, trying to drag in a breath through the metallic liquid he is suddenly drowning in. It’s as though he is on the sea once more, buffeted by wind and rain, choking on salty water.

He can see it through blurred eyes, cascading down his chest in gory rivulets of red.

It’s going to stain my tunic, he thinks, dazedly. It’s a shame. I liked this one.

Fingers brush roughly over the gash, gathering more blood. Cackles of sadistic glee ring in his ears. The chants continue their ominous rhythm as the world begins to go a dismal gray.

Everything seems to swirl around him, mad and out of control. Faster and faster it goes as his panic builds, making him dizzy.

Then, abruptly, it stops.

“It didn’t work!” Someone shouts, voice echoing in the sudden stillness.

If he wasn’t actively bleeding out, Legend would laugh in their faces. But his grasp on anything resembling consciousness is slipping fast, his strangled breaths growing shallower, and distantly, dully, he knows it’s coming. It’s a wonder he has held on for this long.

Yet still he gasps like a fish on land, still he fights to keep his eyes open and the darkness at bay.

He has to get back to his brothers and Zelda and Ravio. He won’t leave them, he won’t, he can’t….

“Maybe we need more blood!”

His back hits the sand. Legend writhes, trying to breathe past the cloth sticking to his lips, the iron flooding his lungs. Each breath gurgles, bringing in nothing but more liquid. The ground tilts dizzyingly.

Then, pain rips through him anew as they carve a gash into his arm. A silent scream rises in his heaving chest and never comes out. Blood runs hot and thick, soaking his clothing, turning the sand red. It’s everywhere. He inhales it, tastes it, smells it.

Light and darkness dance before him, a kaleidoscope of rainbow hues.

My son, his uncle says and his kind voice is like a balm, soothing endless pain. It is time to go home.

It is time to fly away, Link, Marin sings. And be free as I am.

Legend tries once more to breathe. He fails.

“No!”

Hands enclose his wrist. Magic jolts through him like an electric current, zipping through his body. It sears into his neck, red-hot with fury and determination.

Hyrule.

“Don’t give up, you can’t— ”

Another surge of power. The darkness begins to slip away and Uncle and Marin fade with it. Legend chokes on a sob, reaching out.

Don’t leave me again.

“But it is time,” his uncle says again. “It is time to go home.”

Marin smiles, sweet and agonizing. “Go and be free.”

Be free. Be home.

“Come on, vet. Don’t leave me!”

Another hand reaches to him out of the darkness. As tears stream down his face and pain tears through him, Legend turns around, reaches out, and grasps it.

Light penetrates his vision. Faces float into his line of sight, some tear-streamed and pale, all worried. The faces of his brothers.

Hyrule hovers inches from him, hands warm and real in his, fire and terror swirling in his irises, lips set in a thin line of determination. But when Legend’s eyes find his, his expression morphs into a tearful grin.

“Ledge?”

Legend’s lips lift in a small smile of his own. “H-hey ‘rule.”

The words are torture on his abused throat and the salt water draining down isn’t helping matters either. But then, Hyrule pulls him into a hug and nothing else matters.

The others join in seconds later. They’re all gentle, all cognizant of his still-fresh wounds, and their arms envelope him like a blanket.

Any other time this would be off limits entirely. At least, not without a big to-do about elbows in his stomach and breath in his face. But now, Legend doesn’t care.

Pretenses and reputation be damned. He wants his brothers here, surrounding him, keeping him safe.

So, he buries his face in Hyrule’s shoulder. And he breathes.

#whumptober 2023 #no.9 #mistaken identity #linkeduniverse #fic #blood tw #injury tw #drugging tw #lu legend #lu hyrule #whump #angst #hurt/comfort #trin writes #had a lot of fun with this one XD #though i can't say legend did #sorry vet

79 notes · View notes

dresden-syndrome · 2 months

Note

No idea if you're still doing the game but uhh drugging for it? Could be the traditional downer drugs like opium or maybe they give whumpee a stimulant for curiosity's/addiction's sake (@rottingollie in disguise hope this is ok)

Whumping in EESU: Drugging

Defiant whumpee getting drugged for the guards' convenience.

Interrogated whumpee, particularly one that already spent a lot of time in detention without signing a confession or giving much of the needed information, given a spiked drink before being taken to another interrogation.

Drug torture: a detained whumpee is given highly active drugs then, when withdrawal kicks in, offering the desired substance in exchange for information.

A drugged pet whumpee used as a party entertainment.

Test subject whumpee being given various kinds of drugs to study their effects; even after experiencing numerous painful side effects, whumpee is still forced to take the next drug.

Test subject whumpee sedated for a surgery or another long and painful procedure; they're still able to feel pain and discomfort but they can't struggle from it, can they?

Whumpers - detention unit medical team, ASR doctors, "property" owner and their comrades, just to name a few - bringing a needle colser to the restrained whumpee's skin, whispering "Shhh, it's for your own good..."

As the drug effect wears off, the whumpee wakes up in terror as they're tightly strapped to a surgical table.

A drugged whumpee kept in another EESU republic muttering random words and cries for help in their mother tongue.

Truth serum! Developing new interrogation drugs using class 4 offenders for clinical trials! Threatening detained whumpees with a mystery drug that can "make them tell everything"!

Drugs used for brainwashing, tested on class 4 lab rats from ASR.

A new drug appears in the streets. The government won't let it remain unknown for long; they have a lot of undercover State Security agents to take it, chemists to study its formula and the state enemies in their cells to study its effects on.

An owner sitting on the car backseat with their half-awake sedated "property", driving through a big government holiday military parade in the city; "Look, my little kitten, isn't it wonderful here? Everyone is celebrating for our peace and prosperity, praising our Supreme Commander, they're all so happy! What was the point for you to fight against us?"

43 notes · View notes

owlespresso · 8 months

Text

Kuras, who holds your hand and holds you close, thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the back of your hand. It's a gentle affection. He's a fixer. He brushes the dust and dirt from your sleeves and straightens out the collar of your jacket. He does up the last few buttons on your shirt or coat. He weaves a scarf he bought for you himself around your neck and ties it safe and secure around your shoulders to keep you warm.

He knows well the limits of the human form. He chides you when you're up too late, ushers you to the table for a meal when you've gone without eating, pushes a mug of something warm into your hands when you're stressed. Whether it's visible or not, he can somehow always tell. Reads you like his palms, like cracked bones over a hearth, nudges the secrets out of you with pressing words and pulling hands.

I honestly don't know if he'd do this, but the tea Kuras slips you is sometimes too sweet on the tongue. And sometimes you're sleepier than usual after. Kuras chuckles and bids you closer when you tell him, says that it might be better for you to stay in, tonight. Eridia's streets are unforgiving and cold. In the confines of his home, you are at least safe.

It's only natural, you suppose, to slump into drowsy relaxation after enjoying a warm beverage. It's only natural to bundle into Kuras's side while he shuffles his paperwork, pressed underneath his arm to hear the thump of his heart.

But you don't hear anything. Only the sound of his voice as he hums approvingly, only the bend and wave of the sheets in his hands, stained in his doctor's scrawl. There are freaks of uncertain nature all over this city, you figure. Kuras might not have a heartbeat, but he doesn't have claws to rend you to pieces with, doesn't have burning red eyes and bloodied fists.

Sometimes, if you shut your eyes and burrow deep enough into him, you think you can hear the crackling of ice. He smells medicinal and minty, sharp scents which you've come to savor over time, associating them with the ungodly warmth he brings. He really is a furnace. So tall, that when you hover in the phases between sleep and wakefulness, you feel like he's surrounded you entirely. Pressed in on all sides. The gently sway of a feather tickling your cheek before you wink out completely.

#drugging tw #kuras #kuras x reader #kuras/mc #kuras/reader #touchstarved talkin

120 notes · View notes

justalittletoocorrupted · 1 year

Text

Here’s some kidnapped Hero for my friend, @thelazywitchphotographer !! I hope you like it (:

Foolish

TW: kidnapping , drugging

——————————

God. How had Hero been so foolish?

How did they manage to miss every sign?

How did they—

The Hero blinked, their brain starting to get fuzzy like tv static when it couldn’t find a channel. Their body began to sway, gradually beginning to forget how to walk and hold themselves up.

“A little tired there, Hero?” Supervillain purred, slowly stalking their way closer to the already dazed Hero. “Why, I’m shocked that you couldn’t even notice that I used a drug. Usually you’re able to tell when someone’s trying to kidnap you… Did you forget the protocol, dear?”

The Hero’s face distorted into a mix of disgust and confusion. The longer Supervillain spoke to them, the more their voice began to muffle and their ears began to ring. The closer they got to the crime stopper, the closer they felt to the ground. Were they falling? What’s going on?!

The Hero stumbled, managing to somewhat catch themselves before they fully collapsed onto the hard concrete. That earned a laugh from the super a few feet away from them.

“Wow. Not even a simple remark? Just a glare? And here I thought I’d get to see you all scared knowing what’s about to happen.” Supervillain tutted, “A shame, really. But, ah, maybe it’s the drugs taking initiative” they pondered out loud.

Supervillain began to move closer to the Hero who in response tried to back away. However backing up isn’t a smart idea when your legs are struggling to simply stand in place. The Hero fell flat on their back before they were even able to process they were falling.

Everything was fading. The Hero’s eye lids began to droop as their movements slowed. Making it harder to open their eyes with every delayed blink.

Hero slowly blinked opened their eyes to find Supervillain standing above them. Panic was coursing through the Hero’s mind, but their body showed none of it. Their eyes tracing the blobby figure that was the Supervillain.

Despite their eyes remaining open and locked somewhere onto the evil-doer, black blotches began to fill the Hero’s vision until they couldn’t see a thing.

They didn’t know what was worse! The fact that they can’t see Supervillain, or the fact that they can’t hear the Supervillain over the loudest sound of nothing they had ever heard in their ears.

They couldn’t do anything but blink, or they thought they were blinking, in an attempt to regain their vision. Which worked! ……. Sort of.

It had worked enough for the Hero to witness one last thing, before their brain went entirely into an autopilot like sleep.

It was enough to see a new blob, or figure, quickly approaching the super over them.

It was not enough, for them to find out who.

……

…..

….

…

When the Hero finally came to, their first instinct was to launch themselves up from their laying down position. However that only worked a few moments and they collapsed back down onto—

A person?!

Their head twitched in a new attempt to see who they were on top of, but a gentle hand brushing through their hair stopped them. That movement had also prevented Hero from opening their eyes as well, and simply allowing themselves to press into the.. chest? Of the stranger.

Their brain was still foggy from the gas and drug, in fact, they were pretty sure it was still in effect!

Or..

Maybe the Hero is just exhausted.

Hm…

Maybe both.

But the crime-stopper had to get up. Whatever was happening was definitely dangerous. What if this was Supervillain?—

WAS THIS SUPERVILLAIN?!?

The Hero lifted their head again, only for the hand to push them back down. So the Hero began to panic and they tried to fight back. They tried to open their eyes to see who was their captor, but when they finally opened the bright lights from the ceiling blinded them. Their eyes nowhere near adjusted to the sudden light.

But they continued to try to fight anyways. Hero pushed themselves up only for a second hand to grab them by their waist and pull them back down.

“[Hero], stop!” A muffled voice finally could be heard through the Hero’s screaming ears. “Fighting will only exhaust yourself more.” The stranger scolded.

But they didn’t sound like a stranger.

And they certainly didn’t sound like Supervillain.

In fact, they sounded like—-

“See? Am I hurting you? No, because you’re safe, [Hero]”

Villain!

The Hero slowly opened their eyes again, turning their head towards the voice. “[V]…. [Villain]..?” They managed.

“[Hero]….?” Villain parroted the confused hero in response, “You snap out of that daze, yet?”

Hero blinked multiple times, the Villain’s face becoming more and more clear, “What did…. What.. what happened?” They asked, now taking a chance to glance at the room around them.

The crime-starter shrugged, “[Supervillain] is what happened. Now go back to sleep, yeah?” They brought a hand to Hero’s hair again, “You aren’t the nicest when you’re all drugged up and out of it, so I’d like to speak with the nice and calm [Hero] later. When you awake.”

….

huh?

Before the Hero could speak again, Villain pushed their enemy’s head against their chest and pressed a soft kiss into their hair.

That was all the Hero remembered before everything went black again.

#I hope this was okay!!#I hadn’t had a full chance to reread it so I hope there isn’t too many mistakes haha #I hope this helped (:#my writing #hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #kidnapping tw #tw drugging #drugging tw

400 notes · View notes