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hummingbird-of-light · 27 days

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Round 2: Twentieth story for @badthingshappenbingo ~

Title: Third Wheel

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)

Character(s): Robert "Robbie" Scott, Female OC, Leah McCoy (mentioned)

Relationship(s): Robert "Robbie" Scott/Leah McCoy (mentioned)

Rating: M

Words: 902

Prompt: Organ Theft

Warnings: Kidnapping, Non-con Drug Use, Swearing, Ambiguous/Open Ending

(You can also find this story on AO3)

~ Third Wheel ~

When Robert "Robbie" Scott had met his girlfriend's new colleague, he hadn't been too sure what to think of her at first.

It wasn't like Samantha Lorson wasn't friendly. On the contrary, she was a really nice lass who took great care of all her patients. But something had felt kinda off about her. Robbie just hadn't been able to find out what it was.

When Samantha and Leah started to become better friends, the Scotsman had eventually shaken off the strange feeling and over time he had actually started to like the blonde nurse too.

Samantha sometimes joined them for lunch or they all went out together at the weekend. Robbie often worried that the woman would start to feel like the third wheel, hanging out with a couple, but she never said anything.

And so, in the end, everything appeared to turn out fine. Or at least Robbie had thought so.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

"Oi! Let me go!" The Scotsman's voice echoed back from the walls of the more or less empty room.

There was not much furniture – except for the operating table he was lying on of course.

Robbie tried his best to pull at his restraints once more, but it was impossible for him to move his arms or legs.

"Let me out of here!"

He didn't remember too much of the night before. He just knew that he had been out at the club with Leah and Samantha.

"Let me go!" No matter how loud Robbie screamed, no one seemed to hear him.

He was just about to try it again when suddenly a door at the end of the room opened. A switch was flipped and quickly bright light filled the room, blinding Robbie whose eyes had been adjusted to the darkness, for a moment.

"Would you please stop screaming, Rob? It's kinda useless. No one will hear you anyway."

Robbie's blood froze in his veins when he heard the familiar nickname and once his eyes got used to the light, he stared at the person, who had entered the room, with a shocked expression on his face.

"Samantha?"

The blonde nurse gave him a smile, closing the door behind her and stepping over to the operating table.

"Hey Rob. How you feeling? I see the effect of the knockout drops has worn off."

The Scotsman couldn't stop his mouth from opening in disbelief. He frowned in confusion, shaking his head.

"Wh-what? I... I don't understand. I–"

"Oh, Rob," Samantha sighed, placing one hand on the man's cheek, "you really are naïve, aren't you?"

She let her eyes wander up and down Robbie's bare body, the smile turning bigger. He was wearing nothing but his underwear. A blush crept onto the Scotsman's face.

"What kind of crazy shit is this!" Robbie demanded to know, glaring at the woman looking down at him.

Samantha just chuckled.

"Don't worry, Rob. I'm not really into guys." She turned her head and looked at a smaller table that was set up next to the operating table. "However, I'm interested in the beautiful things inside of them."

Robbie followed her gaze and almost instantly his heart stopped beating for a second.

There were... all kinds of medical tools. He pulled at his restraints again. It was useless.

"You know, Rob, right from the start I knew that I wanted you out of my way. Seeing you so close with pretty Leah... It was just so disgusting." Samantha made a face as she talked about everything. Slowly, she stepped over to the table with the tools and put on some gloves. "But I could see just how much she loves you. So, I had second thoughts."

Robbie felt his mouth go dry as he watched Samantha pick up a scalpel. It was shining in the unnatural light of the lamps.

"Of course, I still looked you up in the hospital's computer system to find out everything I need about you and your health status."

The Scotsman slowly shook his head as he listened to the nurse. This couldn't be happening! It had to be a nightmare!

"You see, selling organs is a really lucrative business. Been doing it for several years now and I need a lot of money to keep up my life's standard."

Robbie's breathing fastened and his heart started to race.

"N-nae. Y-ye cannae be serious," he muttered, horrified by the thought of what Samantha was implying. But the woman only sighed, turning back to face him.

"It's a real pity. In the end, I kinda started to like you, Rob. Unfortunately, the group I work for has a new customer." She grabbed a syringe from the table and tested if it worked. "And you are the perfect donor."

"P-please, Samantha. D-don't do this. Ye cannae do this! Wh-what about Leah? Ye cannae do this to her! Without me–"

"Shhh," Samantha whispered, placing one finger on Robbie's lips to shut him up. A crazy smile formed on her lips when she grabbed his arm and injected whatever was inside the syringe into his bloodstream. "Don't worry about Leah, Rob. I'll take good care of her once you're gone. Just go to sleep now. Tomorrow your heart will belong to someone else."

And no matter how hard he tried to fight it, eventually Robbie lost his consciousness, not knowing if he ever was to wake up again.

#bad things happen bingo #prompt: organ theft #fandom: star trek aos #fanfiction #robbie scott #female oc #leah mccoy #robbeah #whump #kidnapping #non-con drug use #swearing #open ending #mega_whumps_characters

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whims-of-a-star · 5 months

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Take Care of Sammy

tw: Non-consensual drug use, restraints, dark Dean Winchester

There is something to be said about the love Dean has for his little brother. About the devotion, the care, the lengths Dean will go to for Sam, to keep him safe.

No matter what.

Even if it meant the clothes off his back, the last portion of food in the ratty motel cupboards, or going to Hell.

Even if it meant resorting to... extreme measures.

"D'n…wha'…" Sam slurs out, tugging fruitlessly at the cuffs around his wrists, keeping him restrained against the bed. "D'n?"

Dean steps closer to the limp form of his brother, reaching a hand out to gently smooth a stray lock of hair on Sam's forehead. Sam on the bed like this, blankets tucked up to his chin and staring up at him with a dazed look in his eyes reminds Dean of a time way back before everything, before Sam left for Stanford, when it was just the two of them in a motel room and Dad was away on a hunt.

Sam had been sick and Dean had been taking care of him, feeding medicine that Sam didn't want.

"It's for your own good, Sammy," Dean cajoled, the spoonful of medication hovering close to Sam's pouting lips. His patience was running thin and concern was almost overflowing from his chest. Sam's fever was only getting worse the longer he didn't take the medication.

"But it tastes so gross!" Sam whined, shaking his head and turning away. Despite Dean's attempts, Sam had refused to take it.

In the end, Dean managed to force it down his throat. And while Sam was miffed and annoyed at him, giving Dean the silent treatment days after he recovered, he eventually conceded that it helped the sickness, forgiving him for the rough treatment.

"D'n?" Sam whimpers again, still out of it as his head lolls this way and that on the cushions stuffed under his head. "Wha' did…whaddid you…" The cuffs jingle and clang against each other as Sam sluggishly attempts to move his wrists.

"It's for your own good, Sammy," Dean says, the fond frown on his face a facsimile of younger days.

When Dean had found the door to the panic room wide open, he panicked. Pun not intended. But he managed to get to where Sammy was staying before Ruby came and grab Sam, applying a heavy sedative that had his little brother drop like a rock in a couple seconds.

He'd brought Sam to another motel far, far away from their original location, far away from wherever Sam was going to get to Lilith. Cuffing his little brother's wrists, attaching each to their respective bed post while making sure to stuff some cloth in between metal and skin for Sam's comfort.

Then, about a half an hour before the original sedative's effects wore off, he poured a healthy dose of rohypnol down Sam's throat.

There's traces of fear and betrayal in Sam's hazel eyes.

Dean ruffles Sam's girly hair, in some form of comfort or reassurance. "You'll be okay, little brother." Determination is clear in his voice, and Sam trembles minutely under his touch. "I'll save you."

There's bottles of demon blood in the cupboards on the room.

The key is not to quit cold turkey. And Dean's not going to leave him alone this time.

Take care of Sammy.

Yes, sir.

#drabbles #gencest #dark dean winchester #season 4 spoilers #season 4 au #spn 4.21 #non-con drug use

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nobrakesdown · 2 years

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while you’re bringing me back to life | pierre/charles | 2.8k | mature | a/b/o, non-con drug use When it comes to hospital waiting rooms, no news is better than bad news. And Pierre would definitely consider this bad news.

(Or, a medical emergency forces a revelation: Ferrari has been giving its drivers illegal heat suppressants)

#nonsense #whumptober day 1 #a/b/o dynamics #non-con drug use #formula one rpf

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konigsblog · 19 days

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imagine waking up chained to a metal table, with a doctor who wants to do all sorts of experiments on you... (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

#tw: non-con for the next few tags...#könig #konig #könig cod #könig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig modern warfare #he'll use you like a puppet... seeing how long you can go for :(#stretch you open while you're drugged.#you're under so many aphrodisiacs and drugs that you're nothing but a dizzy little doll #weeping as the doctor shoves himself inside of you violently :(#how many dicks can your greedy pussy take mäusi ???? :(#orla speaks #könig x you #könig x reader #tw: non con #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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tadalyme · 8 months

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whumptober, day 2

There are many things Finnick Odair is good at. He's good at swimming, good at fighting, good at making knots. Good at baking decently tasty bread. He's also very good at pretending.

It's a skill he's honed throughout his whole life, ever since he was a little child. Pretending that he likes his mother's vegetable casserole. Pretending that he's completely fine when his father leads him to Mags’s house, his hand held in a forceful, painful grip, and proclaims in his booming voice that it would be the greatest honour for his son to train for the Games, right, boy? Pretending that he isn't scared to die and to kill.

Pretending that all the things that are done to his body on a regular basis aren't happening to him.

It’s somewhere past three at night and Finnick is sore and extremely dizzy and in the backseat of a car, coming back from his client. He’s in a car, because despite being just a District whore, he's an expensive one. President Snow doesn’t want anyone else to harm his investments. At least, not anyone not paying.

He’s just glad that it was the only appointment for today, because the guy, a flamboyant man in his thirties, a grandson or a nephew or a step-son of one of the influential Gamemakers, wanted to spice things up a bit in his sex life and made him swallow some colourful tablets before the act itself.

Well, it certainly spiced things up for Finnick, though probably not in a way the man intended to. He spent the whole time hearing the colours, and tasting the sounds, and seeing the images from his past and present all mixed up together.

The man was pounding into him and moaning and exclaiming something animated and probably over-the-top sexual in his shrill voice, but all Finnick could think about were the glistening in the sun tridents and spears and knives, and faces of the dead children, and his late father and ill mother and disappointed sister, and, for some reason, the Capitol's latest obnoxious vogue of inserting precious gemstones into their skin.

He desperately wanted to cry, so he laughed frantically, and he wanted to push the man away from him, too overstimulated, so he willed his muscles to relax.

The lights of the never-sleeping party area of Capitol fly by dizzyingly behind the window and Finnick has to lean onto it in an attempt not to puke. It's got a bit better in the past half hour, but the thoughts are still floating around his brain like dozens of little brightly-coloured butterflies. It’s hard to properly grasp any of them in a sticky daze of disorientation, though.

The car stops near the entrance to the Tribute Centre and he staggers out, swaying on his feet and almost ending up on the pavement. His limbs finally rearrange themselves in the correct order after a few moments and he musters a lazy salute with only some of his usual flourish to the back of the driving away car.

Still performing, even now. Gods, what a mess.

He doesn't know how exactly he reaches the elevator, but he does and the numbers swirl a bit in his eyes before settling down properly on the buttons.

He remembers well the first time he was here.

The thing is, he wasn’t even supposed to participate in the Hunger Games that year. That questionable honour was supposed to go to Jacob Maren, not yet eighteen, but the oldest among the trainees.

Instead, Dorothea, their escort, gracefully put her powdered hand with baby-blue nails, that matched her enormous wig, and pulled out his, Finnick's, name. There was a bit of a standstill after that - Jacob locking eyes with him across their separate pens. Should he volunteer, should he not. Finnick was too young yet but still a Career. In the end, Jacob stayed silent.

Just as well, thought Finnick, pushing through the crowds to the stage and already putting on a brilliant wide smile, I've trained for this, I can win, it'll be easy.

He knows now what his dumb, arrogant younger self didn’t understand back then - that even if you manage to become a victor, the only one who ever wins the Games is the Capitol.

Jacob did go the following year and died to a back-stabbing One girl. And Finnick has spent three years cursing that day and all that led to it.

Gods above, it has only been three years, hasn’t it? It feels much longer than that, so far away, so long ago. Almost like ancient history.

He did kind of make history with that one, didn’t he? The youngest Victor ever. A fat lot of good that did for him.

Fourth floor. He practically falls out of the elevator, only managing to catch onto the wall at the last moment.

Mags, curled up on the couch, perks up at the sound of sliding doors. In the dim lighting of the lounge her silver hair looks like a halo above her head. Ironic. It makes him burst out in a fit of hysterical high-pitched laughter. One would have to completely lose their marbles to call the woman an angel. An angel of death, at best. Some forget it, but she also killed in her Games, the same as all of them. And she's led enough kids to their deaths in the following years. He loves Mags with his whole heart, but she's no saint.

Mags always waits for him on appointment nights. He wishes she didn't see him like this, wishes no-one saw him like this and often snaps at her, but she only tuts in disapproval and keeps doing it. Despite his temper tantrums, he's glad she does.

Mags looks him over and frowns and he's sent down the rabbit hole of memories again.

They approach him the next day after he turns sixteen. The two of them look grim and apologetic and he doesn't know what to make of it.

‘I’m sorry, Finnick, I’m so sorry about what's probably going to happen,’ Mags says and lets out a sigh, sorrowful and tired and world-weary, and he, in a rare moment, is reminded of how old Mags really is, ‘Just… Remember that you can always talk to me, no matter what.' She inclines her head a bit, gesturing at her companion, ‘Or to Delia, if you need someone who truly gets it.'

Delia, who is wringing her hands half a step behind Mags, and looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, glances at him and gives him a bleak, perfunctory nod. He doesn’t know why he would need to or want to talk to her, but anyway it’s quite unlikely that he will take her up on this offer.

Finnick knows Delia, of course he does. Delia, a constantly nervous, twitchy Victor in her forties, teaches knife-throwing, and knife-stabbing, and other knife-related skills to the trainees and has never seemed to be a particular fan of long conversations. She's communicated with them mostly with sharp nods and half-aborted, jittery gestures, always looking on edge and shaky.

Her hands have never ever shaken with a blade in them, though.

Then, he gets the summons to the annual post-Victory tour party and President Snow asks to speak with him in his office after. He's told in detail what he's expected to do, now that he's finally sixteen, and what will happen if he doesn't.

Oh.

That's what that meant.

His first appointment with a client is the next day and it's the beginning of the end.

His sister screams at him a few months later, when he returns from one of his trips to the Capitol, ‘They don’t care about you, you stupid boy! Why won’t you understand that! Why the Hell do you keep going there?’

But it’s her who doesn’t understand, who could never understand. He can’t tell Carolyn, he can’t, not just because he doesn’t want her to know what he does, but because he’s not allowed to.

President Snow was quite straightforward about what would happen to his ill mother and his sister with her husband and their baby twins, if he were to tell anyone, even them, anything. So he keeps quiet and let them think the worst of him. The same thing that everyone else does.

(Other than his fellow victors, who are all aware of the work he and the ones like him are made to do, the only person who doesn’t look at him with badly concealed disgust, or jealousy, or fake friendliness, or lust in Four is Annie Cresta. Her eyes (also sea-green, though a few tones lighter than his own) only ever look at him with sympathy and pity these days. He would have absolutely hated being looked at like that not long ago, but now it’s just so goddamn refreshing. He used to find her annoying with her righteousness and softness when they trained to be careers together, thought her weak and kind of cowardly, but maybe there is actually nothing wrong with gentleness and timidity, he ponders.

Of course, it’s hopeless, getting used to even such a small thing. Annie Cresta is a Career. She will go into the Games soon. In a couple of years she will likely be dead.)

Mags approaches him slowly, telegraphing all her movements clearly, trying not to spook him. He must look bad, because she checks his temperature with a hand on his forehead. From her pursed lips and scrunched eyebrows he gathers that it’s not very good.

'What, doctor, am i dying yet?' he ironizes.

'Well, you certainly don't look too lively, boy,' she snaps back,'Sit down, I'll be right back.'

She lets him settle on the couch and leaves to fetch her first-aid kit. They’re not allowed to bring any pills to the Tribute centre, so as to not let tributes get anywhere near them, but she has some other basic supplies. Luckily, today they are no flesh wounds to patch up.

She comes back with a thermometer in her hand. And that’s what sends him over the edge and into hysterical tears, the goddamn thermometer. It’s an old-fashioned but trusty mercury thermometer, very common back in Four, but considered obsolete by Capitol standards.

Finnick, having been many times in the local medical over the past year and a half to get patched up after rough encounters with clients, is intimately familiar by now with Capitol’s high-tech, reliably produced in Three.

She waits a bit before his sobs and shaking subside, finally takes his temperature and asks,'You're burning up. What on earth happened to you?'

'He gave me something, I don't know what,' Finnick replies reluctantly and watches her face twist and her arms cross on her chest. She's staring at him pointedly.

'Do we really have to?' he groans,'I'm almost fine by now. You're only wobbling a bit in my eyes.'

'Come on, up you go,' she pulls him up, surprisingly strong for a seventy-year-old, and leads him to his room, to the bathroom. She walks out again and returns with a glass and a closed water bottle.

She fills the glass with tap water and makes him drink it again and again and then throw up, repeating and repeating it until there's nothing left in his stomach at all.

Then she hands him the water bottle, lightly shoves him in the direction of the needlessly overcomplicated shower and exits.

When he finally emerges into his room he's almost feeling like himself again. Mags is still there, leaning on the frame of his bed. He finds some clothes to sleep in and drops next to her. She hums softly and smooths his hair out, running her fingers through his wet curly locks.

She's been much gentler with him since his Games, but she's taken a fancy to him a long time ago.

He was a bit of a troublemaker as a child, like little boys so often are, always sneaking away to the creek to play on the wet rocky shores, or trying to catch fry with his bare hands, or diving from the pier to see how long he could hold his breath, generally making his mother exasperated. He showed up at home in the late afternoon tired but joyful after a day of exploring with a wide toothless grin, seaweed in his hair and damp dirty patches on his knees.

His father didn’t like that much. So at a ripe old age of seven he’s dumped on Mags’s doorstep, who looks at his father weirdly over Finnick’s head and then takes a look at him, slowly lowers down to his eye-level and grasps his tiny hand with her veiny, old-woman one. ‘Well, well, well, what are we going to do with you, little one?’

She's never been cruel to any of the trainees, definitely not, but she wasn't particularly warm-hearted either. She was kind, but also stern and strict, like a proper trainer. He knows that it's because, despite all the preparations, most of them would die in their Games. She didn't really believe that he would win his Games either.

But he survived and she became more willing to show her affection for him after that. And to him, she, the person who practically raised him, instead of his distant mother and constantly angry father, has always felt the most like a real family, even when she acted all grumpy.

He drifts to sleep, relaxing under the silent watch of the only person in the world he fully trusts.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #thermometer #delirium #“They don’t care about you.”#hunger games #fic #not graphic non-con #forced prostitution #non consensual drug use #other thg-typical warnings #oh gods how do i tag on here #finnick odair #mags flanagan

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marvel-ous-whump · 1 year

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Whumper kept Whumpee drugged up for years so they couldn't escape. After being rescued, Whumpee drifts for days as the drugs slowly leave their system. They're only partially aware of the Caretaker's presence but find it comforting as they slip in and out of consciousness.

And then... the withdrawals hit like a truck.

#Drugged whumpee #tw noncon #Non-con drugging #non con drug use #drug whump #whump prompt #caretaking prompts #tired whumpee #withdrawal tw

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dramioneasks · 3 months

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Rosemary and Thyme Apothecary - TheLiesWeTell - E, WIP - Rosemary symbolizes remembrance, friendship, and love. Thyme symbolizes strength, power, courage and sacrifice. All are traits Draco Malfoy has never believed himself to have. Disinherited and grappling in the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy painstakingly transforms an old apothecary shop into the haven he envisioned and discovers that maybe there’s more to him than he once believed. Fueled by an unwavering determination to rebuild not only the shop but also his sense of self, he comes to realize that he will need both Rosemary and Thyme in order to pull it off. Especially when a figure from his past shows up rather announced, under suspicious circumstances, and doesn’t seem to want to leave. Having never been one for mysteries or adventures, he can’t seem to turn her away either. An unexpected friendship blossoms, offering a glimmer of hope and a chance for Draco to redefine his place in a world. "Rosemary and Thyme Apothecary" is a tale of resilience, redemption, and the transformative power of friendship. Join Draco Malfoy on this journey as he discovers that true strength lies not in the past, but in the possibilities of the future.

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john-macnamara · 21 days

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cw: non-con, non consensual drug use, manipulation, half-descriptive sexual content

It’s Saturday night. It’s Saturday night and John’s at the bar. Why is he doing this? He knows he shouldn’t be drinking right now, but the idea of a night out is ever so tempting. Just like old times. Get tipsy, find a cute guy, get fucked, and never see them again.

He heads to the bar counter and orders two shots. One whisky, one vodka. It still doesn’t take much to get John drunk, and the alcohol warms him near instantly. He looks around, trying to find anyone here with the same purpose he has. It’s not long until he finds someone.

A man who looks like he’s in his late thirties approaches him. Wait, he’s approaching John! He couldn’t have predicted this in a million years. The man has salt and pepper hair and his eyes are a beautiful chocolate brown. They remind him of someone he doesn't want to think about. Before he knows it, the man's sitting next to John, ordering a cocktail.

"What's a pretty guy like you doing here all alone?"

John looks up when the man speaks, a sultry voice intensified by an obvious British accent causes the heat running through his veins to coalesce at a much lower point. He runs his eyes over the man's figure, making it entirely obvious what he's doing. His eyes linger on his chest. The first few buttons on the man's shirt are undone, leaving a beautiful v of tan skin and chest hair peeking out. He's gorgeous. A small part of John's mind is saying the man reminds him of someone else he knows. He silences that part before it can go any further.

"Waiting for someone like you to buy me a drink." John smiles, trying to invoke his younger self. He really is out of practice, isn't he? God, it's almost been six years.

Luckily, the man seems to take it. He orders a bloody mary for John, slipping the bartender a few extra dollars. (There's a note folded inside the cash. Poor John's too infatuated to notice). They sit and talk for a while, sipping at their respective drinks. After about twenty minutes, John starts feeling dizzy and... melty. He feels warm all over and he's laughing about it before he knows it.

He collapses into the man's arms and the next thing he knows is his tongue's in John's mouth and it feels amazing. Like a good lover, he kisses back. Everything goes black soon after, and the next time he comes to, he's under the man and they're both naked. John smiles dopily and he traces a hand around the man's chest, eliciting a smack that only gets John going more. He feels something in his ass and oh, that's what it is. He moans, encouraging the man to thrust further in. Every bit of him is warm and fuzzy the man inside him knows exactly what he's doing and he just hit that one spot that Wilbur always hits and-

John wakes up in a motel bedroom, feeling god awful. His limbs are heavy and his head is spinning and how the hell is it already light out? He doesn't even know how he got here, the only sign of what happened the previous night is dried semen caked onto his bare stomach and the aftertaste of it in his mouth. Did he really get blackout drunk again? What the hell is wrong with him? He doesn't think he had that much, just a few shots and a cocktail, but who knows? He's certainly enough of an idiot to drink more and forget.

He limps to the bathroom, a familiar soreness between his thighs, and runs a shower. He washes the remnants of the night off with shitty soap and a tiny washcloth. He just hopes he didn't do anything horribly stupid, he cannot risk anything else right now.

#hatchetfield rp #hatchetblr #john answers #dub con #non consensual drug use

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scratchandplaster · 4 months

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FEBUWHUMP DAY 20 - Truth serum

CW: drug use, threats

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He can be cute sometimes, Amber muses and lights the thin spliff hanging from the corner of her mouth. She is not here for cute, though, not when she has a brand-new boyfriend waiting for her at home: fun-sized, attentive and even better - not a wanted criminal.

"Want some?"

Chris turns down the kind offer, fully aware of the little extra something he intends to add in for her. Microdosing at worse, nothing to worry about. A hedge.

Amber shrugs wordlessly and starts to wiggle free under his occupied touches: "Need to catch my bus."

Her prey doesn't even think about rolling over, gently sucking the tender skin below her clavicles between his teeth. No love bites above the collar, Amber warns him again, she'd like to keep the pianist for a while. All gratitude goes to Sahra for dragging him along back then.

"Don't leave yet," every word is followed by a hungry kiss up her neck, "never leave."

"So what if I do?" she laughs and playfully bats away the skillful hands roaming over her body. They, in turn, wrap around her even tighter and make her bask in the warm spark of pleasure the other one, sadly, never spoils her with.

Chris, still love-drunk from the afterglow, stops his advances underneath her earlobe. His soft whisper is like smoke against her skin.

"I'll tie you to this bed and never let you see the light of day again."

Amber simply clicks her tongue, a cheeky gleam in her eyes: "That's so fucking hot."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

#amber thinks he's still doing dirty talk #wake up girl #no heroin in there yet #chris starts with this healthy plan after elliot´s and amber´s breakup #whump #whumpblr #creative writing #whump community #whump drabble #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday20 #drug use #threats #non-con drugging #covert drugging

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trifoliumrex · 2 years

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Mafia Meet Cute Yoongi Master List

A Yoongi/ Reader Fic

Working at the library might not pay much but it had always been your dream. When you meet a man who who seems afraid of tech but desperate to learn, you have to decide if being brought back from the brink is worth waking up in a place even more dangerous than you dreamed.

Word Count: 13,365

1 2 3

Ao3 link

#min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #suga x you #suga x y/n #yoongi x reader #bts #bts x reader #assault #non consensual touching #bts angst #bts mafia au #violence #non con drugging #drug use #mmc

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miles2g0 · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Joker (DCU) Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Joker (DCU), Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Whumptober 2022, Tim Drake is Joker Jr., Tim Drake is Red Robin, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Torture, Hurt Tim Drake, Protective Jason Todd, Past Brainwashing, Past Rape/Non-con, Blood and Gore, Like, a lot of blood, Hopeful Ending, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Protective Tim Drake, Tim Drake Has PTSD, Flashbacks, I'm serious about the blood Series: Part 8 of Whumptober 2022 Summary:

It was hard to open his eyes. His eyelids, his body…he was so heavy.

But he could feel something brushing against his face. Something hot and humid. And the smell, he—he knew that—

No. No—nonononono—He was dead. He was dead, Tim had killed him. He'd seen his body, Bruce had taken care of it, turned it to ash.

He forced his eyes open and—

If he could move he would have flinched.

Inches from his face, plaque encrusted, yellowed teeth, acid green eyes, fetid breath against Tim's skin—rot and cigarettes and shit.

"Good morning, son," the Joker crooned. "Did you miss Daddy?"

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thatonebutterfly489 · 3 months

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The best way to inflict so much pain to a masochist is not giving them any at all until they’re left begging for you to degrade them.

#bd/sm community #bd/sm kink #non con #non.con #bd/sm relationship #m@sochist #cnc free use #br33d1ng #cnc drugging #breeding k1nk #breeding toy

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a-whumply · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tartaglia | Childe/Zhongli (Genshin Impact) Characters: Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact), Zhongli (Genshin Impact), Il Dottore (Genshin Impact), Guizhong (Genshin Impact) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dreams, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Insecurity, Hurt Zhongli (Genshin Impact), Zhongli is Bad at Feelings (Genshin Impact), Tartaglia | Childe is Bad at Feelings (Genshin Impact), Zhongli is Called Morax (Genshin Impact), Tartaglia | Childe is Called Ajax (Genshin Impact)

Summary:

"See this?"

"Yea I see it," he barked, "it's right in front of my fucking eyes, how can I not see it."

Ooh, he better be quick with this.

"For interrupting me in the middle of my experiments," his thumb unscrewed the cork and he poured the drug into the potion vial, swirling it until the color became homogeneous. "I think it's only fair if I get a compromise for the trouble, yeah?"

"Wha-"

The question was cut off as his hand squeezed the boy's jaw, causing his mouth to open.

Those dead eyes widen in realization of what he's about to do.

Basically Childe's limbic system got fucked up because of Dottore so he became emotionally numb while Zhongli went through a roller coaster of emotions with trying to figure out his boyfriend.

(💧🔶️ dynamic)

#genshin impact #genshin impact childe #zhongchi #tartali #tartaglia childe genshin impact #whump #hurt and comfort #angst #drug abuse #non con drug use #I AM WEAK FOR THIS #this was SO GOOD #fic rec #genshin fic rec

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medicus-mortem · 2 years

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@afailedkingsheart asked: 2. a kiss when it’s not allowed. [LawNa]

A FUCKED UP KISSING MEME (but it’s ship drabbles instead)

Music fills the evening air, mixing well with the smoke and laughter of the venue. Of course the party isn’t contained within this one club. When the Straw Hats are involved nothing can keep them in one spot. It spilled out into the street, dragging more and more of the locals into the revelry. Even the Hearts have let themselves enjoy this merriment and that includes their captain, but in a very real sense that has turned this into two parties. One being the happy, vibrant celebration of the Straw Hats and the second being the more seedy debauchery of the Hearts.

It’s pretty obvious which side of things Trafalgar Law has chosen. If the salacious smirk lingering on his features wasn’t enough of a tell than perhaps the slightly glassy look in his eyes might hint at what he’s been indulging in. With a bit more than alcohol and weed moving about his system the Hearts Captain can definitely say he’s having a good time. The beautiful young woman hanging off his every word and basically draping herself over him certainly isn’t ruining his buzz.

He gives the brunette another charming smile and lets his gaze travel over her figure in appreciation. She takes his hand and he knows where this is going. Law slips off his stool at the bar, fully prepared to indulge further. If his focus wasn’t entirely on the lovely lady’s dark, full lips, perhaps he’d notice the redheaded storm baring down on him. Instead, the pirate captain is taken by surprise when Nami suddenly appears beside him. A sweet smile touches her features but the fury in her eyes is all too evident. She latches onto Law’s arm, her nails digging into his bicep as she tugs.

“Can I borrow this jerk for a moment? Thanks,” she says, her voice dangerously even.

She doesn’t wait for the woman to respond before violently tugging Law away from her, the captain stumbling a little. She drags Law through the bustling crowd of other party goers and into a gloomy side hallway. When they are mostly out of sight she lets him go and shoves him further in, an annoyed huff leaving her when Law only takes a half step back.

“What the fuck, Nami?“ Law growls, arms crossing over his chest.

“I’m wondering the same damn thing, Torao,” she hisses. Stepping forwards and jabbing a finger into his chest. “I don’t care about you being a ho when I’m not around.” A lie but he’s clearly too high to notice the way her voice hitches for a moment. “But I was literally just across the room.”

“Huh? So it’s fine if you flirt with every sucker that gives you the eyes but I can’t enjoy myself,” the doctor replies, his voice losing any of the more upbeat tone he had before she stuck her nose into this. “Seems really fucking hypocritical.”

“They were marks! I was stealing from them!” Nami snaps, drawing herself up to her full height. Which doesn’t do much when facing Law. “And you absolutely weren’t just flirting with that woman!”

Law’s head tilts, his arms unwinding. For a moment his face is harsh, anger ruining the buzz he was having, and then a spark of realisation alights in his eyes. His body relaxes, that salacious smirk once again taking over his features. Nami goes rigid, the navigator not liking how her heart flutters whenever she sees that look in his eyes, but this time she won’t let it be enough to distract her. This time she will stay furious. She has every right to be.

“Oh, I get what this is about,” Law purrs, stepping closer to Nami. “You’re upset I’m not giving you attention. Don’t worry, babe. I can fix that.”

“What? No,” Nami sputters, taking a step away from him. “That’s not it. Law you’re high. Just ... listen to me damn it!”

He just smiles at her and a hand latches onto Nami’s arm. He gives a shove, her back thudding into the wall. Nami finds herself pinned, eyes wide and heart pounding in her chest. Law leans closer and she feels her lungs tighten. A moment of anticipation but then she breaks it, hand rising to push at his chest and get him off her.

“No! Get off me!” Nami shouts, struggling against him to no avail.

“Hush, just let it happen,” Law whispers.

Then his lips are on hers. His kiss is rough and forceful, his tongue pushing past her lips. Nami’s nails claw into his shirt, her grip tightening. Despite herself Nami’s struggles cease, her brow furrowing and eyes closing. Kissing Law has never felt wrong before but it does now. She feels fear curling in her stomach, a sickness coming with it. It becomes hard to breathe but before she feels like she’s suffocating he pulls away. Those hot lips lower to her neck. His hand falling to a thigh and sliding up her skirt. Nami grimaces, that sickness in her gut growing. Her eyes slide away from him and she takes in a deep breath.

A high heeled shoe lashes out, slamming the pointed heel into his foot. Law grunts in pain, his hands releasing her as he backs up. Before an angry word can leave his lips Nami slaps him hard in the face, the crack of it echoing in the dark hallway. Her breaths are heavy as she steps back, a hand moving to straighten out the skirt he crumpled.

“Go fuck yourself,” Nami hisses, backing away and trying not to show how hurt she feels. “Asshole.”

Law’s hand rises to his stinging cheek, his brow deeply furrowed as he turns a confused gaze to the retreating navigator. He stands there in the gloom, still staring when he can no longer see the vibrant orange of her hair in the crowd. Somehow he’s not feeling as good as he was only minutes before and for some reason he’s starting to think that’s his own fault.

#afailedkingsheart #Boring Question // Answered Ask #Log Entry // Drabble #Mapping Our Hearts // Law x Nami #drug use tw #non con tw #[first time really writing Nami so I hope I didn't do her dirty]

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