#implied drugging

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

No thoughts. Just Whumpee drifting in and out of consciousness, muttering nonsensical slurred protests, and weakly trying to pull st their restraints before their eyes roll back and they slip away into unconsciousness again.

[pseudopuppy]

More rayrard!! It's so fun to draw them

[envy-of-the-apple]

Rehabilitation Program

Dark!Vigilante x reader

Synopsis: You get kidnapped by the local serial killer who’s convinced he can fix you.

(Warnings: dark, yandere, kidnapping, implied drugging, implied stalking)

Five minutes later and you still can’t move your arms and legs.

It’s a weird feeling. The skin on your arms and legs tingle, like they’ve fallen asleep, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t move them. The most you can do is weakly twitch your fingers and toes. 

Your vision blurs every few seconds but you can see enough to recognize this is not your home. 

It’s some kind of unfinished basement. Fluorescent lights flicker and hum above you. The air smells musty and reeks of mold. 

Oh my God. 

It’s all what you can think over and over as panic starts to overtake your body. Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God–

“Oh, you’re awake!” 

You might’ve screamed if you weren’t gagged by a rag. 

Your vision blurs again, but when you finally refocus, the setting changes. In front of you stands a masked man dressed in green and black from head to toe. You couldn’t see his eyes, they were covered by orange visors. Still, you recognized him.

Everyone in your town knew him. He was the local psychopath that was terrorizing your city for years. 

“I’m glad you made it!” Vigilante continues, oblivious to your panic. “I definitely thought I went overboard with the sedative there. Sorry about that! I’m not used to taking people alive.” He laughs and you instantly feel sick at how cheerful he sounds. 

He squats down to your level, examining you. You shrink away from him, but considering how weak you were and your bound wrists and ankles, you didn't get very far.  

He takes a minute, fully taking in your limp form, before he hums in satisfaction. Your heartbeat slows the tiniest bit, but you don’t feel any safer. 

You know what Vigilante can do. You’ve seen the pictures of people brutalized and massacred. It was horrifying, but you thought you could avoid him by making sure to get home before dark, stay indoors, be a normal person, stay out of the spotlight. 

Maybe that’s exactly what led you to be tied up in a musty basement, right at his mercy. 

“Are you thirsty?” He suddenly asks. You stare. “Are you hungry? I make a great PB&J.” He gloats through his mask. 

When you remain quiet, he smacks his forehead with a sigh. 

“Right.” He trails off. “You can’t talk. My bad! Here, lemme–” 

He leans forward. Before you can flinch, the rag is pulled from your lips. You lay there for a moment, taking in deep breaths for your lungs. 

“...please let me go…” your voice is dull and slurs in places. You still aren’t in full control of your mouth or your voice. 

Vigilante just shakes his head, sitting down next to you. He wags a finger in your face. 

“You know I can’t do that,” his voice is sympathetic but still light, “you did something really bad.” 

Bad? What the fuck was this psycho talking about? You wanted to yell at him, but you were still terrified to move. 

He seems more than happy to talk without you even asking. Gloved hands reach over to your fingers, barely grazing them. The nausea in your stomach only grows. 

“I was really disappointed when you did it, too,” he tells you, “other than that, you were so perfect! No crimes. No drugs. No littering. Your record was spotless, it’s what I really liked about you, too.” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. 

“What?” Your voice feels so far away. “What–what did I do?” 

You can feel his eyes through those orange visors. 

“Jaywalking,” he finally says. 

You can only stare. 

“In this county, that’s a 200 dollar fine.” Vigilante points out. 

You suddenly remember something. There was a reason this man called himself Vigilante. He didn’t just go after criminals. Drug lords, robbers, other killers weren’t the only ones on his plate. He’s killed people over fucking graffiti. He serves his own version of justice. 

To a deranged bastard like him, there was no moral difference between murdering an innocent person and crossing a road with no crosswalk.

This was a joke. You wanted to laugh. 

You start crying instead. 

“I’m sorry.” You blabber, words spitting out. “I’m sorry–I–I really am–”

You hush when gloved fingers reach for your cheek. He slowly wipes away your tears. It’s the sort of comfort a butcher gives a lamb, right before he raises the knife. 

“Y’know, I usually get annoyed when people cry,” he tells you gently, “but you’re so pretty.” 

The admiration in his voice is enough to make you stop weeping. There’s a chill down your spine. 

Vigilante grabs a box of tissues, dabbing away at your sensitive cheeks until the wetness is gone and your skin is left irritated. 

“I really should’ve killed you,” he tells you after a minute. “I mean, I’ve done it for others. It’s really not fair that I let you off the hook, right? But you were so nice to me, I think I grew a soft spot…” He trails off. 

You register his words. You’ve never met this man in your life. And yet, his voice sounds really familiar like–

“So, I brought you here!” He gestures to the rest of the run-down basement. “This is where you’ll be until we can finally fix you up.” 

You helplessly stare at your captor. 

“I mean, it’s not like you did it on purpose, right?” He looks at you, and his voice sharpens ever so slight. 

“It was an accident, right?” 

You nod. 

He immediately brightens. 

“I knew it!” You flinch when he pats your head. 

“So that’s why you have to stay down here, until you’re all better, okay?” He stands up, easily towering over your limp body. 

“I’m kinda’ excited about this.” He admits and you feel like you’re not supposed to hear this. You’re forced to anyway. “It’s like rehabilitation sorta’, right?” 

You don’t answer. He’s not looking for a response. 

He walks to the edge of the basement. Before he opens the door, he says: 

“I’ll go make that sandwich now.” He looks back. “Be good.” 

You nod. 

The door slams hard enough to rattle the basement. 

You’re left in darkness. 

[trisaratops-mcgee]

Finding Forever I OT7 I Masterlist

Pair: OT7  x f!reader  

Summary: You weren't sure how it happened so quick. One day you were living your normal life, living on your own in the city, the next your asshole ex boyfriend shows up and you both get kidnapped. But maybe this wasn't an accident and these 7 really attractive men actually have a plan for you.

Genre and Warnings: Mafia BTS, smut, angst, fluff, non idol au, kidnapping, MDNI 18+

WC: 25.8K so far

Read on AO3

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

[flowerdustedstars]

Hush Now, Darling

In which Hong Lu lovingly turns you into one of his artworks. Content Warning: yandere, drugging, implied kidnapping, heavily implied gore (this is Callistolu after all)

₊✦Limbus Company | Yandere!Ring Nursefather!Hong Lu x Gn!Reader | No spoilers!✦₊

“—my, waking up already?”

Your vision was oh so fuzzy, only allowing you to make out blurry patches of white and red around you with — what you assumed to be — a large shadow cast over what you could see. There was also a hint of cyan…? You couldn’t tell.

Your body felt weird, like something was pricking at you all over your skin. Like there were hordes of ants crawling all over you. You tilted your head, trying to get a better look at them only to be met with something that sounded like laughter as the shadow nudged your head back into place.

“Don’t move around so much. Let me finish up while the drugs are still working~”

Drugs? What drugs?

You squinted, trying to get a better look at the shadow above you to no avail. All you could really see was the darkness consuming your body with a small, cyan dot nestled comfortably near the middle of that very darkness. It, meanwhile, hummed in satisfaction when you stayed in place and kept doing whatever it was doing before it nudged your head.

Come to think of it, you could feel something moving all over your skin if you focused hard enough on the sensation. It wasn’t like the ants, no, the movement of this thing was far lighter that you could barely detect its presence. It moved up and down, left and right, then went inwards and came up just a tad bit heavier then before as your body tugged forward ever so slightly in response. Afterwards, it would be as light as before as it continued to trace a path against your skin.

What was it called… what was something that moved similarly to this…

“Standing so still for me, what a sweet thing you are~ Ah, but what a shame it is that I won’t be able to hear your input on my current work.”

Your input? Did you know this shadow from somewhere? Did you even know any shadows to begin with?

Think… think… maybe it was your shadow? “…y….ow…?”

“How cute,” it giggled and cooed at you before you felt something cold and hard on your head, leaving something sticky behind. “I’m not even done and you’re already so precious. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you~”

<- Back to the masterlist?

[robot-hillbilly]

Implied non-con & drugging

Whumpee can't let themselves receive anything. Food cooked out of their line of sight or drinks already opened because each bubble at the surface is suspicious to them. Even if they know it's natural for them to be there, they just let it sit untouched until someone takes it away. They don't take gifts because even if they can't see the strings attached, they know they're there. They duck out of hugs and side step every hand searching for their shoulder. They don't even like when someone says "thank you" when Whumpee doesn't find it necessary.

They can't even let Caretaker, the only person they are sure has ever loved them, pleasure Whumpee in bed. Any time they try, Whumpee grits their teeth and tries to bear it, but the second Caretaker notices something is wrong, they stop. Like they always say they will. Like they say people are supposed to.

And Whumpee is wracked with guilt. They can't do anything right. They were never going to be able to get past it, were they? They were always going to keep the people that care about them at arms length until eventually...it ends. They get tired and leave and Whumpee can only blame themselves because they saw it happening every step of the way.

[ghostl1cker]

Like a Blackfoot Daisy

Chapter 1 - Drippin’ in Diamonds

Fem!southern!reader x Farm-hand!Simon Riley (eventually, starts out with Phillip Graves)

Cw: implied arranged marriage, somewhat innocent!reader, religious guilt, implied misogyny, fat shaming, implied drugging + SA.

(WC: 970)

The obnoxiously heavy diamond necklace around your neck felt like a feather in comparison to your steps as you neared those church doors, without your rosary and the modesty of a more understated dress you felt naked.

Naked yet ensnared so tight you couldn’t breathe, the swirling, dark clouds far off in the horizon looming like a bad omen from The Lord himself.

You should feel at home, but the church wasn’t familiar anymore, didn’t quite represent purity anymore.

And… truthfully, Phillip was a nice man, but you knew for a fact that your father had accepted the union solely on the basis of the money it would provide your family.

Plus, Graves didn’t have quite the same ring to it as your own last name.

—

“…I’m scared,” you had whispered in passing to your mother, who had nodded with a look that seemed to indicate pity, but she hadn’t pulled you away from it all, not like she promised she would when you were just a babe.

It… hurt, in a way, even though she had no reason to do so.

Phillip wasn’t the monster under your bed, nor the persistent bully at school, not even the bruises and bloodied wounds on your knees after a bad fall off of dad’s horse.

He was perfect, yours, and dad said you had practically already chosen him before the arrangement was made, and after a while you found yourself able to believe that he was right.

So what was the hold up?

—

For now you decided it had to be nerves, as your dad was getting fidgety next to you, and the choir seemed to have gone off-key, distracted by hushed conversation.

Patience was a virtue, but it was like the grapes of forbidden fruits; small and easy to indulge in excessively.

And the selfish greed you’d exhibit, were you to turn around and make a run for it now… well it would be a forbidden indulgence far worse than irritated whispers, something that you weren’t sure praying could mend.

“I’m ready…” you breathed, barely noticing the tear drops carving a river down your cheeks. Your dad opened the door for you, crystalline chandeliers, grand walls and the stained glass encrusted windows just behind the altar a familiar sight.

Well, it would’ve been a familiar one if it wasn’t grizzled by a white carpet that went from door to altar, white petals scattered, and a good hundred faces all seated neatly, staring at you—the coveted bride.

You tried to look ahead for the most part, holding on to the comfort of your dads forearm interlaced with your own, but he quickly had to leave you to join the other familiar figures standing off to the side of the altar.

Phillip’s grey-blue eyes eyeing you like a hungry wolf weren’t much of a comfort, so you had nothing left to do but continue walking, praying your intricate veil hid the way you frowned.

—

The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur of your own apprehension and the enthusiasm of others—that you so desperately wished could be infectious.

When he had offered to cheer you up you had been hopeful at first, but when he started immediately leading you toward the bridal suite you quickly turned him down.

You explained that you simply didn’t wish to miss the reception, that it was rude to leave the guests to their own devices.

And all of that was true, so you didn’t know why you were justifying it to yourself over and over again in your head, yet another weird dilemma you should really just pack away for now… or forever.

“May I have this dance?”

“You may,” you giggled, amused by the propriety, since he usually just took what he needed, no words required.

His hand at the small of your back was a little too warm after a while, in fact, you felt alight all over, felt like a hug from the devil himself, but the music was still going strong, and who wanted a bride that stopped dancing after twenty minutes?

Your soles were aching by the time he guided you to a seated position at the head table, fetching you an awfully small thing of cake.

“What? Can’t have my wife getting any chunkier.” He’d quipped when you hesitated for a moment, looking at the large slice on his plate.

“What about you?”

He raised a brow, suddenly unamused.

You swallowed hard.

“Never mind… you ain’t too far off, honestly a good point.”

His smile returned and he sat down next to you, subtly rubbing a hand against the junction between your knee’s, not quite indecent but certainly enough to hitch your breath and make your cheeks flush.

Suddenly the tiny portion of cake was a blessing, because you felt dizzy and nauseous, flustered half to death.

“Aw honey, don’t pass out on me before I’ve even gotten you into my bed.”

“No promises,” you answered with an easy salute, conversation with him much easier when you didn’t think nearly as much.

You tried to stay up and chat with guests a while longer, but after only an hour or two you felt so light-headed that he had to bridal-carry you to bed, practically feeding you water to get you back on track.

But you felt too awful, so after a moment of apparently deep thinking he decided the reception was dead to the both of you from now onwards.

He was surprisingly speedy with undoing the corset backing of your dress, you removed the veil and shoes on your own accord, how the rest got off was lost to your spotty memory, but your last memory of the night was fairly pleasant.

A wet kiss to your cheek and something muttered you couldn’t hear.

Probably just saying goodnight.

Masterlist

(If you saw the first ver of this no you didn’t, I changed my mind immediately, still don’t know if I like this but eh, it’s whatever.)

[whump-and-what-not]

Cracked Eggs and Dead Birds

The night Thomas' wish for freedom gets answered. No more siblings to take care of, no more school to worry about, no more parents to control him! What could be better?

cw: implied drugging, kidnapping, murder

Thomas always dreamed of escape. Of freedom. Of opening his window and leaving this forsaken town behind him and going wherever his body takes him. He wants to be free to be who he is with no one making him feel guilty or worthless, he wants to stop being seen as a woman whose value is determined only by what she can give, and start being seen as the man he truly is. 

The concrete ground is freezing, coated in a scratchy layer of dust and dirt. A constant, yet slow dripping is coming from a far corner of the room. There's a draft somewhere above and the wind rattles some old loose boards. 

The chill of the concrete floor seeps in through the thin blue sweatshirt Thomas has on. Goosebumps ripple along his arms and legs and down his neck as he lays there, back against the floor. The fuzzy pajama pants he has on barely do much to protect him from the cool air either. He doesn't shiver, though, aside from the  buzzing of his muscles under his skin. 

Thomas can't quite recall how exactly he ended up where he is right now. Something scratches at the back of his mind, something that should alarm him. A vague memory of hearing something. Sirens. Footsteps. It adds up to nothing right now, hiding behind a thick veil in the back corner of his head. 

There's a heavy fogginess to everything around him. His vision is unfocused, blurry, unable to differentiate the night sky peeking through holes in the ceiling and the patches of mold and blackened rot. He blinks as he stares at the sky, slow and uncoordinated. 

What exactly is this place? 

Thomas turns his head slightly, looking around, but the lack of light in the room doesn't allow for much visibility. He settles himself back on the concrete, letting his head rest as he stares up. Theres this overwhelming feeling that he has that something is wrong. Something is very wrong. He isn't quite sure what, though. His mind is too full of static to form many coherent thoughts for very long. Its like whatever is buzzing through his muscles is working its way into his head, holding him hostage in his own body and mind. 

He really isn't sure how much time passes, his brain still full of fluff, when he hears the sound of a vehicle. The rumble of an engine dies, a door creaks open and slams shut with force. Foot steps follow shortly, light ones, careless ones, then the old door latch is being pulled open. The door opens with a whine, scraping dirt along the concrete as it pushes open. Thomas would cringe, if his body allowed it, but putting any effort into moving feels like an impossible feat. He manages to turn his head to the side to look at the figure now standing in the doorway. Its still dark, but the truck headlights illuminate just enough of the surroundings for Thomas to get a look. The man has long hair, a jacket on, some heavy looking boots, and something covering his face. It's hard to tell what color anything is, between the fog in his brain and the sudden light. 

He's unable to speak, which isn't unsual, as the man approaches him, the sounds of his footsteps are imposing, threatening, on the concrete. Finally, something clicks in his brain, and Thomas finally manages to kick his limbs into action. 

With as much effort as he's able to muster, he kicks his legs on the ground, slowly pushing himself away from the man and instead into a corner. He tries to hit out with his arms, but when he makes contact with the, seemingly unbothered, mans arm, it barely makes a thump. 

Before he can even process it, he's being lifted into their air, a soft laugh on the mans lips. 

"You're cute, really." The man says, voice soft. Then Thomas is being brought out into the cool fresh air, placed into the back seat of an old pickup, and feeling the loud rumble of the engine as it starts.