#cw: drugging
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Gilded Cage (Part Three)
ok. i'm not going to try to come up with a clever name for this one, this is just. part three. please send an ask or a DM if I missed any CW's! been a while.
Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader
Word Count: 3.6k
CW: NSFW, drugging (painkillers and other ment), rough sex, biting, threats of mutilation (mild. but it's Dottore), yandere themes, noncon/dubcon, AFAB reader, overstimulation, humiliation
Dottore has been on edge lately.
You can tell. You can see it in his jaw when he’s sedating you as you lie on the operating table, eyes burning and dark as he stares through you at something presumably only he can see. You can see it in the way his hand sometimes twitches slightly– which bodes terribly for you– as he makes a small incision into your thigh, or your stomach, or your arm.
Most of the time, you think he just cuts into you simply because he can. Because he likes to watch the blood welling from the wound, dripping down your skin. He’s been doing it a lot more lately, sometimes forgetting to sedate you, sometimes forgetting to give you something for the pain, sometimes cutting too deep.
It feels like there’s a storm brewing that you can’t see; curtains drawn so you can’t look out the window and see the magnitude, brace yourself for wind or rain.
His clones seem to be affected by it, too; usually it’s only ever the younger clones of his that lash out, but even the supposedly older ones are starting to show signs of agitation. You haven’t seen the same test subject twice in what feels like weeks. All of them seem to enter and leave the lab only once– something that should horrify you more than it does, whenever you watch them wheeling the covered bodies past.
It’s this way for weeks. Dottore stalks around his lab like a harbinger of death, practically oozing poison and malice despite the deceptively calm mask he dons.
You find out what it is that’s been agitating him when he opens the door to your cell one morning. Not a clone. Not the occasional trembling Fatuus. Him. His eyes burn into you. You can’t make out the emotion in them, but the complete coolness in his expression makes your stomach sink. You wonder, briefly, if he’s going to finally kill you– would that be a mercy, at this point? Killing you? Perhaps not. Knowing him, he’d draw it out. Make it hurt.
Still, despite the terror that curls its fingers around your throat, you follow him quietly out of the cell and into the lab, staring at the back of his head as you walk and wishing you could read minds so you could at least brace yourself for whatever this is.
The two of you enter the lab and you finally realize what it is that’s crawled under Dottore’s skin, sat at the desk in the corner as though he’s not terribly out of place in the sterile environment.
Pantalone sits comfortably in one of the chairs near the desk Dottore rarely seems to use, smiling as though he’s received a warm welcome and a parade. Dottore, meanwhile, looks palpably annoyed as he strides past the banker and takes a seat behind the desk, motioning for you to follow.
It’s… Intensely uncomfortable, to say the least. You rarely find yourself sitting at Dottore’s desk, considering the doctor usually prefers to be conducting experiments rather than sitting and compiling data; he usually delegates that to his clones, who bitch and moan about the boring task.
So sitting in a chair, next to the two men who’ve each held you captive at different points, as Dottore practically radiates anger… You don’t know what to do. You fold your hands in your lap, avoiding looking at either one, even as you can feel the two of them just… staring.
You feel like you’re under a microscope, worse than any other time before when you’d been laid out on the operating table under Dottore’s invasive prodding.
Pantalone speaks first, breaking the charged silence.
“I take it you don’t mind if I verify that this one’s real,” He says, rising from his chair and smiling at the way Dottore visibly bristles. “After all, I’m paying for this, aren’t I? I deserve that much.”
It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about you, and the demeaning way in which he’s referring to you as though you’re some object that might be counterfeit is both unnerving and irritating. You’re careful not to let it show on your face as Pantalone approaches you.
“What-” You start to ask, but you’re swiftly interrupted by gloved fingers prying open your mouth, prodding around in search of something that isn’t there. You feel them press down on your tongue, ghost over molars, then press against the back of your throat until you gag.
Somewhat satisfied, the banker pulls his fingers from your mouth and grips your chin firmly with a now-damp glove, turning your head this way and that and ignoring the obvious discomfort painted on your features as the action smears drool on your skin. What is he doing?
You shoot a glance towards Dottore, who is still just watching. He’s obviously pissed– you can see a vein popping in his forehead, belaying his anger on his otherwise blank face.
Pantalone lets go of your chin in favor of grabbing you by the arms, pulling you up from your chair and motioning for you to spin around in a circle. You do, though you’re still confused, unsure of what’s happening as the banker seems to be appraising you like a precious gem. It’s a different type of poking and prodding than Dottore’s usual tests and checkups, but it’s invasive nonetheless. It’s doubly unsettling that this is the first time you’ve seen the banker without his usual smarmy smile.
Hands find your shoulders and stop you again, and you bristle when they trace the curve of your spine, exposed thanks to the open back of the hospital gown. You feel them stop, tap something just to the left of one of your vertebrae, and Pantalone spins you back around to face him, clearly pleased.
You try not to flinch when he takes a lock of your hair in his hands– it’s gotten so long since you’d been brought back to the lab– and brings it closer to his face. His nose crinkles, palpable disgust on his features, and he mutters something about “that vile soap he makes you use”– likely referring to Dottore– before turning around to face the man in question.
“Are you done ogling?” Dottore asks, his tone clipped. You can’t see him around the banker, but you’re sure he still looks as pissed as before.
Pantalone tilts his head slightly, smiling, then glances over his shoulder at you. “Perhaps not yet, but I’m satisfied enough for now. You’ll get the funding for your little… project, and I expect to see this one at my doorstep every other month from now on.”
Every other month? You frown. Is this some sort of… custody arrangement that the two men worked out? You don’t know if you want to laugh or not at the absurdity of it all; like you’re the unfortunate child of two divorced bastards, except this is much, much worse.
“Fine,” Dottore grits out, in a tone that suggests it’s anything but. He gets up to shoo the banker out of his lab, but Pantalone merely tuts and makes his way back over to where you’re standing, confused, and rests one hand heavily on your shoulder.
“One month starting today, of course,” Pantalone continues, “It’s only fair, after all, when you’ve been hoarding my poor pet this whole time. I have to make up for lost time, after all.”
He delivers those words with a smile that only seems to irritate Dottore further, red eyes boring holes into him as Dottore visibly seems to be contemplating murder. Pantalone speaks up again before he does anything, however, offering a hollow consolation: “Of course, I’m not cruel. How about a farewell? A parting gift, to… tide you over while they’re gone?”
You don’t like the sound of that, and Dottore seems to pick up on the banker’s suggestion as you’re spun around once more and ushered towards the exam table you’ve become intimately familiar with for the last several months.
For this supposedly being Dottore’s “parting gift,” Pantalone is awfully remiss to keep his hands– and commentary– to himself.
“Ah, what a cute noise that was,” You hear him coo, a finger tapping your nose with just enough force to startle you so you flinch, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit rough though, Doctor?”
“Quiet.”
You jostle against the table, gripping the edge of it for support as hips snap into yours with bruising force. Dottore’s fingers are gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises– that’s probably the point, honestly; he’s fucking you like he intends for you to feel it for the entire month you’ll be absent.
Pantalone’s comments aren’t helping things either; despite the banker’s comment about roughness, it only seems to have encouraged the doctor to go even harder.
Thankfully, you were given something for the pain, but not from Dottore. Pantalone had pressed a pill into your gasping mouth when Dottore had started, telling you that you were going to need it, and though swallowing was a struggle, you’re glad he did.
Dull pain and sharp pleasure mingle together, and you’ve long since lost track of the orgasms that have been dragged out of you. You’re starting to numb, honestly, overstimulation bleeding into pain, and you gasp into the table with every sharp thrust into you.
“Tsk– don’t pass out now,” Pantalone chides, fingers curling around your jaw and biting into your cheeks when your eyes threaten to flutter shut, and Dottore snarls something about cutting your spinal cord if you do; something you sincerely hope is an empty threat, given the black spots dancing in your vision. “You still have another thirty minutes to go.”
You don’t remember there being a timer set, much less a time limit, but you certainly know you can’t last that much longer. Your knees have already long since given out, and Dottore had to hoist you up further onto the table so he could continue, leaving your feet dangling a few inches above the ground.
You feel weight against your back, heat, smothering you as Dottore leans down to sink his teeth into your shoulder as he spills inside you once more, and you shudder through another weak orgasm in response, your eyes rolling back and your vision blacking out for several long moments.
Pantalone shakes you back awake before you can slip too far, and you sob as Dottore starts to move again. You already know that you won’t be able to walk for the next few days, if not for the next week.
Tears blur your vision, the world spinning around you as a gloved hand comes to rest against your head, petting you in what’s likely intended as a comforting gesture but only seems to frazzle you further, overwhelmed and overstimulated as you are.
It must be Pantalone, because Dottore lets out an irritated noise, sinking his teeth into your skin to leave a new mark as he resumes the harsh pace he’d set earlier. Another hand, this one not gloved, curls around your throat to dig two fingers into your racing pulse as he tries to engrave himself into your flesh through means slightly less violent than cutting you open.
You can barely keep track of who’s doing what– your vision is too blurred and you’re too far gone to fully piece together a coherent thought before it and the breath are knocked out of you by another snap of Dottore’s hips. One of them reaches down to rub circles into sensitive nerves, and you sob as another climax is ripped unwillingly out of you.
You black out for longer this time, shaken awake once more by Pantalone. He’s cooing something at you that you can’t make out, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the sound of Dottore’s ragged breaths mixing in with your own.
It feels like you’re burning up, shivering weakly under Dottore’s crushing weight as the man seems to be pouring every ounce of frustration into his thrusts, and darkness encroaches on the corners of your vision with every movement.
Another shuddering orgasm. You twitch weakly through it, your body registering the sensation more than your mind does.
The world seems to tip, swaying like a vessel rocked by choppy waves before finally capsizing. Your vision goes, and you’re pulled into a sea of static.
It smells like lilacs.
It’s the first thing you notice when you slowly come to, a stark contrast to the smell of bleach and copper that you’ve become accustomed to. You’re also dressed in some proper clothes– or rather, ”proper,” compared to the usual paper-thin hospital gowns you’ve worn since being brought back to the lab.
Opening your eyes, you’re greeted with the familiar luxuries you remember seeing when you were last in Pantalone’s care, and the sight would nearly be a relief if consciousness didn’t bring with it the unbearable ache in every inch of your body. There’s a budding headache building behind your temples, stinging pains from various bites and bruises littering your skin like brands.
It aches most between your legs, but there’s an ache in your thighs and your stomach like you’d pulled every muscle within; you probably did, honestly, but you try to push back the memory invading your thoughts and you sit up in bed.
“You’re awake,” A silky voice drawls from behind you just as you sit up, and you turn around to see Pantalone sitting in an armchair in the corner, one leg folded over the other as he reads a book. He doesn’t look up as he addresses you; he just pats his knee, indicating he expects you to come to him. You’re not sure you can walk…
Climbing out of the soft bed hurts, various muscles protesting the movement, and you’re not surprised when your knees give out on you the second you rest your weight on your feet. Pantalone simpers at you from where he sits, amused, but he makes no move to help you stand up or walk. He just pats his thigh again, smiling at you.
“I can’t walk,” Even talking hurts, evidenced by the crackling of your voice when you speak.
“Then crawl.”
He says it so simply, as though you should have already known the answer. Your ears burn with humiliation. You don’t move.
“Don’t make me punish you on your first day back,” He says, setting his book down so he can properly address you. His tone is disappointed, but you don’t miss the way the bastard’s smile widens at the idea.
Pantalone’s punishments aren’t nearly as severe as Dottore’s are, at least in terms of pain. Rather than physical punishments, he seems to prefer humiliation. You’re tempted to try your luck, but… everything hurts. You don’t want him to decide you haven’t earned the privilege of clothes– or find something equally humiliating and degrading– on top of the pain you’re already in.
Crawling hurts. Every muscle protests the movement, yet again, but you force yourself to ignore the aches, to ignore the humiliation burning beneath your skin at being made to crawl over to him.
When you finally reach him you sit up unsteadily so you can climb into his lap, but you’re surprised when he stops you by pressing a gloved hand firmly against your head to keep you planted on your knees in front of him.
Instead of addressing your confusion, Pantalone merely smiles and takes hold of your wrist, raising your arm to inspect the scars and bruises littering your skin from the months spent under Dottore’s care. His face twists with disgust, shifting into faux sympathy when he addresses you again, “Poor thing. Look what he’s done to you…”
His free hand comes to rest on his knee as he straightens up, uncrossing his legs, and you hear a steady tap tap tap as he drums his index finger against his knee thoughtfully. “Aren’t you glad I’ve brought you back from that wretched place?”
It’s a leading question. You know he expects you to answer correctly, and you get the sense he’s leading into something; a demand. “...Yes.”
“I knew you would be.” He says, dropping your wrist and leaning back comfortably in the armchair. He looks down at you, clearly pleased with the position you’re in. He props one elbow against the arm of the chair, resting his head in his hand as he smiles down at you. “Why don’t you be a good pet and show me just how appreciative you are?”
The implication isn’t lost on you, but whatever hope you’d had that he might mean something else is dashed as he spreads his legs slightly further apart to make room for you between them, and you don’t miss the growing bulge in his dress pants.
Your hands are numb as you reach for his belt, and you barely flinch when his hand rests heavily against the back of your hand as you take him into your mouth.
One cage for another. You’re not even sure you’re relieved, because every part of you still aches from the reminders Dottore had left you with.
His hand presses against the back of your head, guiding you to take him further into your mouth, and you struggle to breathe around his length. You nearly gag as he pushes you down further, pushing back in resistance, and Pantalone clicks his tongue in disappointment but thankfully, lets up. Maybe he doesn’t want to ruin his pants.
“I’ll get you something for the scarring,” He murmurs, fingers curling in your hair as you bob your head up and down his length. “And those garish bruises.”
Whether it’s an insult towards you or Dottore, you’re not sure. You try not to focus on it, instead focusing on the task at hand. You lave your tongue along the base of his shaft, earning a small shiver and a heady sigh from him.
He’s silent for a few minutes as you continue to pleasure him, but you feel him boring holes into the top of your head. You don’t look up at him; you don’t want to. You’re trying to get this over with, and hoping that his silence means you’re doing well.
The hand on the top of your head leaves, and you flinch when you feel him trace his fingers over one of the scabbed over bites left by Dottore, nearly biting down in surprise. You swallow, suppress the urge, resuming your pace even as he traces the outline of every bite left littered along your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders.
Pantalone straightens up a little, pressing his hand against the back of your head again to force you to take more than you already can. This time, he doesn’t relent when you push back, just holding his hand still until you stop whimpering and you manage to swallow back the urge to gag.
“Hush.” He tells you in response to your muffled noises, groaning quietly at the way your throat vibrates around his cock.
You eventually relax, eventually get used to the feeling, and he lets you pull back slightly before he’s pressing down again, repeating until tears are spilling down your cheeks as you struggle not to reflexively bite down each time you gag slightly around his length.
“How would you feel about something… permanent?” He asks, and his fingers are tracing the bites again. You try to pull back to answer, but his other hand stops you and he rocks his hips lazily into your mouth. A rhetorical, then; he doesn’t care for your answer.
You try to blink back your tears as you resume the pace you’d set, sucking lightly on his cock as his hand curls into your hair. It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying as his hand keeps threatening to force you down farther than you can take, and you’re focusing on stamping down the swelling nausea.
“Something- hm-” He hums, and you can tell he’s getting close now, with the way his breathing is starting to deepen, his hand tightening its hold on your hair- “something tasteful. Not like those eyesores he leaves you. A collar is- fuck- too… too easy to remove.”
You don’t like where this is going, but humming your dissent only earns you a pleasured hiss and a rumble of praise spilling from his lips before he’s curling his fingers around the back of your neck.
It’s the only warning you get before he shoves your head down, holding you there as cum spills into your mouth and down your throat. It takes everything in you to relax your jaw, and you pull back gasping and sputtering the second he relents.
By the time your vision clears and you blink back the tears spilling from your eyes, he’s already tucked himself back into his pants and is just watching you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn’t even comment on the mess of cum and drool that spilled from your lips onto the floor.
It takes you a second to realize he’s not staring at you, but rather at the marks left on your skin.
After a minute of tense silence, he smiles again, patting his lap this time in invitation for you to sit, and you ignore the familiar sting of humiliation as you obey. Again, one of his hands curls around the nape of your neck, tracing some pattern into your skin.
“Right here,” He murmurs, though he doesn’t elaborate when your brows pinch together in confusion.
It takes you a second to realize he’s tracing invisible letters across your nape, then another few to realize it’s his name that he’s tracing into your skin.
Something tells you that Dottore isn't going to be pleased to see you again at the end of the month.
#yandere#dottore#il dottore#dottore/reader#il dottore/reader#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#yandere dottore#yandere il dottore#yandere dottore/reader#genshin#genshin impact#yandere genshin#yandere genshin impact#dead dove do not eat#cw: noncon#smut#not sfw#pantalone#pantalone/reader#regrator#regrator/reader#yandere pantalone#yandere regrator#yandere pantalone/reader#my writing#pantalone x reader#regrator x reader#cw: drugging#even though i consider it to be mild. tagging jic
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Eldritchrune - The Sacrifice
1 | 2
Story Setup
Eldritchrune Masterpost
Perhaps the most frightening part for Kris is the realization that whatever is happening, has happened before.
And yay, this comic's all done! A full setup for just how Kris ended up in the Dark World!
#lynx art#Eldritchrune#deltarune au#cw: cults#cw: drugging#cw: paralysis#cw: human sacrifice#kris#toriel#asgore#...and sorry I'm not naming everyone else#guess who is who it'll be fun!#not fun for Kris though
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AHHHH omg pls tell me u see the vision with corrupt cop mingyu and neighbor nice girl who’s super sweet !! she’s innocent but not stupid and mingyu likes that but she just pays him no mind
CW: NONCON, DRUGGING AND SOMNOPHILIA.
first, this 98% background story and 2% smut, literally, more of mingyu just being fucking sick in the head than anything but i really liked writing this so, and second, kinda fuck the police i guess-
the hot, older, seemingly normal cop next door that gets interested in you since the day he knocked on your door to introduce himself and offer you his number because “you’re so young… and alone too, it can be dangerous around here” clearly flirting and you simply nodded, gave him the biggest smile, a “thank you” and closed the door on his face.
you’re so sweet and nice and clearly such a good girl, so pretty too, he does everything to try and get your attention and yet nothing but smiles and few conversations from you. but he knows you’re not stupid and thinks you’re playing hard to get, convinces himself you looked at him differently once, and that just drive drives him further into his obsession with you and that’s where his not so normal side comes out.
listen, i don’t think he will ever admit out loud that he’s stalking you but that definitely what he does. he is a cop and that comes with certain benefits, he’s just using those to get closer to you. totally the type to find out where you work and ask his superiors to have his route reallocated to the area so he can spend all his day looking out for you. discovers your favorite cafe close by and starts casually ordering there too, acting all surprised when he hears your voice calling him, starts offering to take you to places and is quickly to brush it off when you say you can’t disturb his job, claiming it’s a “slow day, nothing really happening”.
you get what i’m saying here? he’s the type to use his job as a way to slowly insert himself into your life, your personal space, and it totally escalates to more extreme things. i can see him starting to find ways to scary you, to make you need him and his help, sending you creepy texts from random numbers through the day, pictures of yourself, even finding ways to break into your house in the middle of the night, making noises to wake you up or leaving things for you to find. his chest gets filled with such a sick satisfaction when you finally call him one night in tears and whispering, asking for help because there’s someone in your house and of course he is there in a minute, gun in hand and everything. so nice he is, taking your shaking body in his arms and reassuring you you’re safe, he won’t let anything happen to you. and of course, of course he asks you if you want to sleep in his house that night, or how many nights you want obviously, if that would make you feel safe, kissing your forehead so gently when you look up with teary eyes and nods.
he wraps you in a blanket, makes you tea, insists you take his bed, he won’t mind sleeping in the couch. listens carefully to everything you have to say about the things that are happening and wipes your tears when you cry, reads the texts you received as if he wasn’t the one who wrote every single one, looks at the pictures… promising he will make everything on his reach to find out whoever this person is, you can trust him.
and honestly i don’t care that this is too cliche or whatever, he would put something on your tea. like, i think that at this point he would be so desperate to have you, he doesn’t care anymore, just the sound of you crying and saying you needed his help, feeling your shaky form against his body, all of that was enough to make him hard, to think he wouldn’t try to touch you would be nonsense. so yes, he does puts something on your tea, enough to not have you opening your pretty eyes for hours, and stands for a few moments at the bedroom door watching you sleep, loving smile on his lips seeing you so relaxed in his bed, cuddling one of his pillows.
walks closer, as if you could wake at any giving moment, and sits by your side, brushing hair out of your face, leaning down to kiss your cheek and corner of your lips, breathing into your smell… he’s such a creep, for christ’s sake. runs a hand up and down your arm while the other palms his cock through his sweatpants, quick to pull your top up to get a good view of your tits, not holding back on grabbing one, yes, he should be careful, not leave marks, but he waited for so long for this, jerked off under the shower so many times thinking about you… speaking of jerking off, starts pumping himself by instinct, too lost on feeling your body. would try to resist but end up parting your legs and licking his fingers to toy with your pussy, groaning a bit too loud upon feeling your little clit and how tight you are, not properly wet, barely taking the tip of his index finger— but it’s okay, he will have time to make you wet for him in the future and fuck you nicely. spills all over his hand between groans and whispering things such as “you’re going to be mine, uhm? you’re meant to be” and “going to make you my pretty little wife, come home every day to you waiting for me here”
sigh… totally normal man who just wants a little wife.
#asks#seventeen smut#mingyu smut#mingyu x reader#seventeen x reader#kim mingyu smut#cw: noncon#cw: drugging#cw: somnophilia
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boothill is many things. a gunslinging outlaw, a ninety percent metal man, someone who’s attitude definitely reflects in his appearance, but most importantly; a nuisance. a thorn in your side. an ear grating bother. he knows this and he takes advantage of it, especially when your hands are tied up with plenty other business. unfortunately, things took a more literal sense.
you had been sipping a glass of something at a table in a small saloon, celebrating a coworkers birthday who you couldn’t even remember the name of but it was an excuse to get out and, besides, they said they’d pay for the first round of drinks so who were you to decline? people had been dancing in front of you and perhaps your chosen activity of observing had gotten too meticulous as you hadn’t noticed the slinking shadow drift past, nimble fingers dropping a pill of god knows what into your drink. the sweet and citrus flavour of the cocktail masking whatever taste could’ve been left as you continued drinking with your head in your hand. as you got to the bottom of the glass, your eyelids felt heavy and thus did you take the cue to get going home. after bidding a couple farewells and good wishes to the birthday person who’s face was a blur, you stepped out into the cold breeze feeling sluggish; as if you’d had ten drinks and not just one. squinting, you steadied your breath before walking, neglecting to notice that same figure sauntering up behind you. it was the smell of gunpowder and musk that alerted you, spinning around faster than you should have and nearly hitting the ground if he hadn’t caught you in time with a half-hearted chuckle. bubbles clouding your vision, you could only internally groan at the smatter of white, black, and red before you were out cold.
coming to, the first thing you noticed were the tight bindings keeping your body uncomfortably still. thick rope wrapped around your torso and wrists, forbidding you from moving even and inch. wherever he had taken you, it was dark and damp with only the sound of your breathing to keep you company up until the telltale ‘click’ of his shoes and the concurrent ‘ting’ of his spurs. a cold metal finger slid across your chin and only then did you notice how blazingly hot you felt all over. you sucked in a breath, waiting for him, boothill, to say something but he uttered no more than a low hum as his fingers drew icy patterns down your neck and chest. a shudder wracked your body and he moved in front of you, his eyes holding some sort of emotion you weren’t quite familiar with on his face; somewhere between his ‘hand it over’ greed and ‘nice shot’ dry praise. he settled between your now untied, when did he do that you wondered, legs with his metal frame pressed firm into you. never before had you considered the intricacies of his body but with him so close and a different kind of pressure against your crotch, you figured he had some sort of… attachment. fear whipping through your chest, it was then you realized what exactly this evenings plans were for him and they were punctuated with his usual tacky speech.
“c’mon, darlin’, let’s play a bit. this cowboys gotta bullet special for ya’.”
#cw: dubcon#cw: aphrodisiacs#cw: drugging#this man bringing me back to life#boothill… i won’t u… i’m arching my back… i need u……..#cowboy… southern accent… stupid speech patterns…#*salivates and moans*#boothill x reader#boothill x you#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x you#hsr x you
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Need
A faun, forced to take a powerful aphrodisiac, leaving her so horny. so leaky. and so needy.
she’s on her knees before you, begging with her eyes as much as her words. she drools, staring up at you, mind filled with images of all the things you can do to her…
every touch sends pleasure though her thanks to the drugs in her system leaving her so sensitive. the more you use her, the more you fuck her, the less coherent she becomes. her begging rapidly devolving into broken words and needy, horny noises as you do what you want with her. begging and begging until she can do little more than drool and moan as her body is taken advantage of.
it’s unclear if her mind will ever recover, be she certainly doesn’t seem to mind~
#cw: intox#cw: aphrodisiacs#cw: dubcon#cw: drugging#tw: drugging#faunposting#my smut#smut#hornyposting#bottomposting#totally not inspired by a GWA by Winterlee97 on red dit#*wink wink*#I made smut
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[MONSTERFUCKING + DRUGGING + SIZE KINK] jennie who develops a huge size kink after meeting you, her tentacle monster girlfriend, and thinks about your cock and tentacles all day.
jennie who glads open her mouth wide to suck one of your tentacles so she can get a taste of the so sweet venom that come from them and acts like a aphrodisiac for her, making her body burn and her get so needy she basically humps anything, whining and begging you to help her.
jennie who you find one day toying with her ass and tease her saying there’s no way she’s taking you in her tight ass hole, she cries when you fuck her pussy, but she blushes hard and says she actually wants to take your cock in her cunt and tentacles in ass, pussy visible clenching around nothing while she says the words.
monster girlfriend that gets so turned on by the idea too that you decide to help her prepare herself, taking your time every day to finger her ass, sending her to work wearing an anal plug and giving her little tasks during the day like “can you go to the bathroom and take a picture of how wet your pretty cunt is, sweetheart?” or “fuck yourself with the plug a little and record an audio while doing it, tell me how it feels” and jennie whose holes clench whenever she sees the notifications from you.
jennie that loves to look down whenever you’re fucking her so she can see the bulge on her stomach. also, jennie who loves the feeling of your cum inside her, pretty eyes rolling back whenever she feels you spilling inside her.
monster girlfriend that loves to fuck her standing, against the wall or anywhere that requires to hold her while in your monster form just because of the size difference, jennie looking so small in your arms, bracing herself to you while you easily bounce her body.
jennie who cums instantly the day one of your tentacles finally slides inside her ass while she is taking all of your cock too, grabbing the sheets and crying, hips meeting yours cause she desperately needs more, ready to pass out if that means she gets to cum again and again like that.
for everyone that asked me for tentacle monster x jennie! trying this new post format, more direct, easier to get my horny thoughts out than making background and all.
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A couple of y'all wanted more of the idea of Tighnari with a fellow fox/fennec hybrid reader and you know what so do I.
(I wrote this on my phone so excuse the typos)
So let's get that for y'all, also should probably mention that this is with afab lower anatomy in mind, but the readers chest ect will not be mentioned.
CW for dubcon, light drugging, and that's about it.
You were your mother's child, from the similar flicking fennec ears on your head to the quick snapping reflexes that had saved your skin so many times before, not to say you got nothing from your father just with hybrid traits it was passed via the hybrid parent, hence had it been your father as a fennec hybrid you would have been very very lucky to have inherited his traits.
And yet, those very reflexes your mothers blood had given you hadn't saved you from one very foul sweep of a ruin machine's arm during one of your scouting missions. It should have been so simple, head to the southern border look for what or whoever had been chewing through the leftover machines and report back, but look at you now.
One bum leg for the next few weeks and a subtle ringing in your ears from the mortar blast that had rocked your shit and landed you back in the city for rest and recovery till the next rostered month. And to call the med centre a relaxing place to stay is a complete lie, sure your room was a little further back and sure your nurses tried to keep it down, but it is a medical clinic and there is always going to be noise.
And yet one other patient had brought a little peace, using the gardens just like you did to find some peace, the long fluffy ears that twitched fiercely as one of the nurses wheeled a patient across the gravel were a perfect match for your own ears movement. Now afternoons are spent sitting by the fountain chatting softly to each other, laughing and snapping quips at each other as if you had been friends for months and not meer days.
It is rare to meet someone like Tighnari, and even rarer to meet another hybrid like yourself, sure you had met a few cat hybrids and one dog or wolf hybrid but fennecs were rare, probably due to how it's basically a one and done when it comes to partners, one love, one life, one chance and that's it.
Maybe that's why you lunged at the chance to be a Matra scout? Living dangerously and not having that one chance at love taken from you early in life, maybe it was better this way, you could be free to work and actually meet someone who you wanted to settle down with and enjoy life. But somehow, between the rest, the walks through the gardens, and trying your best to get away from the loud nurses and doctors you had completely ignored the way your room had slowly been packed up and here you are now, standing with your small bag of belongings waiting for someone to tell you why you were being transferred and or who was ment to be helping you now.
Tighnari was beyond excited that his request to have be transferred to the vile with him, sure he had to get cyno involved, you were one of his scouts after all, and yes it was unethical behaviour of him to have you put under his care just due to your status as a fellow fox hybrid, and yes he was aware how this would look if anyone found out he had pulled the string for this to happen, but you would be so much better under his care, safer, easier to be in contact with.
Hell maybe you would fall in love with the forest watchers and join him as a ranger, if you held the same rank as him it would only be a minor infraction but as it stands now, if he was to take you and seat you on his cock it would have major expectations and there would be more then just a slap on the wrist for the both of you. But for now you were with him, resting on one of the Sumpter beast as they slowly move towards his rangers base and outpost, it would be a long ride and he had you by his side till then.
Time healing with Tighnari was easier than in sumeru city, quiet days and nights, easy conversation and surprisingly a visit from the general mahamatra as well, being temporarily relieved of duty till healed was par for the course but somedays it was a little rough with the medicine that Tighnari made you knocking you out and leaving you dazed for hours on end.
Tighnari only had your best interests in mind as he mixed the herbs and medicines together, making a very familiar mix that was mainly used to help him quell his heats and sadly when taken outside the days of a heat it was more akin to an instincts release, pulling the human from hybrid traits and leaving people like the two of you more susceptible to the animalistic sides of yourself, sure it was underhanded but you kept pushing him away, batting off his hands and hiding from his touch.
Once was fine but now it was getting too much and sure you could hate him later but it was high time you came to him to bury yourself in his hut, ring yourself with his nesting blankets and let him scent you like he had been working towards back in the city.
He was fully healed and your were closing in on it, a week or two off being good to go back to scouting, a short period till you would be able to leave him, sure he wasn't about to full on drug you or anything but he did need you coming back to him, need you scented like him and letting every person with any sort of scent sharp nose know that you were his, you belonged to him and him alone.
Loud noises and sharp smells had you shuffling towards one place in the vile, Tighnari's but was so quiet, so nicely scented with something that was scratching the back of your mind just right, where else were you to go? The forests smelt like danger, the hut you shared with another patient smelled like metal and blood, and the walkways creaked so sharply that even covering your ears only Brought the noise down from deafening to ear splitting.
Your fellow fennec could yell at you later, grumble and trade barbs with you over how you had destroyed his den and nest, but for now it needed to be rearranged and made perfect for you.
The sight of you sleeping in his blankets, buried in his scent, so peaceful and at ease in his domain, sure you and messed with his bed, messed up his normal and heat nesting blankets, and there was definitely less than enough space for the both of you but he could make it work, lay his tail over yours and press on close so his ear would flick against yours as you slept, if he was lucky and the archons smiled on him you would move closer to him as you slept, curl into him and seek out safety in his familiar scent.
You woke up warm, comfortable and safe, tucked up like you had been as a kit, tail wrapped around another and ears tapping against someone's cheek as you press closer, they smelt good, friendly, like a safe place to nap and bask in the sun. Only there are no birds chirping, no chattering people, nothing but wind, rustling leaves and sniffing?
Who was sniffing? Were you sniffing? Was the...wait. who were you wrapped up in? Who was sniffing you, pressing so intently against your neck, almost drooling against you?
"Back in the land of the living are we? I never thought of coming back from patrol to find someone nesting in my bed... Well someone other than me of course."
Oh, oh that's right, you had been overwhelmed, driven up the wall by your instincts and now here you are, nested up with Tighnari, a friend and the person in-charge of making sure you're healed fully. Sure this was comfortable but it wasn't appropriate in any sense of the word, tugging or well trying to pull away from him was useless, your body was still healing and heavy with sleep, all you and managed to do was half drape yourself across the edge of the nest huffing and flicking your ears at the laughter from behind you.
"in any case, it's good you're awake again as it's well past time for the medicine you usually have at dinner but seeing as you slept through dinner and my attempts to wake you, it's now or never."
Without his gloves Tighnari's hands seem slender, elegant almost, and yet still threatening as they pull a small pouch from the mess beside the nest of blankets you were draped over, the small brown pill was more than familiar by now and the bitter taste it filled your mouth with was just as unpleasant as the day you first took it, the scrunch of your nose and flattening of your ears had made your fellow hybrid chuckle and apparently it still dose.
Like every time before this and likely every time after, the pills worked fast, the once tense and alert ears on your head turned slack almost drooping as you limply curled back into the nest, warmth at the top of your list of things to find. That and nipping at the fingers of whoever was inching closer and closer to your face, needle like teeth catching their wrist and leaving small pin prick like marks in warning to stop, and yet instead of a yip or whine like your brain told you should follow the action there was a growl.
Something deeper than you had expected, something that had you pressing your nose against the palm of the person in the nest with you, huffing and whining in a show of apologising. The only time you had ever heard such a growl was in your teen years and the memory of your mother growling like that at your father was a muddled one, painted in streaks of playful jabs and something else that as a teen wasn't any of your business.
But now, that growl was pointed at you and the whining was not working, the person you had nipped was still huffing and growling, like someone had challenged their leadership, like your little warning nip was a claim of dominance and not something playful and meaningless. No you were opening your eyes to slotted green ones and flattened black ears that twitched as the man looming over you bared his teeth. This wasn't playful, this was a challenge, this was assuming control over you, this was...
This was him claiming you, his mate, his companion for life, this was that once and only once in your life moments and with the haze of unrestrained instincts and deep growls, there would be no coming back from this for either of you.
This was what little clothes you had worn before stumbling into his hut being torn off, shreds falling in patchwork with the nest as you whine and keen in hopes of taking back the challenge, of getting the teeth that are buried in your shoulder released and the bruises and hickies held off, as while your dazed mind was loving the display, the sheer overwhelming control that was being displayed, there was that human niggling voice saying no, to buck and wiggle, to scramble over the edge of the nest and get free, and yet the deeper, more primal parts were winning.
Each buck was more a grind, each wiggle for freedom was more a flick of your tail and the scrambling leaned more into simply presenting, showing off the way the display had effected you, had left you slick and ready for what your mind was telling you would be heaven, it would be everything you needed and more. Even if the air was thick with a mix of Tighnari's scent and your cloying slick there is no heat in your veins, no rut to make his knot swell and lock in you.
But even then, there was nothing to stop him from acting as if it could, as if the moment he came, panting and digging his teeth into your skin again, that he could not pull you back keep you full of his flagging cock and make sure that the ring of white around the base of him grew with every time he pulled you in, pushing his cum deeper and deeper into you and leaving a more permanent mark on you.
#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#tighnari smut#tighnari x reader#genshin impact x reader#cw: dubcon#cw: drugging#corposting
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Eldritchrune - A Gathering
1 | 2
Story Setup
Eldritchrune Masterpost
With Asriel away for his studies, Kris is invited to a secret gathering! Not as a guest, though.
Phew, finally got to finishing this comic! Second half will be up tomorrow!...
#lynx art#Eldritchrune#deltarune au#kris#toriel#asgore#cw: drugging#cw: cults#cw: paralysis#Kris would never suspect the pie!!#tried to push the lighting on this one but IDK
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I have decided that Sophie's response to Araminta calling Portia a manipulative, ill-bred thief in the isekai au is to have her bestie Michael help her steal something from Araminta while their other bestie Philippa distracts the mothers.
Gift to @amybonehouse / @lyramundana because rereading some of her additions to my post helped inspire this
It was way too easy to break into Araminta's Burton Street home. ( Sophie took some glee that the new Earl had kicked her out of the Penwood house) These people didn't even lock the servant's entrance! But no matter, it just made Sophie's job all that much easier. She had already spent days scouting the place so she knew where her target would be. With Michael helping her with the actual theft and Philippa distracting the mothers this should go without a hitch.
Araminta had made a mistake when she called Portia a manipulative, ill-bred thief after stealing one of their own maids away. Now, she gets to deal with a real one. After all Sophie has a set a principles she likes to live by. Her two biggest ones being she'll never have a child out of wedlock, and two there's always a price to pay for one's actions.
Araminta owes payment and Sophie has just come to collect. It will be a fun challenge as well. Sophie's never stolen a person before.
"So, what are we stealing that requires the use of our fake hack?" Michael asked as he and Sophie snuck around the servant's passage.
Sophie threw a smile at her best friend. "Posy."
Michael's footsteps faltered for a moment before falling right back in line with Sophie's. "So we're kidnapping your stepsister?"
Sophie shrugged. "You call it kidnapping, some call it rescuing." Sophie had seen that without her there, and now openly known as Portia's ward, Araminta's cruel nature had turned on Posy. Only difference was that Posy is known as Araminta's daughter, she can't be openly cruel like she was with Sophie. So, every jab Araminta would have to make would have to be at least attempted at subtle. Very bad attempts that even a blind man could see.
"So, what are we doing with her after?" Michael whispered. They were close to Posy's room.
"Why join the family of course," Sophie answered like it was the most obvious thing. "We'll find a place for her, I know there's a little warrior in her begging to be released."
"Portia and Mary going to have our heads, or worse throw several pairs of shoes at us."
"Philippa is distracting them until we get Posy trained up. And with the season so dull they're not watching us as closely. After that we'll say Posy ran away and the darling mothers offered shelter. Now shush, we're here."
Sophie pushed on the servant's entrance to Posy's room. Posy was asleep in her bed, exactly where Sophie wanted her to be. She couldn't help but coo over the perfectly, pretty, plump girl. She'll be such a wonderful addition to the family. Taking out the special tea Phillip and Kate made together designed to keep one unconscious, Michael slowly lifted Posy's head while Sophie fed her the drink.
Posy had awoken at some point during this but the tea was already taking effect. "S-Sophie?"
"Shh," Sophie whispered, tipping the tea further into Posy's mouth. "It's okay Posy. You'll be in a better place soon."
Michael scooped Posy up and out the servant's passage they went. Again, they could have at least locked the door to give Sophie some sort of challenge. Oh well, she got the new family member she came for.
#bridgerton#what if everyone got isekaied besides violet#what if spouses remembered isekai au#villainess isekai au#sophie beckett#posy reiling#michael stirling#isekai and yanderes au#tw: drugging#cw: drugging#the other villainous “children”: new family member!#the mothers: oh baby come here and let us mother you properly!
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sigh… i need to talk more about frat boy taru, he’s plaguing my mind…
he’s a nasty sleaze not above drugging you to get his way. star of the football team, top grades in all his classes, a slew of students and professors alike wrapped around his fingers, and yet he’s enamoured with you. perhaps it’s the dichotomy between yourself in him. a slightly egocentric and manipulative sinner wrapped in a pretty package of false smiles, teasing fingers, and suave comments versus your own doe eyes, bashful nature, and innocently dense disposition. his cock throbs at the mere thought of imbuing you with his own degeneracy. make no mistake, the whispers of his vile nature are true, but he’s got a soft spot for you. give him what he wants, no needs, and you’ll have the world in your soft palms. maybe you just need a little push, a bit of sabotage here and a dash of nauseatingly sweet touches there and you’ll be his.
#cw: manipulation#cw: drugging#fratboy childe#fratboy taru#fratboy au#childe x reader#tartagalia x reader#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader
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this will be an open starter, but it is dark, so be warned
cw: medical body horror, kidnapping, experimentation, etc.! mute thread now if you do not want to see it.
⩥ "anonymous" asked:
You dart across the dusty plain, drawn by the cries of a child in distress. A girl, no older than seven, stares at your arrival, tears streaming down her dirt-smudged face. You offer a comforting smile, aiming to ease her fears, but your heart pounds with a sense of urgency.
The girl sniffles, her trembling form seeming to relax. She rushes forward, arms wrapping around your neck. You're taken aback by her sudden affection until a sharp sting pricks your neck.
Suddenly, the world spins. You stagger back, a hand flying to your neck to pull out a tiny syringe. The girl retreats, her frightened facade melting away as she watches you with cold, calculating eyes. Voices murmur around you, growing louder as your vision blurs. Hazy figures circle around you, their legs the only thing visible before darkness takes hold.
When you regain consciousness, you find yourself bound to an operating table, the harsh glare of spotlights above you. A murmur of anticipation fills the room, the chatter of an audience hidden in the shadows beyond the lights. A figure steps forward, a scalpel glinting ominously in their hand. You open your mouth to protest, but all that escapes is a muffled scream — a mask was over your mouth pumping an anesthetic into your lungs. It burns, and you cough violently, struggling against your restraints.
The surgeon stares at you for a moment before pressing the blade against your flesh starting the first incision. The blade glides across the marked line on you and then he grabs forceps to pull the layer of skin back.
Vash the Stampede is rarely one to be caught off-guard.
He's fallen for the same trick before—a young child in danger, a child lost, a child freshly orphaned—but what is he supposed to do? Ignore them? No, they all deserve the benefit of the doubt. Vash has saved more children than he has fallen for victims of traps, well, saved temporarily at least—often some other tragedy would befall their homes after he saved them.
Because Vash is the Humanoid Typhoon, and disastrous winds follow in his wake.
This child's location was tipped off by a mourning mother and a rowdy group of thugs. The mother's husband recently died morbidly and her daughter saw; the girl ran away in shock somewhere to the north. Vash comforted the mother, promising to bring her baby back, but he wasn't the only one to hear the story—the thugs had as well.
Unfortunately, selling children is often more lucrative than returning them.
So no, Vash couldn't ignore this, and he had to head out quickly before the bandits could get to her. They met near an abandoned warehouse, where the blond had no choice but to incapacitate them. The battle was bloody, and left him with a few fresh wounds, but eventually all four of the bandits keeled over, hopefully long enough for Vash to get in and get out.
She was well-dressed and gripping her hat against her face before looking at Vash with dark, tear-stained eyes. The Stampede stated his intention to bring her home, and she ran up to hug him—
Mistake. Needle prick. Darkness.
⇉⇉⇉
Bright sterile lights. Glares bouncing off from chromatic medical tools. The hum of machinery, computers, space age technology. Murmuring.
Vash can't move his limbs. There's a breathing mask covering his nose and mouth, pumping something into him—anesthesia, he thinks—but it could be anything. His clothes are replaced with a scrappy medical gown, which feels completely pointless as Vash peeks at the doctors—scientists?—cutting him open.
Wait. Cutting him open?
He breaks into a cold sweat as he nauseously realizes he can't feel it. Worse still is the drowsiness, sick feeling, and vulnerability of it all. If he screamed, it wouldn't matter; no one will find him here. There's a glint of hope that Wolfwood would notice him gone, but how would he know where to look? Maybe Knives would see these scientists operating on him like—
Is this what Tesla felt? Is this what Wolfwood felt?
The panic, the trembling, only serves to annoy the scientists. The anesthesiologist says... something. Everything is too muffled, like Vash's head is full of fluff. He's drifting... drifting...
#// i will create more lighthearted open starters later but *someone* craves violence today and doesn't mind sharing it#tales from the typhoon#[living legend; open starters]#[if god won't save you i will; canon]#cw: medical#cw: drugging#cw: kidnapping#[silent hums; anonymous]
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Prompt 10
CW: Blood, Suggested Themes of Drugs
Villain does everything with a smile. Not a small or faked one, it is a genuine cheek to cheek grin. Causing chaos and interrupting Hero’s day is the highlight of Villain’s day.
To Hero they’re a spiky itchy slightly infected thorn in their side. Though Hero isn’t the only one who despises hearing that confident unbridled voice chime, they are sure that they hate Villain the most out of anyone.
Villain bests them everyday. Whether that be how Villain tends to win the battles more often, or how Hero never seems to capture them. They always book it right before telling Hero whatever they demand at the time. And without fail, Hero ends being the more bloody, more tired, and more frustrated one afterwards.
Hero despises that smile that Villain boasts. Their blood boils over those oddly more fashionable clothes, and the dark tinted sunglasses Villain never goes without. Today is different, because it is relief and catharsis that instead pumps Hero’s blood.
They stare in awe at their own achievement. Villain remains slumped against the cold concrete behind them, a smirk still on their face. Their expensive clothes are slowly stained by a growing red spot, tightly clutched underneath their own hand. Though laughing, and weakly at that, their free hand shakily brings itself up in the air.
Hero’s eager disbelief quickly turns into disappointment, when they realize the gesture is a high five.
Villain spouts, “High-five! C’mon. You finally got me good. You deserve it.”.
“I’m not falling for one of your tricks.”, Hero drones, marching over to the defeated trickster.
Before Villain can add some banter to the atmosphere, Hero snatches them by the collar of their shirt. For a second the smile disappears, but it quickly replaces itself. Doing so fails to hide Villain’s now upward eyebrows. Hero brings them closer to their face to such a point that their words bounce off Villain’s nose as puffs of air.
“You’re finally going to explain yourself!”
“What can I say? I just love chaos, and you’re so easy to rile.”
“No! I know you work for someone. Character C/Leader has all the evidence.”. They pause, waiting for villain to respond, but nothing is said.
Hero aggressively shakes villain, and adds, “You’re going to look me in the eyes and answer.” They snag the sunglasses off of Villain, and toss them to side. With a pitiful plastic skitter they slide across the ground.
Villain’s eyes glare at their rival. Hero cannot explain why, but they aren’t what they ever expected. Darkened bags sit underneath Villain’s almost glazed over stare. They appear so deep and puffy that there is no way they are recently formed.
It makes Villain’s eyes look sunken, their sockets defined. It makes that smile on their face look like one of out of nervousness and anxiety. Their pupils are dilated into large pools of circles, bloodshot reddish-white surrounding them. Hero understands immediately that the glare isn’t looking at them, but at a strange distance through them.
Villain squints at the wave of light hitting their sensitive eyes. Their energy begins to pour out of them, both physically and through their wound. They want to tell Hero so bad. The idea wells as tears in their foggy eyes. They can’t do it. Otherwise Supervillain will never let them sleep. Supervillain will never take them off it.
Heavy eyelids turn into a slow blink, and Villain is unable to open them back up. They know they can’t leave Hero hanging like they did their high-five, so they murmur almost incoherently.
“I...just want my...my sunglasses...back...”
#villain#hero#villain whumpee#supervillain#whump#sleep deprivation whump#I hope this suffices#whump stuff#whump prompt#are these even prompts#whump villain#villain whumper#cw: drugging#cw: blood#drug whump
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Monster!reader fucking yeji with their tentacles after getting her all wet and needy from an aphrodisiac (consensual ofc) until she’s close to passing out from all the orgasms she’s had🧎🏻
CW: MONSTERFUCKING, DRUGGING
this might not be everyone’s cup of tea but it is mine so 😭
yeji being so excited because the whole tentacles + aphrodisiac thing was something she wanted to do since she learned you could do it. not being able to contain her eagerness, giggling lots and being extra touchy with you. not going to dig deep into tentacle monsters biology here, like, how it works or where they come from, that’s up to your mind, but i like to think of you dripping aphrodisiac from your mouth, just like saliva but your body understands it’s time so it changes naturally… her whimpering against your mouth as she tastes it, breaking the kiss only to say “it’s so sweet” and crashing her lips to yours again, addicte
giving a bit much to her, so minutes and she’s already lost, laying in bed and playing with her tits, thrusting her hips in the air, hole already dripping. moans loud just at the mere feeling of a tentacle sliding up her body, taking hold of one of her tits and the very tip flicking her nipples. another one slides up and you’re sure she cums just from that, eyes rolling back. playing with her tits for a moment, appreciating the view of her wiggling her body and bucking her hips, before spreading her legs open, teasing her by how wet she is, how much slick is covering the inside of her thighs
one tentacle not being enough for her so two sliding in and out of her pussy with squelching noises, making her scream and babble nonsense, saying she’s so full, it feels so good. moving her to the side like she’s just a doll and letting your fingers wander between her asscheeks, her puckered hole opening easily for you as she begins pushing back against them, so desperate to just have every hole filled
cleaning her up after and she’s so tired, can’t barely move or keep her eyes open, but as you expected the aphrodisiac effects take a bit longer to end since she took a little too much so even as you two lay in bed all cuddled up she still manages to hump your thigh, coming one or two more times, crying against your neck… needy baby <3
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These edibles ain’t shi-
#miimes#miiblr#i love miis#mii#nintendo#miis#mii enjoyer#tomodachi life#my posts#cw drug reference#posts that popped off
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Praise kink Degradation kink
🤝
“You’re doing so well, you’re just a little whore aren’t you?”
“My pretty, brainless doll”
“You look pretty when you’re a struggling, desperate mess”
“That’s it, keep going you dumb slut”
“You’re such a good slut”
#breeding k1nk#breeding toy#submisive and breedable#rap3 fantasy#cnc brat#cnc drugging#cnc free use#cnc kidnapping#rough daddy#cnc cw#cnc daddy#cnc rough#cnc fr33use#cnc k!nk#cnc somno#cnc stalking#free use cnc#ftm cnc#intox cnc#rough cnc#soft cnc#free use toy#free use kink#free use doll#free use slvt#ftm sub#ftm bottom
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Can you write a Part 2 of the pantalone and dottore oneshot where dottore finds the reader and brings them back?
Oh boy CAN I. This isn't super well edited because I've taken much longer than anticipated writing this, but it's 4k words and editing it properly would take maybe another 1-2 days fhjghjkghjkg also excuse any inaccuracies with the Harlow's monkey experiment, I'm rolling mostly off my recollection and a quick skim of a wiki page.
Cut Me Open, Bleed Me Dry
Continuation to Gilded Cage, which can be read here.
Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader(implied)
Word Count: 4.2k
CW: NSFW, torture, mild gore, drugging, kidnapping/captivity, yandere themes, threats of mutilation, noncon, implied somnophilia, AFAB READER (I know I usually do gn but being nondescript didn't fit the writing this time, sorry!)
It’s cold.
That’s the first thing your mind registers when you come to. The second, is the throbbing and insistent pain behind your temples as consciousness slowly comes back to you.
There’s a sour taste in your mouth. Your tongue feels like cotton, your fingers tingle with pins and needles as numbness slowly fades from them, and you immediately know you’ve been drugged. Even with the fog of sleep and the drug still clinging to your mind; even as your thoughts are waterlogged and you’re treading water just to piece them together, you know where you are.
Dottore always did like to use the same drug every time he sedated you.
There’s a blindfold covering your eyes, pressing uncomfortably against your lashes when you try to open them, but there’s no gag to accompany it. That must mean he wants you to talk.
You decide to stall. If you thrash, beg, or scream, he’ll know you’re awake. And you’ll be subjected to whatever it is he’s going to do to you a lot sooner. So… you don’t do that. Instead, you keep your breathing steady, holding still against the cold metal table you’re strapped to.
Sure, it’s only just delaying the inevitable, but you’ve gotten good at drifting away whenever you wake up on his operating table. It’s the only thing you can do to cling to the frayed threads left of your sanity.
In a way, the blindfold helps. Dottore usually doesn’t blindfold you, but Pantalone…
You close your eyes, focusing on the pressure of the fabric covering your eyes to distract yourself from the bite of cold metal against bare skin, and you drift.
You’re in bed. It’s warm, if only under the sheets. You’re not… home, but if you’re being honest with yourself (you rarely are, these days), you don’t really remember what home was like, anymore. So you settle for the empty imitations of it; the dreary and beautiful halls of Pantalone’s mansions– he had to move you around, a few times, but never told you why, when you’d asked. You know now.
You’re… in bed. It’s cold. You’re shivering. You can hear Pantalone across the room; he’s saying something, but you can’t– you can’t hear him. Why can’t you…?
You’re in bed, and you feel gloved hands tracing up your arms, fingers pausing to tap playfully against your pulse, and then your head is being lifted so deft fingers can untie the knot holding the blindfold.
The fabric is pulled away, and red eyes meet your own.
You’re not in bed. You’re with Dottore, strapped to an operating table. Reality crashes into you like a bucket of icewater, and your trembling increases tenfold.
“Enjoy your rest?” He asks, monotone. He’s not smiling, and it’s the first time, you realize, that he hasn’t smiled when he’s had you on his exam table.
You don’t respond, and Dottore’s face stays carefully blank as he regards you. “...Hm.”
The Doctor steps away, out of sight, but you don’t try to follow him with your gaze, listening instead to his receding footsteps.
It still doesn’t feel real. Undoubtedly, part of you knew that, as tightly as Pantalone held on, it was only a matter of time before Dottore sunk his claws into you once more.
But part of you wanted to hope that it wouldn’t happen, that Pantalone would be able to shield you from him forever. Because though Pantalone treated you more like a beloved pet than a person, it was still better than this: pinned under the microscope and picked apart piece by sinewy piece by Dottore.
Dottore returns to your side, and you count ceiling tiles, willing the ground to open up and swallow you into the abyss. Or better yet, to swallow him, so he can be surrounded by darkness as deep as the pitch of his soul.
You’d pray if there were any gods to hear you. But you know better. The prick of a needle, chased by the burn of whatever he’s injecting into you, and you know that the gods– or perhaps just the blasphemous parody of gods that had sunk their teeth into Teyvat long ago– had abandoned you.
Gloved fingers trace a slow path down your sternum, pausing just below your diaphragm and pressing down until you wince in discomfort, stopping when you do but not yet easing up.
“Comfortable?”
“No,” Comes your hoarse whisper. Your eyes stay pinned on the ceiling tiles overhead. There’s specks of blood you can barely see from where you lie. You wonder how much of it is yours.
“Pity.”
The hands continue their slow descent over bare skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He pauses again once he reaches your pelvic bone, drumming his fingers there before pulling away entirely. Glass clinks against glass when he steps away again, and you feel a hand grabbing your chin before the narrow mouth of a test tube is pressed against your lips.
“Open,” He says, grip tightening on your chin, and you do. You know better by now than to fight him.
The liquid inside of the tube sloshes out as he pours it a little too quickly, and the rest of it burns the whole way down your throat, sickly-sweet. Dottore pulls the tube away when he’s sure you’ve swallowed it all, wiping the excess dribbling down your chin with his thumb before dipping into your mouth to smear it against your tongue.
It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it was he gave you. You think he injected you with a muscle relaxant– you realize too late when your fingers stop responding to your attempts to twitch them (not that you could do much to struggle otherwise. The straps pinning you to the table hold firm).
As for what he poured down your throat…
Dottore is across the room washing his hands when you begin to sweat. You can hear the sound of running water, and while you’re sure it’s only for a minute, it feels like an eternity as the chill of the room begins to hurt, turning sharp and biting.
He comes back over when you whimper, with a fresh set of gloves and a scalpel. You regret looking, forcing your gaze back to the ceiling and breathing through your teeth. You try to count the blood specks on the ceiling, the cracks, the tiles– anything and everything to distract yourself.
The blade of his scalpel grazes your wrist, leaving what you’re sure is no bigger than a papercut, but it burns so much more than it should, ripping a muted whine from your throat.
Dottore hushes you, continuing to cut through the straps. You know he could just undo them, instead of ruining them by cutting through the leather, but he wants to see you squirm.
He doesn’t nick you again, but it doesn’t matter. The pain of the cut on your wrist stings so insistently you can’t manage to drift, to distance yourself, away from him and from what he’s doing to you.
When he finishes with the last strap, he sets the scalpel down on a tray beside the table– one you refuse to look at, not wanting to see the tools laid out there; to see what he intends to do to you. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself, and you try to believe it.
You’re lifted and positioned so you’re lying on your stomach now on the table, and he has the barest amount of mercy left in him to turn your head to the side so your nose doesn’t smash against the metal surface.
“Now, this is going to sting a bit, dear,” He starts, once you’re positioned how he wants you, “But you’ve suffered worse, hm? Bear with it.”
It’s detached, the way he speaks to you; so unlike the usual underlying excitement that drips from his voice whenever he’s laid you out on this table in the past. It’s.. horrifying. The safety net of his obsession that’s saved you from worse in the past no longer feels safe, anymore. If ever it did.
Cool metal ghosts over your spine, the flat of the scalpel dragging over skin before stopping to rest below your shoulder blade. He pulls away and you hope that’s it, that he’s just going to toy with the threat of hurting you instead of actually doing so, but then cold metal returns and it’s the only warning you get before sharp pain bursts from just below your shoulder blade as he begins to cut.
It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and you can’t focus on anything but the white-hot pain as it spreads from the tip of your scapula to the tail.
It hurts. You think you must be sobbing something similar, but if your cries are coherent, Dottore doesn’t pay them any mind. There’s a ringing in your ears that drowns everything out, your vision blurs, and you’re still reeling from the pain of the first incision when Dottore moves to your other shoulder.
You taste copper and you realize you must have bitten your tongue at some point, but the pain doesn’t compare to the sensation of fire lapping at your back– to the nerves firing off, overloading your senses with undiluted agony.
Something is forced between your teeth and you bite down immediately out of instinct. He’s saying something to you, now, but his voice is muffled, like your head is underwater. You’re drowning. You can’t breathe, swallowed up by the capsizing waves of sensation.
Pain traces a blazing trail down your spine. Your head is swimming, black spots dancing in your vision, and you close your eyes to succumb to the mercy of unconsciousness.
You’re not granted that mercy.
Instead, the sensation of ice chases away the heat, the fiery agony dimming as a freezing numbness settles in.
A voice cuts through the fog. “Open your eyes before I decide to remove them.”
You open your eyes, looking back towards Dottore through the film of tears over your eyes, the blur of pain. Dimly, you can feel his hand gripping your jaw again, but the feeling is distant, disjointed.
“Good.” Red eyes scan over your form, less cold, this time, as he appraises his work. “I’d like you present for this.”
You mumble a slurred “Where elsh would I be?” around the gag stuffed in your mouth.
“This-” There’s a harsh pinch to your arm that you can hardly muster a wince for, too exhausted from the pain he’d already put you through. From the corner of your eye you can see the glint of amusement in his eyes fade at your lack of reaction, “-is here. But this-” Gloved fingers tap at your temple, “-is not. Stay present. I’m being gentle with you.”
He’s not. He’s really not, but you know he could be doing so much worse, so you nod and make him a promise you can’t keep, like you’ve done a thousand times before.
Dottore stares at you for a long moment, and you resist the urge to let your eyes glaze over, to stare off into the distance. You level your unsteady gaze at him instead, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. Your efforts are rewarded with a dispassionate simper, and Dottore picks back up the knife.
You stop looking.
The pain ignites anew, duller now, no longer white-hot. It’s still insistent, inescapable, and you wish you could crawl out of your own skin.
A line drawn down your back with the knife, like your body is a canvas, your blood the ink, and Dottore the persevering composer.
There’s a study that comes to mind. You remember reading about it, one rainy afternoon as you took shelter from the rain in a quaint library in Sumeru, procrastinating your own studies. Before everything… before this.
The study was done on monkeys. They were separated from their mothers young, placed in cages with a wire mother, which provided milk, and a cloth mother, which provided nothing but comfort.
Survival or comfort. That was the study. The monkeys chose comfort, only going to the cloth mother for food when they were hungry and spending the rest of their time with the cloth mother.
You’d always wondered, then, what you would choose. As Dottore pushes something into one of the incisions, gloves slick with your own blood, you think you know.
Dottore stops. “Say again?”
It’s hard to get the words out around the gag, but Dottore seems to understand you regardless.
“Oh. Poor thing,” It’s a cold comfort, the blood-slicked hand that pats your head. His voice is flat, not condescending or patronizing like when Pantalone simpers at you. But you can hear the amusement creeping into his tone, and it’s enough. “We’re almost done. I’ll give you something for the pain in a moment.”
Something for the pain, he says, as though he hadn’t already given you something, turning the low burning flame of shallow incisions into a raging inferno.
There’s a cut to your arm, this time, deeper than the rest. It burns, but it’s overshadowed still by the throbbing and insistent agony in your back. Something else is pressed into your arm, and Dottore finally sets down the knife.
The room is spinning.
A hand returns to pet your head once more, matting it further with your own blood. You slowly become aware of just how cold the room is, heightened by the sheen of sweat covering your bare skin. You want to go home. …You’re not sure where home is, anymore.
There’s another needle, a sharp sting and then a dull ache settling in like a bruise at your nape. It doesn’t take long for the pain to dull, and you fight the wave of exhaustion that chases on the heels of relief, not wanting to aggravate him further by slipping into unconsciousness before he lets you.
You try to stay awake. You really do. But with your heartbeat echoing in your ears, the warm hand resting atop your head, and the pain dulling, unhooking its claws from your consciousness, you drift.
When you wake, you’re still in the nightmare. You’ve been moved to a stiff, sterile bed, lying on your stomach to not agitate the wounds on your back. It feels like Dottore must have cleaned and bandaged you up already– a small comfort.
The injuries ache dully, but more concerning is the feeling of fingers digging into your hips.
“Glad to see you’re finally awake, my dear.” A pause, then a lewd squelch as he pulls his other hand out from between your thighs. “I was starting to get bored.”
Dottore thumbs at the edge of the bandages encircling your back, humming. “That spoiled brat thought he could hide you from me forever.” He leans down, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck and causing the skin to prickle with goosebumps. You shiver at the contact and he smiles against your skin.
“Oh, but don’t worry.” You cringe when his hand, still wet, taps you on the cheek. “I’ve already made something to keep him busy. You don’t mind that I took a bone and tissue sample while you slept, do you?”
It’s a rhetorical question– one that you don’t bother to answer and that he doesn’t care to hear the answer to, regardless. Instead, Dottore seems to be interested in the space between your legs once more, hand running down to smear the arousal he’d coaxed out of you in your sleep against your inner thighs.
“Pity that you’ll have to be on your stomach for this,” He muses, chuckling quietly at the way you flinch when he slides two fingers back into you, “I do so love seeing your reactions.”
You bite your lip to stifle a groan when he curls his fingers against your walls, grinding his thumb against your clit. It aches, just a little bit. Like you’re sore. Like he’s been doing this for a while.
It’s almost mortifying, actually, how well he knows your body. The building pleasure drowns out the lingering ache of your injuries, and it’s hard to focus on the shame coiling in your gut when there’s something else coiling faster and brighter than the shame.
“Mm, faster than I’d expected.” Dottore mutters from behind you, increasing the pace of his fingers as his other hand slips beneath you to press down on your stomach, right over where his fingers curl against your walls.
Your thighs spasm, trying to close around his wrist, and he tsks, moving his other hand to hold one thigh against the bed as he presses a third finger around you. Your vision whites out, and Dottore doesn’t stop pumping his fingers inside you until you’re whimpering and twitching from overstimulation.
“There. Good.”
There’s a wet pat to your thigh, and you hear him walk off to grab something from the other end of the room. He returns with a jar of… something pink, some kind of salve, and dips his clean hand inside the jar to scoop out a generous amount of it.
He applies it between your legs, over your clit, pressing some of it inside you and deliberately rubbing his fingers against your g-spot, eyes crinkling in delight at the oversensitive spasm that runs through you. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it does.
It burns. Not in the same way as the pain did when you’d woken up on the operating table, but suddenly it feels like your cunt is on fire, all of your attention forced to the way Dottore’s hands feel as he rubs the excess off against your labia.
You barely register the sound of Dottore unzipping his pants, but you do register the sheer, overwhelming relief you feel when he immediately presses inside of you, the head of his cock dragging against your walls before coming to a halt just below your cervix.
He begins to thrust, mercifully not commenting on the keen you let out the second he starts moving.
Dottore sets a brutal pace, snapping his hips against yours, grabbing one of your thighs and lifting it higher on the bed to get better leverage. You can feel his balls slap against your clit with each snap of his hips, the sound of it drowned out by your hiccuping moans.
Your second orgasm is ripped out of you suddenly, embarrassingly fast. You choke on a moan and tighten around him, distantly hearing the doctor laugh as he fucks you through it. It’s getting hard to think, to focus on anything but his cock hammering into you.
Unfortunately, Dottore seems keen to talk, while you’re still coherent enough to listen.
“You know,” he begins conversationally, gloved fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh as he slows his pace to a slow, maddening grind inside you, “The femoral artery is right about-” he fumbles for a second, then his fingers are digging bruisingly into the flesh, “-here. If I were to cut you here,” You feel him lean down to breathe against the shell of your ear, “It would take about… Oh, I don’t know, three, four minutes for you to bleed out.”
You go still beneath him, holding your breath and he slows to a stop, relishing the way terror makes you tighten around him. It’s hard to focus, to think through the fog of lust, but the sudden, blatant threat still manages to cut through the haze like a knife.
“I won’t, of course,” He tells you after a beat, laughing cruelly at the tentative sigh of relief you let out. “Not to you, that is. You’re my favorite test subject, after all.”
Dottore resumes his pace, loosening his grip on your leg and letting it drop limply back against the table.
You think that’s the end of it, until he speaks up again, halting his thrusts briefly to tuck your legs under you and cant your hips up higher. “What wouldn’t kill you, however…”
One hand finds its way to your stomach again, tracing light circles around your navel. “I could remove most of your small intestine, and you would survive.”
“N-” You begin to protest, but another harsh thrust cuts you off.
“Not comfortably, of course, depending on how much I remove.” His hand floats down, pressing harshly against your clit and forcing another sudden orgasm from you. He waits for you to come back down before he speaks again. “If I take too much, we’d need to adjust your diet. But…”
His breathing is picking up now, getting more labored. “I could, hah-” He leans down, breathing hotly against your neck and trapping you against the bed with his body. The movement drags against the bandages, agitating your injuries. “I could… Take just a little bit. A few feet.”
“No-”
“Quiet.” He snaps his hips harder against yours and you bite your tongue, drawing blood again, to stifle the sob that bubbles up. “I could take a few feet, make a leather collar out of it… Make you wear it, sew it to your skin if I must-”
His fingers continue circling your clit and you blink back overstimulated and terrified tears, his hand on your hip tightening painfully. You can feel the next high approaching and you desperately hold it back. It’s hard to think. In the back of your mind you know you need to say something, do something to stop his train of thought before he decides to act on it-
Dottore growls against your shoulder. You can feel his scowl as he presses his weight harder against you, but it twists into a smile at your responding pained gasp when the bandages drag against the incisions. “Ah- hah, I won’t, of course,” He pants, nipping at your throat, “I could do that to just any test subject of mine, my dear, but you’re more than that now, aren’t you? Just tell me, again, that you love me.”
Again?
“You’ve already said it before. Once more won’t kill you.”
It takes you several long moments, not helped at all by Dottore continuing to rut into you distractingly, but you remember. He’s right. When he was cutting into you, when you were desperate and delirious from the pain, you’d choked out the three damning words around the gag.
It was done out of desperation. You’d wanted the pain to stop, and it had. Dottore had stopped after you’d said it, taking pity on you instead.
One more time couldn’t hurt, right? It’s such a small price to pay, a white lie so he doesn’t hurt you further.
“I- ah, nnnm-” He doesn’t slow down his pace for you to get the words out without stuttering, but you’re too exhausted to feel ashamed of the way that your voice cracks with pleasure. “I love- love you.”
“Yes,” Dottore’s cock twitches inside of you, and he snarls against your neck. “Good. You don’t have to mean it, yet. But you will. You will.”
It’s spoken like a promise; one you’re unable to dread as your mind starts to blank, focus drifting to your next orgasm as Dottore’s thrusts become wild, desperate.
The head of his cock batters against your g-spot with every stroke, pleasure and overstimulated pain lancing through you. Your thoughts are fuzzy from lust, unable to focus on anything but the heaving breaths against the shell of your ear, the wet slap of skin-on-skin, the hiccuping moans and noises of pleasure he pulls from your throat.
Teeth sink into your shoulder at the same time Dottore pinches your clit, and your eyes roll back as white-hot pleasure lances through your veins. .
He growls, the sound vibrating against your shoulder, and you shudder when you feel him cum after you, cock twitching as he shoots his load deep inside your cunt.
The world comes back to you slowly, in jagged pieces. When you crack your eyes open once more, you’ve been moved so your legs are no longer tucked up under you, lying comfortably flat on your stomach once more.
Dottore comes back from the other side of the room with a vial, and your face scrunches in revulsion as he presses it to your abused hole, collecting the cum that oozes out. A gloved hand pats your head affectionately before he pulls away.
“Get some rest. I have something that I need to… attend to.” Sleep. You can do that, certainly.
He waves his hand, and you vaguely hear him speaking to the clone that immediately comes into view– who was probably stationed in the corner the whole time, taking notes or something. You wouldn’t put it past him, and from the way some of them stare at you a little too long, a little too intensely, you’re sure many of his clones would like to do a little bit more to you than just watch and take notes.
As Dottore leaves, and his clone wipes you down with a rag, knuckles brushing against the inside of your thighs a little too deliberately to be innocuous, you’re reminded of the cloth monkeys again.
The clone moves to rest his hand atop your limp one once he’s sure Dottore has left, and you curl your fingers around his own. His hands are cold without the gloves, just like his progenitor’s.
You choose comfort too.
#yandere#dottore#il dottore#dottore/reader#il dottore/reader#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#yandere dottore#yandere il dottore#yandere dottore/reader#genshin#genshin impact#yandere genshin#yandere genshin impact#dead dove do not eat#cw: noncon#cw: drugging#cw: torture#i'm so sad the childe fic vanished from my top posts and the zhongli modern au was buried#it's JUST DOTTORE#LITERALLY NOTHING BUT HIM#WAAAGH#what have i become.... i have lost sight of myself.... of my noble journey.....#my writing#one day i'll format these prettily. not today though. i'm lazy#enjoy the meal xoxo#smut#not sfw
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