#Roofies/date rape drug | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chloe-caulfield94 · 3 months

Text

The theme of sexual violence in Life is Strange S1

A very important theme of Season 1, present in the Dark Room plot, is the theme of sexual violence and of women being objectified, turned into inanimate objects by cruel men. This is what Jefferson and Nathan did to their victims - quite literally deprived them of all agency and posed their bodies for their own pleasure.

Chloe was also a victim of the Dark Room. Nathan lured her into his dorm, slipped her date rape drugs and attempted to assault her. She barely escaped before he began his photo session of her, which likely would've ended the same way as it did for Rachel, with Nathan overdosing his model.

By the way, this shows that the remorse expressed by Nathan over Rachel’s death and his complicity in Jefferson’s crimes in his voice mail to Max was completely phoney. Because after he had already murdered Rachel with an overdose, he attempted to perform a “photo session” on Chloe, clearly not minding the possibility of overdosing yet another girl. But why would he mind it? This time it wouldn’t be a friend of his, just some “whore”.

Nathan: “That whore in the bathroom!”

Chloe: “He dosed my drink with some shit ...”

Chloe: “I know I passed out on the floor. I woke up and that perv was smiling, crawling towards me with a camera ...”

When you first heard Chloe describe her encounter with Nathan, how he invited her to his dorm room and roofied her, how he stood over her with a camera when she regained consciousness, what was your reaction? What did you assume Nathan wanted to do to Chloe?

Kate: “I swear to God I had one sip of red wine. I remember ... I remember getting sick and dizzy ... Then Nathan Prescott said he would take me to the hospital ... All I recall is driving for a long time ... then I woke up in a room ... I don't know what happened ... I woke up outside my dorm room the next day. I felt gross”.

When you first heard Kate describe her encounter with Nathan, how she immediately felt drowsy after tasting her drink, how Nathan removed her from the party under the pretext of helping her but instead he took her to some secluded place where he did something to her, what was your reaction?

At that point, was there any reasonable explanation for Nathan’s behaviour apart from him being a date rapist? Spiking a girl’s drink, removing her from the party to a secluded place, taking pictures to keep as souvenirs and to blackmail the victim into silence – that’s textbook date rapist MO.

The sexual undertone of the violence perpetrated by Jefferson and Nathan against their unwilling models is obvious. Explaining his “art” to Max, Jefferson said he’s obsessed with “the moment innocence turns into corruption”. He also said that all his models have “the same doe-eyed look” once they realize what is about to happen to them.

Jefferson: “I’m obsessed with the idea of capturing that moment innocence evolves into corruption”.

Jefferson: “You all have the same doe-eyed look when you wake up here, replaced by fear as you realize what’s about to happen”.

But Jefferson’s usual MO didn’t involve him murdering his victims. He murdered Chloe and possibly Victoria as well as attempted to murder Max, because they were witnesses that needed to be removed. He usually dumped his unconscious victims somewhere after performing a photo session on them, still alive. So if the thing that made his victims supposedly lose innocence wasn’t impending death, what was it? Mark Jefferson strikes me as the kind of person who holds the reprehensible belief that being subjected to certain kinds of violence can cause a person to lose their innocence and become “corrupted”. That is of course not true. The only way a person can become corrupted is by embracing evil with their heart. Suffering violence at someone else’s hands can never deprive you of your innocence or corrupt you. But it seems that obvious truth was lost on Mark Jefferson.

When you first heard Chloe and Kate describe their encounters with Nathan, when you first heard Jefferson, a grown man, talk how he is obsessed with taking away the innocence and corrupting the teenage girls he kidnaps, weren’t the implications of what they did to their victims obvious? I think the writers wanted to leave what exactly happened to victims of the Dark Room ambiguous, but when all the voice lines for Episode 5 had already been recorded, they realized that the fate of the victims was anything but ambiguous, so they decided to add a newspaper clipping Max can find in the San Fransisco timeline, which states that no signs of violence going beyond drugging, kidnapping and posing of the victims was found. I am deeply grateful that they decided to add this bit of information, because I am very fond of all the characters who had the misfortune to be subjected to Jefferson’s and Nathan’s violence – Rachel, Kate, Chloe, Max. But even after we learn that the perpetrators “only” posed their victims and took their pictures, I still maintain that what Jefferson and Nathan did was sexual assault. They drugged their victims unconscious. They at least partially undressed them. On the pictures Max finds in the Dark Room, Rachel is missing her shoes and Kate is missing her black jacket, which they would've been wearing the moment they were kidnapped. And those were just the first photos in their respective albums. Thankfully, we weren’t shown the rest. Jefferson and Nathan exercised complete control over their victims’ limp bodies, posing them in ways they found pleasing.

In her diary, Max describes that some of the photographs of Kate and Rachel she saw in the Dark Room portrayed them posed with Nathan. Rachel’s photographs depicted her “all over” Nathan. This goes to show that the photo sessions done by Jefferson and Nathan involved a lot more physical contact than simply needed to pose the unconscious models and that Nathan got particularly handsy with his victims, both during photo sessions he performed with Jefferson and during those he performed alone.

And why did they only target pretty teenage girls? If Jefferson and Nathan wanted to capture the moment “innocence turns into corruption”, why not target young boys as well? Why go through all the trouble of kidnapping students from an expensive private school that would be searched for if they went missing? Why not target people that nobody would come looking for, like the homeless, or truckers on long hauls? Because they lusted for a very specific type of innocence and a very specific type of corruption. Finally, notice how they talked about their victims. Nathan kept calling Chloe a “whore”.

When Max lamented Chloe’s murder, Jefferson responded by saying she had to be silenced because she knew too much but he wasn’t interested in Chloe as a model because he’d already had his fill of faux punk sluts like that in his Seattle days.

Jefferson: “And don’t get me started on your late partner. I had enough of those faux punk sluts in my Seattle days”.

This is such a bizarre answer. Jefferson, when accused of murdering Chloe, felt the need to clarify that he was not interested in her, because he’d already had numerous flings with girls similar to her in the past. Why say that? If his lack of interest in Chloe stemmed from the fact that he’d had relations with similar girls in the past, then that clearly implies that the interest in his models was at least partially sexual in nature, even if he “only” satiated his desire by taking photographs. Talking about his “art”, Jefferson felt the need to bring up his taste in girls, explaining that he’d had enough of sluts and he was now after pure girls from good homes that he could corrupt to his evil heart’s desire.

Later, Jefferson said that Rachel and Chloe are fucking in heaven.

Max: “Chloe and Rachel! You killed both of them!”

Jefferson: “They’re fucking together in heaven right now. Is that what you want to hear?”

This is a grown man talking about high school kids using language like that – sluts, fucking. All that proves that Jefferson’s and Nathan’s disgusting crimes had a sexual dimension to them.

Look at it from Chloe’s perspective. Nathan lured her into a secluded location and slipped her date rape drugs. She barely escaped whatever he wanted to do to her. If this happened to you or someone you cared about, what would you assume? The only reasonable assumption would be that it was an attempted date rape. And the reality of Nathan’s photo sessions, seeing how they sometimes ended with the model suffering a deadly overdose, while different, was no better than that.

Chloe knew she would never get justice by going to the cops. Her word against the word of the local oligarch’s son? The Arcadia Bay Police Department was so notoriously corrupt that its members would openly admit to taking bribes from the Prescotts to teenage girls they just met for the first time.

Max: “I heard a rumour you were working for the Prescott family on the side”.

ABPD cop: “Look, sometimes I check up on the Prescott family to make sure they’re doing alright. Nathan included”.

Chloe figured that the only way for her to get any semblance of justice was to confront the boy who attempted to assault her and demand compensation. Now, riddle me this. Which ending concludes the theme of sexual violence and objectification of women in a better way? The victim being murdered by her would-be assaulter upon confronting him? Or the victim getting away alive? Murder is the ultimate form of objectification. It turns you into an inanimate object, forever. Should the story of the Dark Room end with it claiming one more victim, objectified irreversibly? Or with the victim reclaiming her agency, breaking free from the objectification and remaining animated?

#chloe price #max caulfield #kate marsh #nathan prescott #mark jefferson #life is strange #lis #double exposure #bae vs bay

213 notes · View notes

dearharriet · 7 months

Note

hello! Congratulations on reaching 150 followers milestone! Really deserved, girly!

Can I get a🍸with Remus Lupin + Lovers Rock? Thank you so much!

hi!! i’m so sorry this took me so long my love, i’ve had the busiest weekend 😭 thank you sm for the request, i hope you like it! <3 (wc: 859) (cw: implied/attempted use of a roofie/date-rape drug)

If you were less drunk, you’d be abashed about flirting so openly in front of Remus, but you’re not. He’s watching you lean into the man’s advances from the bar booth you’re both sitting in, a mean look brewing behind his eyes. You’re praying to god it’s jealousy. At least then he’d feel something for you.

“Real pretty get-up you’ve got on, babe,” the guy is saying, and you’re just sober enough to know he’s staring at your chest as he says it.

“Looks even better on the floor,” you tell him. It’s a cheap response, but he perks up anyway. Remus spins his beer on the sticky booth table, sighing irritably.

The stranger has a silky smooth voice, one that seems to smooth over other, less admirable traits in your mind. He says, “I can make that happen,” and you hear a promise, not a boast. You also don’t notice in his towering over you that he’s tampering with your drink.

Remus isn’t nearly as entranced. He’s on his feet in a second, whipping the man away from you by the collar of his button-up shirt.

“Hey—?”

Cutting him off with a vicious shove, Remus bites, “fuck off out of here. I know what you want.”

You stand then on wobbly legs, approaching the growing scene. Remus was clearly jealous, but you never assumed he was the violent type. He looks ready to crack teeth at this point, and the man still hasn’t left.

“Remus, what—?”

He turns to you with wild eyes, holding up a hand to keep you at bay.

“You stay there,” he says, and the anger he held for the man has ebbed away. He points to your cocktail on the table. “Don’t drink that, okay?”

Blinking, you frown at him. Something about his behavior makes you uneasy, but he’s your friend. You’d trust him over any stranger.

“Hey,” he snaps, demanding your hazy attention. “Did you hear me? Don’t—”

“Don’t drink it.” You nod.

From there all you can do is watch him shred the poor guy apart until Sirius and James finally notice something is wrong from their place at the bar. By then you have a pretty good idea what happened, and you feel sick to your stomach thinking about it.

James keeps you company while Sirius and Remus get the guy thrown out on his ass, and then they both reconvene at your shared booth. Most of the girls have come to see what happened, too, but Remus shooes most everyone away.

“Fucking pig,” Marlene mumbles, petting your hair gently before leaving a small kiss there. She looks to one of the boys, though you’re too busy picking at your nails to know which one. “I can make sure she gets home?”

“I’ve got her,” he replies, and you’d know Remus’ voice anywhere.

Marlene and the other two boys seem to accept this fact easily, though Sirius stops Remus before leaving.

“Go easy, yeah?” he says. “It wasn’t her fault.”

Remus doesn’t reply, but when he takes James’ place beside you his eyes are much calmer than before.

“Hi, dovey.” His hand comes up to rub your back. “You ready to go home?”

Sniffing, you nod slowly, still quite drunk and lethargic. Remus helps you out of the booth, carting you to the door with careful touches.

“It’s okay, Remus,” you assert, feeling more embarrassed by everyone’s worrying than anything now. “You’re not going to hurt me. I’m fine.”

Remus looks down at you with conflict coating his features.

“That was really close, Y/N. I almost didn’t see him do it.”

“But you did,” you correct. “And thank you, by the way.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not for that.”

Pushing the bar door open, he ushers you out into the mild night. It’s not cold, but his arm slung protectively over your shoulders is a relief anyways. Outside the safety of the bar, the man might be lurking somewhere. The thought makes you curl further into Remus, shivering.

“Remus?”

You can tell he’s in the same line of thought as you, because his head is on a swivel, checking behind you periodically. He hums in response to your question.

“If we’re going to my place, would you stay with me? In case he’s following us.”

You’d like to tell yourself the man wouldn’t, but you’re not sure you can put anything past him. Again, Remus appears to think the same.

“‘Course. I'll probably sleep better that way, anyways.”

In your drunken mood, you can’t help the way your heart squeezes at Remus’ doting. It’s a fiery feeling, to be cared for as if you’re an extension of himself, to have witnessed the sharpness of his affection in real time. It’s the barest human decency, but you suspect it was rooted in a much more complex emotion. Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking.

“Okay,” is what you finally say, flagging your thoughts for a later date, when less pressing matters than your safety are on the table. For tonight, it’s enough to let Remus walk you home, and to fall asleep under the warm blanket of his protection.

thank you for reading! xx

masterlist

join the celebration!

174 notes · View notes

kining-the-evil · 7 months

Note

oooh dark!Wilson giving you drugged valentine’s day chocolates?

Sweet Tooth

Summary: it’s Valentine’s Day and James knows you have a sweet tooth

Warnings: dark fic, Yandere!james Wilson, drugging, kidnapping, slight noncon, talks of date rapes, house is aware of what’s going on, and encourages him, James thinks about assaulting reader but decides against it

House md taglist: @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @flowercrowns-goodvibes

House md masterlist. Other masterlists

“Chocolates? Really? Are you in college?” James sighed as he set the small heart shaped box of candy onto his desk. He’d been hoping to get the chocolate into his desk before house found him, but of course he wasn’t lucky enough for that.

“Congratulations, you caught me. Can we get the teasing out of the way now?” James pulled his coat off as he looked over at House.

“I just want to know who the poor sap you fell for this time, wife number four?” Wilson rolled his eyes while looking at the files that had been left on his desk since he left last night. House walked over and started to lift the lid, causing Wilson to drop the file and immediately reach for the box.

“Don’t!”

House raised an eyebrow at the man. “I was just going to look-“

“Don’t.” Wilson snapped as he grabbed the box from House. “I-I don’t want you to eat any of it.”

“What? Did you poison it or something?” House attempted to joke, but when Wilson tensed up slightly his eyes widened. “Are you roofying someone?”

“I’m not roofying anyone! Don’t say that.” Wilson snapped, glancing over to the door.

“You are. I guess it’s more of college than high school then. Who are they for?”

“These aren’t drugged-“

“You’re really going to lie to me about this?” The two men stood in silence for a moment until Wilson let out a small sigh. “That’s what I thought, who are they for?”

“Y/n.”

“…Who?”

“Dr. L/n!” Wilson snapped, annoyed.

“The pediatrician?”

“She’s an oncologist,”

“But for kids.” House pointed out.

“Believe it or not, kids can get cancer!” Wilson was getting more aggravated as the conversation went on.

“Hey, I’m not the one planing on drugging my employee, although maybe I should? Chase is a looker.”

“I’m not- it isn’t-“ Wilson struggled to come up with anything, at a loss for words.

“At least you’re taking some initiative in your life, but don’t do it on hospital grounds, something tells me Cuddy won’t approve.” House told him before walking out of the room.

•••••••••••••••••••••

You have a small smile as you left the young girls hospital room, a box of valentines in your hands. You made it a habit to bring them to all of the kids who were in the hospital to help brighten their mood.

“Dr. L/n, Dr. Wilson wanted to see you.” A nurse told you while walking past. You gave a small nod as you took a deep breath. Your boss was an odd man, he was a great doctor and got along with everyone but when he was around you he got cold and distant. You never could figure out why, but you eventually gave up on impressing your boss. As long as it didn’t affect your work you guess it wouldn’t matter.

I’m nice you got to Wilson’s office you knocked on the door and once you got the okay you pushed the door open. “Dr. Wilson? You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, come in and shut the door.” You walked in, noticing how dark it was once the door shut. The blinds were pulled and only about half the lights were on, how he got anything done like this you’d never know. You needed complete light when filling out paperwork and stuff.

You stood in front of his desk for a moment, neither of you saying anything. You shifted from foot to foot as you waited for whatever he needed, but he didn’t say anything, just sat looking at you. “Um…was there something you needed?”

“Oh! Yes, sorry. I- I needed you to fill out some…discharge papers.” He held a file out for you to take. You couldn’t help the frown on your face as you took the file. Why would he need you to come here to get these? A nurse could have easily brought it to you to sign.

“Yeah, I’ll get this done for you. Was there anything else.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Wilson quickly shook his head. You watched him for a moment before nodding yourself.

“Okay. Have a good day,” you started towards the door but the moment you touched the doorknob he said your name, making you turn back around.

“There actually was something else.”

“Oh, okay?” You stood waiting for a moment as he fumbled in his dead for a moment. Every second of silence made you more and more uncomfortable, and by the time he seemed to find what he was looking for you were ready to get out of that office as fast as you could.

“So I um… I got this for you.” Your heart sank as Wilson pulled out a heart box that you assumed was chocolate. Why was he giving you this? Did he really…?

“Oh… um, thank you.” You force a smile onto your face as you walk back to his desk. You had never felt more uncomfortable then when you took the box from your boss. It wasn’t just the authority he held over you, but you knew Wilson’s reputation. Three wife’s and multiple girlfriends, all of whom left him in a dramatic way. You did not want to be another name on that list.

Wilson stared at you as you stood there, and unsure of what else to do you opened the box and popped a piece of the chocolate into your mouth. There was nothing special about the chocolate, it was your average cheep chocolate with an odd bitter aftertaste. “It’s good, thank you.” You said once again, watching as Wilson smiled slightly, but he still seemed tenses.

“I’m glad you like it.” He stood up and walked over to where you were. “I wasn’t sure what kind you liked.” You nodded slightly, but it cause the room to spin slightly. You reached an arm out to try and stabilize yourself which led to you just grabbing onto Wilson.

“Shit…” Wilson cursed as he led you over to the couch in the room and you practically collapsed onto the bed. Your head felt foggy and the room continued to spin.

“What’s….”

“I didn’t think you’d eat one now.” Wilson rushed out, just confusing you more. “I figured after work- I thought I had more time.” The room started to get dark and Wilson noticed, quickly bending down to look at your face. “I’m sorry, just… just sleep. Everything will be okay.” His lips continued to move but you couldn’t hear what he said as you slipped into unconsciousness.

•••••••••••••••

Wilson took a step away from the bed, looking over his work. You were laid out on the bed, stripped out of your work clothes as he had to leave them behind when taking you back to his house. Your arms were tied up above your head and you were still knocked out. He wasn’t sure when you’d wake up, but he kept checking to make sure you were still alive.

He couldn’t help his eyes from looking over your body, your legs slightly crossed over each other, causing the shorts he had found in your work back riding up significantly. When changing your clothes he’d been too panicked to think about what he was seeing, but now seeing all of the exposed skin caused him to harden in his slacks.

He took a step forward, very gently running his fingers over the exposed skin on your stomach from the table top riding up. He ran his fingers down your hip and to your inner thigh, and a thought to go further ran through his head. You were so complicit, sound asleep, it would be like it never happened-

He yanked his hand away, taking multiple steps back. No, he wouldn’t go that far. He wouldn’t stoop that low as to harm you. He couldn’t. As he reprimanded himself he missed the sound of his door being opened or a person walking through the house.

“You know, you don’t have to tie her down when she’s unconscious.”

Wilson jumped as he turned to see house in the doorway to the room. For a second, Wilson thought he should try and cover you, but there was no point. House knew you were here, nothing was going to change that.

“Until she wakes up.”

“Then you pretend she agreed to the night.”

“I’m not fucking her like this.” Wilson quickly snapped. “It was just…a means of getting her here.”

House looked between them before rolling his eyes. “You think you’re in love with her?”

“I am!” Wilson snapped before lowering his voice. “What does it matter to you?”

“You did kidnap a girl.”

“Are you going to report me?” Wilson stared at house for a second, the other man saying nothing. “Exactly, you don’t have to see her anyways. I’m just-“

“You don’t have to sugar coat it, you kidnapped a girl, that’s that. Just don’t ask me to help out when you fail. I’ll visit you in jail.” As House finished Wilson saw you move slightly.

“She’s waking up, you need to leave.”

“Why? You don’t think she wants a welcome to your kidnappers home party?”

“I’m serious, this is important. Get out.” Wilson ushered house out before locking the door. He leaned against it slightly, taking a breath before heading back into the room to greet you, grabbing a at to ensure you stayed quiet.

#house md #yandere!james wilson x reader #yandere!james wilson #dark!fic #yandere!house md #james wilson x reader #james wilson #dr james wilson #tw noncon #tw drugging #kin’s v day fics

141 notes · View notes

roxy-writes · 1 year

Text

this fic is copied directly from my ao3

warnings: noncon, date rape drugs/roofies, kidnapping, bondage

i do not condone any of this behavior irl.

You'd never have guessed that your friendship with Katsuki Bakugo would've turned out to be the worst thing that ever happened to you. Actually, yeah you could've. He'd held the title of the most brash, aggressive person you knew from the moment you met him. But...you didn't think he had the capacity to actually ruin your fucking life the way he did. You took him as someone who took every emotion he had and channeled it out into anger, whether it be during his hero work or in daily life. And, despite your best efforts, you managed to find his behavior endearing. You don't know how you put up with him, maybe it was those ever so rare moments where he actually showed affection normally, or maybe it was..you don't really know.

You remember how it all started, when you worked as a barista in a small, local coffee shop Bakugo frequented. He'd come in, clad in his hero suit, his very presence commanding. He'd mutter his order to the cashier and lean against the wall, waiting for someone to shout out "Dynamight", signaling that his order was ready. You'd only glance at him, never paying much mind to the hero. Until one day, your close friend told you they'd become friends with a very popular hero they'd like you to meet. You didn't know who to expect, but it certainly wasn't...him. He recognized you and you recognized him, but neither of you acknowledged it. You couldn't help but enjoy his company once you warmed up to each other. He definitely had charisma. So you and your friend hung out with him more often, and eventually you and him started hanging out alone.

Further into your friendship with Bakugo, you really got a glimpse into who he really was. He wasn't your closest friend, but you had him around often. He liked cooking dinner for you a lot, and he'd always complain if you ordered food instead of just letting him make you something. You'd never admit it, but he was a great cook. He came over to your place one night, and it progressed like every other. He'd get mad at you for trying to order something, scold you, and dig through all your food looking for something to make. So, once he was done, you sat down at the table as he served the food he made. Your favorite food. How'd he know you liked this? You were too hungry to question anything, so you ate with him. You remember taking a sip of the drink he'd poured you, going to sit on your couch with him, and that's where your memories come to a halt.

You'd always figured he might've had a thing for you, but you didn't think he'd go this far.

You woke up somewhere you didn't recognize, in a bed that wasn't yours, with a man you thought was your friend. The fear that rushed through you was like no other, especially during the moment you saw his sick fucking smile as he stared at you from the end of the bed. You don't remember what he said then, but you remember what he did. Remember how horrid you felt when he pinned you down and tied you up so you couldn't fight, slipped his hands into your pants and started touching you. He rubbed your clit and stuck his thick fingers in you, preparing you for what you knew he'd been waiting for. You didn't want it to feel as good as it did. You wished he was hurting you instead, because who was he to be pleasuring you? He shouldn't be the one making you feel like this. But he wasn't gonna listen to your pleas for him to stop. You suspected that the more you begged for this to be over, the more it turned him on, and eventually your cries devolved into high-pitched moans, cries and hiccups. He pulled his soaked fingers out of you, licked them clean, and lined his cock up with your hole.

You instantly became distraught, squirming uselessly. You weren't getting out of this, and you knew it. But that wasn't gonna stop you from begging him to let you go, your words quickly becoming drowned out by his groans and the sounds of his balls smacking against your ass. The stretch felt like you were being torn in half, and he didn't give you much time to adjust before he started moving. Your eyes stayed wide as you tried your best to shut them closed so you wouldn't have to watch what was happening to you. His hair stuck to his face, and his muscles flexed with every thrust. He looked euphoric, like this was all he'd ever wanted. You also remembered he kept talking about how this was just him getting his revenge for all the times you flirted with him and led him on, and how he'd been anticipating the day he'd finally do this. You wondered if this was the only reason he kept up being friends for so long, if this was his goal from the very start. But soon, your train of thought was cut off abruptly by your orgasm. You wished this would all be over already. After a few minutes of him continuing his assault on your cunt, you felt warm cum flood your pussy. Oh fuck. This was only getting worse for you. He pulled out after he was done and cleaned you up. You don't think you ever fully grasped the reality of what had just happened to you.

You went quickly from hanging out with him maybe once a week to seeing him daily. Locked up in this fucking room, with only yourself for company while he was at work. There were a few items to help entertain you, books and things like that. Still, you spent most of your time sitting around, thinking. Thinking about how you'll just have to wait until someone finds you. You lost your sense of time after a while, so you had almost no idea of how long you'd been there. Until he got home from work and came to visit you, you'd just be stuck waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

#tw dark content #tw noncon #mha x reader smut #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x reader smut #bnha smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo x reader smut

405 notes · View notes

heysawbones · 11 months

Text

Let's Talk about Xyrem.

Xyrem ("oral sodium oxybate" or the sodium salt of gamma-hydroxybutyrate) is used in the treatment of narcolepsy, as well as (sometimes) idiopathic hypersomnia. Even if you don't have narcolepsy or any related conditions, you may find this run-down interesting. Here's why:

Gamma-hydroxybutyrate is roofies. That's right. Date rape drug. Right here.

The drug is so tightly controlled that there is one pharmacy in all of the United States that can fill it. Doctors must be approved and participate in a special program to even prescribe it.

Nobody really knows how it works in the treatment of narcolepsy.

I was prescribed Xyrem quite some time ago - at this point, nearly a year back. It took six-plus months of insurance, doctor's office, and central pharmacy wrangling to get the drug to my door. The whole time, I wondered: what should I expect from Xyrem? How do I know if it's working? How do I know if it's not working? What's it like? Lists of side effects and contraindications are readily available online, but I couldn't find a single detailed testimonial. This bothered me.

I've been on Xyrem for about a month and a half now. Here's what I can tell you about it.

You have to wake up at night to take a drug that's meant to improve your sleep. Everybody I explained this to found it funny. The standard practice is to split your dose in two - to take one half at bed, and the other half two to four hours later. If you're on Jazz Pharmaceuticals brand Xyrem and not the generic, they send you a tiny little alarm clock with a light on it to facilitate this. I have never needed it.

It takes 3 weeks to titrate up to the "full" dose, which is also the maximum dose. From there, you can titrate back down to a lower dose if you're experiencing unpleasant side effects. I'm in the process of doing this myself.

It doesn't necessarily knock you out. From the way the drug is described, one might get the impression that the moment it kicks in, you're going to be unconscious. I didn't find this to be the case. Your mileage may vary; I don't always fall asleep at all on the first dose, but it does at least get me sleepy enough to fall asleep on the second.

You have an unusual amount of agency in how you take Xyrem. This surprised me, especially given how tightly controlled possession of this drug is. For example, I metabolize Xyrem really fast. If I take it in two doses, I will sleep a maximum of 6 hours. I take the same amount of medicine and split it into three doses instead to compensate for how fast I metabolize it. That way, I'm more likely to sleep about 8 hours. This isn't just accepted, it's encouraged. You can even take a bigger dose first and a smaller one second, or vice-versa. The only hard and fast rule is: do not go over the max dose.

If you take it with alcohol, or within 4-6 hours of alcohol, it could kill you. A lot of drugs warn you not to take them with alcohol. I cannot stress enough that if you have ignored that warning in the past: do not ignore it here. Do not. Xyrem is a powerful CNS depressant. Alcohol is a CNS depressant. It really can kill you.

It works(?) Like many drugs that act on the brain, nobody is really sure how Xyrem works. It doesn't affect the most common (known) cause of narcolepsy (a lack of orexin/hypocretin). It's theorized that the drug acts on GABA receptors in a way that "consolidates" the fragmented sleep architecture of narcolepsy.

Narcolepsy can be thought of as an autoimmune disorder of sleep architecture. The sleep architecture of a narcoleptic is irregular, both within itself and from night to night. People with narcolepsy tend to have less of the deep sleep stages than they should. Narcoleptics also have a high percentage of stage 1 (light) and REM sleep. It's theorized that excessive REM occurs because it is of poor quality/does not serve its intended function, so the brain spams REM in an attempt to compensate. A diagnostic trait of narcolepsy is the ability to enter REM within 8 minutes of falling asleep - if sleep architecture is normal, this does not occur. While not all people with narcolepsy have cataplexy, cataplexy itself is actually REM intrusion into waking life. The narcoleptic brain is that screwed up about REM. Xyrem appears to regulate shifts between sleep stages and reduce the nightly percentage of REM sleep. I used to dream nightly. Subjectively, I do not dream at all on Xyrem.

The only difference between Xyrem and Xywav is salt. A full 9g dose of Xyrem contains 1,640mg of sodium. The maximum sodium intake recommended by the American Heart Association is 2,300mg. One of the few things I saw said about Xyrem prior to taking it was that it was disgustingly salty. It is very, very salty. I don't mind it, though. I've seen it said that Xywav tastes much worse, but I can't attest to that.

Subjective experience

Xyrem comes Priority Air Mail in a sizable cardboard box. An adult with ID must be present to sign for it. The first month's prescription comes with a light-up alarm clock. This kit and all subsequent kits come with:

The medicine, in however many bottles are required

A number of syringes, marked with common doses

A number of pill bottles

You put water in the pill bottles. They tell you to put about 60ml, but as far as I can tell, this is to make the saltiness tolerable. I made a little game of this - I try to put the same amount of water in each pill bottle, gauged by nothing but sound. I've gotten pretty good at this. I have my nightly dose split 3 ways. After adding the drug to the water, I close each bottle and swirl it a bit. I don't know if this actually does anything.

Xyrem works best if you're already tired when you take it. Hilariously, I have ADHD in addition to narcolepsy. Nighttime sleepiness isn't a thing I Do naturally. Consequently, the first dose of Xyrem only puts me to sleep about half the time, and it takes a while even when it does. I know myself well enough to know that if I wait until I'm actually "sleep for the night" tired to take it, I might be up until 3 or 4 AM. Instead, I take the first dose at around 11 PM. Even if it doesn't put me to sleep, it DOES make me sleepy enough that the dose I take 2-3 hours later will definitely work.

I was very careful to set alarms the first week or so of taking Xyrem, but I've never needed them. For reasons that are unclear to me, I always wake up when Xyrem is fully metabolized. Without more Xyrem, there is no urge to go back to sleep. When I've run out of doses for the night, I'm up for the rest of the day. There's no napping.

Some people have pretty nasty side effects with Xyrem. Headache and nausea are the most common. I had both of those, once each. The headache lasted all day but was otherwise unremarkable; the nausea was genuinely awful. The only persistent side effect I have, is tremors.

While I was waiting for Xyrem, my sleep specialist put me on Adderall. Nobody would prescribe this for ADHD, but you'll do it for narcolepsy? Sure, whatever I'll take it. I mention this because I thought it was possible that Adderall was causing tremors. I ran a little experiment: I took Xyrem but no Adderall one day and still had tremors. I took Adderall, but no Xyrem the night before, and the tremors subsided. It's definitely the Xyrem. While this is a known possible side effect, I can't find any information on how or why Xyrem, a CNS depressant, would cause something that seems very much the opposite of a depressed central nervous system. I am currently titrating back down from the max dose in an attempt to see if a lower dose will mitigate the tremors. If that doesn't work, I'm not... entirely sure what to do. Xyrem is a weird drug. It's strange not to dream at all; it's strange to wake up twice a night and still get better sleep than I ever have. Executive function has improved considerably, given that both neurological issues that cause executive dysfunction are being treated. Still: the tremors are, I will not lie, distressing. Not as bad as they were on Wellbutrin, which I was forced to discontinue! But - disruptive and distressing, nonetheless. I'm hoping that the tremors will stop eventually, or that dose adjustment will help.

Overall: would recommend if you have narcolepsy. You wouldn't think that a drug that obligates you to wake up multiple times a night could improve your sleep! Well, bucko, if your sleep architecture is already so disordered that you have narcolepsy: it can.

#I said I'd do a writeup on xyrem and here it is #took a long time because xyrem is weird #xyrem #narcolepsy #idiopathic hypersomnia #xywav

194 notes · View notes

lunarubra · 7 months

Text

Hi :) this is the first chapter of the Shadow of the Sea, let me know what you think about it in the comments. A big thank you to @cillmequick for beta-reading and being the sweetest person ever. I wouldn't have published it without her assurance that it doesn't completely suck.

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan)

Summary: In this AU set in 2010, Cillian has just finished filming 'Inception'. He has never been married, and after a few disappointing relationships, he finds himself feeling blocked in his personal life, even as his career continues to rise.This is a completely fictional story, not based on real life. I wrote this with the utmost respect for the man and his family.

Warning: Homesickness, Family Distance, Mention of Sexual Assault (not between OC and Cillian), Sexual Harassment, Date Rape Drug/Roofies

Words: 2700

Next | Masterlist

Part 1: Eire's Depths

Closing the laptop with too much force, Jiyan started massaging her temples, hoping to alleviate the tension and praying she wouldn't have to deal with a migraine anytime soon.

The library was silent; the only sound was the rain against the windows, soothing the last students. Even if the new semester just started, there were only a few people left in the study area on a Saturday afternoon. Most students had already headed to the pub for a pint or were getting ready for the clubs later.

Jiyan checked her phone, noticing too many messages she had been ignoring since the morning. Sighing, she opened her brother's chat and found three unread messages.

14h11: Ready for a call later?

16h22: Mom is pacing, almost started ironing. You need to call tonight.

18h42: Seriously sis... if you don't call tonight, I will sedate her and take the first plane to yours.

Jiyan chuckled and quickly answered Mikael.

19h13: Ironing, huh? Almost need an intervention.

19h13: Will call soon, little bro. Don't despair.

Clearing the table of books and notes, she put her laptop and the last few things away in her backpack.

Outside, it was raining. Again.

And it was dark. Already.

Coming from a country where the sun kissed Jiyan's skin almost every day, the continuous rain on this island pierced her heart each time. She was tired and hoped to get home, have a cup of tea, and finally make the call she had been postponing for the last two weeks, perhaps even forgetting what she was doing on this verdant yet depressingly weathered island.

The ride to her place was fast, and the bus was on time, something she was gradually getting used to. Entering the small studio made her feel restless and anxious, intensifying the pressure on her temples. Looking around the space she had started calling home in the last few months did ease her discomfort a little.

Having spent her childhood moving to different countries, Jiyan was acutely aware of the housing crises almost everywhere. Still, she was taken aback by the difficulty of finding a flat in Dublin.

After a month spent in a hostel dorm and countless useless house visits, her desperation reached a point where she considered a dubious Craigslist post seeking help in renovating an old studio.

When she first checked it out, she realized the studio was actually above a car repair shop, and apparently, no one had lived there for about 30 years. Sean, the guy who owned the shop, almost cracked up when she asked about costs and materials. It took her a good 5 minutes to persuade him that she was capable of almost any woodworking task and that she could undertake the restorations in her spare time and during weekends if she could live there. They struck a deal: Sean would foot the bill for materials, and until the renovation was done, she'd cover her living expenses by doing all the work herself.

After two months of solid effort, she'd managed to put in new wood floors, set up a functional bathroom with a brand-new shower, and even start building herself a kitchen. Sure, the place was small, didn't have central heating, and still looked like a bit of a mess, but the one thing that sealed the deal for her was the wood stove. It reminded her of her mom’s cabin up in the mountains, where she'd spend lazy afternoons by the fire, lost in a good book with a cup of tea in hand. So, if she could bring a bit of that cozy feeling into her new place, she figured she'd be all set, even with juggling her university work and research study.

It took a couple of minutes to get the fire going and put the kettle on for some fresh mint green tea. Once she finished her first cup, she dialed her little brother's number.

"Finally, are you becoming such a loser that you're spending your Saturday at the library now?"

"It's called work, Mika. Something you'll learn soon enough."

"Yeah, of course, like I'm not living with a psychopath right now. She almost started ironing the bed sheets, Aji. We need an intervention here, immediately. Mom never cleans; she moved from Turkey because she couldn't stand spending her time cleaning. You need to convince her that you're fine."

"I am fine," Jiyan repeated for the thousandth time. "And Mom moved from Turkey because we're Kurds, and she wanted to avoid spending her time in jail for teaching her language in school."

"You're fine?" Mikael said incredulously. "You're living in the land of Mordor. It's been a week since you've seen any sun; I checked the weather!"

"It's not that bad. I'm starting to like the rain," Jiyan said, convincing no one. "And I like the job."

"Is that Aji?" she heard her mom in the background, stealing the phone from her brother.

"Aji, how are you?" her mother's worried voice asked.

"Hey Mom, I'm good. Mika told me you need an intervention."

"Your brother should be studying for his finals, focusing on his Latin test," Jiyan's mother said after a pause. "It's been weeks since we've heard from you, Jiyan."

Jiyan stared out of the window, feeling guilt and pressure rising in her chest.

"I'm sorry, Mom. It's just... I'm super busy with work and renovation here. I started building the kitchen from scratch, and most of the time, I forget to check my phone. I'm fine, really," she tried to reassure her.

"You're avoiding, little star, and today is a difficult day for you. You should be here, not alone on an island without sun," her mother insisted.

Jiyan really didn't want to have this conversation; she moved to this island to avoid this topic.

"It's all good, Mom. It's not a big deal," she said. "Also, I'm meeting new people; it's a good change," she added, feeling the lie stinging her tongue.

She heard her mom sigh. "I miss you, little star."

"I miss you too, Mom. Also, Mika, I need to go now. I'll call you next week."

"You do that, or I'm sending your brother there to check on you."

Jiyan chuckled and smiled. "We'll lose him at the first change of trains."

"Every battle has its losses."

Now really laughing, she closed the call. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, little star."

Jiyan put down her phone, staring again at the window. She knew she needed a distraction and couldn't spend the rest of the day inside alone. Not even building furniture could distract her today.

She put on her jacket and boots, grabbed the keys, almost sprinting outside in the rain.

Again.

Snap.

5 points.

Snap.

5 points.

Snap.

15 points.

Sighing disappointedly, Jiyan walked over to the dartboard to retrieve the darts. It had been two weeks since she discovered this pub near her place. The music was usually pretty good, and it could be a cozy spot during weeknights. It wasn't usually too crowded, which suited her just fine. She'd come in to have a soda and play darts, avoiding the regulars and the occasional group of tourists who tried to strike up a conversation.

She knew she stood out as a woman in a pub on a Saturday night, playing darts alone. That night, she had already dodged two American tourists who tried to flirt and offer to "teach her" how to play.

On the other hand, the regulars, after giving her strange looks for the first couple of nights, now hardly noticed or bothered her, accepting the odd loner who didn't drink beer and spent hours throwing darts. Tonight, unfortunately, the pub was busier than usual, with some tourist groups disturbing her vibe.

Feeling a presence behind her, she tensed up immediately.

"Hey, baby, what are you drinking? Can I buy you the next round?"

Jiyan turned around to face a stranger who looked like the typical Chad character from any American high school drama.

"No thanks, I'm good," she replied shortly, turning back to focus on her game.

"Come on, I saw you looking at me. You were checking me out, I saw you."

"Excuse me?" she said, annoyed, not having a clue what he was talking about.

"Yeah, when you went to order your drink, you smiled. The guys and I are having a blast; you could come join us. I promise you a great night."

Jiyan took a deep breath, trying not to get too annoyed. "Listen, Chad, if that's even your name—I don't care. I'm not here to make friends or have a good time with your guys. I was having fun until 30 seconds ago when I didn't even know of your existence. Can we go back to that, please? Thanks, bro."

"My name's not Chad," he replied, irritated.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Jiyan said dismissively, hoping the conversation would end there, and she could get back to her new form of therapy: throwing darts.

Chad returned to his table muttering something about a "stupid bitch," but Jiyan didn't have the energy tonight to educate a stranger about basic respect and boundaries.

She took the last sip of her lemonade and headed to the bathroom, ordering another one from the bartender. When she returned, finding the new bottle of lemonade near the dartboard, she resumed her evening.

Cillian was onto his second pint when his attention wandered again to the peculiar woman in the far corner of the pub, throwing darts.

She seemed to be in her late 20s, sporting a hand-knit beanie that partially obscured her long dark hair. Her frame was small, drowned in a pair of jeans and an oversized dark hoodie. Each time she retrieved her darts from the board and turned around, Cillian found himself momentarily distracted from the conversation, captivated by her large green-leaf eyes.

Despite her efforts to blend in with her dull, oversized attire, every straight man in the pub couldn't help but notice her attractiveness.

Dermot, noticing Cillian's repeated glances, remarked, "She's new around here, lives in the area, spends her nights alone playing darts. Connor was annoyed the first night because she doesn't drink or eat, but apparently, she tips well, so we see her almost every night now."

Cillian raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Do you stalk all the newbies at the pub? Should I be worried? Should I give Connie a call?"

Dermot chuckled. "Like you didn't glance in her direction every five seconds. Just doing you a favor, pal."

Snorting, Cillian covered his blush with a sip from his pint. "I was just curious, and I wasn't staring at her the whole time."

"Sure, sure. Maybe we don't need to worry about you after all. You've been holed up in your basement for a month, and now look at you! You should go talk to her."

Cillian shook his head. "I'm gearing up for the new role, and it's been busy..."

Dermot glanced at his friend. "It's okay, you know, to try again? You're not a bad guy, and not all stories work out, mate."

Cillian looked down at his pint, taking another sip. He hadn't wanted to go out tonight and dwell on his last relationship. After a couple of weeks of seclusion, he was finally finding his balance. It wasn't that he missed her; they both knew the interest had faded months ago. They had reached a point where they were uncomfortable around each other and only ended up hurting one another.

He was just tired.

At 34, he was already questioning if this was it, his life—filled only with jobs he loved and relationships that would fill his life for a few months before inevitably ending.

Glancing up, he noticed a tourist from a nearby table approaching the young woman. Dermot and he said nothing for a moment, watching with interest. She appeared mostly annoyed and seemed to handle the situation well. After a brief exchange, she returned to her darts, and the guy slunk back to his table looking disgruntled.

Dermot chuckled after a sip from his pint, jesting, "Or maybe not the best idea, it looks like not even your piercing blue eyes would work this time."

Cillian snorted. "I think Enda would kill me if I showed up tomorrow with anything less than perfect condition. He owns me until the end of this play."

"Best not risk it, then."

They spent the next half-hour joking, with Dermot updating Cillian on Corinna and their new pregnancy. Cillian tried not to glance at the dartboard anymore, but he couldn't help but notice the American guy hurrying back to her corner after she ordered something from the bar, only to return to his table before she came back. Hopefully, he had finally realized she wasn't interested.

Around 11, they both decided to settle the bill and end their Saturday night.

Connor asked if everything was okay, and they both tipped him generously. It had taken some time for Cillian to find a place where no one cared about him or his career, and he didn't want to ruin it.

While Dermot quickly went to the restroom, Cillian cast one last glance at the dartboard, only to find the corner of the pub empty, with only her half-drunk bottle remaining.

Connor followed his gaze and grunted. "She forgot to pay, these damn tourists."

Surprised, Cillian looked at him. "I can cover her tab..."

"Why should you?" interrupted Connor, waving his hand dismissively. "She's here most nights; it will be covered, don't worry."

While waiting for Dermot, Cillian's eyes wandered to the American group's table, where they were laughing and shaking their heads conspiratorially. He noticed almost immediately that the persistent guy was missing and a bad feeling washed over him.

"Ready? Conie's going to kill me if I get home too late again, and maybe this time I can avoid sleeping on the couch," Dermot said, noticing Cillian's worried expression.

"What?" he asked Cillian.

Shaking his head, Cillian replied, "Nothing, let's go. Goodnight, Connor."

"Goodnight, lads."

Stepping outside, the cold, fresh air jolted Cillian awake. The street was quiet, unusually empty for a Saturday night. Glancing around before bidding farewell to Dermot, something caught his eye. In the corner of the street near the alley that led to the back of the pub, he noticed a jacket he recognized from inside. Dermot was saying something to him, but he wasn't paying attention, drawn closer to the alley where he found the guy from inside with his arms around an intoxicated young woman. She seemed unaware of what was happening and unable to stand on her own.

"Hey! What are you doing to her?" Cillian exclaimed, getting the guy's attention.

The guy jumped, almost letting the girl fall to the ground.

"Just helping her, man," he replied quickly. "Mind your business and go back inside."

Dermot, who had reached Cillian by then, also saw the scene unfolding before them. "What the fuck is happening here?"

The guy appeared more concerned now and, realizing Cillian wasn't alone, released the woman he was carrying, pushing past Cillian to leave the alley.

Cillian quickly moved closer, trying to catch her before she hit the ground. She now looked unconscious, and he gently laid her down, checking her vitals.

"What the fuck, man, this is so fucked up," Dermot said.

"Dermot, call 999. I'm not sure if she's breathing properly," Cillian said, alarmed. "Who knows what the fuck he gave her."

He wasn't paying attention to his friend but was focused on trying to make her a bit more comfortable. After a few moments of cradling her head, he noticed her scrunching her nose and grimacing. She opened her eyes, and Cillian found himself momentarily lost in them.

"Hey," he said softly as she stared at him. "It's going to be okay, alright? Just breathe; the ambulance is coming."

She didn't respond, just continued gazing at him with those beautiful green eyes, looking a little confused.

"It's going to be okay," he repeated, even softer this time. "I'm here. You're not alone. Just rest."

And she smiled, causing his heart to skip a beat, before closing those bright jade eyes once more.

Next | Masterlist

Thank you so much for taking the time to read. Your feedback, in any form, makes me happy. See you at the next one :)

amazing dividers from cafekitsune

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x oc #cillian x fem!reader #ari's little corner

70 notes · View notes

so-long-soldier-writes · 5 months

Text

Dating in Your 20s

kai parker x reader

summary: it's been a while since you've been on a date, but after months of swiping right, you finally think you've found the one. or, so you thought.

tags: college au (ish), online dating, the scull bar, alcohol, use of date rape drugs / roofies, protective!kai, slightly less sociopathic!kai

word count: 2.2k

a/n: so i've been overly critical of my work lately, and haven't posted a few things i've written because i haven't thought they were good enough. but then i realized that no matter how dumb or cheesy they might be, someone might still enjoy them, so i'm going to post them anyway, especially while i get back into the swing of things. so these next few posts might not be my favorites, but i hope they still make some of you smile <3

It feels like forever since you’ve last been on a date. Ever since the tumultuous relationship with your ex, you’ve been afraid to re-enter the dating pool. It isn’t easy to find people you match with; either your hobbies align, but they’re too cocky, or the conversation’s okay, but you share nothing in common. You’ve been scouring the popular apps for months after realizing you’re ready to try again, but it hasn’t been easy.

That is, until you finally find the perfect match for you.

Two nights ago, you started talking. He’s just your type, and a great conversationalist. There’s a picture with him and his dog in his bio - a plus, and he’s void of any pictures of him holding fish - a bigger plus. The only downside is that his name starts with, “J”, but that’s the only red flag you see.

So, when he asks you on a date after a well-recovered cheesy pick-up line, you agree.

The Scull Bar. Seven o’clock.

To your own surprise, you find yourself excited.

~~~

Conversation flows in person as well as it did on the app. He has a cute smile, and gentle wrinkles on the sides of his eyes that only appear when he laughs. He’s about a year older than you, but once you hit your twenties, that doesn’t matter too much. You talk for about an hour, sharing some details about your personal lives. School life, work life, any hobbies not previously mentioned, and some about family and friends. He mentions a crazy ex-girlfriend, which is where you reply, “same, but with my ex-boyfriend.” And while that topic made you a little uneasy, you’re still enjoying yourself, so you try not to linger on it.

As the time on your phone nears nine o’clock, you both agree to get a drink before you part ways. It is a Friday, after all, and the town is small enough that the bar is somewhat a walking distance to your dorm. Of course, you won’t tell him where you live on the first date, but you assure him you won’t be drinking and driving.

With a laugh, he nods, then you both order a round.

“I’m going to hit the bathroom real quick,” you say, needing to pee after all the water you anxiously drank before you left your house.

“Alright, no worries.”

On the opposite side of the bar, a curious eye watches the interaction. In fact, he’s been watching you the whole time, suspicious of your date. Kai thought it was weird for the man to sit at the bar, rather than an actual table. You seemed to shrug it off quickly, but the young witch has kept his sights on you just in case.

For years, Kai has learned to read people through their body language. He can smell out bad intentions from a mile away, and even though he’s never seen this man in his life, he gets them from him. Kai doesn’t know you well, either, but has seen you in the background of vampire collateral. You live in Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie’s dorm building, and every time you accidentally walk into something you shouldn’t see, Stefan or Damon have to compel it from your mind. Kai admits he feels a bit bad for all the students at Whitmore who’ve had their minds wiped a thousand times because the stupid Salvatores are always running a muck around their school.

Of course, he doesn’t usually care too much about anyone, but there’s something he likes about you. Somehow, you’ve managed to be at the scene of every crime. And while you don’t remember it, the two of you have made eye contact each time it’s happened. Then, after you’re compelled to forget, you give him the cutest quizzical look that makes his breath catch in his throat.

Kai doesn’t know enough about you to know you’d be on a date tonight, but he’s listened and observed enough to know this is your first one with this guy. And shit, as much as he doesn’t want to care, he can’t help but feel a strange protectiveness over you.

So, he’s been watching. And listening. And through your words and body, he’s learned a lot about you. But, he’s also learned a lot about your date. As you go to the bathroom for a moment, he learns a little bit more.

The man occupies himself with his phone while awaiting your return. He laughs and scrolls, laughs and scrolls, then double taps to like something, and all the while, Kai cringes. Not one minute have you been gone, and he already needs his phone to entertain him. The witch rolls his eyes and sips his own drink. As he does, the bartender slides yours and his to your date, who then thanks him with a passing glance. Kai watches him put his phone down. His hand retreats to his pocket, and his eyes search for the bathroom door. His leg bounces with slight nervousness as he discreetly pulls something out and drops it in your drink. Kai pulls his mouth off his straw, suspicious. Your date brushes off his hands and picks his phone back up. His leg continues to bounce.

In an instant, Kai slides into the seat beside him. It’s a silent and ominous trick he loves; he’d used it on Damon and Bonnie a thousand times in the prison world.

“Hey,” he taps the man once on the shoulder.

Your date spins around and jumps, hand to his heart. “Fuck! Dude, you scared me. What the hell?”

“What are you doing over here?”

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’ I’m on a date, fuck off.”

“Yeah, but you’re-”

“Hey, sorry,” you return, “there was a bit of a line.”

“That’s fine. This jackass here-”

“Who is this?” You accidentally interrupt, spotting Kai. He was strangely familiar, yet not at all recognizable, as if you’d seen him in a dream.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. This jackass just slid over here and prodded me. Go away, dude.”

Kai nods to you. “Can’t do that. Hey, you said you’re on a date? That’s fun. Is it your first?”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s it matter to you?”

“Just curious.” He jabs his thumb to his old seat. An abandoned blue cocktail sits, half drunk, on the bar. “I was just sitting over there just a minute ago and happened to see your date, out of the corner of my eye, fumbling with some pill or powder type of thing. Curious thing is that he put one in your drink, but not his own.”

“What?”

“You’re full of shit,” your date grumbles, turning red, “you’re making that up.”

“Why would I make that up? I saw something, and reported it. Isn’t that the new slogan, ‘see something, say something’?”

“Did you put something in my drink while I was gone?”

“Of course not! Why would you think that? Believe this stranger over me?! Thought this date was going well, now you’re accusing me of roofies?”

“I’m not accusing, I’m just asking! Why would he say that if he didn’t suspect-?”

“God, you are turning out to be just like my ex!”

“Hey, excuse me!? It’s just a question, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The man sighs dramatically. His mood changes on a dime. “I’m not upset, I’m just… hurt that you’d suggest that. I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I would never hurt you.”

You blink, confused by the sudden sulkiness. “Wha-?”

“Here’s this, alright?” Kai starts. “My sister’s a bartender here, so I know they have those little strips that you can put in drinks to test if they’ve been drugged. They’re behind the counter.” Kai reaches over the bar without asking, and pulls a box of them from god-knows-where.

“How do we know you didn’t drug it?” Your date asks Kai.

“I was over there. And why would I do that? I’m not the one on a date with the pretty girl.”

“But you sure seem to know your way around the bar.”

“Are you suggesting the bartenders spike the drinks?”

“I-”

“Right. Purple means spiked. Blue means it’s clear.” He carelessly drops a stick in and lets it float around the surface. The three of you watch curiously, but interest turns to horror as it fades into purple in a matter of seconds. “Hm.”

Suddenly, your ex fishes the paper out and flicks it onto a napkin. “This is stupid! You set me up!”

“I’m still failing to see the point where I would do that on purpose.”

“Shut the hell up, jackass. Maybe you’re just a sociopath that likes to ruin dates for fun, because you have some stupid vendetta against people that are happy.”

“Actually, I’m just looking out for her,” he looks at you, “I’ve seen my fair share of men spiking drinks around here. It’s rather pathetic, actually, that you guys are so lame that you have to hurt girls to get any attention.”

“Fuck you, man. I could have you arrested for accusing me of this bullshit.”

“On the contrary, I could have you arrested.”

He scoffs, turning to you. “You don’t believe this guy, do you?”

You bite your lip. “I don’t know. I don’t- I don’t want to.”

“You don’t. Because it’s completely ridiculous!”

“J-”

“Oh! A ‘J’ name! That should’ve been your first red flag, princess.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Fuck you. You know, I’m out. This is bullshit. Screw you both.” With that, he grabs his jacket and leaves.

You stare straight ahead, still processing what happened. After a moment, you slouch down in your chair and plant your face into the bar counter. “What the hell.”

“Sorry I ruined your date.”

You glance up at the stranger. “Did he really spike it? You saw it?”

“I wouldn’t have gotten involved if he didn’t. I’ve seen it too many times around here. A lot of the time, bartenders catch it, but they’re pretty busy today.”

“Well… thank you for noticing.” You shake your head. “Just when I was feeling comfortable enough to start dating again, someone has to go and be weird.”

Kai chuckles. “Let me buy you a drink for your troubles. Promise I won’t spike it.”

You hesitate, tempted, but a little embarrassed by the whole situation. Part of you just wants to go home and bury yourself under blankets for the rest of the night, but another part of you wants to repay the guy for his kindness. You eye him as the two plans battle in your mind, but ultimately, you sigh and nod an approval. He obviously feels bad for how your night ended and wants to help. The cute dimples are a plus.

“Same drink?”

“Nah, it’s ruined for me now. Maybe that blue thing you’re drinking over there.”

“Coming right up.”

“So I never got your name…” you ask, curious.

“Kai. You?”

“Y/N.”

“Ah, nice. Suits you.”

“Thank you. You said you have a sister who works here?”

“Yeah, the curly-haired blonde over there. To be honest, we don’t get along too well, but we have a deal. I can hang around as long as I help her and her staff stay on top of mother-disappointing college boys and their date rape drugs.”

“Really?”

“Unfortunately, this bar is full of them.”

“Well on behalf of girls everywhere, thank you.”

He half smiles. “To be honest, I had a rocky start to life. Did some bad things that landed me nowhere good; that’s why my sister and I aren’t on the best of terms. But I’m trying to be better now, and this, I think, is one good step in that direction.”

“I can get down with that. Admitting your wrongs and wanting to do better. Doubt even half the guys in here would admit their missteps.”

Your drinks arrive - Kai got a second of the one he hadn’t finished - and you both take a sip before nodding.

“Good?”

“Much needed. Thank you, again.”

“Of course. And hey, if you ever need me again, I’m usually here.”

“To be honest, I hope I don’t.” You chuckle playfully. “But, maybe I can see you anyway?” Kai’s surprised expression rattles your confidence. You stutter out the next few words, “not like, on a date or anything. Unless you’d want to. But I’m totally just cool hanging out. It’s just… it’s not everyday a cute guy saves you from a date gone-wrong. Gotta at least ask.”

The man smiles, pulling out his phone. He hands it to you to add your number. “I’d love to, whether on a date or just hanging out.”

“Really?”

“‘Course. Next Friday?”

“Works for me.”

“I have to warn you, though, I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”

“Oh before this, I haven’t either.”

“Good. I feel better already.”

You giggle, smacking his arm playfully.

The two of you stay there as you finish your drinks. Around eleven, you wrap up to go home. Kai offers to drive you, but you promise you have a short walk and a small knife in your back pocket, and he nods.

“So, see you Friday?”

He winks. “It’s a date.”

#malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #tvd fanfiction #tw: roofies

44 notes · View notes

steddieunderdogfics · 3 months

Note

For the Hurt/comfort weekend: When He Loved Me, by MixAddams

It's a bit strong but it's one of my favorites! :)

When He Loved Me by MixAddams

@mixsethaddams

Rating: Explicit

59,254 words, 6/6 chapters

Archive Warning: Rape/Non-con

Tags: Hurt Steve Harrington, Hurt Eddie Munson, Post-Break Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Eddie Munson Lives, Angst, I am going to put Steve Harrington through the wringer, Past Relationship(s), dealing with a breakup, Nobody is Dead, Except Billy and Vecna, Post-Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Steve Harrington-centric, steddie, Homophobia, Period Typical Bigotry, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Please heed the tags as warnings, descriptions of self harm, read the tags, now read them again, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary

When Steve and Eddie broke up, the world might as well have stopped turning. Six months afterward, and Steve is still struggling to find his footing in a life without Eddie by his side. (Archive warning does not happen in a situation between the two main characters, or instigated by one, but does apply to one of them.)

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Hurt/Comfort.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #steddieunderdogfics #theme weekend #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending #rape/non-con

24 notes · View notes

antebunny · 8 months

Text

So there's a subgenre of fics in the Harry Potter fandom wherein a person conceived while one of their parents is under the influence of a love potion will become aroace at birth. The origin, afaik, are two insidiously awful decisions of JKR combining: 1) she reinvented date rape drugs/roofies aka love potions, without realizing it I guess, and 2) she said that Voldemort was asexual, because she's never seen a marginalized identity she didn't spit on.

Since Merope Gaunt (Voldemort's mother) used a love potion on Tom Riddle Sr. (Voldemort's dad) I guess people got the idea that what if love potions caused asexuality? And asexuality + aromanticism, of course, meant evil. Here's an excerpt from one of those fics in which Bill Weasley explains being aro/ace to Hermione:

[Image ID]

"No. I just dated because that was what you did. I never really felt anything for them. A few kisses, plenty of hand-holding. I made out in a few broom closets, and had one very uncomfortable make-out session up the top of the Astronomy Tower that I eventually ended by pretending I heard Filch coming past on a patrol. I even tried making out with a guy once in case that was it–nothing. I never told mum about that, of course. Good wizards don't shame their families like that."

"There's nothing wrong with being gay, you know."

He shrugged. "It doesn't apply to me anyway. I'm not gay. I wasn't anything, and I was trying to accept that and be content with it. It was good enough. Until I met Fleur." His eyes lit up with joy as he spoke about her.

[Second Image ID]

"Look, the point is with her allure from being part-Veela, I love her. Like I can never love anyone else. I don't want to lose that. You don't understand what it's like to go through life feeling nothing for anyone else. I've dated people I said I cared for, but I wouldn't have died for them. Well, out of logical choice I might risk my life, but not from love. But I would die for Fleur. Do you understand? She makes me a better person. I would do anything to make her happy. I'm not alone in the world anymore."

She nodded slowly. "I see." It wasn't so much him manipulating Fleur, as him permitting her to manipulate him. Into feeling. "I didn't realise it could be that bad." She still thought he should confess, but it didn't sound like he was hurting Fleur–he really did love her.

[End Image ID]

I read this fic years ago, and at the time I genuinely had not thought about my sexuality at all. I would've never called myself aro or ace. Still, reading this felt like being repeatedly punched in the face. I kept on waiting for Hermione to say something similar to what she said after Bill made a homophobic comment. After all, she went out of her way the first time, didn't she. Instead, what I got was essentially:

Bill: I don't usually feel romantic or sexual attraction. So there's something wrong with me.

Hermione: Yeah lmao. But there's nothing wrong with being gay!

I've been (reading) on Ao3 since 2016, and in all that time I've seen plenty of subtle racism, sexism, etc. But I've never seen anything as plainly stated as this. To this day I have yet to hear any aro/ace people describe the experience of being aro/ace in any of the following ways: "How could I forgive myself if we brought a child into the world to suffer the emptiness I lived with my whole existence[?]" /"You should be unable to love." / "You don't understand what it's like to go through life feeling nothing for anyone else."

I could not understand why Bill described it as "emptiness" or "feeling nothing." I still cannot find a single aro/ace person who would describe themselves as empty. The most I have ever heard is: "I wish I was normal" (meaning I wish I fit in, I wish to be accepted by other people). Historically, many aro/ace people married and had kids, conforming to societal norms, and I am sure many believed there was something wrong with them or hoped to grow out of it. I was one of them. On a very personal note, I suspect that my father is too. I am certain that he's never heard the terms asexual or aromantic in his life. But if you think I'll ever discuss his sexuality with him, you're out of your damn mind.

Now, I know it's really easy to find this fic from these quotes. I chose to include them anyways because I think it's important to show how blatant it was. My Tumblr blog isn't exactly a platform, but for the five people reading this: please, please do not go after the author. I truly believe that they had no ill-intent. In the comments of this fic, a few people bring up variations of "it sounds like Bill is just aro/ace" and the author is consistently understanding. Here are some of the author's comment on that fic:

[Image ID]

I very much understand what you're saying. It's a tricky thing for me to address, however. For the core idea I'm playing with is basically the evilness of "love potions". And part of that is exploring JKR's idea that Voldemort, being unable to love due to his mother using a love potion on his father, was a *monster* because of that. Perhaps that doesn't come across very clearly (there's a little bit more of it in the prequel), that it's one of the assumptions I'm trying to undermine. ("Love potions are funny/romantic", "Voldemort is a monster because he could not love", "Harry's power was that he could love - he's not a monster like Voldemort", "There's nothing wrong with selling love potions to teens/adults because it's not 'real' love".)

I feel like I'm already poking at the inherent problem of framing "people who cannot love" as "monsters/psychopaths" by showing Bill and Harry's struggles with self acceptance, and Bill finding a way to love (though do note he'd been making peace with the idea he wasn't attracted to anyone, prior to meeting Fleur). I really don't like the canonical take on love-redeems/love-is-the-best-power/the-loveless-are-monsters, so I'm messing with it a bit. Exploring other people than Voldemort, ones we admire, who are also dealing with being unable to love. Does that make sense? Now, that doesn't mean I'm doing a perfect job at it, but I'm trying my best to explore that theme around the edges of my Dramione story.

[End Image ID]

The author's intention was to show how other characters, made aro/ace via love potion like Voldemort, were not evil or sociopaths. I don't know why all the characters were so aro/acephobic, but sometimes fics get away from you and you don't address everything you wanted to. I don't know why the aro/ace characters had so much internalized shame and hatred when the term bachelor has been in use for centuries, but we fanfic authors love writing self-esteem issues and I would be a hypocrite to say otherwise. I don't know why the author never tagged acephobia or internalized acephobia, but no one HAS to tag anything.

I don't know if the author ended up writing that fic where Harry comes to accept his aro/asexuality. It's totally understable if they didn't; I have failed to write many fics that I really did want to write. Sometimes it's just like that. I really, truly believe that the author had the best of intentions and is not aro/acephobic, just severely misled on what that experience is like.

My beef is not with this author. I used their words to highlight a reoccurring and popular sentiment that I hate. My real beef is that this fic is popular. This is an entire subgenre of Harry Potter fics. I actually decided to write this post because some random person on the internet said, a few days ago, something along the lines of: "Remember when JKR invented a date rape drug that turned people into sociopaths? Yeah…" (And also because I was up until 3 am last night writing a dumb trash angst one-shot about it).

I'd wager that the vast, vast majority of people who write or read those fics don't feel the same way. But the condescension is baked into the very premise of that trope. "Oh poor you, it must be so hard, so lonely going through life without ever loving another person. You must feel so empty inside."

It's actually people who say similar things that make me feel isolated. Most of the time I feel free, like I've cracked this secret code, like I'm able to see things clearly that people so hung up over sex and romance can't. Other times I feel so left out I wish I was "normal." Mostly, being aro/ace is lonely, annoying, exhausting, and liberating.

It wasn't until last year that a friend told me that some people actually do have trouble speaking to someone they've never met before, just because they find that someone attractive. I thought that only happened in stories. But I don't want to get nervous meeting new people based on their looks, I don't want to treat people differently based on how much I want to have sex with them. I wish my friends in high school had never pressured me to come out as bisexual. I wish all the other similarly liberal, queer communities I've found since didn't insist on associating sex and dating with emotional comfort. I wish I could magically stop my parents from expecting me to ever get married and have kids.

But I can't.

Anyways, that's it for today. I'm not sure what the point of writing this was. I really don't want anyone to get hurt or attacked because of it. This is not a callout, or a hate brigade, or any sort of call-to-action. I don't want people to get up-in-arms about this. I'm just tired. I suppose I just wanted to put my feelings out there, and well, this is my Tumblr.

#asexuality #aromantism #aroace #acearo #aphobia #acephobia #asexual #aromantic #harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction

38 notes · View notes

tojisbbygworl · 1 year

Text

The Temp

For years, you’ve been trapped in a loveless marriage. You just wanted to have a little fun and Toji provided you with that. Things were never supposed to be this way.

WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Non-con/Dub-con, Major Character Death, Thoughts of Suicide/Attempt

Tags: 18+, AU-No Curses, DEAD DOVE, Heavy Angst, Date Rape Drugs/Roofies, Drugged Assault, Literally every abuse (Physical, Verbal, Mental, Sexual, etc), Abusive Relationship(s), Smut, Obsessive/Possessive Behavior, Yandere Toji, Kidnapping, Murder, Sad Ending

AO3 Link

Masterlist

This work is part of a series called Sad Stories with Sadder Endings!

Story Status - Complete Epilogue Status - Complete

Cover Art by me

#ao3 fic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji angst #toji smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu toji #dark content #be warned it’s dark #very dark

65 notes · View notes

ao3feed-peterstiles · 2 months

Text

Vengeful pair

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/57758290 by Lerya If you had told Stiles years ago he would be murdering for a job, he wouldn't have believed you. However, protecting the Supernatural World, as well as being judge, jury, and executioner to those who broke the code, he could live with. Especially if his mate was by his side. Words: 1169, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale, Other(s) Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Murder Husbands, Established Relationship, Supernatural Council - Freeform, Attempted Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Murder, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Mates Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Peter Hale Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/57758290

#ao3feed #fanfic #teen wolf #steter #peterstiles

10 notes · View notes

urban-mutt · 13 days

Text

Perfect Someone: Chapter 2 - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You are a thief! You target old rich men. You drug them and steal from them while they're drink out of their mind. Your last operation didn't go as planned, and now you are an accomplice in a serious crime. And a plaything for your new sick friend.

Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Slurs, Transphobia, Homophobia, Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol, Smoking, Drug Addiction, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Murder, Reader will be abused delulu and traumatized, FTM Reader, trans reader, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Manipulation, Daddy Kink, Forced, Angst, Inspired by Music, Biting, Age Difference emphasized, Sugar Daddy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, dead dove ig

anatomical terms: cunt, boypussy, microdick

words: 4022

ao3 link

So what does being friends mean? Having a creepy Sugar Daddy? No, not just creepy. He is a monster and you saw it. And you can’t do anything about it.

You can leave, but he’s right. You would have to leave the country to never see him again. Preferably north, where your crime career will end. Kinda not even a choice.

He gave you a room so you can go pick up your stuff from the hotel where you stayed and move there.

He also told you to stick to cash, the old-fashioned way. Which you did too. Turns out you don’t have that much money. Lalo asked about how much you made, and honestly you could work at Starbucks with the same levels of stress but less risk.

True, but freedom is priceless.

The next few days were weird. He would leave randomly and come back and not tell you much besides “it was work”. You’re not sure what his job is with such a schedule…

“You wanna go out? Or you’re still upset?”

Lalo asked you while you sat on the couch, watching some YouTube.

Is he serious? How can anyone be fine after seeing that? You are not that weak. You probably would be fine if not thoughts of it possibly being you…

“So you rape someone in front of me after telling me you wanted to do the same to me, and now I’m held hostage and I should feel fine?” You growl at him.

You are not scared of him. He can kill you, sure why not, he was planning that anyway!

He exhales loudly.

“You can leave. I just think leaving is dumb, so I let you stay.” Lalo shrugs.

“Is that so? Or you just wanna keep a sex toy that you won't have to kill?” You turn off the TV.

“¿Crees que eres especial?” He chuckles. “I’m just being kind. I don’t need a brat with amateur sex skills to keep as a ‘toy’. That’s why you can leave.” He looks annoyed. “I’m out. I’ll be home late.”

You don’t respond. Maybe sometimes you’re not as smart as you think you are.

Will he be home late? Is it already time for another hunt?

Fuck it. Fuck him. You get up and run to your room to take your still unpacked luggage. This is not what you want. You want to get drunk in the safety of your hotel room and get off to some furry porn like the good old days!

Running from him or running from yourself? Aren’t you a predator too? Didn’t you just help him do it to someone?

You spent half an hour in the hotel just crying. Thinking of what you’ve done. The next half an hour was busy with drinking everything the minibar has. You can afford it today. After all, you earned a lot by helping that freak rape and murder that guy.

You look at yourself in the mirror after trying to do your makeup in this state. You look like a hooker. You love it.

Same with your clothes. Something weirdos call clothes that are “asking for it”.

Cheetah top, jacket too big for you, blue tights peeping above your miniskirt. Clips from lingerie that hold stockings in place peeking from under the skirt. No underwear, and thigh high boots with heels, too dirty, too messy. Cool glasses, choker necklace and too many rings on fingers with acrylics you just popped on. Keeping two nails on the dominant hand short, obviously.

You put all your essentials in a handbag and leave the hotel room. Almost falling over on your heels.

You make your way to a familiar place and drink more. You are not sure what the end goal of this coping charade is… Getting too drunk? Having messy sex with a person you don’t know? What would someone else do? Probably the same… Nobody should judge you.

After a few more drinks, the barman refuses to pour you more. You leave to keep on going.

As soon as you get sober, you drink more. Then feeling sick, vomiting and repeat.

After another vomiting round, you hear “Hey, this is the men's restroom, princess.” from behind you. Ah, yeah? You turn around, wiping your mouth, looking at the guy who just said that.

“Do I f-fucking l-look like a woman to you?!” You growl.

“Yeah you do! You’re a hooker? I didn’t know they just let any tramps in here…” Guy says.

Twink right next to him chimes in.

“You’re a tranny?”

You don’t respond and just hit the first guy in the face. You keep beating him, putting your whole weight into the hits, while the twink tries to stop you. His nose is broken and bleeding, he’s hitting you back, but you’re so drunk it doesn’t hurt. You low-key smile when he starts yelling for help. You're pretty sure you gave him a concussion before the bouncer threw you out.

You walk off to the next destination. Something to eat.

What time is it, by the way?

Everything feels like a blur.

By the time you find a place to eat, you get sober again. Everything hurts now.

You walk into the diner that looks bad enough to not kick you out for looking and smelling like trash, and sit somewhere far from everyone. Sober thoughts of pain creep into your mind. You can’t help but tear up.

“Honey, what happened to you?” A black, mature looking waitress came over and put a menu in front of you.

You sob louder.

“Men are assholes.” You cry out and cover your face with dirty, bloody hands.

“Oh, hun, they sure are… Go clean up in the bathroom. I’ll get you something, okay?” She took the menu and walked off.

You get up and wobble to the bathroom. You look at yourself. You look like the final girl in a slasher film. If she was an idiot tranny boy…

You have blood on your hands. You killed that guy. Do you even remember his name? You are a predator, just like Lalo. You are not Lalo’s victim, you are an accomplice.

You finish freshening up and come back to your seat. Soon the woman brings you some aspirin, gum, a few bandages and food. You thank her for everything while breaking into tears again.

Food tastes four times better after you were starving yourself for so long. You leave a huge tip and run off to get back to the hotel.

You feel so embarrassed. You shouldn’t feel upset, right? You weren’t forced into that situation, you are just an idiot! You should feel guilty instead.

You are the only one who fucking knows where that man's body is.

Back in the hotel, you shower and finally sleep. Feels like a long nap. You can’t stop waking up thinking about cops breaking in. You look at the dreaded minibar. Refilled. Sometimes you wish you had friends you could talk to…

You take your phone to check what day it is, but your phone is… bricked. Screen shattered, and it won't turn on when you charge it. Good reason to cry and… Take another round at all this.

Who cares what day it is, anyway.

You swear it was at least another two days of you drinking nonstop. Same clothes, same bruises and same stomach pain.

You care less, though. What stage of grief are we at? Anger? Yeah, you are fucking mad. This is why you got into another fight.

It doesn’t matter anymore. You just dance it all away. Who cares about what happened. As if it is your problem. You are just as much of a victim. Why would you hate yourself for something that asshole did? You feel crazy. Maybe going completely mad will fix you.

“Y/N?” A voice calls out for you.

You don’t turn around to check. Many people with the same name as you on this planet.

But then you hear it again, accompanied by a firm grasp on your shoulder.

“Y/N.”

You turn and push that someone away. The man grips you by the arm, making you look at him.

He was right, this country is too small.

“Fuck off! Fucking rapist!” You push Lalo again, but you fail to make much impact while he holds you like this.

“Have you seen yourself?” He sounds so serious.

“Yeah! I’m fucking hot! Why?” You giggle.

“You look like a hooker.” He frowns. “What happened to your face?”

“I was in a fight.” You try to stand still.

He is silent for a moment.

“What!? Get off me!” You push him when he doesn’t say anything.

Lalo looks around and then back at you.

“Which hotel are you staying in?” He asks.

“Th—Theh… The red one?” You frown, thinking.

He thinks for a second before pulling you to the exit. You whine but don’t resist.

“People will think you’re my angry dad, and I’m your thot daughter…” You mumble.

“Yeah.” He agrees, seemingly just to shut you up.

He sits you in the back seat of his car. Well, he tries to. You do not cooperate and kick him lightly, acting like a child. His hand brushes against your exposed, hot cunt. Yeah, you still didn’t wear any underwear, just torn and dirty tights. He stops for a moment, blinking a few times.

“Wh— Where’s your underwear?” He says, confused.

“The fuck you care!? You’re not my dad!” You push on his thigh with your heel.

Your daddy issues are showing.

He exhales with tension and puts the front seat in place. You’re so happy to see him mad at you. Is he mad? Is he thinking of assaulting you? He totally is. Freak he is, he would only think of that.

“Sit. Stay.” He commands before locking you in his car.

You sit up, annoyed, looking at him smoking outside.

“Should I feel like a dog or a kid… dogs can feel angry at their owners? He… He is not my owner.” You mumble to yourself.

You lay back, putting your dirty boots places they shouldn’t be. You are so lonely. Your only friend is a guy you fucking hate.

Lalo comes back, plopping in the driver's seat.

“You feeling sick? If so, then tell me. Don’t vomit in here.” He says as he starts the engine.

“I hope you die.” You look at the stain your heel left on the car roof.

“Not what I asked.” He pulls out of the parking lot.

“I hope you die in a fire.” You mumble.

“Está bien. Lo entiendo. You’re hungry?” He sounds casual, yet tense.

“Hungy… Mhggh.” Thoughts of food make you a little sick.

“We can stop and eat somewhere. Won’t be able to eat at the hotel at this hour.” Lalo says.

“I rem-member. I remember when I made my parents sit and wait until midnight at the hotel bar because they would put-put out ham and cheese sa-sanwinches… An-an-and I liked them a lot… We were not in-in ‘Merica. We… we were on vacation.” You mumble out.

“Was it a long time ago?” Lalo turns on the blinker and makes a turn.

“It was… I was eight… Uhghh…” You hiccup.

“Then it was not that long ago, huh.”

You sit up again.

“It was…” You say as if it offended you.

“For you, it was.” He chuckles.

“How old are you?” You frown.

“I’m forty-four.” Lalo says it with some sort of pride.

“Ugh… You’re fucking old.” You wrinkle your nose and lay back down.

“Isn’t it why you wanted to rob me? Old and rich?” He laughs again.

You feel small. Feels weird, you don’t wanna feel small. You sob.

“Ay! No-no-no. You’re a big boy. No llores. You got yourself into this mess, you have to be brave and face the truth.” He reaches out to the back to touch you.

“I fucking killed a guy…” You keep sobbing.

“You didn’t. I did. You helped.”

“What’s the difference?! We will go in for the same amount of time!” You yell.

“Shh… Don’t scream. No we wouldn’t. I did enough shit to face the chair. You didn’t.” He strokes your hand.

“Sh— Shit, how many people did you fucking kill?” You wipe your tears with your sleeve.

“I did a little more than just kill, nene… We can talk about it later.” He lets go of you. “We are here.”

Later?! You want the info NOW! You growl to yourself.

He pulls you out of the car, leading you to some 24 hour place, it seems. You stumble inside, and he sits you in a corner booth and walks off to talk to the only employee in sight. Good thing, alcohol still lets you see well and be quite aware. You see him pay the guy a bit too much cash and then come back to you.

He sits in front of you, grunting like old guys usually do. You look away, staring into the wall instead.

“Now… What is all this? A temper tantrum? Gonna drink yourself to death?” He sounds so serious.

Is HE scolding you? For what?! For being upset about what happened?!

You don’t respond.

“Can’t process things like adults do, hm?” He touches your ankle with his boot.

“I’m retarded.” You still don’t look at him.

“Sí, me fijé. It is still not an excuse for acting like that.” He keeps talking.

You watch the lonely employee close the doors. Then another comes out of the kitchen with a plate of food and two drinks. And a few pills.

They put everything on the table and leave without saying a word.

“If your scheme is to attract old gay men and scam them…” He continues. “I'll tell you right now, nobody will like you if you keep acting up like that.” He takes a fork and a knife and cuts the meat on the plate for you.

“It doesn’t matter.” You look at the food with no interest.

“Me vale. Eat.” He puts the cutlery down and takes out another cigarette.

“You smoke a lot.” You say with the same monotone voice, not moving.

Lalo rolls his eyes.

“I have to quit cocaine somehow, no? Eat.”

You sit upright, but food still looks scary. You try to lift the fork, but it feels like eating with no hands would be easier.

“Here.” Lalo says as he lifts the fork himself and takes a bite. “It’s good. If you try harder, you can do it. Take the pills too, okay?” He gives you the fork back, putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

Not so scary anymore. It is indeed easy, but you eat really slowly. Some of it falls into your lap. He is watching you eat, he looks weird.

He always did, you didn’t have time to think about it, but he looked like a serial killer all along. With his soulless black, black eyes. Guess it makes sense. But right now he looks kinda upset. What’s he sad for? Weirdo.

You finish your food and drink the meds, and he keeps staring you down.

“Ready to go?” He puts out the cig on the empty plate.

You nod, unsure.

He helps you get up, and you leave after one of the employees unlocks the door for you.

Feeling clueless is scary. You are scared, kinda. Also, curious. About what the fuck he is, anyway.

You can’t help but fall asleep in the car. Pills couldn’t be sleeping pills, no? No. He said he wouldn't hurt you, right?

This time he wakes you up when you arrive. You are at the hotel you stayed at, so you yourself have to lead. You feel more sober and less in pain now, guess that's what pills were actually for.

You open the hotel room and wobble inside with him holding you.

He was talking, but to be fair, you are too tired to listen. He didn’t insist on you listening either, it seems.

You are an idiot. A child. He is right. No adult would act like that.

You fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. When you wake up, the first thing you see is a glass of water. You reach out with no hesitation and drink the whole thing. Your throat hurts. And your body… and your head. You turn around to see Lalo lying next to you, he is writing something in his notebook. You never saw him wear glasses before while doing it…

“I hate you.” You say, your voice cracking.

He nods in response.

You groan and lay back down. Lalo shuffles behind you. Sounds like he sets his notebook and reading glasses away. He moves closer, hugging you from behind. You shiver, making a displeased grimace.

“Shh… It’s okay.” He almost whispers. “You stink. Let’s get this off you, baby.” He pulls on your top.

You groan, pushing him away with your weak hands. He doesn’t stop.

“Come on. You have to pay me back.” He forces the top off you, running his hands over your chest.

He traces your scars gently, reaching out to circle the nipple.

“Can you feel anything with those?” He chuckles.

You let the dry sob out and shake your head in ‘no’.

“Claro.”

He strokes your curves and meets your skirt. He pulls it down. You let him do it. Watching Lalo smile.

“How did nobody rape you yet? Young boys shouldn’t go out dressed like this, you know?” He pulls on your torn tights, taking them off as well.

Does he actually think that? Or is he just being a bigot on purpose?

“I’m not— It’s not—” You sob and cover your mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh… It’s okay.” He unbuckles his pants. “Don’t worry too much, okay? I don’t want people to hear you cry.”

That is not reassuring at all.

He pulls out his dick, already quite hard.

“P-please, don’t do this…” You cry out as quietly as you can, your voice cracking again.

That only makes his cock throb.

“Yeah, keep talking like that. Just don’t scream, okay? Be quiet for Daddy, okay?” He strokes himself while petting your hip gently.

Daddy? No way. You choke on your sob.

He moves closer, spreading your legs for himself. He gently puts two fingers in.

“You’re not a wet kind, huh?” Lalo looks up at you.

No you’re not, especially not without foreplay. First time was like that too…

“I’m sorry…” You cover your face.

“No hay nada de qué disculparse…” He gets up to look for a lube that you obviously have. “We all are different…” His tone is gentle and quiet.

As if he's trying to catch a wild animal. One tree branch snaps and you’re gone.

He finds lube and comes back to you. He is gentle and slow. Doesn’t change much though… you still don’t want him. You just wonder why he didn’t do it when you were knocked out? Why do you have to be conscious for this?

He fingers your cunt, slowly stretching you out. You take three fingers easily, physically ready for him.

“Do you have to be a brat? Can’t you be at least somewhat thankful?” He stops.

You swallow a lump in your throat so you can speak. It doesn’t help, though. It only makes tears fall off your lashes.

“You hate me that much?” He chuckles. “I saved your life and that's what I get, huh?”

He can’t actually believe his words, right? He is just being an asshole on purpose, right?

Lalo doesn’t wait for your response and just pushes himself inside you. He exhales in satisfaction. You want to push him away, but what if he has his knife? What if he will just kill you?

You break out crying.

“Oh, yeah, baby, that's good. Llora por mí. Llora por Papá.” He pulls you closer, almost hugging you.

You wrap your hands around him. Carefully, trying to feel the knife on his belt. He doesn’t mind it, just begins to move slowly.

There’s no knife, still he can just choke you to death… Like he choked the guy you helped him rape.

“You know why I like when they cry?” He is right next to your ear, you feel his chest and neck vibrate along with him talking. He pets you gently. Soothingly.

“W-why?” You ask, almost with no sound. Your throat is too stiff to talk.

“Their holes spasm around me. Feels great. Especially if I scarred them inside beforehand…” He keeps on with shallow, gentle thrusts.

“Scarred?” You ask, though you don’t want an answer… Talking feels grounding somehow.

“Sí,” He picks up the speed slowly, “I fuck them with a knife or something else sharp, like glass. I wouldn’t put my dick in if it was glass, though… Tiny shards can get caught inside.” He is quite casual about it. Too casual.

He feels good though… His dick fills you up well, too well. How unfair. Perfect dick on a perfect man who has no soul.

You make a tiny gasp, trying to keep yourself together.

“They—They— They must hurt f-from that—”

Lalo chuckles, changing position. Now he keeps you in a tight hug while still moving. Not so gentle anymore, but still pleasant.

“Oh, ellos lo hacen. They scream and beg. Some pass out, some stay awake and watch me fuck their bleeding holes. Mggh—” Lalo breathes heavily, clearly enjoying this conversation.

“Ha-hh—” You speak up. “Like that— One— uh, serial killer… Ah— Do you— Do you put needles and lead balls in their— Their— Genitals too? Hah—” And you finally relax in his hands.

Lalo laughs. Fuck, he is sick. Unfortunately, hot too…

“Where do you know all that from, huh? Your parents didn’t track what you were watching as a kid?” Lalo moves lower to kiss and bite your neck.

“Nh-nh— No. They didn’t care about me m-much.”

“Right. If they did, you wouldn’t fuck a man as old as me…”

Lalo bites and sucks on your skin, leaving marks, then he licks them as if he is a dog caring for a fellow's wounds. He pulls you up, sitting you in his lap, not stopping moving his hips, still hugging you. You hug him back again.

“Mgh— My baby is sick, huh? So lonely, he has to fuck old guys for a living?” He growls in your ear.

“I d-don’t f-fuck them!” You protest, hiding your face in his neck.

“Yeah? Why scam them, then? Holding a grudge? Your dad beat you or something?” He chuckles.

“Yellow…” You bite his shoulder.

“So you know what a safe word is, huh?” He locks his hands on your hips, leaning away to look you in the eye. “Then don’t complain about me raping you today. Sabías cómo detenerme.”

With that he let himself loose, fucking you harder. Does he know what yellow means!? Guess it doesn't matter… You indeed let him. It is your fault, not his.

He cums inside shortly after, insisting on making you come too. You hesitate, but It's nothing to him. You’re scared to say the safe word now… What if he will be upset?

He laps on your boypussy, paying close attention to your microdick, while fingering you until you are done.

He sits back, licking his lips, breathing heavily.

“Hope that wasn't fake…” He stares at you.

You swallow.

“I-I— I don’t know how to fake it…” You hold onto the sheets, violated and embarrassed.

He raised his eyebrows in a comical, cartoony expression before breaking out laughing.

“Eres un chico afortunado, ¿eh?” He keeps chuckling.

You look away in shame.

He lays next to you, pulling you closer. You let him embrace you. He kisses the top of your head while stroking your back.

“Tell me more about those scary stories you watch.” Lalo purrs.

“You know one where a real story about guys kidnapping and raping a girl for days was turned into a very graphic manga?” You ask.

“Nope, but… I’m intrigued.” You can hear him grinning.

#better call saul #bcs #better call saul x reader #bcs x reader #better call saul smut #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca smut #lalo salamanca x reader #cnc tw #cnc ftm #lalo salamanca x ftm reader #bcs smut #my fic

8 notes · View notes