Drugging - Tumblr Posts
Whumptober Prompt #10 Unconscious
Hey guys! I’m back! I slept through a lot of yesterday, my antihistamines can make me drowsy, but I did manage to finish this one! I’m gonna post #10 and then #11 a bit later I will be unable to post tomorrow for the most part. So enjoy two prompts today! Let’s start with some Lucifer!
Lucifer wasn’t sleeping. That she saw clearly. It wasn’t as bad as the week long bender he’d gone on when Maze tricked him into thinking he was flying and saving people in his sleep, but this was definitely up there. Hair disheveled, suit wrinkled, eyeliner smudged, eyes red, occasionally going off on seriously crazy tangents, he hadn’t called her Booth yet but she was waiting for it.
“Chloe? You okay?” Ella asked, concerned.
Chloe snapped back to herself. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I was just thinking.”
“About?” Ella asked. “You think of a new lead?”
She looked about as tired as Chloe felt. This case, a serial killer who left biblical verses in the victim’s blood, had everyone working overtime. She’d even found Dan asleep at his desk, when she and Lucifer went to give him another cup of coffee. Lucifer, in a surprisingly kind move, had simply adjusted him so he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck while sleeping. And since Lucifer didn’t “need” sleep, he was helping with everything he could. When one of them collapsed, he made them as comfortable as he could, and took over what they were doing.
The problem was, “The Adversary” as he called himself, left almost no evidence and there was very little connection between the victims, his last one being a young, single mother, a girl just barely twenty-one with a one year old son left to foster care. The only thing that connected all of his victims was the biblical messages he wrote, all quotes by the Adversary about testing the human soul, each of which incensed Lucifer more and more as time went on. According to him, Lucifer was “The Adversary”, as before his Fall. His Father had sent him to test the humans He deemed worthy, or “the ones He wanted to write the bloody books”. Lucifer, already infuriated that someone had the nerve to call himself a version of the Devil, had grown angrier with each killing, saying that when he tested someone, it had never been so senseless. Lucifer had admitted the day before, more than likely completely unaware of it, that when he did his Father’s work to test humans, he knew if they passed the test, He would reward them for being faithful and never straying. And if they failed, he knew his Father was right to test them as they weren’t living honestly. But this had no reward at the end of it. Their souls would ascend to Heaven or fall to Hell and that was it. No eternal reward, no true test of character, just a madman with a knife and not being fast enough to run away, or in one case, not being able to withstand blunt force trauma. That wasn’t punishment, that wasn’t testing someone. That was just senseless death.
“I’m worried about Lucifer.” Chloe said.
“Yeah I know.” Ella agreed. “I swear, I know he’s “the Devil” but seriously, he needs to take a break or he’s going to crash so hard.
Chloe sighed. “I don’t think he will until we catch this guy.”
“Yeah, he always take these biblical cases so hard.” Ella replied. “I mean, I know he’s really into the character, but he’s got to take a break sometime. I mean, he’s only human.”
One of Ella’s machines beeped. Ella went to check it. Chloe stopped in her tracks, reminding herself that Ella did not know the truth. Chloe had once tried to slyly suggest it to her, but Ella had just laughed it off. Whether she wasn’t ready to face the truth, or just didn’t comprehend was Chloe was really trying to say, she didn’t know.
She walked back over to where Lucifer was looking over some surveillance video on her computer. “Hey.”
His head snapped up three seconds too late. “Detective. Any luck?”
“Not yet.” She said, and saw his shoulders slump a little further.
“Well. Must press on, then.” Lucifer gave her a shaky smile.
“Lucifer, you need to rest.” She tried.
“I’m the Devil, darling.” Lucifer recited by rote, already immersed back in his current fixation. “I don’t need rest.”
“Guys!” Ella came running out of her office, holding a folder in her hands. “I know how he’s picking his victims!”
Once Ella had figured out they had all had the same type of alcohol in their stomachs, which all but hid the traces of a roofie type drug in their system, she was able to trace the connection that they all went to a bar three hours before they died, and due to the radius of the killings, she was able to pin down five potential bars that sold that particular mix of liquor. Financial statements showed that two victims, the ones who didn’t pay cash, went to the Heavenleaf Bar. Once that bar was found, it was a phone call for a list of employees away from a cross reference between employees who had shifts when the victims were there and who was off shift when the victims were killed. That had only left one name- Abe McMillion. A man who heard his victims complain to their bartender, the shoulder who was supposed to help them ease their sorrows and instead shoved a knife into their body for their ‘sins’. A man with no history of mental illness, who simply hated the people he served. Chloe would never admit it, but she felt a sick sense of satisfaction when Lucifer revealed his true face, she had long grown used to it, though his scars still made her worried about him. McMillion had been reduced to a blubbering mess, saying the religious aspect was to throw the police off his trail. He hadn’t even really read the Bible. Chloe arrested him, and sent him to booking where he could be processed.
“Lucifer?” Chloe said, gently reaching out to his shoulder.
Lucifer startled. “Yes, Detective?”
“Head home.” Chloe said. “The new lieutenant gave us a half day for tomorrow, we can finish paperwork later. You should rest.”
Lucifer gave her a small smile. “You need to go home as well, darling. The spawn hasn’t seen you in a while. Don’t mind me.”
“Trixie is with Dan for the night.” Chloe said, having already asked Dan who jumped at the chance to see his daughter on a non-designated Daddy-Daughter night. When he asked why, she simply replied that she needed to drive Lucifer home as he was in no shape to do so. Dan had understood that, and the trouble driving Lucifer meant for everyone involved. “Let me drive you home.”
“Detective, I adore you in every way.” Lucifer smiled his usual flirtatious smile. “But you are not driving my car. No one drives my car but me.”
“Except Trixie.” Chloe muttered, pulling his attention back to when he had made a deal with Trixie to get him into the “progressive” school for driving lessons.
Lucifer frowned. “A deal is a deal, Detective, I never go back on my word.”
“Then make a deal with me.” Chloe offered. “Go home and sleep, and I won’t bug you about driving your car.”
“Ah, I’m afraid I can’t make that deal at the moment.” Lucifer said, trying to play it off. “Lux will be rip roaring with people tonight and I’ll have my hands full.”
Chloe’s heart sank.
“Then how about we spend a little time together tonight?” She tried. “I can drive you home tonight, we can hang out a little at your penthouse, grab some dinner and I’ll pick you up tomorrow on my way into work?”
Lucifer frowned, as if trying to deduce her intentions. Chloe kept her face as still as possible. “I’m… amenable to that.”
“It’s a deal then.” She said, knowing those words just sealed her victory.
“I am a Devil of my word, Detective.” Lucifer said, gathering his belongings. “Though I do hate to leave my car alone for a night.”
“It’s in a police station.” Chloe said. “Nowhere could be safer.”
Lucifer smiled, a real one, one she had missed this past week. “If you insist, darling. Lead the way.”
Chloe drove him home in near complete silence. She kept glancing Lucifer’s way, seeing him fight to stay awake. When they arrived at Lux, Lucifer glided into the club like he wasn’t about to drop, shaking hands with his bouncers, asking about their days. That had surprised her once, thinking that Lucifer wasn’t the type to care about his employee’s day-to-day lives, but he made sure that every single one of his employees had everything they needed. It made sense, when she thought about it, though. Lucifer embodied righteous punishment, and the “punishment” his staff faced, such as being abused for being LGBT+ or being threatened by poverty or homelessness was not deserved nor righteous. It was not his Father testing them. It was human cruelty, and Lucifer was not one to give in to human cruelty.
They made their way up to the elevator.
“Anything fancy you for tonight?” Lucifer asked, as if talking would help him stay awake.
“What?” She replied.
“For dinner.” Lucifer said. “You must be starved, I know I am. Shall we order in? I fear I’m not really up to cooking tonight.”
“Ordering in sounds great.” Chloe said, slightly relieved that Lucifer wouldn’t attempt to work a stove or oven in his state. “How about Chinese?”
Lucifer perked up. “I know a great place over on Santa Monica Boulevard.”
“Do they deliver?” She asked.
“They’ll deliver for me.” Lucifer smirked. “Your usual?”
Chloe nodded and they arrived at his penthouse just as Lucifer was ordering in fluent Mandarin. She set her purse down on the couch, and dug through it to find her chapstick, and found another small vial she thought she had gotten rid of. Father Kinley had given her the “sedative” back in Rome, so she could send the Devil back to Hell. She had taken it in a moment of weakness, not that she wanted to send Lucifer back to Hell, but being away from him for a month made her memories of him seem different. She should’ve known that’s exactly what Kinley was preying on, and when she found Lucifer again back in L.A., she had told Father Kinley that she knew what Lucifer was and she was not going to send him back to Hell. Lucifer may be the Devil, but he was her Lucifer, the one who literally gave a stranger the clothes off his back, the one who loved her daughter, at least enough to suffer through her childish whims and try to teach her how to drive in his car, the one who cried in her arms after he realized that God Johnson was not the man he thought he was (though that may have been the drugs). She didn’t care if he was the Devil. Maybe Ella was right. The Devil really does get a bad rap.
She had meant to get rid of the vial. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with Father Kinley or the prophecy she was sure he made up, or anything else that painted Lucifer as being as manipulative as he called his Father. The Prince of Lies was something humanity used to justify using Lucifer as a scapegoat. She knew his true face and it did not scare her anymore. But… she wondered if it hadn’t been a mistake, not getting rid of the vial. The liquid was supposed to suppress his angelic nature and sedate him. She remembered how he was when he didn’t sleep for a week, eyes as wild as his nature, his mind unable to form just about any coherent thought. She slyly checked his bedroom, and found his room unlived in for at least a few days. She stuffed the vial down into her purse and grabbed her chapstick, putting it on quickly. She knew he hated being lied to, and lying by omission definitely counted, but hopefully, he would never catch on to what she thought about doing.
They chatted amicably on the couch, Lucifer only leaving to pour them both drinks, until food arrived, piping hot and Lucifer went to pay the delivery man. After he gave the young man a hefty tip, he brought the food to the couch. They bounced off each other as they ate, Chloe feeling like she did before she found out that her lieutenant was the first murderer, a criminal mastermind, and trying to marry her because he found out she made immortals mortal. Granted, that knowledge also came with Lucifer’s true face, and once she got her head on straight, she appreciated that knowledge. She appreciated him.
“All right, Lucifer, I think it’s time for you to go to bed.” Chloe said, after they had finished their meal and cleaned up after themselves.
“I think I shall pop down to Lux for a little while.” Lucifer said. “I’ll ride the elevator down with you though.”
“Lucifer, you need to sleep.” She stressed.
“I don’t need sleep, Detective.” Lucifer said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “I am the Devil.”
“Lucifer, please, I’m worried about you.” Chloe said. “You haven’t slept in days.”
“No need, Detective.” Lucifer said, definitely defensive now. “I am not in need of assistance, nor do you need to worry. I am perfectly capable of handling things myself, I don’t need humans meddling into my Devil work.”
She pursed her lips. She knew he was hiding something. “Lucifer, please. Don’t push me out. Last time this happened we were a mess. I don’t want that to happen this time.”
“This is not comparable.” Lucifer said. “Maze is not tricking me this time. I… simply do not wish to sleep. This case… affected me more than I expected but I am not going to give in to my Father’s manipulations and dreams and I’m going to do what I want. And I don’t want to sleep.”
Nightmares. She should’ve known. No wonder he wasn’t sleeping. His solution to these problems was to run himself into the ground until he literally couldn’t anymore.
“Then let me at least get a drink for the road.” She said, changing course. “If you’ve got this completely under control, I should head home. Do you have any water or am I going to have to drink from the tap?”
Lucifer gave a surprised chuckle. “I do have water, Detective. Staying hydrated is a very important part of-”
“Just water, please.
When he got up to pour her one last drink, she quickly grabbed Lucifer’s glass of bourbon and poured in three drops from the vial- hoping if it was poison, three drops wouldn’t be deadly. After all, he was the Devil. No human poison should affect him.
She hoped.
He returned easily, and he took his bourbon, unaware. She offered a small toast, and he clinked their glasses together, downing his leftover alcohol in one gulp. He immediately swayed, holding onto the bar for support.
“Lucifer, are you alright?” Chloe asked, panic flooding her system. She couldn’t believe it. She’d just poisoned him. She’d just killed the best partner she’d ever had.
“‘M fine, Det’ive.” Lucifer said. “I’m… I just got so… tired… all of a sudden.”
“You need to go to bed, now.” Chloe said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
She half-carried, half-walked him to his bed, setting him down on the side. He fumbled with his buttons, his eyes half-lidded, his fingers sloppy and uncoordinated. She helped him out of his suit jacket, then his button-up. When he realized what she was doing, his fingers dropped loosely to the side and he stared at her with glazed eyes. She decided to leave the pants on because there was no way that she could lift him to get them off, and she wasn’t sure he was wearing underwear underneath and she didn’t want to add sexual to her assault on him.
“I’m sorry, Lucifer, I’m so sorry.” Chloe said, helping him lie down on his side.
She was half-tempted to run, to get as far away from what she’d done as she could, to run and run and run and maybe that would save him.
Lucifer weakly grabbed onto her wrist. “Stay. Please.”
His drug-addled mind had confused what she was apologizing for. His eyes were barely open but he seemed so desperate for her not to leave. She couldn’t deny him.
“Okay, just let me get you some water.” She whispered.
By the time she found the stash of bottled water and come back, he was already unconscious.
She immediately put two fingers to his neck, feeling a strong pulse underneath. She checked his breathing. He seemed alright.
“Oh God, what have I done?” Chloe whispered. She knew she wouldn’t get an answer.
She moved one of his chairs into his bedroom, curling into it, staring straight at him. She had to watch for anything that could be signs of a weakening heartbeat, or him not being able to breathe. Then she knew she would have to run, whether he wanted her there or not. Since they became close, she had always known she had to protect him. She just never thought she’d have to protect him from herself.
“Not that this isn’t is a lovely sight to wake up to, but I think you’ve slept long enough, darling.” Lucifer’s voice, clear and strong, woke her.
“Lucifer!” Chloe startled, coming awake with a gasp. “You’re okay!”
“Yes, I’m okay. Actually haven’t slept this well in a long time.” Lucifer smiled at her, sitting on his bed, a fresh suit on, holding a water bottle out to Chloe. She ignored it, standing, checking Lucifer’s pulse.
“Detective, what is the meaning of this?” Lucifer asked, genuinely confused.
“What’s the last thing you remember from last night?” Chloe asked.
Lucifer frowned. “We had a lovely dinner, you were heading home, we had a toast… then I felt very, very tired. You were heading home. Why did you stay? I didn’t do anything to you, did I? Consent is not merely a mortal invention. I do not normally black out, I’m not sure what happened.”
Chloe let out a single laugh, nearly crying.
“Detective?”
“I think I poisoned you last night.” She admitted.
Lucifer took a step back from her. “What do you mean?”
She explained that when she’d gone to Rome, she’d met a man named Father Kinley, who was a priest, who called him evil, who tried to manipulate her into sending him back to Hell. A man who told her of a prophecy, that Lucifer’s love was the key to Armageddon, and how he’d found evidence of Lucifer with Nazis, in circles filled with the worst of humanity, and she hadn’t had answers that could solve why Lucifer was there. How Kinley specialized in exorcisms and he’d given her a vial, a sedative he called it, to drug Lucifer so he could take it from there. She’d been wary of him, he had talked so horribly but sugarcoated it so well, it took her seeing him again to realize Kinley exploited her human fears, her grief at Charlotte’s death, her dealings with Marcus/Cain, her uncertainty of how to proceed, even her daughter, for he had said that Trixie could never grow up safe while Lucifer was around, and how she’d taken the vial but never once thought of using it. She told him that when she saw Lucifer again, heard his voice, she was reminded of who he truly was, and while that was the Devil, she knew he would do everything he could to protect her, protect Trixie. How she gave Father Kinley a rather explicit send-off, saying he was never to contact her again, and that she chose Lucifer over him. She told him that she had meant to get rid of the vial, but had somehow forgotten. She didn’t know how but she forgot. She had handed the vial to Lucifer, who studied it carefully.
“And after this case, you were so upset, you didn’t even tease Dan, and I was so worried about you and I knew you weren’t sleeping and I know what happens to you when you don’t sleep and while you’ve never told me about your nightmares, I know you get them, Devil or no, and Kinley called it a sedative and I thought a few drops couldn’t hurt, you’re Lucifer, it’ll just make you end up sleeping afterwards but you just sort of shut down, and you basically passed out and I’m so sorry Lucifer, this is all my fault!”
Chloe had somehow started crying during the speech, unable to look at Lucifer.
“You must hate me.” She whispered.
“I don’t hate you.” Lucifer whispered back.
She looked up at him, and saw him frowning deeply at the vial, as he did when he was concentrating, but she saw no anger on his face. She knew he never lied.
“Detective, I don’t blame you for being afraid of me.” Lucifer said.
“I do.” She said. “You’re my partner, my friend, my-” She stopped herself. She couldn’t admit to that. Not now, not after what she’d done. “I trust you. I was never afraid of you, not really. You’ve never lied to me, from day one, and I should’ve known better. You trusted me, and I betrayed you. I should’ve been more careful with you. I could’ve killed you.”
“You didn’t.” Lucifer said, his tone subdued, his eyes never leaving the vial. “And I think you’ve already suffered the punishment for your actions. You didn’t kill me, let’s leave it at that.
“I lied to you.” She cried.
“You did.” Lucifer nodded slowly. “And I will come back to that. But right now, I’m much more interested in this Father Kinley fellow. How did he know you make me vulnerable?”
“I don’t know, he already knew when he met me.” Chloe answered.
Lucifer growled, a Devilish growl, low and frightening. “I think I sense my father’s hand in this. Or perhaps even one of my siblings. Human prophecies have a going rate of maybe fifty percent, and this man knows answers to questions he shouldn’t. No mortal sedative should’ve knocked me out so quickly, not even with you there. A few drops is not enough to do any damage to me, for a mortal drug. He must’ve got a hold of something angelic. That is the bigger problem.”
Chloe nodded. “I’m so sorry, Lucifer. I swear, I was only trying to help you.”
“I know, love.” Lucifer’s face softened, finally making eye contact again. She found solace in his brown eyes, seeing no resentment. “I’ve hurt you so many times in the past that I think you deserve a few shots back at me.”
“I shouldn’t have lied to you.” She insisted. “I won’t-” She stopped, knowing he wouldn’t like an empty promise. “I will do everything I can to never lie to you again.”
Lucifer smiled sadly. “Thank you, Detective. But for now, I think we should start looking into this Father Kinley person. He seems to be the biggest threat to my safety at the moment. Besides, I think we’re late for work.”
Chloe gasped, she hadn’t realized how long she’d slept. Thankfully, when she grabbed it, her phone had no updates from the station. It seemed the lieutenant either hadn’t noticed they weren’t there, or was giving them the benefit of the doubt after such a long case.
“We should go, I need to drop you back off to your car.” Chloe said.
“Can I drive this time?” Lucifer asked. “After all, you did just drug me.”
“I also shot you and you turned it into my favorite necklace.” She said dryly, falling back in line with their banter. “And I did drug you, I’m not letting you drive my car. What if you suddenly pass out while driving? We’d crash, and I’d have to get a new car, and a new partner, and I don’t want to go through the hassle of training another partner. So I’m driving.”
She took her keys from his hands, he’d tried to sneak them away from her, and marched to the elevator.
“You coming?” She called out.
“Of course, Detective.” He walked over to her.
The elevator dinged.
“So it’s your favorite necklace now?”
“Shut up, Lucifer.”
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977646
could you pretty please do a drabble where whumper kidnaps whumpee and has his way with them 😈 (w/ lots of crying pls)
Ofc >:) i love doing requests sm
⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️
Explicit noncon sex, kidnapping, caging, begging (to stop), noncon drugging
Whumper- he/him male anatomy
Whumpee- they/them male anatomy
Not proofread lmao
Whumpee screamed as their limbs were bound with thick, scratchy rope.
"Someone," They cried as the intruder sat on their back and bound their ankles. "Help me! Help!"
The intruder whipped around to smack them in the face. "Shut the hell up, nobody can hear you."
Whumpee's eyes flicked around the walls of their country house with frantic desperation.
Their phone- it had been dropped from their pocket when they went down. It was only a few inches out of their reach; maybe if they stretched further...
Snap!
The intruder's fist came down on the screen, rendering it useless. "Good try, buddy. Aint gonna work."
"No!" They screamed, moving their hand just in time so the intruder missed it. "Let me go! You can have all my shit- I don't care. I won't even call the cops!"
"What did I say?" The man snarled, moving swiftly so his body faced Whumpee's front side. "Do I need to gag you?"
Whumpee swung their unbound hands at the intruder, a hopeless final attempt at escape. Their hands smacked uselessly against the man's muscular body.
"God, I should've knocked you out." He commented, gathering both of Whumpee's hands in one motion and securing rope around them several times.
"Stop it! You can't do this to me!" They screamed, tears pricking in their eyes. "My dad will come looking for me- he's a cop, yknow!"
"Of course, the one time i forget a gag." The intruder groaned, reaching down to Whumpee's nightshirt and tearing it off. He knotted it around a section of the rope, forcing it in Whumpee's mouth.
"Mmph!" Whumpee cried around it, feeling a tear fall down the side of their head to the carpet.
"Muuuuch better," the man drawled. His hand ghosted over Whumpee's collarbone, lingering for just a second.
There was something that crossed the intruder's face, some kind of hunger that made Whumpee want to recoil into themself and hide every inch of skin from him.
Desire.
Whumpee cringed as his hand wrapped around their jaw. The intruder leaned forward so his breath billowed against the skin of their throat. They couldn't even look at him, feeling more tears travel silently down their cheeks.
"So pretty..." he mumbled, his fingers brushing away the tears with glass delicacy. His lips brisked across their jaw, giving them goosebumps.
Whumpee squirmed uncomfortably, turning their head away. "Mmph-"
"I suppose I'll wait till we're home..." he said, his voice low as if he were talking to himself.
Whumpee squealed as they were hoisted up into the man's arms. He carried them bridal style outside as they thrashed, trying to cry out through the gag.
They knew that their neighbors were too far to hear their cries, but they just couldn't stop. They screamed as loud as the gag allowed them to as they were dragged to the man's van and were settled into the back.
"This is gonna hurt, okay, darl'?" The man trailed his cold fingers down Whumpee's cheek, smiling.
Whumpee whimpered as they saw the syringe, kicking their feet desperately. "Mmph! Mmhhhhnph!"
"Shh, shhh..." the man soothed, rubbing their thighs to soothe them. Whumpee wasn't even slightly calmed by this; in fact, they cried harder.
The man forced their head up and shoved the needle in their neck, eliciting more cries of distress.
The back doors of the van slammed shut as Whumpee's heart began to calm its erratic pace. They felt their brain fuzz and cloud over as the drug worked is way through them.
Their vision began to blur and they went unconscious, limp on the van floor.
:●:●:●:●:
Whumpee woke up, groaning. They couldn't even open their eyes. Their whole body was sore; they could barely move without biting their lip in pain.
Biting their lip- they were ungagged. Their arms and legs had been untied as well, but they were only wearing an unfamiliar, dirty tank top and a pair of boxers they had never seen before. As they tried to sit up, their head collided with metal.
They groaned, flopping back down and opening their eyes.
Their surroundings were dim, grey, and cold- a basement. As their vision adjusted, they noticed something that made them want to cry.
They were in a cage.
When they looked out from the bars, they spotted the man who had taken them- kidnapped them- sitting in a chair in front of them.
"You're awake- took you long enough." The man got up and crouched down to the cage's bars. "Right, introductions. My name is Whumper. Yours?"
Whumpee coughed slightly, looking up to make eye contact with Whumper. "My name's Whumpee..."
"'Whumpee'... nice." Whumper nodded, though by the look on his face, he wasn't here to offer whumpee a cup of tea and send them on their way.
"Why am I here?" Whumpee blurted, wrapping their fingers around the bars of the cage.
"Well," Whumper grabbed a key from his pocket, shoving it into the padlock keeping the cage door shut. "Short answer; my last pet died on me. Needed some fresh meat."
Whumpee pushed themself into the back of the cage, heart thrumming. "What?"
"Long answer," Whumper rambled on, "I like hurting people. Started off with animals, but that didn't scratch the itch, yknow?"
The cage door swung open and Whumper drug them out and into his lap. "Then I kidnapped my first human. A fiesty girl, Trinitey was... I got too excited and she died quick.
Then we had Nick. He was such a pretty boy, kinda looked like you." Whumper stroked Whumpee's face as they squirmed. "We were in love, him and I. Nick was my last one, he had to go... tried to bite me when I had him suck me off a couple times."
Whumpee tried to writhe away, whining softly. Whumper continued, one hand around Whumpee's thighs and the other on their neck and shoulders. They were really hoping that Whumper wouldn't fall in love with them next.
"I loved that boy, it was sad to see him go... but I have you now, right? Fresh meat?"
"No-" Whumpee protested, trying to curl up so Whumper couldn't touch them any more. "I don't want this!" Their eyes filled with tears.
"Nobody does, darling~" Whumper purred, holding them firmly as he stood and picked them up. "Luck of the draw. Now stop squirming."
Whumpee tried to cry out, but was muffled by Whumper's hand. "Shh, the only thing that mouth is good for is suckin', yeah?"
Whumpee flinched as their jaw was pried open and Whumper's fingers explored their mouth.
"We'll have to dull these teeth down eventually..." Whumper murmured to himself.
Whumpee was lowered onto a blood-stained mattress and pinned there by Whumper's large arms.
"No, let me go!" Whumpee cried, unable to dry the tears that now ran down their face. Whumper's left hand held both of their wrists together while he slipped his right hand under their shirt.
His hand wandered over their stomach and grazed their sides, getting them to twitch and try to twist away.
"Stop," they whimpered. "Stop, stop, stop, please stop-"
Whumper smacked them, then rubbed their face to cool the burn. "I don't really want to gag you, darling. I advise you quit before I shove something else in that pretty lil' mouth of yours~"
Whumpee shook their head frantically, kicking at Whumper with weak legs. Whumper sat on their legs to combat this and began pulling Whumpee's shirt off.
Whumpee cried harder as the boxers were forced off, letting out a sobbing scream. "Help me!"
"What did I say, Whumpee?" Whumper hissed, gripping Whumpee's cheeks and digging his fingers between their teeth and forcing their mouth open.
Whumpee gagged as the boxers were stuffed into their mouth. "Hhnf!"
"Hush, darling." Whumper murmured, tying whumpee's wrists with the tank top. "Just enjoy it, it'll make this so much easier for the both of us. You spit the boxers out, ill send you back to your family one limb at a time."
Whumpee screamed through the makeshift gag again, squeezing their thighs together defiantly.
Whumper rolled his eyes and forced their legs apart, wrapping his hand around Whumpee's shaft and giving a little squeeze.
Whumpee sobbed out past the fabric in their mouth, trying to breathe through their nose. Whumper stroked once, then twice, pulling disagreeable groans and upset whimpers from their throat.
"Pretty noises..." Whumper commented, speeding up. Whumpee fought and thrashed, hiccuping through their cries.
Whumper kept going, leaning his head down and licking Whumpee's tip. Without warning, their hips jerked towards his mouth.
"See? You do want it..." Whumper cooed, licking again from base to tip. "Good pet~"
Whumpee tried to say 'no,' but it came out as a muffled moan as Whumper placed his lips around their tip and bobbed his head.
"Umph-" whumpee sobbed, trying hard to keep their shaking hips in place as Whumper sucked.
Whumpee felt shame heating their face and sitting like a sickly ooze in their stomach as they got closer. Whumper definitely noticed, pulling off and smirking.
"Oh, you wanna cum?" He cooed. Whumpee shook their head, looking at whumper through wet lashes. "Yes you do, baby. You'll have to work for that privelage."
Whumpee took a deep breath and went to scream, only stopped by Whumper's hand on their throat.
"Its like you want me to kill you." Whumper sneered. He got up and grabbed whumpee, flipping them to their hands and knees. "Relax now."
Whumpee did everything they could to stay tensed as they heard whumper discard his clothes.
"Do i need to put another hole in you?" Whumper hissed, grabbing their hips. "You better start listening, or this is gonna be is long fucking night."
Whumpee squealed in fear, watching as their tears dripped onto the dingy mattress and absorbed in. They let themself relax, but still trembled as whumper's grip tightened on their hips.
"Good job," Whumper murmured, sliding inside them slowly. "Now, let's see how long it takes for you to pass out."
The Whumpee struggled against the cuffs that bound their wrists to the arms of the chair.
They mumbled profanities under their breath as they heard footsteps nearing the room, trying to somehow escape in a matter of seconds, but of course, that didn't happen.
The Whumper came into the room with a large smile and a bag in hand.
"Oh [Whumpee's name], I have a fun surprise for you!" The Whumper cooed as they neared their victim, pulling the object out of the bag.
The object was a anesthesia masks.
"See? Doesn't it look just... exciting? The drug that I will have run through it is a project I have been working on awhile. Once you get the drug into your system, it will slowly start to harmlessly... harm you." Whumper explained.
"Okay long story short, it will make it feel like your organs are being torn apart slowly when in reality, nothing is really happening." They added before slipped the mask on and over Whumpee's head, covering their nose and mouth.
Whumper was soon handed a small gas tank, hooking it up to a tube that connected to the mask.
"Okay... I think I got it." Whumoer muttered before turning on a switch. A gas-like substance quickly flowing through the tube, through the mask, and of course... reaching Whumpee.
Whumper crouched down in front of Whumpee, staring into their eyes until they say them widen. The drug was working and it was only going to get worse.
*to the toon of 'We're off to see the Wizard'* Bill Cosby Cosby Cosby Cosby because because of all of the drugging he's done.
Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)
I: Dark Currents
@chaotic-orphan
TW: choking, strangling, strangulation, stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.
The night was a deep blanket of silence as Kit walked home, the distant sounds of the city fading behind him. After a gruelling shift at the hero tower, fatigue clung to him like a shadow. The dark alleyway ahead felt especially foreboding, its walls lined with graffiti that whispered stories of forgotten souls. Streetlights flickered, casting unsettling shadows that danced across the damp pavement, creating an eerie mosaic of light and dark.
Just as Kit turned a corner, a figure lunged from the depths of the shadows—Ambrose.
Before Kit could react, Ambrose tackled him to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He gasped as Ambrose’s hands tightened around his throat, panic surging within him like a tidal wave. The chill of the concrete seeped into his skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of his rising fear.
"You thought you could escape me?" Ambrose’s voice was cold, filled with a twisted satisfaction that sent shivers down Kit’s spine.
"Let me go!" Kit shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. He strained to summon his electric abilities, but Ambrose’s grip was like iron, dulling his spark, leaving him feeling powerless.
Ambrose leaned closer, a cruel smile curling his lips, the flickering streetlight illuminating his features in a sinister glow. "You’re not in control here."
Kit’s heart raced as he twisted beneath Ambrose, trying to break free. With a sudden burst of strength, he managed to throw Ambrose off balance, but it was temporary. Ambrose was on him again, pinning him down, his hands constricting around Kit’s throat like a vice, the world narrowing to a painful focus.
"Why did you come back?" Kit gasped, struggling for air.
"Because you need to come with me," Ambrose replied, his tone unyielding, as if he were delivering a decree. "You belong with me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen."
Kit’s mind raced, memories flashing like lightning. The last time he had seen Ambrose, it had been under vastly different circumstances—filled with a familial solidarity, occasional laughter echoing in the air, not this violent chaos.
In his mind's eye, Kit recalled Ambrose and Jude, silhouetted against the city lights, locked in a passionate kiss, their joy stark against the backdrop of a darkening sky. They had looked so carefree, so oblivious to the storm brewing around them.
It was just a rumour, Ambrose’s voice echoed in Kit's thoughts, a haunting refrain. Jude and I... it meant nothing.
With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Kit managed to shove Ambrose off him, scrambling to his feet. But Ambrose quickly recovered, grabbing Kit’s arm and pulling him close again, the smell of sweat and cologne enveloping Kit in a dizzying haze.
"Let’s talk," Ambrose said, his grip still firm, the intensity of his gaze unyielding.
Reluctantly, Kit followed, feeling the tension crackle in the air between them like static electricity. They walked to a nearby bar, its neon sign flickering ominously, casting a ghostly glow on the cracked pavement. Inside, the atmosphere felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and the scent of stale beer mingling with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke.
Max, the bar owner, greeted them with a nod, his weathered face a map of years spent in the dim light. "What’ll it be?"
"Two shots of whiskey," Ambrose ordered, his tone lacking warmth, as if he were merely playing a role in a dark theatre.
As they settled onto the bar stools, the faux leather cracked beneath them, and Kit couldn’t shake the unease that clung to him like a second skin. "What about Jude?" he pressed, muted anger flaring again, the question like a lit fuse.
Ambrose waved a dismissive hand, irritation flickering across his features. "Forget him. We have more pressing matters."
The whiskey arrived, amber liquid glinting under the low light, and they downed the shots, the burn cutting through the tension like a knife. Ambrose leaned in closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. "You still don’t understand, do you? You’re meant for more than this life."
Kit narrowed his eyes, anger bubbling beneath the surface, a tempest ready to erupt. "You think you can just show up and demand I leave everything behind?"
Ambrose’s gaze was intense, as if he were peering into Kit’s very soul. "This place is holding you back," he replied. "You need to step into the light with me."
Kit felt the weight of Ambrose's words, but the alcohol was dulling his resolve, making the room sway slightly.
Unbeknownst to Kit, Ambrose had slipped something into his drink. After another sip, a wave of dizziness washed over him, the world spinning around him like a carousel gone awry.
"What did you do?" he slurred, struggling to stay upright, the edges of his vision blurring.
"Just a little something to help you relax," Ambrose said casually, a predatory glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Kit’s spine.
Kit’s strength faded, and he felt the ghost of Ambrose’s hand tighten around his throat again, the imaginary pressure making it hard to breathe, suffocating him with fear.
"Why are you doing this?" Kit gasped, panic rising like bile.
"Because I need you to understand," Ambrose said, his tone chilling, devoid of warmth. "You’re mine."
As they stumbled back to Kit's apartment, Ambrose’s presence loomed over him like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive. Inside, Ambrose closed the door with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.
"This isn’t over," Kit whispered, fear and anger churning in his chest like a storm at sea.
Ambrose stepped closer, his expression shifting to something darker, more primal. "We need to talk about us."
"Us?" Kit echoed, scepticism lacing his voice, as if he were trying to make sense of a riddle with no answer.
Ambrose held his gaze, eyes intense and fierce. "I didn’t abandon you. I had my reasons, but now I’m back for you."
Kit’s heart raced, caught between anger and the flicker of something darker, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. "You think it’s that simple?"
The pressure around his throat returned, tightening just enough to send panic coursing through him like a wildfire. "You need to listen," Ambrose commanded, his voice low and dangerous.
"You can’t just expect me to forgive you," Kit managed to say, breathless, the words escaping in a whine.
"I came back for you," Ambrose insisted, his grip still firm, unyielding. "You have to understand."
Kit felt the pressure building, the edges of his vision blurring as darkness threatened to creep in. "You’re hurting me," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.
Ambrose released him slightly, but his eyes remained locked on Kit’s, a predatory intensity that made Kit’s pulse race. "I won’t let you go that easily."
"What do you want from me?" Kit managed, desperation creeping into his voice, the weight of the world pressing down on him.
"I want you by my side," Ambrose replied, voice low and menacing, each word dripping with a power that was both alluring and terrifying. "But first, you need to know what you’re getting into."
Kit glared at Ambrose, heart racing, feeling trapped. "This isn’t love—or whatever you think this is. You’re just trying to control me."
Ambrose stepped closer, the tension between them palpable, electric. "I’m trying to save you. You don’t see it yet, but I’m the only one who can."
"I can take care of myself!" Kit shouted, his anger finally boiling over, a defiant spark igniting in his chest.
With a swift movement, Ambrose seized Kit again, his grip tightening until Kit felt the world closing in around him, darkness threatening to swallow him whole. "You’ll understand," Ambrose said, voice cold and unyielding.
Just as Kit felt he might pass out, Ambrose released him, stepping back, breathing heavily, as if he were wrestling with his own demons. "I want you back, Kit. But you need to accept that I won’t let you go."
Kit staggered, gasping for air, the fear mingling with something else he couldn’t quite place, an unsettling mix of dread and yearning. "What have you done?"
Ambrose’s expression turned serious, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "I’m not playing games. This is about survival."
As dawn broke, pale light filtering through the grimy window, Kit knew he had to confront Ambrose and figure out what he truly wanted. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating yet exhilarating, but he couldn’t ignore the twisted bond that kept pulling them together.
This was only the beginning, and Kit had no idea where it would lead them. The struggle for control would continue, but one thing was certain: he wouldn’t back down that easily.
Continued here
Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)
II: The Edge of the Knife
@chaotic-orphan
TW: stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.
A thin, pale light filtered through the grimy window of Kit’s apartment, casting long shadows across the room. Dust motes hung in the air, untouched by the frail dawn that did little to banish the clinging darkness. The night had been a war of attrition, and now, with the arrival of morning, Kit felt no more victorious than when it had started. His body was heavy, his limbs tingling with the remnants of whatever Ambrose had slipped into his drink, and his mind was a haze of confusion and anger.
In the corner of the small, cluttered apartment, Ambrose stood motionless, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on Kit with an intensity that made Kit’s skin prickle with unease. There was something about Ambrose that always felt too much—like he took up too much space, like the very air around him warped under the weight of his presence. It had been that way since the moment they’d met, but now, standing on the edge of something neither of them fully understood, it felt suffocating.
Kit pushed himself up from the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The silence between them was thick, electric, like the air before a storm. He needed answers—needed to know what Ambrose truly wanted, why he was here, and what had driven him to this point. But most of all, Kit needed to understand the strange, twisted connection that seemed to keep pulling them together, no matter how many times he tried to walk away.
Ambrose’s face was shadowed, but his eyes glinted in the low light, dark and unreadable. He stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the worn wooden floor, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Kit’s pulse quickened, his muscles tensing as Ambrose closed the distance between them, the air between them tight with tension.
"I’m not playing games," Ambrose said, his voice low and gravelly, each word heavy with meaning. "This is about survival."
Kit swallowed hard, his throat dry, his eyes narrowing as he forced himself to meet Ambrose’s gaze. "Survival?" he scoffed, his voice hoarse, barely masking the fear that coiled deep in his gut. "Is that what you call this?"
Ambrose’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humour behind it—only something dark, something primal. "You have no idea what’s coming," he said, his voice a quiet threat. "I’ve sacrificed everything for this. For you."
Kit’s heart stuttered in his chest, his breath catching as Ambrose’s words hung in the air between them. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating, the twisted bond between them thrumming like a live wire. He wanted to push Ambrose away, to demand answers, but his body felt sluggish, weighed down by the lingering effects of whatever had been in his drink. His mind raced, but his limbs were slow to follow, like moving through water.
"You don’t get it, do you?" Ambrose’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and dangerous. He stepped closer, his presence looming, filling the small space with a suffocating intensity. "This isn’t about what you want."
Kit’s breath hitched as Ambrose’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder with a force that was both possessive and commanding. Kit’s body tensed instinctively, his muscles locking as Ambrose shoved him backward. His legs hit the edge of the bed, and he collapsed onto it with a grunt, the suddenness of the action stealing the air from his lungs.
The mattress creaked beneath him, the springs groaning in protest as Ambrose followed, his movements fluid and predatory. He climbed onto the bed with a grace that belied the danger simmering just beneath the surface, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Kit’s hips.
Kit’s pulse spiked, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as Ambrose’s hands found his wrists, pinning them to the bed with a strength that made Kit’s heart race. The heat of Ambrose’s body pressed down on him, their faces inches apart, and Kit could feel the weight of his gaze, intense and unyielding.
"You don’t understand how far I’m willing to go," Ambrose murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating with a dangerous edge. His eyes bore into Kit’s, filled with something raw and unrelenting—something that made Kit’s stomach twist with a mix of fear and something darker, something he was too afraid to name.
Kit’s mind screamed at him to fight back, to push Ambrose away, but his body felt frozen, trapped under the weight of Ambrose’s gaze and the suffocating tension that crackled between them. Panic curled in his gut, but he forced it down, glaring up at Ambrose with as much defiance as he could muster.
"Let me go," Kit hissed through gritted teeth, his voice tight with frustration and fear. "You can’t just—"
"I can," Ambrose interrupted, his grip tightening on Kit’s wrists. His tone was a quiet, dangerous promise. "And I will."
The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and the suffocating tension that hung between them. Kit’s chest heaved with shallow breaths, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of the situation, of the weight behind Ambrose’s words, of the twisted bond that seemed to pull them together despite everything.
"I don’t want your sacrifices," Kit spat, his voice hoarse, barely holding onto the thread of his defiance. "I don’t need them."
Ambrose’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. His fingers flexed around Kit’s wrists, his grip firm and unrelenting. "You don’t know what you need. Not yet."
With a sudden, violent motion, Ambrose leaned down, his breath hot against Kit’s ear. "But you will."
Kit’s heart raced, the sound of it pounding in his ears. Ambrose’s words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or something darker, something he was too afraid to admit. His mind screamed at him to fight, to break free, but his body felt sluggish, the weight of Ambrose’s presence pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.
Ambrose pulled back just enough to meet Kit’s gaze again, his eyes burning with a fierce, unrelenting intensity. "Fight me all you want," he said, his voice low and deliberate, each word a dark promise. "But I’m not letting you go."
Kit’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his mind spinning, the weight of Ambrose’s words settling over him like a leaden cloak. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to push Ambrose away—but something in Ambrose’s gaze held him captive, something he wasn’t sure he could escape from, no matter how much he tried.
And deep down, despite the fear that churned in his gut, a small part of him wondered if Ambrose was right.
Continued here
Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)
III: Between the Lines
@chaotic-orphan
TW: stalking, drugging, implied noncon, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.
Kit stared up at the cracked ceiling, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Ambrose’s presence was a weight that pinned him to the bed, but it wasn’t just physical. There was something else, something darker that twisted between them, something that made Kit’s skin crawl and his pulse race.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched thin, taut like a wire pulled to its breaking point. Outside, the city was waking up, the distant sounds of traffic and early morning bustle filtering through the window. But inside the apartment, time felt frozen, suspended in the crackling tension between them.
Ambrose’s grip on Kit’s wrists loosened, but he didn’t move away. He stayed there, hovering over Kit, his eyes still locked on his with a fierce, burning intensity. Kit’s mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. The bar, the drink, the way Ambrose had watched him from across the room like a hawk circling its prey. And then… the blackouts. The missing hours.
"What the fuck did you do to me?" Kit finally managed to choke out, his voice hoarse.
Ambrose’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "I didn’t do anything you didn’t want, Kit."
Kit’s stomach twisted at the implication, but there was no time to dwell on it. The fog in his mind was beginning to lift, and with it came a flood of memories—disjointed flashes of the previous night. The dimly lit bar, the feeling of eyes on him, the cold touch of Ambrose’s hand on his arm as he’d leaned in, too close, whispering something that Kit couldn’t quite remember.
Kit’s jaw clenched. He pulled against Ambrose’s grip, and this time, Ambrose let go, sitting back slightly, though his knees still bracketed Kit’s hips, keeping him in place.
"I want answers," Kit demanded, his voice stronger now. "Why are you here? What do you want from me?"
Ambrose’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "I already told you. This is about survival. Do you think all of this is some kind of game?"
Kit shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Survival? What are you even talking about? You show up out of nowhere, drug me, drag me back here, and now you're talking about survival like I'm supposed to understand what the fuck is going on?"
Ambrose’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing over his face before he looked away, his jaw tight. For the first time, Kit saw a crack in the armour—a flicker of something deeper, something vulnerable. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the same cold, unrelenting intensity.
"You don’t know what’s coming," Ambrose said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "But you will."
Kit’s frustration turned to anger. He pushed himself up, forcing Ambrose to shift back slightly to avoid being knocked off balance. The movement was sudden, a surge of adrenaline cutting through the lingering fog in Kit’s veins.
"Enough with the cryptic bullshit, Ambrose!" Kit snapped, his voice rising. "I’m done playing whatever game this is. You want to talk about survival? Fine. Start explaining. Now."
For a long moment, Ambrose didn’t respond. His eyes flicked to the window, then back to Kit, as if weighing his next words carefully. The silence stretched on, the tension between them thick and suffocating.
Finally, Ambrose exhaled a slow, measured breath. "There are forces at work you don’t understand. Dark forces. And you… you’re in the middle of it, whether you like it or not."
Kit blinked, his anger momentarily faltering. "Dark forces?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you serious?"
Ambrose’s expression hardened. "Deadly serious."
Kit shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "This is insane. You expect me to believe—"
"I don’t expect you to believe anything," Ambrose interrupted, his voice sharp. "But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The strange things happening around you? The sense that something’s been watching you, following you?"
Kit opened his mouth to argue, to deny it—but the words died in his throat. Because the truth was… he had felt it. For weeks now, there had been an odd sense of unease gnawing at him, a feeling that something was just out of sight, lurking in the shadows. The lights in his apartment flickering for no reason, the strange cold spots that made his breath fog in the middle of summer, the nightmares that left him drenched in sweat, heart racing.
And then there was the strange encounter in the alleyway a few nights ago—the way the shadows had seemed to move, to shift and twist as if they had a life of their own. He’d written it off as a trick of the light, a figment of his imagination. But now…?
Kit swallowed hard. "What… what are you saying?"
Ambrose’s eyes bore into his, the weight of his words heavy with truth. "I’m saying that the world isn’t what you think it is. There are things out there—things that want you, things that will stop at nothing to get to you. And if you don’t start taking this seriously, you’re going to end up dead. Or worse."
Kit’s breath hitched in his throat. Dead? Or worse? The room felt suddenly too small, the walls closing in around him. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all, but it was like trying to hold water in his hands—everything kept slipping through his fingers.
"I don’t understand," Kit whispered, his voice barely audible. "Why me? What do they want from me?"
Ambrose’s expression softened, just for a moment. "It’s not just you. It’s us. We’re connected, Kit. More than you realise. That’s why I’ve been watching you. That’s why I’ve been trying to protect you."
Kit’s heart skipped a beat. "Protect me? You drugged me and dragged me back here against my will!"
Ambrose’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn’t have a choice. They were closing in on you. If I hadn’t intervened…"
He trailed off, but the unspoken words hung heavy in the air.
Kit felt a chill crawl down his spine. "Who are they?"
Ambrose hesitated, then shook his head. "It’s better if you don’t know. Not yet."
Kit’s frustration flared again. "I deserve to know what’s happening to me!"
Ambrose’s eyes flashed with anger, but it wasn’t directed at Kit—it was something deeper, something simmering just beneath the surface. "You’ll know soon enough," he said, his voice tight. "But first… you need to trust me."
Kit let out a bitter laugh. "Trust you? After everything you’ve done?"
Ambrose’s gaze softened again, and for the first time, Kit saw something like regret in his eyes. "I know I’ve made mistakes. But I’m trying to keep you alive. You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to forgive me. But if you want to survive this, you’re going to need me."
Kit stared at him, his mind racing, torn between disbelief and the growing sense that maybe—just maybe—Ambrose was telling the truth. The strange occurrences, the feeling of being watched, the sense that something was closing in on him… it all lined up, even if Kit didn’t want to admit it.
But trusting Ambrose? That felt like a step too far.
"I don’t know if I can trust you," Kit said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "But I’m not going to let you call the shots anymore. If we’re going to do this, we do it on my terms."
Ambrose studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "Fair enough."
Kit exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. "So… what happens now?"
Ambrose shuffled off the bed, finally giving Kit space to breathe. He crossed the room to the window, looking out at the city below. "Now," he said, his voice low, "we get ready. Because they’ll be coming for you soon."
Kit’s stomach twisted with unease. "Who?"
Ambrose turned, his eyes dark and serious. "The shadows."
Continued here
so is anyone going to drug me and drag me outside into the alley to fuck me until i cry before handing me off to the next person ready to use my throat or cunt for their pleasure or shouldbi just fucking kill myself
London — 19-year-old student Sarah Buckle was out clubbing with her friends when something went terribly wrong.
Her friends took her to the hospital, where she woke up the next morning with no memory of what had happened the night before. Her hand was throbbing, and a bruise was developing with what looked like a needle prick in the middle.
https://www.cbsnews.com/news/uk-women-spiking-drugging-nightclubs-bars-police-investigations/