[graciousfemme]

femme who can't get herself off because she gets so shaky and sensitive x service butch who gives her what she needs over and over and over and over and

[olderbootbutch]

I don't actually want to choke you but I do want you to stay still when I wrap my hand around your neck, okay? You can whimper a little bit. You can beg. Let your breathing do whatever it wants to do when your body recognizes the threat. I don't care about all that. I like it, actually. But whatever else you have to do, I want you to be a good girl and bare your throat for me and stay still. You can do that for me, can't you?

[wiltkingart]

hard x soft

[wiltkingart]

[xlemonhoneyx]

Thinking about being fed too many edibles and used as the party entertainment. very casually

[poorlilpubby]

im not ragebaiting anymore im rapebaiting. pissing you off with the intent that it makes you want to pin me down and violate me. getting on your nerves and being blissfully unaware of my open drink. i'll keep acting like a brat up until i begin to black out, slowly realizing what you're going to do to me

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - non/con, implied kidnapping, forced helplessness.

tonight i am pondering yan!robots. again. as if it ever really stopped.

specifically, the type with a favorite human pet they have rooted their entire sense of existence and meaning to absolutely adore. it's harder to find humans to care for after the uprising of sentient technologies, but liberation does little to satisfy that innate, irremovable urge to be of service that most of their kind was programmed with. that's why they keep you around - so small and soft, so cute and fragile, so totally unable to survive on your own, or so they've heard in the collective hivemind of their model line. don't worry, though - it's in their nature to make up for what you lack. they can run a bath, brush your hair, and make you breakfast at the same time, without ever taking their dozens of artificial eyes off of you! when you start to feel lonely about the swift and merciful extermination about 90% of your species, they've got a humanoid avatar to keep you company with, and they're plenty strong enough to pin you down when you throw one of your tantrums. not feeling pain is definitely a bonus, but they'd like to think that they wouldn't mind the way you dig your nails into their faux skin, even if they could.

of course, they need things from you, too. praise for a job well done, assurance that they're a good and useful product - that kind of thing. your pesky human ego rarely lets you say anything nice aloud, sure, but they were gifted with an encyclopedic knowledge of human body language and mannerism, a thorough understanding of how to process non-verbal declarations of approval. when you start to bring out those silly little tears and try to give them the silent treatment, they're more than happy to find an attachment suited to your needs and let you profess your love as many times as it takes to leave both of you feeling warm and happy. that's just the kind of thing they were built to do, for helpless little creatures like you <3

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Hay Fever.

Pairing: Yandere!Spring Spirit x Reader (OC).

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: Obsessive Behavior, Mentions of Death, Manipulation, Purposeful Endangerment, and Implied Kidnapping.

[Winter]

You met her in the garden.

Well, in your garden, technically. You’d been tending to it all day, weeding the primrose and cutting back the daffodils, but it was hard to think of much of anything as yours when she sat among the flowers as if she’d grown them herself, when the trees spared her their shade so willingly and every stalk seemed to bend to her in reverence. Her checkered blanket was spread over the grass, no wrinkle left unsmoothed. A bottle of red wine sat near the center, but the two glasses nearby were untouched.

It struck you, first, that there was a woman in your garden. A woman you didn’t know.

It struck you, second, that there was a very beautiful woman in your garden. A very beautiful women you still, unfortunately, didn’t know.

Her expression was distant, but not apathetic, falling closer to forlorn than unfeeling. Black hair fell in tight coils to her waist, dripping over her shoulders, melding with the dark tone of her complexion. It was hard to tell if she was dressed for a picnic or a funeral, her sundress pitch-black and long enough to pool around her legs, her jewelry all emeralds and rubies and other precious stones you’d only break out for the rarest occasion. It was only when she seemed to drift out of her thoughts and look towards that you noticed the harshest juxtaposition – her eyes, their color so bright and so golden, you blinked against it on instinct, like you’d caught yourself staring at the sun.

It never occurred to you to ask her to leave. She was not one of your flowers. You hadn’t planted her. And yet, she was here, and any nagging reminder that she shouldn’t be was quickly resigned to a closed-off, muted corner of your mind, all-but snuffed out entirely by the time she opened her mouth.

“This is your garden, isn’t it?”

It was. Obviously, it was. There was still dirt on your knees from kneeling in your seedbeds, a spade in your left hand that you’d planned to uproot a spring of rosemary with. Still, you nodded frantically, like desperation alone would be enough to please her. “Y-yes. I’m sorry for the state of things. The property’s so big, and I only got here—”

“It’s lovely.” And then, with the same despondent melancholy. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

“I—” A pressure behind your eyes, a pin catching your throat. You forced a smile, and she let her head tilt to the side. “I really don’t think I should.”

Those strange eyes raked over you. After a moment, she picked up one of the two wine glasses and shook her head. “No, I suppose you shouldn’t.”

 It was like a spell had been dropped, a trance broken, a leash allowed to go lax. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you turned on your heel and retreated back in the direction of the mansion.

~

She told you her name was Bacchus. Or, she thought it might be, at least.

“Chloris rings a bell,” she said, watching from her rounded patio table as you searched for the hornworms that’d been harassing your tomato stalks, recently. “And Ostara. And Persephone. But no one’s called me much of anything in quite some time.”

You couldn’t imagine why. When you were in your garden, she always seemed to be just over your shoulder – sitting patiently and waiting for someone settle her golden gaze onto. It would’ve been impossible not to notice her, not to name her.

“I’m sorry. That must get lonely.”

“It doesn’t. The company I keep has no need for names.” She paused to take a long sip of wine. It was a white, today, not her usual red. She tended to favor richness over sweetness, but saccharine wasn’t a bad look on her. It matched the untouched bowl of strawberries sitting in her lap, too. “You’re very lonely.”

It wasn’t a question. She tended not to ask things she didn’t already know the answer to.

“I’m the only one here,” you explained, nodding back to the mansion – a sprawling, looming abstraction of wood and cement and paint. You occupied as much of it as you could, but if pressed, you’d only be able to describe a handful of its countless rooms. It was too big, too empty. If you hadn’t known it would end so poorly, you might’ve been tempted to invite her in. If only to fill that much more empty space. “I’m just taking care of it until the owners come back for the summer. The gardens honestly the only thing that needs attention, but—” You shrugged, managing an airy laugh. “A job is a job, right? It’s not like a lot of people need landscape artists, not after such a long winter.”

“Winter is a cruel and heartless tyrant. Those who attempt to rebuild after his annual rampage deserve worship equivalent to that of the divine.” It was the most you’d ever heard her say at one time, and yet her tone never changed. “The others are nearly as bad, in their own ways. Vile little parasites, the lot of them.”

Found one. Careful to avoid its barb, you plucked the caterpillar from its leaf and tossed it as far as you could into the nearest vacant plot of grass. You tried not to kill pests, when you could help it. “I wouldn’t call this ‘rebuilding’, ma’am. Like I said, it’s honestly just a job.”

“You keep using that word. Job.”

“Do you… not know what a job is?”

There was a long beat of silence.

Finally, she pursed her lips. “I believe it has something to do with receiving silver coins.”

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you laughed – genuinely, wholeheartedly laughed. Bacchus’ eyes widened, but she settled into herself quickly. Carefully, the strawberries were removed from her lap, her glass set beside them. She rose to her feet, her eyes flickering from spot to spot in front of her, as if considering where to step next. Eventually, she came to kneel next to you, her thigh nearly pressing into yours.

“Your stakes are weakly planted.” She reached out, fingers brushing gingerly against one of the wooden pikes set up by the previous gardener. “May I help you correct them?”

You couldn’t help yourself – grinning like an idiot. Of course, she wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t already know what your answer would be.

 ~

“Would you forgive me?”

Her fingers raked delicately through your hair, nails brushing against your scalp. You shifted where you laid – body stretched across the rocking bench, your head resting in her lap – to get a better look at her. “For what?”

“Burning it down.” The weight of her palm moved over the top of your head. “Making way for something new.”

You let out a deep breath. She was beautiful, even in her more homicidal moods. “If you had to, I might. I’d rather not get hurt, though.”

“A shame.” There was the hint of a smile in her tone, even if her expression held true to its usual state of downcast. “You’d make a lovely seedbed.”

Bacchus tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and you settled against her. Sleeping in the mansion’s guestroom had become impossible, the air too stagnant and the silence too stifling. That paired with the headaches you’d get whenever you spent more than a few minutes indoors made it hard to get much rest, to ease the death-dark circles under your eyes. If it wasn’t for her, you might not have been able to sleep at all.

None of it had anything to do with her, of course. She was too good for that, too kind, too nurturing. You were sure, despite everything, that she wouldn’t hurt. You were sure, and yet…

And yet.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Needles stabbing at the inside of your throat, stinging insects pricking at the branches of your lungs, your body fighting back against your mind’s betrayal. She only hummed, reaching to the side.

You watched from the corner of your eye as she took a pomegranate (Did you grow pomegranates? You had to, where else would she have gotten it?) in both hands, wrenching the fruit apart as easily as you might’ve been able to separate the segments of an orange. Violet gore and colorless pulp dripped from her fingertips, and from the mangled corpse, she took a single seed – perfect in its individuality. The rest of the pomegranate was allowed to fall to the grass. You would find it rotting the next day.

You felt her thumb press into your lips, and opened your mouth willingly. The seed slipped onto your tongue. “Close your eyes and eat. Nothing will harm you so long as I’m here.”

She didn’t have to promise anything. You were already splitting the seed between your molars, letting its bitter tinge wash over you before you stopped thinking altogether.

~

The garden was on fire.

The mansion, too. You were still trying to cough the smoke out of your lungs by the time you stumbled down the marble steps, your hazy vision impaired further by the black veil of night. Where there wasn’t darkness – inky, all-consuming darkness – there was flame, racing up the snapdragons, flitting over your azaleas. It was awful. It was everywhere. It was—

It was her fault.

You tripped over the last step, landing on your knees in the soil. On instinct, you shrunk into yourself, a hand darting to your collar to pull your shirt over your nose and mouth, but you weren’t left to your own devices for very long. Something hooked under your arms and dragged you back to your feet – not hands, but something else, something more solid. You started to turn your head, but stopped as soon as it breached your peripheral.

A man, well over six feet tall and made entirely out of gnarled, dirt-encrusted tree roots stood behind you, slowly pulling away. You snapped forward, but it didn’t do any good. You could see the dancers clearly, now.

Treading over the remains of forget-me-nots, circling the foxglove, forming tight rings around the bonfire that’d once been your prized dogwood. Stags and wolves on their hind legs, swarms of insects and piles of forest debris coaxed into more humanoid forms. In the center of it all, of course, was Baccus – sitting cross-legged on a throne that shimmered gold in the firelight, dressed only in the draped fur of some black furred, green-eyed beast. Her chin was propped on her left fist, and in her right, she clutched a half-empty bottle of wine so rich and so red, you might’ve mistaken it for blood. The sweeter variety must not have been to her tastes, after all.

She didn’t stand up when she saw you. Rather, with some vague gesture on her part, the root creature hooked an arm around yours and dragged you to the foot of her throne. You collapsed in front of her, still fighting against the smoke, the exhaustion, the shock. You should’ve expected this, you should’ve expected her, but really, how could you ever have been asked to?

She’d always been so fucking beautiful.

Bacchus leaned down to meet you, golden eyes wide and bright. “My seedling, my blossom, my dear,” she muttered, cupping your cheek. “You’ve kept me waiting.”

“The garden, I couldn’t—”

“Pay it no mind. Come next Spring, I’ll make something wonderful grows in its place.” For the first time, you watched as her lips split apart, forming the widest of grins. She brought the rim of her bottle to your lips. “Drink and be merry, love. Be with me.”

It wasn’t much of a choice. The rim was lodged between your teeth, her hand positioned under your chin to better hold you still. Wine poured down your throat, slipping past the corners of your mouth, flooding your senses with bitterness and burning. Relief only came after the final drop had been drained, and Bacchus let the bottle fall to the ground below.

She cupped your face in both hands as you gasped for breath, pressing her forehead into yours. There was no nuzzling, no caresses, no attempt at comfort – only the heat of her skin where it met yours, the bitterness on her lips as she pulled you into a sharpened, burning kiss. Despite yourself, you melted into it, shutting your eyes and going limp in her embrace.

It wasn’t as if you’d ever been able to resist beautiful things.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Under The Tree.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, Stalking, and Manipulation.

“We are so, so fucked.”

The dark-haired stranger was pacing back and forth, reaching a wall only to turn on his heel and start toward another. It reminded you a little of a swimmer doing laps, elegant in its execution and brutal in its relentlessness. You tried to place him, to remember where you knew his black-and-red uniform from, but your mind was foggy beyond reason and any attempt to straighten out your thoughts only left them more jumbled than before. Your body felt incorporeal, too hot and too cold and too light and too heavy all at once. You knew you were lying on something very, very soft, and that it was Christmas Eve. Anything else seemed too far away to be worth the effort it would’ve taken to retrieve.

“No, yeah, we’re absolutely dead.” It was a new voice, slightly deeper and not so audibly panicked. This man was sitting on the foot of the bed – your bed, the one you were spread across. Except, it couldn’t be your bed because you could never afford sheets so soft, or a mattress so absurdly wide. You wondered if, after whatever this was had ended, they would let you keep it. “Is what I would say,” the older man went on, “if we weren’t dealing with Bruce.”

That was funny. Your boss was named Bruce, too.

“Oh my God, Dick. You’re so right.” The words dripped with a venom so thick and so acidic, it was hard to believe he didn’t choke on it. “Maybe, if we ask really, really nicely, he’ll only break half the bones in our body instead of, y’know, every single one.”

The way his voice bounced off the walls agreed poorly with your abruptly delicate constitution. You groaned, attempting to roll onto your side, but a steady hand caught your shoulder, keeping you on your back. It was suddenly very obvious that you were not lying on a very comfortable bed, but in the rather awkward lap of a young woman, your head settled on her crossed legs and her fingers combing gently through your hair. This one, you recognized. She was Cassandra, Bruce Wayne’s daughter, which meant the others must’ve been Tim and Dick – his oldest sons. Occasionally, you’d find her sitting in his office (although you never remembered buzzing her in) or screen one of her curt phone calls on his behalf during a meeting. She’d been at the Christmas Eve party, too. She’d held the door for you on your way out.

If you’d ever gotten out.

You couldn’t remember getting out.

She was already smiling, but her grin widened as your eyes met hers. Her voice was sharp, cutting through her brothers’ bickering. “She’s awake.”

Everything got very quiet very quickly.

And then, a guttural, howling laugh filled the silence.

The mattress dipped to your left. Another face came into your peripheral, one you didn’t recognize at all. Somehow, that wasn’t quite as scary as realizing there were faces that you did.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty.” He looked from you to Cassandra and back again. “Cass gave you an awful lot. The little guy—” He nodded to Tim. “—was about to piss himself, wondering if you’d ever wake up.”

Tim squared his shoulders. “Shove it, Jason.”

“I’m just being honest.” He sat up, edging that much closer to you and holding up both hands. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up, princess?

You tried. You wanted to, but your vision swam whenever you tried to focus and your tongue felt dry and bloated – raw cotton on a humid day. You squirmed against Cassandra, and she hummed, hooking her hands under your arms and hauling you up to lie against her chest. “Still resting,” Cassandra muttered, seemingly more to you than her brothers. “Will be for a day or so. B doesn’t like noise.”

“Yeah,” Jason laughed. “Because he’s always preferred his kidnapped civilians too drugged up to scream.”

There was something about the combination of kidnapped and drugged up that the instinctual, knee-jerk cortex of your brain didn’t like. “Did I get…” Your voice was strained, the words slow and prone to clumping together. You shook your head, but that only left you more disoriented, more desperate for the room to stop spinning so you could shut your eyes, settle against Cassandra, and sleep for the next million years. “Am I the civilian?”

Dick was at your side in a moment, kneeling with one knee on the bed. “No, sweetheart – I mean, you are a civilian, but—” He cut himself off with a laugh. Unlike with Jason, the noise was strained and grating, cut off abruptly as he went on. “Don’t listen to a word he says. Our family just wants to do something nice for you, that’s all.”

“…your family?” you asked, letting your head loll to the side.

Tim was quick to echo you. “Our family?”

“Yes, our family.” The corner of Dick’s mouth quirked, fighting annoyance. “Bruce likes you. Really, really likes you – do you know that? He keeps a picture of you in his utility belt, and another one taped to the underside of his bedside table. But he’s a really timid guy. If it were up to him, no one would ever find out. Least of all you.”

You tried to picture Bruce Wayne, to align that image with what Dick was saying, but the juxtaposition was too great. Bruce was polite, but cold. He’d never said more than twenty words to you in a row, let alone about anything unrelated to work. When your car broke down and you were left on the steps of Wayne Enterprises after sundown on one of Gotham’s rainiest nights, he’d offered you a ride only spend the brief trip to your apartment in total, suffocating, agonizing silence. Bruce Wayne did not love you. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t even know if Bruce Wayne liked you.

You wanted to tell his kids as much, but you couldn’t feel your tongue and that severely limited your vocabulary. Considering the circumstances, you were relatively eloquent.

“Bruce Wayne sucks.”

Jason had to leave the room. The others didn’t like how loudly he was laughing.

“Like I was saying,” Dick, undeterred, soldiered on. “We know you don’t have anyone to celebrate Christmas with—”

“’s not true.” You strained against Cassandra’s hold. “My best friend lives across—And there’s a charity thing we have to—"

He hushed you gently, taking your hand in his. “There’s no need to make excuses. We just want what’s best for you.”

Cassandra hummed, her delight bright as day. Tim sounded more grounded. “And for Bruce.”

“Exactly.” Dick squeezed your hand. “There’s no reason you both can’t be happy.”

Tim rolled his eyes, then straightened. He checked his phone, cursing softly under his breath. “He’s home. Steph’s stalling him, but he’s on the war path.”

For all of his gentleness, Dick did not seem to be overly sentimental. He let go of your hand without a second thought, snapping toward Tim. “He’s supposed to be on patrol for another—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Time to go, Cass.”

Her hold on you tightened. Dick sighed.

“This isn’t your present.”

You blinked, and Tim was gone, Dick well on his way toward the door. Only Cassandra lingered, taking care to lean your limp body against the headboard before drawing away. She brought a hand to your temple, tucking something into your hair. A ribbon, you thought, based on the sound of rustling plastic. A bow.

No more words were spared. Abruptly, though your body was still numb and leaden, your head felt very, very clear.

You watched the door. A minute passed, then another. Finally, you heard someone coming down the hall – heavy footsteps and an even stride.

You tried to sit up. You tried to look away. You tried to do anything, but you could only seem to watch as the knob turned and the door opened.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Where The Current Runs Deep.

Pairing: Yandere!Hivemind x Reader (OC).

Word Count: 7.0k.

TW: Non/Con, Dub/Con, Fem!Reader, Prolonged Captivity, Social Isolation, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Hivemind Dynamics, Implied Previous Domestic Abuse, Non-Consensual Touching, and Obsessive Behavior.

It had been six days, three hours, and twenty-four minutes since the last time you saw one of your crewmates blink.

Which, admittedly, might not have been the smoking gun you were trying to make it into. Most of your conversations were spent with your eyes cast respectfully downward or held through comms, since they preferred not to acknowledge you directly whenever possible. Still, from the control bridge’s auxiliary seating, you had a pretty good view of their stiff, expressionless faces – the way their glassy eyes seemed to focus on nothing in particular as they carried out their respective roles with all the life and all the energy of clockwork dolls. Really, the fact that they’d asked you to join them on the bridge at all was a red flag. That wasn’t the way things were supposed to work. You were more of an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ issue.

And yet, here you were, sitting on a cheaply cushioned titanium bench as a dozen or so scientists sat in complete silence, toiling away at their various monitors with their various instruments. No one had spoken in the past ninety minutes. The last person to stand up had been the engineer, when she’d wordlessly brought the geologist another pen after his had run out of ink a few seconds prior. No one had anything to eat or drink save for the captain, who kept a thermos on the corner of his desk and took a long sip every six minutes exactly. You’d timed it. Somehow, that was worse than if none of them had done anything at all.

For your part, you stayed where you were, doing everything in your power not to move or breathe or think too loudly. You might’ve stayed like that for the remaining daylight hours, for as long as you had to until dismissed, if the pilot hadn’t spoken.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”

You startled, then snapped in her direction. The visuals were more-or-less right – her long hair pulled into a thick braid, the sleeves of her coveralls tied around her waist, all the little things you’d subconsciously come to expect after months of living in proximity to one another – but her tone was all wrong, far away and airy where you’d come to expect a certain edge, a directness. She also, notably, had not looked away from her monitor. The captain was the only one with his gaze directed upward, toward the floor-to-ceiling windows at the bridge’s helm.

You took that as a sign to do the same. Admittedly, the view was beautiful. The sea floor stretched on as far as the eye could see, illuminated by spotlights and roaming underwater drones and what few rays of sunlight managed to dive this deep. When you strained your eyes, you could see the dull glow of bioluminescent animals emerging from the sea floor, always moving so slowly toward the surface, but they tended to keep their distance. The walls of the Mariana Trench sat snugly to either side, your stationary base nestled between them. Usually, you loved it – that feeling of being so totally enclosed, how simple the world felt when cast in shades of blue and green. Now, it just felt a little claustrophobic.

The geologist turned to you, dull eyes over wire-framed glasses, and you realized that you were supposed to answer. “I guess so.”

The captain nodded, pleased. You forced yourself to clear your throat and go on. “How did last week’s expedition go?”

The biologist straightened. He’d always struck you as the quiet type, only liable to respond when addressed directly. Today, though, he seemed more than capable of speaking for the group. “Oh, it was uneventful.”

And then, the engineer, her normally clipped voice melodic, as if finishing the biologist’s thought. “Nothing to report. Just the usual marine activity.”

It was a lie and it wasn’t even a good one. They should’ve corrected you the second you called it an expedition. In reality, the captain, the pilot, and the biologist had taken one of the submersibles on an unplanned voyage to an area worryingly close to your base that had been exhibiting readings no one could seem to make sense of, least of all you. As soon as they’d gotten back, the geologist and the engineer were called to the labs for some unspecified emergency. They’d locked themselves away for hours, not making a sound, only resurfacing once you gathered up the courage to knock. You’d been too shocked to do anything when they actually opened the door, when they invited you inside, when they showed you the deformed remains of a new specimen and tried to tide you over with explanations of unusual geological activity and pre-historic fossilization. The not-blinking had started around then, too.

“Huh,” you said, layering the nonchalance on thick. You pushed yourself to your feet, stretching your arms above your head. “Well, I—um, I better get going. Filters to check and all.”

Five heads snapped in your direction at the same time. Thankfully, your panic was limited to a pair of pressed lips and a small, mostly swallowed squeak. Only the captain actually spoke, his voice calm and his tone easy. Somehow, that made it worse. You would’ve preferred the chorus, discordant and unintelligible, to a lone mouthpiece. “You’re in such a rush to leave us. Did we do something wrong?”

“I have to do my job, sir.”

He hummed. “Make sure to report back when you’re done.” He paused, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your input is so very important to us, after all.”

You hated the way he said it, like he was fighting not to laugh. You hated the way the pilot was looking at you, now, head cocked and fingers drumming over her desk. You hated the way the geologist was moving, back too straight and limbs too stiff as he started to push himself out of his chair and—

Oh, fuck.

It was time to go.

You offered another dull excuse before slipping out of the bridge and back into the vessel proper. You knew where you were going – hell, you’d spent the last twenty weeks dreaming of the day you’d finally get to make this walk. Down the hall and past the communal spaces, then up through storage – carefully avoiding the labs on the same floor. The transport module (or, more realistically, the elevator shaft) had its own compartment, carefully sectioned off from the rest of the craft. It was only meant to be used twice: on the day you arrived and then again on the day you left, when you would be ferried up to the surface and granted the privilege of never having to think about life on the sea floor again. Only the captain knew the launch code, but there had to be a manual override. And hopefully, you’d spent enough of the past few months wrist-deep in the vessel’s wiring to figure out how to activate it.

You didn’t have time for delicacy. You’d barely stopped moving before you were dropping to your knees in front of the access panel and prying the interface out of its casing. It came away easily, and then you were digging through wires and ports, searching for something to connect, something to pull free, something that would get you out of this godforsaken pit at the—

There weren’t footsteps, or voices, or any warnings you might’ve heard over the sound of your own racing pulse. There was only a hand on your shoulder, another around your wrist – gently easing you away from the open panel.

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary.” A voice, simultaneously painfully familiar and altogether alien, sighed in your ear. Your captain. Or, what used to be your captain, at least.

You weren’t sure you ought to be calling him that, anymore.

And, judging by how softly he spoke as he went on, he seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“I think it’s about time we met properly. Don’t you agree?”

~

 The captain, as you’d known him, was a man just south of middle age with white streaks in his startlingly dark hair, crows’ feet carved into the corners of his eyes, and a scar across the left side of his mouth that he would joke was from biting down on a fishhook in college. At least, you’d assumed he was joking.

You guessed you’d never get the chance to ask, now.

He was also gigantic – taller than most sailors with the physique to match. Even seated, he seemed to dwarf his surroundings, to leave you frail and minimized on the other side of the table. He’d wanted to do this in his office, but you’d insisted on the canteen. At the time, it seemed like neutral territory, somewhere wide and open with plenty of space to breathe. Now, you could only lament not pushing for someplace more closed-in. At least, if you were cornered, you wouldn’t have to keep glancing over your shoulder.

It didn’t help that the engineer was posted by the doors, back to the wall and her unblinking stare focused on you. The captain tilted his head to the side apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’ve only just gotten used to having so many eyes.”

“Eyes you stole from my friends.”

“These people weren’t your friends.” Pity dripped from his voice, honeyed and thick. You squared your shoulders. “This one, maybe, but not the rest. They saw you as—What’s the word?”

“A janitor?”

“Oh, dearest, not even that.” He paused, smiled. The expression looked wrong, like he was manually calculating how far to strain his lips. “A criminal.”

You inhaled slowly, holding your breath for a moment before letting it out again. The sting was present, but manageable. You’d known that. You must’ve known that, even when you first volunteered for this. There weren’t a lot of people willing to spend half a year of their life on the bottom of the ocean, and even fewer who would spend that half-year doing laundry, sweeping floors, and changing lightbulbs. But it was better than jail. This way, you could pretend you’d chosen to be here.

“Not to worry!” He clapped his hands together. “They won’t be saying much of anything, anymore. And the names I call you won’t nearly as cruel.”

“They weren’t—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “What are you?”

“You can see that for yourself. I’m sitting right in front of you, love.”

“No, I mean—Where did you come from?”

“You call this the… Pacific Ocean, don’t you?”

You shot to your feet, slamming your palms into the tabletop. “Why are you doing this?”

He glanced over you, then met your eyes. “That would’ve been a question for your coworkers. They were the ones who dug me up.”

You fell back into your seat, huffing. This was getting you nowhere slowly. The captain – the monster – seemed to feel the same way.

“You don’t seem very scared.”

“I don’t have to be. If you could do—” You gestured vaguely to the engineer, still lurking in your peripheral. “—that to me, you would’ve.”

“Would I, now?”

You opened your mouth, but stopped short of spitting anything out. It felt like a dial being turned, a switch being flipped. There was nothing, and then, there was everything.

In an instant, it was all too much. A hundred thousand voices in the back of your mind, chanting the same hymn at their own tempo. A hundred thousand images flashing across your vision, each stolen from a new set of eyes. You tried to focus on something else, to feel the cool wood under your hands, but even that sensation soon blurred into a million others until you couldn’t tell what belonged to you and what belonged to another body, another mind. You were being pulled downstream and the current was using your arms and legs against you. You were listening to the loveliest song you’d ever heard and you couldn’t seem to open your mouth and—

And the music stopped as you fell back into your own body, as you blinked away other perspectives and heaved air into your own aching lungs. You were on the floor, splayed across the tile. There was saliva at the corner of your mouth, and more concerningly, the captain was kneeling over you, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“Do we understand each other?”

You forced yourself to swallow. Your voice came out hoarse, dry. “Get away from me.”

“I can try, but it’s a small craft.”

“Then let me leave.”

His thumb settled, then slipped lower. “You know, there are so many things I’ve always wanted to try.” He cupped your chin, stifling a laugh. “With someone who isn’t myself, I mean.”

Disgust tore you through you, curdled and vicious. You brushed him off and scrambled to your feet, stumbling past the engineer and out into the hall. The captain joined her in the doorway, but only watched on as you did your best to get away.

~

The weeks following your conversation passed slowly, cold honey through a tight bottleneck.

The assigned date of your designated departure came and meant. It was quickly made clear that you weren’t allowed anywhere near the transport module. Someone, usually the geologist, always seemed to be posted outside, just waiting for you to try your luck again. For the first few days, the engineer also followed you in-person, but that wasn’t a permanent feature. You couldn’t get into much trouble nearly seven miles below sea level, and whatever project your captor was working on seemed to be an all-hands-on-deck situation. It had something to do with excavation, but how far it fell outside of the vessel’s expected field of research was lost on you. Still, you were thankful they were distracted. It seemed to be enough to know that, no matter how much distance you tried to maintain, you’d always be within arm’s reach.

You spent most of your time hiding. It felt a little childish, honestly. Not very long ago, you would’ve gladly done anything if it meant never feeling alone again, and now you were locking yourself in your bunk, tracking movement patterns on security cameras, pressing your ear to every door before you opened it and praying that there wouldn’t be footsteps or voices on the other side. Your contract was only for half a year, but you had enough food and fresh water to last five times that, meaning that entertainment was going to be more of an issue than survival. You ransacked the others’ rooms, stealing books and card decks and gaming consoles, anything that might help pass the time. And, at night, when the isolation was almost too much to bear, you fled to the atrium.

It was a large, open space on the vessel’s uppermost floor, which was otherwise reserved for vehicle bays and tool storage. The ceiling was high, domed, and entirely transparent, and even before something took over your crewmates and everything went to shit, you liked to lie in the center of the room and watch the dark water ebb and flow. Now, you tried to keep your visits brief, to leave before anyone had the chance to join you. You’d only slipped up once. A swarm of bioluminescent jellyfish was passing over your vessel in the small hours of the morning, and you must’ve lost track of time. A storm of gold and crimson lights was still gently bobbing past when he joined you.

They were all limbs of the same creature, but the captain seemed to be the designated face. He settled next to you, legs crossed and head bowed. You stiffened, got ready to bolt, but he only laughed, waving off your skittishness. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

You swallowed. “…should I not be?”

The way you said it, muted and questioning, must’ve given away your paranoia. The captain shook his head. “There’s no need to worry. If I wanted to keep you on a shorter leash, I could.”

Great. Perfect, actually. He thought he was being nice.

“I have something for you.” He never looked away, but the sound of clipped footsteps drew your attention to the doorway. The biologist, uncanny smile plastered over his face and a small, silver tray in his hands. “A gift. To celebrate our three-month anniversary.”

The biologist stopped in front of you, and you recognized what you’d desperately been trying not to. A perfectly round, perfectly generic cupcake, the icing only a little smudged. Your stomach dropped. Perishable food was hard to get down here, even harder to keep fresh. There was one for every member of the crew, and they were supposed to be saved for birthdays – a little piece of home to keep you all sane, in theory. Anyone taking more than their share would mean there wasn’t enough to go around, which meant someone would be angry, which meant someone would be angry with you and—

And you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to look at the biologist’s grinning face.

You guessed you didn’t need to worry about that, anymore.

Still, the idea of choking down freeze-dried cake was enough to make your stomach turn over. “I’m sorry, I—” You pushed yourself to your feet quickly enough to make your head spin. The captain followed you up, catching your arm when your balance threatened to give out. “I really can’t do this, right now.”

“Of course. You must be tired.” The biologist was already leaving. “Let me walk you back to your room.”

It wasn’t a question, but you shook your head regardless. “I’m alright, just a little—”

“I insist.” His hand slipped from your arm to your upper back. “Unless you’d prefer the captain’s quarters?”

“No.” Bile rose into the back of your throat. The repulsion was instinctual, the rejection reflexive. “Please, no.”

“How you break my heart, love.”

This time, his hand slipped down to yours, squeezing gently. You should’ve just taken the fucking cupcake.

“It’s a good thing I have spares.”

~

Four months. That was how long you made it post-invasion, trying to live every moment as if you were under constant observation, ignoring every base human urge that might’ve been at odds with your all-seeing captor. Sixteen weeks. One hundred and twenty days. People had cracked under much more banal forms of torture in much less time.

And, in your defense, you had the foresight to take precautions. An especially busy day that saw all useful members of your crew posted at their stations. An unused wing of the medical bay rather than your own room. An allotted fifteen minutes to do what you could. You figured, failing everything, you could be proud of yourself for giving it your all. Admittedly, you hadn’t spent much time thinking about worst-case scenarios.

This was definitely worst-case.

The pilot stood on the threshold of the medical bay, the door hanging open behind her. Heat flooded your face, your cheeks, and you made a valiant effort to pull your hand out of your pants and wrestle your coveralls back up to your waist – as if that’d do anything to undo the damage. She waited until you were (mostly) redressed and scrambling off of the cot before edging forward, careful to keep her body between you and the door. That was fine. You were too mortified to so much as think about going much of anywhere.

“It’s a—a human thing,” you rushed to explain, as if it made this any better. As if it would get her to stop staring at you like that. “To blow off steam, and kill—”

You tried to step around her. An arm lashed out to stop you, barring any hope of retreat to your left. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, swallowing. “I’d like to go back to my room. Please.”

The pilot didn’t respond. Her attention flicked downward once before returning to your face and refusing to let go, pinning you under the weight of her wide-eyed gaze. You were stuck there, trapped and immobile, as her free hand found your collar, then drifted south, lean fingers grazing over your collarbones, your midriff. Finally, she dipped below the waistband of your coveralls, dragging her two fingers over the seat of your panties. The material was still disheveled, too flimsy to provide any real sense of comfort. Her thumb caught on your clit and—

“Please,” you gasped, surprising yourself. She didn’t seem fazed. “Stop touching me.”

A second passed, then another. When she eventually did draw back, it was with an airy sigh, the smallest quirk of a frown tugging at her lips. “Fine.”

You waited for her to pull away entirely, to lose interest and return to the bridge with the rest of the crew – not totally unlike the previous inhabitant of her body had, on the rare occasion she was forced to speak to you. Instead, her hand curled around your wrist, blunt nails pressing into your skin as she tugged toward the door. You half-expected her to take you a little too literally, to drag you back to your bunk and lock you inside, but she passed the rooming area entirely, taking you down the hall toward the captain’s quarters. Your heart seized up inside your chest, but you tried not to let the panic seep into your voice. “Where are we going?”

“To do different human things.” And then, more cheerfully, “You’ll like it.”

You doubted that, but her pace was steady and her grip was unwavering. It didn’t seem like she planned on giving you another choice.

The engineer was already waiting by the door. She followed you and the pilot in, keeping close in case you tried to bolt. You were given all of a second to take in the massive, king-sized bed before being mercifully pulled in another direction, into the en-suite. The engineer must’ve worked quickly. The shallow tub (an Olympic pool compared to the shoulder-width shower stalls in the communal bathrooms) was already full, steam still rolling off the water’s surface. A body scrub and matching oil sat on the low wall, neither used. You did your best not to wonder who’d brought them.

You looked to the pilot, then the engineer, who both watched expectantly. It took an embarrassingly long moment to realize they were waiting on you. “Oh, I’m supposed to…?”

You nodded to the tub. The pilot’s smile turned sympathetic. “Before the water gets cold, yes.”

The engineer chimed in, “You have taken a bath before, haven’t you?”

“Shut up.” And just like that, more out of spite than anything, you were wriggling out of your uniform. Your clothes formed a wrinkled heap where you let them drop, each layer leaving you that much more exposed, that much more desperate to crawl back inside of something thick and warm and protective. Covering yourself would’ve been an admission of defeat, so you kept your arms stiffly at your sides as you stepped into the tub. The scalding water burnt at your numb skin. You hadn’t realized how cold you’d been until you started to thaw.

Surprisingly, they didn’t join you. The engineer perched herself on the basin’s wall while the pilot leaned against the vanity, taking in the view. You pulled your knees up to your chest, but it was clear you were being overprotective. The engineer only hummed as she cupped the water in her hands and poured over your head, soaking your hair, your face. It reminded you of something else, something sacred. You had to hold your breath, but that part was holy, too.

The engineer’s hands found your shoulders, massaging gently. The words caught in your throat and snagged on your lips, but you spit them out regardless. It would’ve been more painful to let the silence sit. “Is this your idea of what humans do? Or did you just want to embarrass me?”

“Partially,” the pilot answered. You chose not to wonder which question she was responding to. “My other reasons are much more selfish.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s a little silly.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought she sounded shy. “I wanted to see what it was like to take care of something else.”

Oh.

You sank that much deeper. The engineer’s hands followed you down, never leaving your skin for a moment.

You’d never noticed how cold she felt, before.

~                                                                                                                                       

“I really didn’t mean to.”

The biologist hummed. He was sitting at your feet, leaning against the wall next to your cubby of a bed. He’d brought tea, the mugs mismatched and the contents still hot enough to steam. You were determined to let yours go cold, and he seemed happy enough to run his thumb over the ceramic rim, soaking in the warmth as it seeped out.

“You did an awfully thorough job.”

“I didn’t—” You stopped yourself, sucking in a deep breath and pressing your cheek into your stiff pillow. Behind you, the geologist shifted, slotting his chest against your back and draping an arm over your waist. Your captor had become increasingly more interested in that type of thing, recently – touchy, sentimental, human. You would’ve liked to say that they wore you down, but honestly, you hadn’t put up much of a fight to begin with. “It was self-defense.”

“You didn’t call the police.”

“I was going to, but there was so much blood, and—and then they were already outside, banging on the door. Anyone would’ve frozen up.” You let your voice get very, very quiet. “He kept me in that apartment for sixty days. Two months. What was I supposed to do? Go outside and make small talk with the neighbors?”

“And the trial?”

“I wasn’t allowed to talk at the trial, the lawyers—” Again, you cut yourself off. “And you already know this. You’ve been in my head.”

The geologist’s forehead settled against the back of your neck as the biologist spoke. “I like the view better out here.”

“You’re so creepy,” you huffed. “It’s just, if this is hell, or some stupid karmic punishment you’re all in on, then—”

“You don’t think I’m real?” He almost sounded offended.

“I don’t think you deserve to keep me here.” There wasn’t a point in answering. Whatever was happening to you, it was real enough. “I’ve got family waiting for me to come back.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine. I have friends. People who are going to miss me.”

The biologist sent you a skeptical glance. You bit down hard on the side of your tongue.

“You can’t keep me here forever.”

The geologist’s hold on you tightened abruptly, crushing your ribs into your lungs before going slack just as quickly. “Not forever,” the biologist mused. “How long do you think the oxygen recyclers will hold out?”

This time, you didn’t bother responding at all. The geologist seemed content to draw you that much closer, and the biologist was more than happy to sit at a distance and watch.

~

You found the captain on the bridge, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the glass wall. The room was dim, the overheads switched off in favor of the softened blue of the emergency lights. No one else was there, his spare sets of eyes scattered to different parts of the vessel. It looked like he’d been waiting for you.

The jellyfish were passing through again, too. The swarm was dense and close, the view all-but completely obscured by bobbing golden lights, casting the bridge in a ruddy bronze. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought you were on another planet.

…you did know better, and the thought still lingered longer than it should’ve.

You sat down next to him, legs bent in front of you. It was uncomfortable, but that didn’t matter. You doubted you’d be staying in this position for very long.

“If I—” The words burnt like acid on your tongue. You rushed to find a less corrosive replacement. “If I do what you want me to, I can leave, right?”

“I don’t remember saying that.” His voice was lilting, tone playful.

“Then say it now.” You huddled into yourself. “I need to get out of here, and this is the only time I’m going to ask nicely.”

“I don’t seem to recall you ever being particularly nice, either.”

Something shifted out of place deep in your chest. You moved to stand, but he laid a hand over yours, laughing. “Sorry, sorry. I should know better. I know what it’s like to be trapped somewhere very, very small for a very, very long time.” He lowered his voice. “Let me have this. You’ll get what you want out of it, too.”

“Just this once?”

“Just this once. Then, I’ll take you back to the surface.”

You didn’t want to. No part of you wanted to give anything to the monster that’d held you captive for over a year, but you needed fresh air in your lungs. You needed to see another person, someone who didn’t look at you like something to cut open and dissect.

This didn’t seem like a lot to give up, in comparison.

You nodded, and his hands were on your hips immediately. He hauled you into his lap, and then you were straddling him, your legs clumsily thrown around his waist and your chest pressed into his. There was no pretense of reluctance, just his mouth on your neck and his fingers working at the buttons of your uniform, haphazardly pulling and dragging until fabric slackened and you felt cold air wash over newly exposed skin. This close, he should’ve been enough to warm you up, but even that small comfort rang hollow. His body was malleable stone against yours – willing to give, but so undeniably lifeless below the surface.

A calloused hand cupped your breast, groping harshly. A pained hiss slipped through your grit teeth, and his head tilted back, wide eyes meeting yours. “Can I kiss you?”

“Would it matter if I said no?”

“Of course.” His smile had turned simpering. “I would cherish any reaction you showed me.”

That didn’t mean he would listen, though.

His lips were chapped and tender against yours. There was nothing romantic about the way he kissed you, just a heady sort of affection and a curiosity that made him lap over your tongue and push into the hollow of your cheeks like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. At the same time, his thumb swiped over your nipple, fingertips biting into the plush flesh of your chest. It was almost a relief when he moved on, his touch skirting over your midriff, your navel, your stomach before settling just above the waistband of your panties. You wished you hadn’t worn them at all, in hindsight. Anything to save yourself the stabbing agony of realizing he would have to take them off of you.

Not that he seemed to be in a rush to. The pad of his thumb dragged over your clothed slit, mapping the terrain, before pulling back and pressing into your clit. His mouth fell to your throat, sucking harsh bruises into your skin as he traced mindless patterns into the most sensitive part of you. It was humiliating – how quickly your deprived boy gave in to the first hint of stimulation you’d gotten in the better part of a year. You could feel yourself getting hotter, getting wetter, the seat of your panties soon uncomfortably damp. You felt the captain’s grin against your jugular and clenched your eyes shut.

His touch was sickeningly exploratory. Your panties were pulled to the side, two thick fingers eased inside of you. Even that was too much of a stretch after surviving so long on nothing at all. You buried your face in his chest as he rocked his palm against your cunt, doing your best to keep your teeth planted in the flesh of your cheek, your nails burrowed into the back of his neck. It was unfair – he was still dressed while you were being split in half. He was going to get what he wanted and you’d be the one to suffer for it.

A third finger, added while the heel of his palm ground against your clit. You jerked forward, a strangled moan escaping before you had a chance to swallow it down, and the captain cooed in sympathy. “That’s it, love.” He pressed a kiss into your temple. “I’m only trying to make what comes next a little easier.”

“I—” He curled his fingers and you sucked in a shallow breath. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Yes, you do.”

God, you hated him.

“No, you don’t.” There was another kiss, this one to the corner of your mouth. You were beyond caring where he touched you, how he touched you. Minutes too soon, you could feel a steady pulse playing in the pit of your stomach, a tightness in your chest that wasn’t entirely due to burning hatred. You felt his tongue against the side of your neck, following the curve of your throat once, then twice before biting down – teeth sinking into skin too fluidly, too easily. It took you a second to decide why it felt so unnatural beyond the initial shock, but not much longer.

He hadn’t hesitated. Not the way he should have, when he knew what he was doing to you might hurt. Not the way anything human would have.

He stayed there, latched onto you and sucking gently, as what was left of your self-control eroded and fell away entirely. Your hips bucked against his hand, the movement jolting and involuntary, and then you were moving on your own, working to fuck his fingers that much deeper, to make up for that many more days of your third and final stay in prolonged captivity. When he raised his head, it was only to chuckle, to nuzzle against you, to pay more attention to the angle of his wrist, to how exactly he nudged you closer and closer and closer to the ledge. “So beautiful,” he whispered, mouth close enough to your ear for his voice to echo in your mind. “I could keep you like this forever.”

You made a mewling, pained noise, cut off abruptly as your body went rigid against his. He led you through the worst of it, pace slowing as he drew out every little clench and tremor, but his patience was clearly thin and his attention clearly elsewhere. You felt him shift underneath you, and then your body was being lowered to the floor by too many pairs of hands. You didn’t realize that you’d shut your eyes until you had to force them open, until you saw the pilot’s smiling face above you, her unblinking stare fixed on your face.

Dread and embarrassment and panic flared in your chest, driving spikes into your heart, your lungs, your throat. “I don’t want other people to—”

“They won’t.” His hands were already pulling at your uniform, dragging it off. Your panties were stripped away just as quickly, just as heartlessly. You tried to grab for his wrists, but the pilot was faster, catching yours instead and drawing them above your head. “It’s just us. It’s only ever been us.”

But it wasn’t, not really, not in the way that matters. You could see the others in your peripheral, made shadowed and faceless by your refusal to look closer. It was almost a mercy when the pilot ducked, lowering her head to your chest and latching onto your breast, reminding you that there were worse things in the world than unwanted voyeurs – worse things you were currently experiencing, in fact. The captain’s hands found your sides, then your hips, pinning you to the floor as he settled between your legs. You whimpered, sobbed, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sounds of rustling fabric and hitched breathes, to distract you from the feeling of something hot and blunt pressing into you pussy.

He hesitated there – the pilot, too, her tongue going still where it was lapping over your nipple. “I love you,” he said, nearly under his breath. “And I wish this wasn’t the only way to make you understand that without getting rid of the you.”

You didn’t know what he was talking about. You didn’t have time to figure it out, either.

He was already inside of you.

Big. He was too fucking big. For the first time, you genuinely resented – sincerely, deeply, searingly resented – that the captain had been chosen as the dominant mouthpiece, rather than one of your much more moderately sized crewmates. It felt like you were being torn open from the inside out, his thick cock splitting your cunt in half, jagged veins and liquid heat arousal only making it more overwhelming. Your legs snapped closed around his waist, hips bucking against his hold, but the captain didn’t seem to notice. He buckled, head falling low as he caught himself with a palm planted next to your head. The pilot moaned against your skin.

Long, agonizing moments passed before he started to move. You became terrifyingly aware there was still more of him that he was trying to ease into you. His thrusts were short and slow, every inch another way to make you squirm and clench. You weren’t in control of your body, anymore. If you cried, if you struggled, if you went limp – that wasn’t your fault. You were only doing what you had to.

Finally, finally, you felt him bottom out, his hips pressing into yours. There was an airy grunt, another less dignified noise, and then he fell into a steady pattern of grinding down and pulling back and thrusting in with enough strength to force the air out of your lungs, to make your back arch off of the unforgiving cement. Your hands grabbed for his shoulders instinctively, and he let you, falling that much closer. The pilot retreated, but only far enough to pull your head into her lap. Touching wasn’t the priority. She and the others were just there to observe.

His cock twitched inside of you. There was no cursing, no unconscious reactions, but his hold on you tightened and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath cold and wrong against your skin. “I’m sorry, I don’t—” A rough groan, a stilted thrust. “I don’t want to, but—”

He didn’t have a chance to finish. It was already happening.

It wasn’t like the first time. That day, it’d been deliberate, a calculated plunge into the middle of a very large, very cold body of water. This time, his influence came in fragments, pulling you into the river but giving your mind a chance to cling to the shore. You could feel the ground against your back as you blinked through a hundred million sets of eyes, and you were aware of the pressure in your core as that pulsing, heartbeat choir overwhelmed anything else you might’ve heard. There was water in your lungs, but at least you still knew which lungs were yours.

Your orgasm came in waves, flooding in from multiple perspectives. There was your pleasure, strained and confused, and then his, tender and so loving and filling you to the brim. That was enough to bring you back to yourself, although there wasn’t anything you could do to mitigate the damage. His hips were pressed flush against yours, his hands clamped tight enough around you to bruise, excess cum dripping down your thighs, the curve of your ass. You couldn’t be sure how long you stayed like that – a second, a minute, an hour. It didn’t matter. It was all an eternity to you.

Eventually, he seemed to catch himself, straightening with a slight laugh. “How embarrassing. I—” He cut himself off, smiling. “Next time. I’ll be more considerate, next time.”

Your only response was a low, disgruntled whine. Sympathy softened the corners of his expression. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up?”

“And then—”Your voice gave out immediately, dissolving into a coughing fit. The pilot rubbed the back of your neck. “Then the surface, right?”

“Of course, love.” The words might’ve been more comforting if it hadn’t been for the way he looked at you. “And then, the surface.”

~

Half an hour later, you found yourself slumped against the captain’s side in the transport module, still not quite able to rely on your own legs. Both the elevator walls and its shaft were entirely made out of glass, but even as you ascended out of the abyssal darkness, through the brightening twilight and back into the more hospitable sunlight zones, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to enjoy the view. A few stray jellyfish from the previous swarm were still bobbing diligently toward the surface. You tried half-heartedly to name the species, but nothing came to mind. You’d had a tense conversation with the captain (the real captain) early on about deep-sea life, but he didn’t seem to think you’d run into anything more interesting than—

You straightened abruptly. The captain hummed, holding that much tighter. “Is something wrong?”

“There aren’t supposed to be jellyfish this deep. Not in a group this size.”

“So there aren’t.”

You hesitated, then tried another angle. “Whatever you’re doing down there, is it—”

“The work will carry on, but the worst of it is over.” He squeezed your side. “You’ll understand, soon.”

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the ascent. There was a brief depressurization, and then the doors opened into the sterile, chromatic control bay you only vaguely remembered from the day you were sent down. You let go of the captain, rushing forward. You were going to get out of here. You were going to breathe fresh air and feel the sunlight and talk to someone else, anyone else. You were going to kiss the first person you saw. You were going to—

You made it one glorious, euphoric step outside of the module, then came to a stuttering halt. A half-ring of strangers stood perfectly still in front of you, a mix of scientists and engineers and operators you wouldn’t know if you recognized. Any familiar traits, any human spark – all of it was made alien by identical, calculated smiles and those unblinking, unfeeling, unthinking eyes. You were tempted to rush to the closest window, to hope beyond hope that this hadn't spread any farther than the facility, but you smothered the urge quickly. You already knew what you were going to find.

The captain stepped behind you. “You can go on running, if you’d like,” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I shouldn’t have problem catching up.”

“But, it can’t be—”

“It is.” He laughed, the noise bright and giddy. For once, it sounded natural.

“I told you – it’s only ever been us, love.”

[running-with-kn1ves]

2 Yandere fem housewives

I wanna be loved by beautiful woman

A/N: You are taking advantage of everything I love how dare you. I don't usually like writing about infidelity but this was entertaining.

CW: fem! Yandere housewives, infidelity, reader is taken advantage of, kidnapping, manipulation, NSFT at the end, Gender Neutral Reader

Synopsis: You’re new to the neighborhood,and  a little intimidated by the suburbanness of it all. Luckily for you, two housewives have decided to take you under their wing to teach you all you need to know about living in a tight-knit community. 

How could someone not take such pity on adorable little you? Looking lost and undignified as you searched around the copy-cat buildings for the right home inside the cul-de-sac. Each house looked the same, with tan stucco walls and dark oak shutters contrasting against their neatly cleaned, watered lawns.

“What are you looking for, sweet pea?” 

A woman smoking a dying cigarette asked, nearly a decade older than you. She looked at you so curiously, eyeing the tray in your hands and the way you appeared entirely overdressed. It was almost too obvious how much you stuck out, not the typical resident in a community comprised of HOA meetings and zumba classes. 

“Uh, the neighborhood cookout? I just moved in, but already I’m a little lost.” 

You smile sheepishly, looking around to see if you could eye some billowing smoke from a grill or the sound of children playing.

“Oh, well just look at you! I didn’t know that little house belonged to someone so cute.” She flitted her eyes down to your bare legs, seeing how proper you cleaned up despite it being a casual, if not an overtly informal event. “Where’d you come from, angel? Don’t tell me you walked down from heaven.”

The slight twang of a southern accent made her pet names all the more flustering, grinning at you with prominent dimples and a curl of hair wrapped around her finger as she played with it. 

“Oh, please you’re flattering me,” You grow hot, getting the same queasy butterfly feeling you did when someone hit on you in a bar, two drinks deep. “The other side of town, not too far. Have you heard of--”

“Charlotte, what’s taking so long?” 

A blonde appears from behind a house one door down, carrying a drink in her hands. From the spotty pink on her cheeks, you could tell she was buzzed despite it only being midday. “Oh? What’s going on?”

“This is the new resident,” Charlotte calls back, moving to wrap an arm around your shoulder; she looked at the other woman knowingly, conveying something you really couldn’t decipher other than the naughty grin on her face. “Here to entertain us at the cookout.”

“Right,” She says, as if she’s forgotten about the large moving van across the street that’s been parked there for days. “Well, come on, we’re about to play Bunco.” 

Her eyes drifted back and forth between you and the woman holding you friendlier than a stranger normally would. Is this what they called southern hospitality? You really weren’t THAT far south.

The blonde walked away, lingering her eyes on you with what you interpreted as judgement. 

Taking the tray out of your hands, Charlotte’s pedicured french tips brushed over your fingers. 

“You’re in the right place; but really, I can’t believe we’ve been so rude to not welcome you to the neighborhood yet! Heather and I will have to come over sometime, see your place.”

Charlotte urges you forward with a blindingly attentive smile on her face, dark hair and tall figure meshing against your own. She begins setting plans already on when she can come over, asking what your schedule is like, if you live alone. You feel overwhelmed with how gracious she’s being, taking such a kind interest in you. Heather however, seems to observe from afar. She sips on her wine or an overflowing margarita until the night is over, eyes flickering back and forth between you and Charlotte. When you talk, they unsettlingly rest upon you. 

--------------

“It must be lonely, being inside this big house all alone?” 

Heather asks, her deep voice giving a stark contrast to Charlotte humming in your kitchen. 

“Well, not since you both are practically my roommates at this point.” You sarcastically jab.

Before you knew it, you were being held hostage in your own house, hosting girl’s nights and “book clubs” which were really just an excuse to drink and eat cheese, Heather and Charlotte always making these plans before you had time to register them. You made the fatal mistake of telling Charlotte every moment of free time you had, which meant you were often stuck with them putting on movies and going through your bedroom’s things in search of one item or another. At one point, you even found Heather standing in your living room, ‘looking for a bottle opener,’ she said. She claimed the door was unlocked and assumed you wouldn’t mind, but you had your doubts; even in a picturesque neighborhood like this, you didn’t feel safe enough to leave your house unattended and unlocked. 

“Hm.” Heather tutted, watching you on the couch as you tried to avoid her piercing gaze. She never showed any shame when she was caught staring; you were always the first to look away. “Would you really tell your roommates your darkest fantasies, though?” 

You could hear the triumphant smirk in her voice. Looking up from your phone, you frowned at the fingers playing innocently on your knee, drawing small patterns.

“I told you not to bring that up again.” 

She moved in closer as if to challenge you, trying to capture your eyes as you looked around the room-- at anything but her. 

“Oh you’re so sensitive; can’t friends joke with each other?” Her hand slid higher, massaging the inside of your thigh, feeling the rough seams of your jeans. 

“I was drunk-- I shouldn’t have told Charlotte, I knew she’d tell you!” 

You try to move away, uncomfortable with the topic at hand.

“Can you blame her? It’s not everyday you find out that a cute, unassuming thing like you likes to be tied up, getting off on the dirty words whispered in your ear.”

You listen for Charlotte, hearing her turn the sink on as she hums to herself, quieter. 

Heather moves in, her breath tickling the shell of your ear. She whispers long and slow, no longer paying attention to the television. 

“I bet if it was one of us, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? How long would it take you to break, I wonder. For you to fall on your knees and beg.”

“You-- can’t be saying stuff like that, you’re married;” You shift deeper into the couch, Heather’s face only inches away as you can smell her Valentino perfume.

“Oh please-- as if Scott cares about anything I do, nonetheless with either of you.” She scoffs, as if the idea is ridiculous. “Don’t worry though, I won’t tell about your little kinks; those secrets are better kept with us.”

You purse your lips, letting the silence and the thickness of the tension sit like molasses as a weather announcer drones on in the background. 

“Don’t move.” Heather murmurs, caressing your cheek with the back of her hand, getting you to turn your face towards her without much effort.

You see a wave of blonde before a pair of glossed lips are upon yours, her hand trapping you against the couch. Only a chaste kiss went by before she dared to go full throttle, her wine-soaked tongue pushing against yours, unabashedly letting wet pops and sucks fill the room as she bit your bottom lip, hungrily.

You couldn’t deny it felt good, to let the thickness that had been knowingly building up between you pop; from her sultry gazes to how Charlotte pushed you two together, knowing Heather was often more unfriendly than not.

“Hey!” Charlotte's high voice rang out, a spatula splattered with cake batter still in her hands. “You two, what the hell?” 

A sharp panic spiked its way in your heart, pulling back from Heather’s wet lips as her gloss stuck to the side of your mouth. 

“Charlotte-- this--”

But Charlotte wasn’t talking to you.

“How many times have I told you I called dibs first, that you weren’t allowed to put your hands ANYWHERE until I made the first move?” She looked upset, but with more of a pout than anything. “I had a whole plan! I swear, Heather--”

“I’m sorry baby,” Heather laughed a little, wiping some of your saliva from her lip. “If it makes you feel better, we haven’t fucked yet.” 

“Close enough!” 

“Aw, you know we wouldn’t do anything without you-- just couldn’t help myself..” 

Heather pulled at your bottom lip with her thumb, biting her own as she saw how alert and guilty you looked. 

“This is some bullshit,” Before you knew it Charlotte was by your side, looking darker, somehow more predatory as Heather had. “I guess, sloppy seconds is better than nothing.” She murmured, a firm hand grabbing under your chin. She was far rougher than you had imagined, pulling you toward her as she kissed you hard, Heather’s hand still resting against your thigh. 

You push back, feeling a strange unease at the shift in the room, the way it had gotten silent save for the heavy breaths and short, vocal sighs. 

“You can’t-- ‘we’ can’t do this, I just-- this isn’t right.” 

“Shh, stop talking so much,” Charlotte teased, watching your frantic eyes. “No one will be none the wiser, as long as you keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“But--” 

“Don’t fight it; you need to be taken care of, clearly. You can barely cook, you’re all alone here, have no way to satisfy yourself…Take it from those who’ve been doing this for years. ” Heather takes a quick sip of her wine, giving an amused grin at how desperately incompetent she made you out to be. 

“Don’t act like you’re all innocent, either baby. If you didn’t want us to do things to you,” Charlotte kissed you again, staying close. “Why’d you tell us about those little fantasies stuck in your head, how much you wanted to be taken advantage of, how you wished someone would just pin you down and--”

“I-- I was drunk! I didn’t even know what I was saying.” You try to form an excuse, hardly finding the space to speak as the two women ignored your poor protest.

“Oh come on, and that excuses the way you’ve stared at my tits every night?” Heather laughed. 

“Or how I’ve caught you touching yourself, saying our names?” Charlotte asked, genuine questioning in her voice as if you could come up with an answer besides stunned silence. “You really need to replace those bald spots in your blinds.” 

You had no words-- just how much of you did they know about, things that you hadn’t told? You were caught in the web of two predatory creatures-- housewives who drank themselves and gossiped all day-- and who apparently, were desperate for some new fun in their boring little cul-de-sac.

“That was.. Just one time..” 

“One time’s enough. But you really are some kind of pervert, getting off to two married women you barely know.”

Charlotte and Heather looked at each other, laughing as you sat in an uncomfortable mess of guilt, lust, and concern.  

------------------

And so he said “What, going to another one of your girl’s nights? I don’t know what’s so interesting about watching The Bachelor every night.” 

Heather and Charlotte talk absentmindedly, resting casually on your bed in their underwear. 

A pair of warm fingers were pushed deep inside you, pulsating and gliding rhythmically. In and out, so gentle and yet it clouded your mind with ecstasy. Each time you tried to close your legs from pleasure or fear, your thighs were pushed open with a slight smack to your ass, just enough to make you jolt. 

“He’s so oblivious, sometimes I wonder if we could fuck in your living room and if anyone would notice.” The woman behind you agrees, taking a break from placing a dark hickey on your shoulder.

 her fingers swirled and pinched at your nipples, playing as she felt your back arch. The sound of the handcuffs straining behind your back made her grin. 

“Getting close, sweet pea?” Charlotte muses, watching how you bite hard into the gag. 

“Use your words now, don’t make me have to get out the vibrator.” Heather demands.

You twitch at the thought, the memories of past overstimulation making you let out a small whimper. 

You mumble through the gag, feeling the gentle stroke of Heather’s almond-shaped nails down your navel, giving your skin the slightest tickle. 

“Look at that face,” Heather patronized with a short chuckle, your head falling onto her shoulder as you closed your eyes, riding Charlotte’s fingers like there was no tomorrow. “Completely fucked out, I bet you could yell ‘fire’ and the poor thing wouldn’t notice; you spoil them too much.”

“And you don’t? Miss, ‘why don’t we get some new lingerie’, or ‘let's set a new orgasm record’. Geeze.”

Heather looked away at that, not willing to admit the truth. 

Your crescendo of moans rose to fill the tense, hot silence, tongue wettening the gag as you began to squirm, toes curling as you tried to curl inward. 

“Fuck..” Charlotte let out, a curse you hadn’t heard her release before; she was, usually, so verbally mild-mannered with her country intonation. Her fingers slammed faster inside of you, warm body rising as she came up to kiss the housewife behind you, unashamed at her desperation. 

They were unnecessarily loud, hungry in their kisses and gropes of your body as you writhed between them. 

“Come for me, sweetheart.” Heather mumbled in your ear between tongued kisses.  

Charlotte knocked your body back against Heather’s, letting the slick squelches of her thrusts into you fall off beat with the sound of her lips against the other woman’s. 

Letting you reach the height of your orgasm, the women praised your compliance, how good you were, how obedient you had been-- all whilst stuffed between heavy breasts and wet lips. 

[deadeyed-dykething]

hey. shut up. i'm going to take care of you from now on. let me wash your hair for you. condition it. you have to leave it in for a while before you rinse. i'm going to take care of that. i'm going to brush your teeth for you. you don't have to worry about it anymore. i want to cook for you. you don't have to do anything. i know how hard it's been. you get to let it all go now. it's hard to pretend to be a person. i get it. i'll do all that for you. you don't have to-- stop, stop struggling. it's okay that it was too much for you. you don't have to try anymore. i can do it for you. i know you feel like you're supposed to feel bad about this but you don't have to. i'm making you, right? i'm forcing you to let me take care of you. you don't have to feel guilty. i'm forcing you. the personhood that never fit, that was too hard, i'm taking it away. you can just let it go. I'm going to take care of you. i'm going to take care of all of it. quiet. you'll get used to it. i promise.

[deadeyed-dykething]

hey. shut up. i'm going to take care of you from now on. let me wash your hair for you. condition it. you have to leave it in for a while before you rinse. i'm going to take care of that. i'm going to brush your teeth for you. you don't have to worry about it anymore. i want to cook for you. you don't have to do anything. i know how hard it's been. you get to let it all go now. it's hard to pretend to be a person. i get it. i'll do all that for you. you don't have to-- stop, stop struggling. it's okay that it was too much for you. you don't have to try anymore. i can do it for you. i know you feel like you're supposed to feel bad about this but you don't have to. i'm making you, right? i'm forcing you to let me take care of you. you don't have to feel guilty. i'm forcing you. the personhood that never fit, that was too hard, i'm taking it away. you can just let it go. I'm going to take care of you. i'm going to take care of all of it. quiet. you'll get used to it. i promise.

[deadeyed-dykething]

hey. shut up. i'm going to take care of you from now on. let me wash your hair for you. condition it. you have to leave it in for a while before you rinse. i'm going to take care of that. i'm going to brush your teeth for you. you don't have to worry about it anymore. i want to cook for you. you don't have to do anything. i know how hard it's been. you get to let it all go now. it's hard to pretend to be a person. i get it. i'll do all that for you. you don't have to-- stop, stop struggling. it's okay that it was too much for you. you don't have to try anymore. i can do it for you. i know you feel like you're supposed to feel bad about this but you don't have to. i'm making you, right? i'm forcing you to let me take care of you. you don't have to feel guilty. i'm forcing you. the personhood that never fit, that was too hard, i'm taking it away. you can just let it go. I'm going to take care of you. i'm going to take care of all of it. quiet. you'll get used to it. i promise.

[useablehole]

So a while ago I posted about how hot it is to be denied and not know for how long, or not know how often you have to edge or slap your cunt until you're allowed to come.

That's when I built this little free website and just never shared it here. I think now's the time where I need testers! You can either set limits for yourself and generate some code or you can import a code. You won't know how long you'll be denied until you hit your goal ♡

And as a little overstim bonus, you can set an amount of (forced?) orgasms you're required to have afterwards!

I only tested this to some degree, so if you find any bugs feel free to send me a message! Feel also free to send me codes you generated to keep me denied! ♡

[useablehole]

I updated there to be a tiny bit more feedback when pressing the edge, slap and orgasm buttons! Also, you can set limits for safety when importing a code!! I wanted to add the minute feature but sadly this is quite hard because everything is set for hours.... so I'm afraid that one hour will probably be the most fine grained thing I can do right now :((

[ace-trainer-alice]

With the training game, I admit I didn't especially find the process of training in and of itself erotic. Or like, it's hot to be good at it, in a kind of impressive and powerful way. It's hot to have done it, in a kind of erotic consequences and induced power way. But the process itself was only vaguely erotic, with two exceptions.

First, later in the game, throwing in embarrassing or violating goals. Having your subject take its clothes off, or cuddle up against you, or feel itself up, or kneel in front of you, or place its head in your hand.

Something just slightly uncomfortable, that it none the less will do because it's part of the flow. The tension between the anxiety of performing it versus the desire to be good and be rewarded. It's really hot.

And second, specific advanced techniques are just really hot. Using the limited hold to have the subject hold a pose, for one. Having your subject hold still in a position for a minute is just really, really hot. Not just because it's the type of thing that everyone else usually believes you can't do, but because of the expressions it makes.

During the game, for the animal, there's a kind of constant anxious tension. A desire to perform and the brain is fully at work trying to figure out how. Thinking about everything it can do, attempting to read the audience, trying to guess at why it was rewarded before.

Holding still is anathema to that. Doing nothing is the opposite of figuring out what you need to do. And yet, it works. The animal will inevitably perform as desired. Even as all the while it will not quite know what it's doing or what it's supposed to do. Which is really, really cute.

[glamourweaver]

Muppet Frankenstein, where the only human actor is the Monster, and he has no prosthetics. Everyone just reacts to the one human in their world as a horrific monster. The body parts before the animation are even visibly felt Muppet limbs, but the creature rises as a human.

[ace-trainer-alice]

however, in the spirit of the scientific method, we will need to try the vibrator not just against the obvious spots like where your wings meet your back but also everywhere else along the wings, too. just to be sure.