Rach (she/her). 30s. Writer. Dreamer. 🥀 Mostly CEvans and SebStan. 🥀 NSFW. 18+ (if you’re under 18, Respect my Boundaries and Do Not Interact, please). 🥀 FanFic Recommendations 🥀 Check Out My AO3 or Masterlist
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Author’s Note: I aim to be inclusive in my writing, since reader characters are supposed to apply to everyone. However, not all of my older works are as inclusive as they could be and are influenced by my own experience. Please bear this in mind while exploring my masterlist. Thank you for reading!
Glad I’m not the only one! I think for me, it’s getting the aesthetic of it all together, but also making myself a form that I get to fill in later—kinda the same satisfaction of bubbling in a scantron.
This is so interesting! I do all that stuff last. No post until the writing is done. But you all might be onto something, because doing it my way makes it feel like a chore that's standing in my way before posting.
Sometimes having it all set up helps me get through the writing faster cause I’m excited to post. Or it gives me an idea for the story once I have the banner all ready to go.
Glad I’m not the only one! I think for me, it’s getting the aesthetic of it all together, but also making myself a form that I get to fill in later—kinda the same satisfaction of bubbling in a scantron.
“It is the lives we encounter that make life worth living.” - Guy de Maupassant
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dark Themes, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent (Touching, Voyeurism), Slow Burn. Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53491Willow5
Intact male candidate selected for addition to human habitat. Quarantine measures ready until subjects acclimate toward one another. Keeper approval for introduction acquired. Signed proposal on file.
The lights rise in that soft way that helps you awaken slowly. A faux dawn breaking through the artificial treetops and speckling shadows across the floor.
You rise from your mossy bedding and brush sleep from your eyes. A few steps through some thicker shrubbery brings you directly to the waterfall. Water splashes over your face in a cupped handful. You sigh and rub at your cheeks.
Breakfast will surely be awaiting you on your regular rock. And your stomach rumbles for it. You scratch as best as you can between your shoulder blades while you walk. A slow trudge to your place before the window.
And come up short. Breaking through the trees, you freeze and stare.
A rather gigantic box—massive, really—sits in the middle of your open space. Frosted panes obscuring any view inside.
Were you supposed to go in there? Your eyes flick around it to the window. Did someone buy you?
Your plate of food sits on your rock right beside it. Your eyes dart between the two. A lure? A trap? No one said you had to eat in the same spot every day. If you were quick, you might be able to snatch the plate, or at least something to nibble on.
Another curious glance to the curtain covered window and you start your cautious approach. One step at a time. The familiar cushion of ground beneath your feet keeps you steady. The box looms, intimidating and gargantuan. Enough for three people, four. You’d fit inside nicely, wouldn’t you? Humanely for transport.
Once or twice, your gaze shifts from your objective to the wall from which Virion enters. It remains unchanged.
Hand outstretched, you get to the plate and lift it by the rim. The box flashes, the pane closest to you turning transparent. You jump and your fingers slip.
Backing up quickly, the pane frosts over once again. Your heart rattles in your chest. Pounds through you, a stampede trampling on thought. It paralyzes you in place. You wait for far too long, convinced Virion or another will come and stuff you into the confines of the box. But nothing happens.
There was something, though. It itches in your mind, a recognition that you can’t pinpoint. It rankles and pokes at the insufferably inquisitive bone in your body.
One inch, then another and another before you stand beside the plate. Hands rigid at your sides, but trembling. The pane clears once again.
There, in the corner—a figure. You blink. The fabric of their suit clings to muscles. The length of them suggests a tall height to accompany their bulky frame. But they curl in on themselves, turned away from you. Any further examination obstructed.
“Hello?” you call, leaning on your toes a millimeter closer. Your voice rasps in your throat despite your effort to catch their attention.
They make no reply. No move. No twitch.
You step closer.
“Are you alright?”
Nothing.
You look around. Worry creeps up your throat, sour. Are they dead? What are they doing here? Again, your eyes find the stone facade where Virion enters your habitat. They must know what’s happening—why this box is here with someone inside.
Your feet carry you over to the doorway—or at least where you remember it being—before you can think. Hand raising, you knock softly. Fingers twist together as you let your gaze cast back toward the box. You shift and knock again, more insistent.
It remains closed. But a gentle prod nudges your mind. Your shoulders relax at the intrusion, arms falling to your sides.
He’s sedated. Not dead.
You flinch. Unused to Virion’s voice in your mind without their physical presence to trick you into thinking the communication normal. Your brow pinches, wondering why they’re not entering your enclosure. Their cooing clicks and soothing touch would calm you down in seconds.
Deep breath. You’re safe.
Your lungs fill, following the command. It blows out between your pursed lips. Your hand raises, touching the stone covering the door. Calm washes over you—but it settles unsteady in your chest.
Eyes searching, you stand a moment longer. Waiting—hoping, though you refuse to acknowledge it—that your keeper will appear and bundle you in their arms.
But they don’t.
The weight of disappointment hangs heavy. You do your best to ignore the sharp pang.
Instead, you return to the box. The side flashes transparent. The person—man, Virion said—hasn’t moved an inch. He remains in the corner, and you can just make out the rise and fall of his breath. In and out. A calm cadence.
You set yourself on your usual rock where you eat your meals and bundle your legs in front of you.
For the remainder of the day, you remain on that perch, watching the new human in your habitat. Waiting for them to stir. Waiting to introduce yourself. Waiting, maybe, for connection.
Glad I’m not the only one! I think for me, it’s getting the aesthetic of it all together, but also making myself a form that I get to fill in later—kinda the same satisfaction of bubbling in a scantron.
“Each species is a masterpiece, a creation assembled with extreme care and genius.” - E. O. Wilson
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dark Themes (“Animal” Husbandry), Dubious Consent (Touching, Voyeurism). Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53487Willow5
Female subject stable. Routine developed for hygiene and sustenance. Body suit monitoring data reviewed and archived. Brief periods of data loss to be investigated.
The water cascades over your body. Trailing along your curves as you sigh and stand beneath the fall. It’s the best shower you’ve ever used. Always the perfect temperature and pressure. The floor slick with water, but not slippery. Small stones create a surface with enough grip to keep you firmly on your feet. More rocks jut from behind the fall for the spongy soap they provide. The smell fragrant but not overpowering.
And best of all, it’s tucked away from any prying eyes at the window. Like your bed, a little slice of privacy in this place. You revel in it, thank the heavens for the reprieve.
You will admit, there was a learning curve to your daily ablutions. Your first attempts at peeling off the body suit were a challenge. You’d managed. But it takes serious concentration, sweat, and tears.
For the blissful moments you lose yourself under the waterfall, it lays crumpled in a pile to the side, away from splatter and spray. And you remain grateful that slipping it on remains easier than taking it off.
With a rinse of your face, you let your thoughts circle the drain—though you’ve never checked to see if there really is one.
A soft nudge in your brain catches your notice. As you’ve noticed the sensation several times over the past several days. You wipe water away from your eyes and lean away from the fall. Like the brief introduction to your keeper speaking in your head. A strange sensation that almost feels like deja vu. You’ve tried to catch the feeling—to respond back, silently call them, but it’s just your thoughts. Nothing more.
You sigh and turn to let the water cascade over your back. Only to be met by a looming figure.
You jump and cover yourself as best you can. Heat fills your blood with adrenaline and embarrassment. You didn’t hear their approach.
They stand there, stare unrelenting but lidded as it drags over the planes of your flesh. The suit drapes over their hand, held out in offering. But they remain speechless, in all aspects. A tinge of bluish green speckling their cheeks.
“I’m showering!” you screech the obvious in hopes that it will dissuade them from continuing to ogle your form.
Your suit.
You shiver. Still unused to the intrusion in your mind, even though their voice is a melodious lure that leads you toward unwarranted thoughts.
“I’m getting clean,” you respond aloud, still unsure of how exactly to cross this bridge of communication. The intricacies of how it works and the proper etiquette lost to you.
But their nod is indication enough to confirm their understanding.
Wear your suit.
Your teeth clench. You shiver. They shake the fabric in your direction. A command without words. Your mind flashes to the man in the window. Naked, afraid—you don’t want to be like that.
A shuddering breath blows through your nose and you step away from the waterfall and the warmth it provides your bare figure.
Stepping right up to your keeper, you grab onto the fabric. Their fist tightens. A glint in their eye you cannot decipher as they keep their thoughts to themself.
Instead of saying anything outright, they sink to the floor. The body suit pools across the ground and spreads with their hands.
In, please.
You hesitate a moment, but oblige. A tentative hand on their shoulder to steady yourself. They freeze. Body rigid under your touch.
It’s a slow process, the way their hands skim up your sides. Pulling the material over your curves until it covers you entirely. Low murmurs escaping their lips in whispers. Their eyes blink in a slow sweep before they reach toward your neck. You steel yourself not to flinch away. With a gentle press, the material shimmers like it did when they examined your lower abdomen. Except this time, it all disappears. Revealing every inch of skin to their examination.
Like this.
“What’s the difference?” you ask, hiding the nervous pluck of your voice with a clearing of your throat.
This monitors your data. You’ve been impeding our research.
Your lips circle around a syllable—understanding mixed with even more confusion. “Why?”
Their eyes blink again. A gesture of their hand in the direction of the water.
Continue.
An aborted protest passes your lips, but you nod, trailing back to the waterfall with a glance over your shoulder.
“Do you, uh, have to watch?” you ask. Unsure of what answer you crave in the pits of your belly.
Research.
Your teeth clench and you give a stilted nod.
A tide of heat licks at your fingertips as you reach into the stream of water and let it cool you. A transparent shroud for your naked figure. It softens the edges of your vulnerability.
You let your eyes flutter shut, everything sinking into the background before reaching to the shelf and retrieving the soap. You lather the planes of your body, washing away the nerves that pluck uneasy at your alien’s proximity.
Their stare pierces you. Carving deep and thorough over every measure of your flesh.
As you soap your shoulders, you peek at them. Attentive does not begin to describe their gaze as they watch your hands skim your arms.
An unsettling, electric hunger flares in their eyes—surely for knowledge, to dissect your species for their research. That is all they want. You are positive. And yet, you shiver, nipples pebbling and a faint yearning clench deep in your core.
No. You turn your face under the water. Washing that thought away. You haven’t been touched in too long, you’re lonely, you need another human to scratch this itch stirring to life. You do not want them. It’s impossible.
Virion.
You pause, hands cupping your chest as you rinse suds away.
“What?”
My name. Virion.
“Virion,” you repeat aloud. The taste on your tongue foreign as you let your mouth curve over the sound of it.
They blink slowly. An unconscious step taken forward. You tense. Body locked in awareness of their size—of what they’ve done, could do. The promise of their touch stolen as they pause.
Your eyes dart to their fingertips. Reaching toward you, so close. Their hand flexes and closes in a fist. Then they turn and leave without another word.
A heavy breath billows past your lips. Hand swiping over your head and finding the nape of your neck. A moment taken to reset from your close encounter.
You finish your shower. But the rest of the day is lost in a daze. Mind occupied by thoughts of Virion. Their intensity and the ache it awakened in you.
Visitors watch as you pace back and forth in front of your window. Their eyes tracking your movement. The audience ignored and forgotten minutiae separated from you by more than glass.
Your dinner arrives with the usual clunk. You pick at it with your fingers, leaving the chalky bar that smells of almonds untouched—running on autopilot and so used to avoiding the allergen as thoughts consume more than you do.
Night falls and you lay on the soft spread of mossy bedding, eyes searching for the camouflaged ceiling. Your mind drifts to Virion. The aborted step forward. The near touch of their hand. The concentrated fervor in their eyes.
You fall into a fitful and unsatisfying slumber plagued by frustration and discomfort.
Your reaction has got me chortling. I love that you’re having such a fun time reading this story and getting worked up and invested in it. Thanks for reading, Aspen! 💜
“There may be days when I can't help an animal in need, but the day will never come that I won't try.” - Paul Oxton
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dark Themes (“Animal” Husbandry), Dubious Consent (Touching). Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53482Willow5
Female subject falling into routine patterns. Curiosity developing for visitors. Spikes in anxiety and distress observed around keeper. If conditions do not improve, proposals for solutions to be considered.
You’ve taken to sitting in front of the glass. Legs crossed, blanket draped over your shoulders, staring. There’s so much to see. So many new faces and features. As if you’re not the animal trapped in a zoo.
And yet, your eyes glaze as you think back to that night—and shake it from your head just as quick.
A small one, you would guess a youngster, mirrors your position before the window. Their tentacle slithers up the pane. Their suckers writhe and pop on the glass. You squint and lean closer to inspect them. Each sucker edge serrated like a bread knife.
Their many eyes meet yours and they turn over their shoulder to talk to a companion of a different species. Snippets of excitement exchange in a conversation you can’t translate for yourself. The two of them turn back for one last look then leave.
Your eyes trail them off to the right, head pressing against the glass to see exactly where they all go. Just out of your line of sight. Where the line starts to the breeding facilities where all the other humans are kept—to buy their own.
You shudder and wrap the blanket tighter to your shoulders. Yet it doesn’t keep out the chill of knowing. The pieces so easy to click together in your brain. Why you’re here. Why you’re on display.
Your mind spirals down the path, wondering when it might be your turn. When your keepers might decide to give live shows. Letting your rapt audience observe your most intimate acts. Their faces peering and leering. More eyes than you can imagine focused entirely on you.
You gasp for breath and shake your head, pushing away from your spot and stumbling backwards. The images in your mind conjured from fear. They flood your veins with ice. A freeze from which you cannot warm. But you wrap yourself tighter to shield yourself as best you can.
The quiet hiss of the door signals its opening. Your stomach drops to your toes. Heartbeat spiking and galloping into a panic. Scrambling for an escape, you look to the rope ladder hanging to your side. The hammocks and bridges draped above.
The blanket drops to the floor. The ladder shakes in your grip. Your palms sweat. Heights were never your forte. And climbing wasn’t ever in your plans. But you just know they’re approaching behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle with awareness.
You make it up three rungs before hands settle on your waist. A quiet, strong pressure that eases you away from the rope and back to the solid ground. Your lips part on a shriek that catches in your throat before you can make a sound.
They release you and bend to scoop your discarded blanket from the floor. You freeze in their presence, unsure whether it’s better to remain compliant or run and hide. Mind scrambled. Overwhelmed by thoughts that drown out the crowd gathering by your window.
So you stay and let your eyes track their movements, watching as they shake your blanket out and brush it off. The fabric folds over their arm before their gaze finds you. Calm but lined with concern.
You hold their stare. Their eyelashes flutter, a slow blink. With a few soothing, foreign words and a sigh, your alien keeper shakes out the blanket once more and drapes it over your shoulders. They smooth their hands over your arm with an acute delicateness and reach for a treat from their pocket.
Tears speckle your eyes. A stain of apprehension tainting your view of their care and attention now. And it guts you. A sour, stinging pain that ratchets up your throat.
But, still, you accept their offering between your lips in hopes to silence the upset crawling through you.
Their hand withdraws only to cradle your cheek. Their other mirroring the gentle hold on your face. Your breath hiccups. And you can’t fight it. Even as every instinct flutters and screams to hiderunscream, you can’t. You just want to be here. For them to prove that you’re safe.
Their head dips down, syrupy golden eyes closing slowly. Air screams in your lungs, trapped as you hold it. Tracking their advance. Heat ignites in your belly and spreads through your veins. A nervous, rippling trepidation—and something more.
Why you expect a kiss from their approaching lips, you couldn’t say, but that’s not what happens. Their forehead lowers and nudges yours. A brief connection. An electric zip between you before they straighten and let their finger brush the tears away from your eyes.
Hello.
You blink. Flabbergasted as an unfamiliar voice echoes in your mind.
The only movement of their mouth a bend at the corners as their expression softens and tilts toward an affectionate smile.
could i request werewolf dividers, similar to the set of vampire ones you did?
hi! And sure, I was excited to see this (if I had to pick one to be, I’d be team werewolf)! I would love to do a set that matches the vampire ones - I hope you like these 🐺🌙 Thanks so much for sending this in! 💕
“Like a wild animal, the truth is too powerful to remain caged.” - Veronica Roth
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dark Themes (“Animal” Husbandry), Dubious Consent (Touching). Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53479Crystal8
CONTAINMENT BREACH. Stock escaped. Headed toward exhibits. Keeper sent to mitigate damage.
Lights flash. A noise drones. You whine and flip to your other side, reaching for that oblivion of sleep. And yet it escapes your grasp. It’s not morning. Exhaustion still weighing your eyelids down. But the noise continues and ruins any hope of easy sleep. An eye peeks open. Your habitat still and blanketed in darkness. The soft blue glow of your tattoo bands your arm, drowned by flashes of white and orange lights. You turn back and peek past the vines of your resting place. The curtain sits closed and blocks the window from without—drawn for the night. Yet lights pierce through the small break in the fabric, blinding you in intervals.
You stare at it from your soft bedding, a silent debate playing in your head whether to investigate.
The curtain rustles. Your brow quirks. Your decision made for you.
Your feet pad over the ground, warmed by the artificial soil. Hands cover your ears to block the blaring noise. Your eyes scan the expanse of maroon fabric as it stills.
A red glow catches your eye. Tucked in the corner of the window, huddled between it and the curtain. Brighter than white and orange. Outlining a figure.
Another human, naked and trembling. His hand clutches at his bicep, creeping to cover the light. The band around it like yours, but an angry red. He hisses as his fingers find contact, sucking at the tips as if burned. Concealment all but forgotten as he tends to them.
Your hand lowers from one ear, knuckle tapping on the glass. The man jumps.
“Shit!”
“What are you doing?” you ask, relieved he speaks a language you understand.
He raises a finger over his lips in a bid for quiet. You nod and he replies, “I gotta get outta there. Help me.”
You lower yourself to his crouching level. Hand leaning on the glass to keep you steady. Your brow furrows. “You got out of your habitat?”
“I wasn’t in-they—” He runs a shaking hand over his face and turns his gaze away from you. Scanning for something you can’t see between the wall and the curtain. A heavy bluster of breath breaks past his lips. His teeth grit as he turns back to you and hisses,“We’re animals to them. Like cows on a farm. They’re making more—to sell.” His eyes flick over the glass separating you. And beyond, at the dimly illuminated shape of your habitat. He turns to you, eyes widening. “Are they using you to—”
A clattering noise catches his attention and he silences himself. Shrinks further into the corner. You crouch closer beside him, separated only by the window.
The noise lowers, volume bearable. But something’s not right. Your hair stands on end. Nerves jumping. Dread floods your system.
You glance to the dark behind you, and back to the fear in his eyes. It sinks like lead in your gut. You cannot help him. You don’t know how. Your nails pick at the seal of the window. Swallowing around the lump in your throat.
A swathe of fabric falls over your shoulders. You chirp in fear and press to the glass. The man’s eyes snap to you, widening with his own terror.
Gentle hands guide you away from the window. They wrap you further in the blanket and into their arms until you lean against a firm chest in their embrace.
Cooing foreign words wash over your head. Familiar hands pet over your limbs and sides. Attempt to tilt your stubborn head toward them.
Your eyes widen as they lift you without strain. And in turn you cling to them, unused to the ease of their carry. Sure they will drop you, your weight too much for their arms.
“No,” the man gasps, swallowing around his fear. He scrambles along the pane, away from his huddled position. A desperate animal trying to flee.
Hands, like the ones holding you, grab at the curtain. Lights flare around them. An angry halo surrounding their looming figures. Their features shadowed and clinically void of emotion.
They latch onto the man and drag him away. His fingers streaking against the glass like a scream. The flutter of the fabric and his cries in the night the only evidence he was ever there at all.
ok. reminding myself to keep breathing... very intriguing to learn they're breeding humans when we know from the first part that our reader was sterilized and saw her scar last chapter...
I love that gif! This one was really fun to write and add into the story. There’s certainly a reason for it, though the reason itself is revealed in future chapters. 💜
“Zoo: An excellent place to study the habits of human beings.” - Evan Esar
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Voyeurism, Dubious Consent (Touching). Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know.
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53479Willow5
Subject remains skittish around keeper. Contact made insufficient for full examination. Reward systems work for initial training routines and brief examinations before subject refuses cooperation. Alternative methods to be considered. Unveiling and viewing scheduled.
It’s your body that wakes you. Not your bladder screaming for relief, but an awareness that jolts you away from sleep.
New noises.
They fill your enclosure. A soft, soothing melody echoing from the rocks and hidden waterfall. Instrumental, it plucks at familiarity in the back of your mind though you cannot exactly place it.
But that music accompanies something else. A buzzing clamour of voices—muffled and overlapping.
You sit up. A sudden chill flits down your spine. Glancing to the bedside boulder, you find nothing. No plate of food. Your eyebrow quirks. It’s usually there when you awaken.
Your feet dangle from the edge of your resting place before you hop down.
The hanging vines part with the push of your hands. The leaves tickle against your skin.
It’s then you freeze. And the drone rises. Excitement and awed voices climbing into a furor.
The curtain has lifted, the window no longer obstructed by the heavy maroon fabric. You’re on display. Creatures push and shove against the thick glass. They point. They stare. Words exchange in conversations you cannot understand—all about you.
And set upon a new stone is your plate. A stack of green goo with the sweet flowers beside—a lure to pull you from your nicely private nest.
Your stomach rumbles, your hand pressing against your belly to quiet it. You don’t think they’d let you starve. You could stay sequestered away from the voracious eyes of the creatures beyond the glass. Perhaps you might. You pause on the first step of retreat.
Or they might take it all away. Leave you exposed for the audience who wishes to observe your existence.
Your hands flutter at your stomach, clenching and unclenching. Decisions rattle around your head. A deep breath fills your lungs. Courage gathered and cementing in your chest.
A glance down at your figure and your tongue clicks. The body suit could conceal more, especially in this moment. Your curves hugged and on show at all angles. But still you walk out to the crowd’s delight.
Sitting upon a nearby rock, you pick up the utensil and begin to eat. Slicing bits of the green goo and bringing it to your mouth. The chorus of approval roars from your audience.
Your skin itches. You never liked to be watched—especially while eating. And to have the rapt attention of so many makes it hard to swallow. You eat less than you normally might—a bite or two of the goo, a flower, two of the surprisingly soft rocks that taste of almost potato.
But you push the plate away and stand, arms wrapping around yourself to hold in the warmth. Why is it so cold today?
The door off to the side slides open with a quiet hiss. The alien enters, gliding across the ground with effortless steps. They approach you and stop a safe distance away.
Your eyes glance over your shoulder. First to the pane of glass separating you from more aliens—some of the same species and others decidedly not. And then to the secluded safety of your bed in the opposite direction.
They watch, stepping to the side in a smooth obstruction to your path of retreat. Their head tilts and they offer out a hand.
You know what they expect. Have gotten used to the routine over the past few day cycles—well, most of it.
You place your hand in theirs, to an ecstatic murmur behind the glass. Another hand, and yours finds it. They coo encouragement, praising you for following along. They crouch to the floor, legs bending beneath them and place your hands on their broad shoulders. Their scent fills your nose, something sweet and nothing like you’ve ever smelled before. Their hair brushes your fingertips as they invade your personal space. Your fingers twitch, wanting to grasp on to them and push them away all at once. Someone beyond the glass gasps. Your stomach swoops.
Their fingers trace your face. Smoothing down your nose, along your cheekbones and over your jaw. They coax your mouth open to peer inside. Their digits move to your ears, tugging gently before weaving into the ends of your hair. Every caress too tender and too clinical.
They warble something soft, petting over your head and smoothing down the nape of your neck. Their golden eyes following like a caress.
A shiver rolls down your spine. Your eyes squeeze shut. Confusing heat courses through your body. Sensation overwhelming as they continue to trace. They follow the line of your arms, past the sides of your breasts, over your waist.
The fluttering butterflies in your stomach turn. Overwhelmed and gasping for space. Your toe picks at the ground and you angle your lower half away. A look flicking to their face to gauge their response.
They say something low, as if only for your ears. Their grasp light but firm holding onto your hips. One retreats to the little pouch at their side, right above the slit in their attire.
They hold your candy between their fingers, offering it up. You swallow hard and stare. Their gaze steady as they wait.
It wasn’t difficult to understand what they wanted after that first day. Treats always offered between two fingers first, not on their palm for you to easily snatch. You’re not an idiot.
Every time you’ve waited for them to switch. To allow you to take it from them. Not have it placed between your lips. You squirm at the thought.
Maybe, you reason with yourself, if you let them do it—feed you—they’ll stop. Stop stroking your sides. Stop touching everywhere. Stop making you feel this way, like you’re spinning out of control.
Your lips part. They make a pleased rumble in the back of their throat, and slip the candy into your mouth.
With a mind of its own, your tongue flicks over their digits as they retreat, the fleeting taste of their skin burning through your body. Sweet.
A whimper wrenches out of your throat. You try to back away, but they anchor you in place. Their other hand falls to your other side. They wait until you blink and return your attention to them. All the while, their thumbs stroke your hips.
Murmurs from the crowd buzz in your ear, but you can’t look away. Not as your alien lets their hands drift over your curves toward your lower belly.
The body suit shimmers under their touch and recedes, exposing the skin below your belly button and above your mound to the cold air.
Your gaze flicks to see the intrigue of the crowd. Their faces pressing closer and closer to the window. A shiver prickles down your spine and you clutch tight at your alien’s shoulders. Body warming but unable to keep it from escaping. You shift on your feet, angling away from the greedy eyes.
Their head tilts, but they don’t move for a moment, examining your response. They murmur a curious trill and wait for your response. You push at their shoulders, and glance over your own. Realization dawns on their features, a glare cut toward the crowd before they follow you, allowing your back to fully face the window.
You meet their eyes. Their slow blink prompting a deep breath into your lungs. Then their fingers dance over your exposed skin. A gentle exploration that focuses on a surprise.
“That wasn’t—” You stare at the new scar on your lower abdomen. It had never been there before.
Your hand moves from their shoulder and touches the corner of puckered skin. There’s no pain beneath your touch or theirs. They don’t pause, barely a flicker from you interrupting their thorough examination.
They prod at the scar and look for your reactions. Smoothing over the nearby skin with their touch. The only discomfort stems from deep in your belly, an ache which you can’t pinpoint to a specific piece of flesh.
You shift on your feet again, but don’t pull away. The alien nods in acceptance and stands. They offer one more piece of candy between their fingers, a gentle pet of your head to cup your cheeks, and then with a narrow of their eyes toward the window, they retreat.
With them, others onlookers drift away. Many to the right, filing in a line. Some in the crowd disperse in other directions, moving on. Except for a few who remain, watching.
It’s then your stomach turns. Nausea building, climbing up your throat.
Across the way, a break in bodies reveals another window. Behind it, a large cat—a jaguar, maybe—rips at a carcass with sharp teeth. A few of your audience find it and chatter in surprised enthusiasm. More fill the gap in front of you.
It hits you like a freight train. You’re in a zoo.
“The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe about us, the less taste we shall have for destruction.” - Rachel Carson
Previous Part
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dubious Consent (Touching). Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know.
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53475Willow5
Subject has settled into enclosure, consumes sufficient nutrients, and recovers adequate energy during an 8 rem cycle. No distress or harmful outbursts observed in habitat. Introduction to keeper pending.
You stare at the plate. It always just appears right on the smooth top of the boulder. A soft clunk the only giveaway that it’s appeared.
Nails unconsciously itch at the mark encircling your right bicep. A new tattoo, skin deep, but glowing a faint blue. It doesn’t hurt, but still your fingers gravitate toward it as if maybe they might be able to figure out why it’s there—and when you got it. You never…
Shaking the thoughts from your head, you turn back to your meal.
Naming the food is difficult. Categorizing them near impossible. You’ve stuck with yummy green goo and purple fluffy stuff and squiggly black noodles—though you refuse to linger on the fact that the noodles don’t feel like noodles. You pick up the spoon-like utensil and scoot toward the edge.
Today, there’s brown mushy stuff in a pile next to what appear to be steamed or roasted flowers of some sort.
The first bite of brown mush is decidedly not what you were expecting. Sour and vegetal instead of savory. Not unpleasant exactly, except for the cognitive dissonance you experience with every bite. Still, you’ll take edible over starvation.
The flowers, on the other hand, are paradoxically delicious. Sweet and somehow creamy, sticky on your fingers yet almost powdery on your tongue. A taste so close to vanilla but with notes of something fruity. Delighted sounds bubble up your throat as you enjoy them until the last one slips past your lips.
Belly full, a calm lethargy spreads into your limbs. You recline on your bed-like perch, resting on the palms of your hands. A soft clunk catches your attention. The plate disappears, though you cannot catch the moment it does. A blink enough for the mess to clear.
You sigh and contemplate how you will pass the time. Running a hand down the side of your neck, you feel the high collar of the clothing in which you’d woken. The very same as the first day—a sleeveless bodysuit in a solid grey. It covers from your chest to your upper thighs. Light and breathable, never developing an odor despite your sweat. It clings to every curve of your body, but does not constrict. Comfortable enough and better than naked.
A hiss of air echoes from someways off and out of sight. A new sound. Curiosity piques. From what the noise emanates, you couldn’t say. There are no doors—at least none of which you’re aware.
You cast another glance at the bedside boulder. Your eyes narrow in thought before you turn and venture out. You push past the hanging vines, cautious in your steps. Your gaze swings from side to side, scanning for intrusion.
It doesn’t take long for you to find it. The tall doorway open a foot away from the covered glass, nestled into the rocky wall.
You approach. Fear builds up your throat like bile. Your teeth clench, holding it back. Heart pounds in your chest. Your eyes flick to the side, searching for some kind of weapon—even a stick would do—but find none.
A warbling, soft tone echoes from the open doorway. Like speech, there are indications of syllables, a pattern. You just can’t understand them.
And not a moment later, the doorway fills with a figure. Tall—too tall to be human, not that you expected them to be. Made even taller by the arcing horns that crest their head. Their lithe figure holds itself in a humanoid posture. Their hand raised in a gesture of placation, their three fingers bidding you calm.
You freeze. A deep instinct urges you to flee, but you can only stumble back a step or two and remain rooted to your spot. Stupefied by the sight before you, and still lanced by your unending desire to know more.
They speak again. Their tone calm and soothing. You’re lost as they try to communicate, but, despite your spiking fear, you don’t sense a threat. Hopeful thinking or not.
They move toward you, a non-threatening approach. As your feet rock back in retreat, they pause and lower themself to the floor. Legs long and angled like a dog’s fold—crisscrossing. Their hands rest open on them.
You watch the graceful motion. Their expression calm, collected. A placid mask even as their bright pupil-less eyes watch you.
Your fingers twitch at your sides. Waiting for them to make their next move. But they remain seated and make coaxing noises in their alien language.
The first step forward surprises you. Your insatiable curiosity winning over rationality.
Their eyes track the advance. The plush pillow of their lips tilting in an almost smile. They reach toward their hip, a pocket, then hold out one of their hands. In their palm, a small foil-wrapped package.
You blink. That’s-that’s your favorite candy bar.
“How?” you swallow the rest of your question. Wary of the presented treat, yet caving into the craving for comfort.
You step closer. Trembling hand picking up the wrapped candy. Your fingers fumble it as you rip it open and shove it into your mouth. It melts on your tongue as tears fill your eyes. The taste overwhelming in its familiarity. The memories of your mother, your father, your siblings, your friends. All left behind.
They make a cooing sound. Their hand still hovering in expectation.
“Thank you,” you whisper. Savoring the flavor clinging to your tastebuds.
You place the wrapper in their palm. Examining their skin as you do. A greyish blue, smooth and hairless. Your eyes catch theirs. They blink, long and slow.
Their patience and unwavering calm sparks the slightest hint of confidence in you. Holding your breath another beat, you brace for attack. None comes. Hesitant fingers find contact with their palm. The texture smooth save for the wrinkles like those of your own.
Their finger twitches and you startle. Eyes snapping back to theirs.
They whisper something more—an encouragement with the way their fingers wiggle and their head tilts. Hair cascades over their shoulder, long and silvery. Your attention snags on it—how it glitters in the light.
They produce another candy bar. This one unwrapped and offered by their other hand. You reach for it, but they hold it firm in their grip. You look back to them and then the candy.
Your teeth worry over your lower lip, hesitating and contemplating.
Their eyes keep focus on your face. A blink of understanding before they readjust their hold. The offer of the candy shifting to their palm, where you can pluck it up to indulge.
It’s an invitation you can’t resist. Popping the candy into your mouth and letting it melt.
And then you turn back to them. Tracing the line of their torso with your eyes. The cut of their clothing similar to your own, clinging to their well-built form though it slits at the sides and pools beneath them and around their groin as they sit on the ground.
You lower yourself before them. Crossing your legs in a mirror of their pose. Letting your eyes catch every detail of them and awaiting what happens next. Almost eager to discover what more they could want.
They pause a moment. Letting you settle in the silence before leaning forward. Their hand connects, smoothing over your hair. Goosebumps pimple along your arms, a shiver sinking down your spine, but you keep still.
They chirp something in a happy cadence and pet your head again. Your brow pinches, but you allow the touch, lean into it just a little. Hope for another gentle moment fluttering quietly to life in your chest.
The glimmer of their hair catches your eyes again. You hesitate, glancing up to their face, drawn now in concentration. Slowly, you reach out and let your finger weave into the strands. Both soft and stiff, you comb your fingers through. Like a silky tinsel.
They blink in surprise, hand pausing mid-stroke. Their gaze drops to your curious hand. A noise like a laugh pushes past their lips and they reach to release your grasp. Placing your hand in your own lap before returning to you.
Their fingers drift down the sides of your head and cup your cheeks. They tilt your gaze up to meet theirs. Your breath hitches, staring into their honey golden eyes for a long, heavy moment.
With a flutter of their long lashes, they break it. Moving to tug gently at your earlobes with a chipper remark before their touch brushes lower.
They explore your throat, arms, waist, hips, belly. You shift. A pit forming in your stomach as they continue their exploration—their examination. Discomfort flames through your blood. It prickles at your nape. You try to still yourself, comply. Your hands clench into fists. Until the touch becomes too intimate to endure, and you push them away.
“Two possibilities exist: Either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.” - Arthur C. Clarke
Warnings: Original Work (Science Fiction), Aliens, implied Abduction, Captivity, Dubious Consent. Minors do not interact (18+).
Follow @foxglovefics and sign up for notifications for when I post if you wanna be in the know.
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
Log Date 53472Willow5
Female sterilization procedure successful. Recovery quarantine observed. Notes to follow.
Your eyes itch. A crust in the corners as you startle. Blinking, you scan your surroundings. This is not your bedroom.
You push up. Beneath your palm, a loamy moss sticks to your skin and fills your nose with a pleasant earthy scent. Your brow pinches. The ground beneath you warm and plush, like bedding.
Draping vines weave in a canopy and frame you upon its surface. A short drop to the side leads to a grassy floor. You turn your feet over it and sit up. Within reach sits a boulder with a flat top. You rest a hand upon it. The stone smooth, solid, strangely warm.
You step down. Toes sink into silky soft blades of green. Buckling knees crouch your body low. Your fingers dance on the fibrous carpeting of grass—unlike any you’ve felt before, a scent wafting into your nose almost like green apple.
A swallow obstructs your throat. You blink away hasty panic. Your eyes sweep wide in an attempt to keep calm and assess your situation. Yet still your heart pounds in your chest. Standing straight, you have little choice but to explore more to find answers.
Past a curtain of hanging vines dancing with a gentle breeze, the expanse of nature extends before you, and you venture forward. Smooth rocks jut from soft dirt. You leave the trees behind you, but their boughs extend. Hanging ropes and hammocks drape from limb to limb, a crossing pattern of beige set against the vibrant green leaves. No sky to be seen between, and yet plenty of light. The tinkling fall of water echoes from somewhere hidden from sight. Curious temptation lures you toward it. But what catches your eye in the distance stretches across your path as far as you can see.
The glint of glass pristine and clear. You step before it and let your fingers touch the pane. With a press of your weight, there is no give. And obstructed sight beyond. A deep maroon curtain blocks any view, covering the window from without.
You swallow hard and turn away, intent on exploring every corner away from the glass and the questions it forms in the recesses of your brain.
How long it takes, you can’t say. You duck under branches and climb over boulders until you can go no further. A steep rock wall unfit for climbing to one side. It curves in a wide arc until you meet glass at each side.
In your reflection, it’s plain as day. You are trapped.
Next Part
A/N: I know this new series is something sorta different for me, and I’d love to hear if you enjoyed it. I’m hoping to start a schedule of posting the next entries every other Sunday. Thank you so much for reading! 💜
you'll get the urge as an artist or a writer to say out loud the things you're worried about "the proportions are off" "kind of out of character" "i'm not good at summaries" "didn't get as much detail as i wanted" "i made a mistake and here's how" and that's the self-conscious part of your brain telling you "it's bad and if you don't tell them you know it's bad then they'll think you're stupid" but you've got to ignore that little voice and pretend you think it's good or else that little voice is going to ruin your life
Some of the best advice I have ever gotten was from a creative writing professor. She said never apologize for your work. Never critic it before someone else does.
Her reasoning was you are the creator. You made your work from nothing and can see all the flaws and seems and holes. But your audience may not see any of it. Maybe they will; maybe they won't. But if you TELL them about the holes and the mistakes and the problems....they will 100% see them. So don't tell them. Don't sabotage yourself just because you think you're not good enough.
Having a partner that works late into the evening makes for an interesting bedtime routine.
You'd been drifting in and out of sleep for the last hour or so, the low light of your phone playing some random video no longer enough to keep you awake. Just as you'd begun to fully nod off did your boyfriend pad into the room, through the blur of sleep you could make out the shape of him, arms reaching as he settles into bed with you, curling around him as he curls his tails round your waist.
Of recent days your sweet cheetah has been working later and later, so it's comforting to feel him curl around you like this.
The steady rumble of his purr is comforting, pulling you further and further into sleep, or it was until the gentle nip of his fangs draws you back up enough to whine at him, rolling over in his arms and wiggling away from the gentle press of his teeth against your neck. Whining for a second before shivering as he scratches across your tummy, slipping his hands into your sleep pants still purring as he presses his hand between your legs.
It's a strange combination of sleepiness and the slow roll of pleasure, between the firm press of your partner and the steady rumble of his purrs there is no real escaping the feelings he's building in you.
There is a shock of something shameful as he purrs in your ear, feeling the way your cumming under his touch and rumbling to you sweetly.
"Oh sweetheart... That was perfectly pathetic."
Apparently exhaustion brings out a more filthy side of your usually sweet kitty.
i'll forever miss how the internet felt before you had to second-guess the authenticity of every single piece of media you came across. silly videos used to be just silly. fun was coincidental. wonder was just wonder. digital art had character and soul. AI has taken the taste out of everything and irreversibly poisoned the creative sphere and the people still pushing it forward are the doom of both joy and the quality of being.
Out of My Head @foxgloveprincess - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
