helluvawhore

[helluvawhore]

glow squid (im in a silly goofy mood)

// noncon, it's a squid idk

smut under cut, minors DNI

They just showed up one day.

No one knows where the glow squids came from, they just know there was a day when suddenly every time you swam into the depths of the ocean or encountered a still pool in a dark cave, you would spy the luminous glow of their tentacles. Eventually everyone got used to it and stopped questioning where they came from.

One drifts by you lazily as you sink. You cast a glance at it, the winking lights on its curling tentacles just serving to set it apart from the darkening water around you. Its tentacles spread, then tighten, and it jets away. A laugh rises from your lips as you watch it go. You sink, and it swims away.

You inhale--water, not air, courtesy of the potions you drank before you entered the water--and swim further down. It’s a dangerous business, scavenging the seafloor for ancient ruins and shipwrecks, but it pays off. Some people dislike glow squids, but you spend a good deal of your time in the darkness of the depths and you’ve come to enjoy the minor light that they provide.

You squint and see, through the dark of the water, what looks to be a broken mast. Bullseye. You take a breath to steel yourself and swim down into the gloom. You don’t carry a light with you, it’ll alert any gurglers that may be lurking down here. But the broken spire of wood does, in fact, turn out to be a mast. As you descend through the cool water the rest of the ship looms out of the ground.

You drift downwards, pausing briefly to contemplate it. You’ve raided many a wreck in your life, but there’s something so majestic about them--ancient constructs now broken on the floor of the ocean. You exhale, bubbles drifting up past your face, and reach out to grip the side of the mast.

Something flickers below, between the slats of the deck. You pause, freezing where you float.

It’s another glow squid, you decide to yourself. Nothing else moves around down here.

A flash of blue lights up the water beneath you for a moment, and you relax. Nothing else produces light like that down here. It’s a squid, most definitely. You lower yourself to the deck, and your feet sink into the cool of the slippery algae that coats the aged wood.

The deck erupts open beside you as a tentacle jabs through it. You fling yourself to the side, trying to move as fast as possible. There’s no way, there shouldn’t be able to be one that huge, and you need to get away from it. The massive thing flexes, lashing through the water, and then lights flicker into brightness on its side. As anxious as you are, the pale blue glow captures your attention for a moment and, briefly, you slow your panicked swimming away.

Then something tightens around your ankle and you scream. It’s another tentacle, and the grip it has around your skin is like a steel cable made of smooth flesh. The squid drags you down, even as you flail to get away.

The first tentacle arches above you, lights still blinking in intervals across its length. You pause, staring at the soft shine. The tentacle around your leg readjusts, sliding up to grip around your thigh. You glance down, trying to shake it off, and then the first tentacle is by your head. The tip wanders across your skin for a moment, briefly drifting across your neck, then twists up and wrenches off your helmet. The metal crunches beneath its grip and it tosses the helmet away.

You don’t even have time to bemoan the loss of your netherite, because the tentacle is at your lips and without even a brief pause it is wiggling its length down your throat, forcing your mouth open and your tongue flat. You scream around its bulk, a futile sound that hardly carries past the tentacle in your mouth. If the squid could laugh, it would probably be laughing now.

The tentacle around your leg releases and you dangle for a moment, held in place by the breadth of the thing forcing your throat to hold it. You squeeze your eyes closed, unable to pull away. There’s the sound of more metal being broken, and the cool of the water rushes in against your skin.

What does it want?

There are more tentacles now; one curls up between your legs and ever-so-gently, tears your trousers off your body with merely a flick. You let out another whine of protest and, as if to punish you, the tentacle in your mouth curls and flexes. You gag around the width, unable to get it out of your mouth.

Just relax. You tell yourself. Relax and it won’t be as bad.

The tip of a tentacle touches your side, drags down across your ribs. Another one, this one at your throat. The squid seems to be exploring, unsure of what it’s looking for. You silently pray it’s not searching for what you think it is.

A third tentacle, this one sliding up between your legs, and then the roving motion pauses. The tentacle presses inside you, forcing your walls to accommodate it. Just a few inches at first, and you’re already whimpering from the pressure and the stretch. You can feel the flex of the muscle inside you, the little ridges that adorn the tentacle. It forces its way further inside, spreading your legs.

Relax, relax, relax, you think. You can feel it curling up inside you, far deeper than anything should go. The tentacle in your mouth moves, forcing your head down, and you see where your belly has distended to allow the squid access. You aren’t built for this; your body itself has to give way before the thing’s strength. You whine, unable to close your legs or your mouth. You dangle there for a brief moment, spitted between two tentacles, with others curling around your body and holding you up like a doll. A human fleshlight, for something that is so far from human.

The lower tentacle moves. You whimper as it begins to slide in and out. It’s big, far too big, big enough to brush against the spot inside you that sends electricity down your spine and makes your joints go weak. If you were trapped before you are helpless now, a mere creature with space at both ends for this thing to use you. You can’t make your limbs respond to your commands; there’s too much happening.

The tentacle thrusts relentlessly, forcing your body to curve out to make space for it. It feels like a shock, a force that sparks pleasure in your core and renders you immobile. Your back arcs, muscles flexing and tightening against your will. The squid doesn’t change its pace; steady strokes sliding in and out, in and out, and the heat builds.

When you were younger you played with toys. Everyone did. They were meant to be played with, their purpose was to please the one who held them. You, of course, had those flights of fancy that made you wonder if toys ever desired to rebel against their purpose. Now, with something forcing you open and filling you from both ends, using you as a mere sleeve for its purpose, you understand. There is no rebellion, there is no denial. This is what you *are*.

Then the climax, sparks in your vision and limbs shaking, your walls convulsing and tightening around the tentacle. It increases its speed as you come, almost frantic in its movement, and then something releases inside you, filling you up. The tentacle withdraws from your spasming hole, and with it a glowing liquid spills from between your legs, lighting up the water. You can barely force a confused noise from your mouth.

The tentacle in your throat slides out and you gasp, thankful for the relaxation of your throat muscles. You glance down. There’s still a slight bulge in your stomach; whatever the squid released inside you still lingering. You can barely muster a movement, limbs shaking.

It lets go of you. You don’t know how that makes you feel; that it used and then discarded you. But you drift to the surface slowly, and the glow spills out of your body a drop at a time.

#k: belly bulge #glowsquid.txt #gn reader #k: tentacles #k: noncon

[helluvawhore]

the bees

// noncon, brainwashing, fucking BEES (in both sense of the phrase)

smut under cut, minors DNI

The bees aren’t gentle with you.

This type is known for their large size, their uncanny intelligence, their resemblance more to humans than to the insects they are. Everyone knows to stay away from the ravines where they make their hives. People who go near there don’t come back. And, like the fool you are, you most likely won’t be coming back either.

There’s a clawed, carapaced hand gripping the back of your neck. It’s one of the drones that found you where you were wandering in the forest and snatched you off the ground. You screamed at first, struggled at first, but the stinger now perilously near your throat keeps you silent in fear. You dangle from the drone’s grip as it flies through the hive. The passages you fly through are dark, walls made of segmented wax. You pass other massive drones every once in a while, and they watch you with dark eyes and that reflect your every movement.

The drone is taking you somewhere, for some purpose, and you pray it isn’t to kill you. Your heart is beating like a bird’s, fast enough that you can feel your pulse in your throat. It smells sickening sweet in here, the scent of honey thick in your nostrils and so heavy in your mouth that you can almost taste it.

There’s a thump as the drone’s clawed feet hit the ground, and you can barely keep your balance when you land a few seconds later, limbs flailing. You aren’t given time to steady yourself as it stalks forward, dragging you by the back of your neck. You glance around in panic. The passageways of the hive have opened up around you to a wide room, with a high, arching roof. The walls are made of hexagonal, segmented wax and you can see the twitching antennae and reflective eyes of too many bees to count, watching you from above.

The drone stops and you look up. You’ve reached the center of the room, and you know without a doubt what’s sitting in front of you. It’s the queen. Your heart drops.

The drone drops to one knee, bowing its head, and its grip on your neck loosens. You rip yourself out of its grasp and scramble away, trying to run back the way you came. Before you can reach the passageway a bee lands in front of you, a segmented arm sweeping you off your feet and hurling you back towards the center of the room.

You land in the lap of the queen.

She’s all soft curves and gossamer wings and golden eyes. There’s something about the air around her, the scent of pollen and something like flowers, but more dangerous. You’re stunned for a minute, staring up at her face.

“Aw, look at them.” Her hand, all claws and black carapace, grips your chin. “Hello, lovely.”

The sharp points on your chin prick you back into reality, and you try to flail upright. She clicks her tongue and graps you by the thigh as you attempt to scramble away, flipping you around and settling you firmly on top of her lap. She’s huge; big enough that you have to tilt your head up to look her in the eyes.

“They’re a bit on edge.” She cups your face in two hands, leaning back to look at you. You can’t move, transfixed by the soft shine of her golden eyes. You know they’re watching you, dozens and dozens of drones in the walls ready to make a move the instant you do anything.

“We’ll need you to calm down, sweetheart,” the queen decides, and then she’s forcing your head down to her chest. A clawed thumb pries your lips open and there’s soft, warm skin on your tongue and the softness of her breast filling your mouth. It’s almost involuntary at first, the swallow, but you don’t expect the taste of warm, sweet liquid coursing down your throat.

“Keep drinking,” the queen tells you, her hands trailing down from your face and gripping your ribcage. The tips of her claws rest on your spine, the sharpness a warning to you despite the softness of her skin and the fur on her hips and the sweetness of her milk in your mouth. Her fingers flex as you suck obediently, and pain sparks in your back. Tears prickle up in your eyes, but you don’t want to disobey.

Your head feels fuzzy. The queen has ordered you to drink, and you did out of fear, but the milk in your belly and the cloying scent of her wings and the humiliation of sitting on her lap, sucking like a newborn on its mothers tit in front of dozens of strange creatures, are getting to you. Your thoughts come slower now, and the initial terror and panic as they dragged you here has receded to the pit of her stomach.

“There we are.” The queen pulls her breast out of your mouth, wiping the saliva from your lips with the hem of your shirt. She smiles. “Ready to behave?”

You nod, because that’s what she wants you to do. She lifts a hand and beckons to the drones in the walls and they begin to come down, land in groups around you. Maybe you should be afraid at this point, but you can’t bring yourself to be anymore.

One of the larger drones comes forward and lifts you off the queen’s lap, holding you in the air with one pair of arms. Another pair goes down to strip your clothes off your body, dropping the fabric to the ground. It’s warm in the hive, and you’re almost relieved to have the obstruction gone. There’s heat in your stomach and when the drone’s hands spread your thighs apart you’re already dripping wet.

Something presses against your entrance, between your legs, and it’s not until the drone begins forcing its cock inside you with a hiss that you start to panic. It’s big, too big even with the preparation the queen’s milk made your body undergo, and your eyes widen in fear.

“Don’t move.” The queen orders the drone. It merely holds you in the air, a pair of hands on your arms and another pair spreading your legs wide, its cock resting deep inside you. You don’t want to know how it will feel when the thing finally starts moving.

“Look at me,” the queen tells you, and you meet her golden eyes. She smiles at you gently, and that makes you feel better. You’re doing what she wants from you, you’re useful to her. “Can you be good for me?”

You nod, determined to behave. Even with that resolution you can’t help but whimper as the drone starts moving slowly, cock filling you out as it slides in and out. It starts slow, a steady slide that stretches out your walls and reaches deeper inside you than anything has before. It hurts, but there’s something rewarding about being that full. You’re useful, like she wants you to be.

The drone speeds up its pace, and you cry out. It’s hard to even form thoughts with the sensation inside you, the eyes watching you and the pain and the sparks of pleasure, little waves of electricity arching your back and rolling your eyes back in your head.

The drone stutters its pace, pauses, and finishes inside you. It pulls out and warm liquid drips down the inside of your thighs. It drops you, and your legs are too weak to catch yourself. You stumble forward and land on your hands and knees.

Another drone is in front of you now, between you and the queen. It sits in front of you, one hand grabbing you by the hair and forcing your head down. You have the presence of mind to open your mouth as it pushes its cock into your mouth, trying not to choke when it forces you down. You can’t focus on trying to pleasure it, because there’s another one behind you and another cock at your entrance and you choke when it pushes inside you.

They don’t stop.

There’s hands on your hips and your throat and their cocks deep inside you; cum on your thighs and back and you can’t think anymore. They’re using you the way the queen wants them to, and you’re being used the way she wants you to be used and they could break you for all you care as long as she’s proud of you afterwards.

And, when your vision finally clears and they leave you with shaking limbs and a hoarse voice in her lap, she rests your head on her thighs and tells you that she is proud, that you did a wonderful job.

And that is enough.

#k: belly bulge #afab reader #bee.txt #k: breeding #k: lactation #k: noncon #k: brainwashing #milf.txt #sub reader #k: gang bang

[helluvawhore]

run (you can't)

// non consensual body modification

smut under cut; minors DNI

Run.

You can’t run.

There’s no breath left in your lungs, there’s something large crouched over your back, and the torch in your hand went out as soon as you dropped it. The ember of it glows in your vision; smoldering orange and the only light in the cave.

The spider hisses in your ear. You’re going to die; it’s going to kill you; it’s going to slit you open with its fangs and you’ll bleed out, paralyzed, on the floor of an empty cave with no one except for a monster preparing to eat your corpse.

Run.

You can’t run. God, how you wish you could. Metal shrieks as it tears apart your armor, and you cringe down against the ground. No protection anymore, just you and the manic heartbeat in your ears and the creature forcing you to the ground. It leans down and there’s the agonizing slide of fangs into your skin, piercing your shoulder.

It’s the last pain you feel. Your body goes numb, no longer responding to any movement you attempt to make. Even after the spider steps back off you can’t lift even a finger. You can’t run. It waits for a moment, then reaches down and flips you over, away from the armor. You land on your back on the cold stone and get your first look at the spider. It’s a big one, and its eyes glow as it crawls towards you.

You focus on the eyes. Eight eyes, glowing red above you. There’s no compassion or malice or empathy behind them; there’s no stopping it. You can feel what it’s doing when it reaches a leg out and rests a claw on your stomach. There’s no pain, just the panic and the revulsion when it delicately slices you open. There’s cold air touching places where it never, never should. It’s cutting you open and your lungs are heaving, trying to gain enough air.

Focus on the eyes. Red eyes, red eyes, and the claws ever-so-discreetly reaching inside of your body. It’s touching you, inside you. It’s rearranging your organs and pulling them aside as if it’s looking for something.

Breathe. In, out. Stare at the red eyes and try not to think about the dexterous claws. It’s cutting you apart, rearranging things inside you. There’s no pain, but it hurts in the desperation and the choicelessness. You’re trapped with a monster inside of you.

There is no time in the dark, and the spider does not rush things.

It’s building something; using you for something. You can tell, in the way it examines your insides and holds some pieces aside to reach others, makes delicate incisions and sews up cuts using its thread. Your limbs remain unusable and motionless. There is nothing except the eyes in the darkness and the sound of your own organs being cut apart and put back together.

You sleep at some point, your body too exhausted by panic and fear to keep you awake any longer. It’s too fitful for dreams, jostled into wakefullness any time the spider makes a large incision or leans too close. But, somehow, it withdraws and carefully stitches up the opening in your stomach.

You don’t feel different. Just the same numbness and too-fast breathing. The spider hisses again, the first sound it’s made in hours. You weren’t certain what it wanted with you, but now it’s moving back and spindly legs are sliding open your legs and oh no.

You can’t tilt your head down to see, but you can feel as something presses against your entrance, and now you understand. You shouldn’t be this wet; it shouldn’t be this easy for the spider to force its way inside you; it should be far, far too big. It’s stretching you out as it pushes inside of you. You can see the swell in your stomach it makes, the bulge just large enough to be in your vision when you look down.

The spider lowers itself on top of you. Heavy, angled carapace against your stomach, pushing down against the bulge it makes inside of you. Your breathing grows shallower, ribcage unable to expand with the weight on top of you. It chitters, mandibles clicking a few inches from your face, and begins to move inside you.

There’s something sliding up the massive shaft that’s splitting you open. You can feel it pressing at your entrance for a brief moment, then it slips past and further inside of you. It’s an egg.

Not the first one either. The spider settles down, legs wrapping around you. It doesn’t move, there’s only the slow pulse as egg after egg slips inside you. You feel far, far too full. There should be no way that your body can handle this, any of it. Somehow, though, the spider managed to build you into something it could use. And it keeps using you.

There’s no relief when it finally pulls out of you, clear fluid dripping from its shaft. You’re so filled with its eggs that even if it hadn’t paralyzed you, you doubt you could move. It loosens the legs clasped around you and you can hear it move away into the darkness.

And it leaves you alone.

#k: belly bulge #spider.txt #k: ovi #k: noncon #k: body modification #gn reader