Chapter Text
Yaz is used to being kidnapped. It's far, far from the first time it's happened, but this time is one of the worst, in terms of bad timing. She and the Doctor had been wandering the city, and she can't remember the name but it was beautiful in the glow of the stars. They'd even held hands, and Yaz's heart had skipped a beat or seven when the Doctor first entwined cool fingers with her own. Then she had accidentally spilled some of her strange, spicy drink on the leggings she was wearing under her skirt, and the Doctor had quipped about how she'd have to be more careful, and Yaz laughed and didn't really care that she had to take her leggings off and stuff them in her bag.
And then something had shifted in an alleyway, and everything went dark, and now Yaz is in a room with nothing but her clothing. The only light she can see is trickling in through the bottom of what must be a door, but it's not enough for her to make out her surroundings. Cold, hard stone beneath her is all she can be certain of.
"Doctor?" she calls.
Her only answer is the soft echo of her own voice. Yaz forces down the worry rising in her chest; if the Doctor isn't with her, then the Doctor can come to rescue her. That's good. But it doesn't mean she's just going to sit around and wait, either.
She isn't restrained, so Yaz clambers to her feet and heads for the thin stripe of light under the door. After a moment of feeling around, she finds a handle and gives it a tug. To her surprise, it moves down, and she hears something click. Quickly, she pulls the door open.
Dull, washed-out grey light spills into the room, and it illuminates something slimy and writhing behind the door. A mass of pale green tentacles, or vines, or thousands of long, slender limbs, or something that she does not want to get any closer to.
Unfortunately, she doesn't have a choice. One of the tentacles coils around her bare ankle, tightening with frightening strength to yank her through the doorway.
With a yelp, Yaz lands hard on her back, forced off balance by the sudden tug. She tries desperately to dig her hands into the floor, to find any kind of purchase and pull herself free, but then another tentacle wraps around her other leg, and she's fighting a losing battle. Her palms scrape against the rough surface of the floor as she's dragged all the way into the tentacle's room. The door shuts behind her with an ominous click.
As she takes a deep breath in, attempting to calm herself, she looks around the room. It's small — barely bigger than the awful, squirming mass that inhabits it, but the ceiling is vaulted and criss-crossed with what look to be metal bars. There aren't any doors, except for the one she entered through.
"Can you understand me?" she asks. "My name's Yaz, and if you're stuck here like I am, I can help. I've got a friend who can-"
She cuts off with a squeak as a tentacle is pressed, cold and slick, against the skin of her leg, and starts working its way inside her sock. It almost tickles as it brushes against the sole of her foot, and the sensation sends a wave of nausea through her. When she tries to tug her foot away again, she sees two larger tentacles, each easily as thick around as her arms, wriggle out of the main clump. Each one curls around her knee, then wrenches her legs apart and holds them still, suspended in the air.
"Hey!" Yaz yelps. "No need for that!"
She reaches down, trying to pry a tentacle off with her hands, but that only makes two more thick ones take hold of her arms at the elbow.
"Seriously," she snaps, twisting and struggling, "if you keep doing this, I'll-"
The rest of her sentence is stopped, rather abruptly, by another tentacle shoving into her mouth. It rests heavily on her tongue, tasting of something dense and sweet. Yaz tries to bite down on it, hoping that will make it back off, but the slick flesh is firm and unyielding under her teeth. In fact, her attempts only make it push deeper into her mouth, until the tip of the tentacle presses against the back of her throat and she gags.
At the same time, the tentacle that had been curling around her toes finally manages to remove her sock and shoe, and begins working on the other one. Another tentacle — and Yaz is already starting to lose count, there's just so many and they're everywhere — begins slipping up under the hem of her shirt, leaving a cold, slimy trail over her stomach as it goes.
The tentacle in her mouth squirms for a moment, and then a cool, thin liquid begins to trickle down the back of Yaz's throat. She coughs, spluttering around it, and it finally retreats, still spilling the liquid as it goes. Sweetness floods her mouth and she tries her best to swallow it, but some still leaks past her lips and down her chin, leaving splatters on her shirt. Somewhere, distantly, she wonders if that will wash out.
And then she stops wondering much of anything, because there's a sudden rush of heat down her spine, settling in her breasts and her cunt, and Yaz has experimented with her fingers and a fantasy of the Doctor before but it has never been like this. She feels warm and tingly and empty, so very empty, and she needs to fix that.
No, no, she needs to escape. She doesn't want to be here, she doesn't want any of this, she wants to be back on the TARDIS with the Doctor, safe and- and she wants the Doctor's fingers filling her, fucking her, and wouldn't it feel lovely to be full like that?
"Please," she gasps, not sure if she's pleading for freedom or for something else. "Please, I need-"
For all their meandering over her body, the tentacles have avoided her crotch and chest until now. But as soon as she begs, Yaz feels one trail up her thigh, achingly slow, and then rub itself over her underwear. It's just where she wants it, but the layer of fabric preventing it from slipping into her is maddening. Simultaneously, the tentacle under her shirt is joined by another, and both worm their way up, slipping into her bra and writhing over her breasts.
Yaz arches, keening, into the tentacles holding her still, trying to grind down against the one teasing her aching cunt. If she just had her hands free, she thinks deliriously, she could pull her underwear down properly, and unhook her bra while she's at it.
It's as if the tentacles can read her mind. The ones around her elbows loosen their grip, twining down her arms to rub against her wrists instead of restraining her. Without thinking, Yaz reaches back and up, under her shirt, to unclasp her bra and let it slip down her shoulders. When the tentacles massaging her breasts take advantage of their new freedom to squeeze, ever so slightly, at her nipples, she moans.
Then she moves her hand downward, to take her underwear off so she can finally, finally get what she needs.
It's only as she's tugging her sopping underwear down to her knees — as far as she can, given the tentacles — that a shock of lucidity runs through her. What is she doing? She's been kidnapped, she has no idea where she is, no idea where the Doctor is, and she's getting naked so some creepy alien can have its way with her? Yaz yanks at the tentacles around her knees again, desperately trying to take advantage of being able to move her hands, and-
And then the one that had been prodding at her through her underwear plunges into her cunt all at once and Yaz moans and every thought of escape flies out the window. It isn't slow or shy about things, just stuffing every inch of it that can fit inside of her in one go, and it's the best thing she's ever felt. The cool, slick flesh is a balm against her burning skin, and as it stills inside her she feels so wonderfully, beautifully full. The tentacle writhes, pressing against her walls, and Yaz makes a keening sound that echoes off the walls.
"More," she pants. "More, I need more."
The tenacle in her cunt pulls out, then shoves back in, harder and faster, again and again in a punishing but oh-so-pleasurable rhythm. As her mouth falls open in mindless ecstasy, Yaz sees a tentacle creep towards her face again.
It enters her mouth easily, already releasing that sweet juice that made her feel so good at first, and she drinks it down like she's been in a desert. Every gulp she swallows only makes her want more, only makes her eyes roll further back in her head as she sucks at it hungrily. Some of the liquid spills out of her mouth again, but she doesn't care any more. All that matters is the fullness in her mouth and her cunt and the sweetness in her stomach and the pleasure burning up her mind.
Then the tentacle in her cunt pulls out entirely, and the two at her chest retreat, and Yaz whines needily at the loss. The four thick ones holding her in place begin to move in tandem, lifting her up into the air, higher and higher until she's at eye-level with one of the metal bars that crosses the ceiling. She can feel the two on her arms uncoiling, until only the two at her knees are holding her up — and then, a moment later, they're wrapping around her wrists again, and its the ones at her knees unwinding.
Aching at the loss of fullness, Yaz rubs her thighs together in search of friction or anything to make it feel better. Then, as the tentacles take hold of her knees again, pulling them as far apart as they'll go, she just has to whine and jerk her hips against empty air instead.
She wishes the Doctor were here. If the Doctor were here, then she could slip those elegant, clever fingers up into Yaz's cunt and help, or even just give Yaz her thigh to grind against. She would take whatever the Doctor gave her and be grateful, so grateful.
A wave of fresh, dripping wet heat runs through her at the thought of seeing the Doctor in the same situation. Suspended in the air, tentacles writhing under her shirts and up her trousers, face flushed and slick with the same liquid that's still drying on Yaz's chin, making desperate sounds around another tentacle in her mouth…
Her orgasm hits her completely by surprise, and Yaz yelps as her body tenses and shudders, waves of white-hot pleasure rolling over her. She can feel her empty, far too empty, cunt clench around nothing, and she wants.
Below her, she sees the mass of tentacles begin to part, revealing something deep, flushed purple. As it rises, undulating, up into the air, Yaz realizes what it is — another tentacle, thick and bulbous and covered in little spikes. And, with a keening whimper, she realizes it's heading for her.
"Please," she slurs, the word feeling mushy and strange in her orgasm-fuzzy brain.
Luckily, she doesn't have to say it again. The tentacle stops rising into the air several meters below her, but the ones holding her up lower her down quickly until she can feel the thick, cool head of it pressing at her entrance.
It slides inside slowly and purposefully, and Yaz moans every inch of the way. It's so, so thick, filling her up and pressing against her and stretching her further open as it goes. When the tip finally hits her cervix, she's almost disappointed — she wants more, more inside her until she's fit to burst.
The tenacle pulls back slightly, spines dragging blissfully against her as it does, and she feels something strange happen inside of her. Tiny, wriggling tendrils press against her inner walls, as if searching. When a sharp spike of pain runs through her as one prods at somewhere sensitive, Yaz realizes what they were looking for.
She can't help but scream as, one by one, the tendrils try to force their way into her cervix. Whether she manages words — pleas for it to stop, cries for the Doctor — or just empty, pained noises, she isn't sure. Her eyes are screwed shut as she tries to struggle loose, not caring about the drop to the floor as long as it means getting away.
Her screaming is muffled as a tentacle slides once more into her mouth, down her throat, past the point where she chokes and gags on it. She can't even taste the liquid as it pours out, but she can feel her stomach fill with it, like drinking too much water at once. Slowly, the pain of the tendrils pressing at her melts into more aching, too-hot pleasure, and Yaz's cries for help turn into moans again.
The tenacle pulls out of her mouth, but stays hovering around her face, caressing her cheeks and trailing over her lips. It's almost tender, and she turns into the touch.
Yaz had almost forgotten about the tentacle filling her cunt, the sensation fading into a background radiation of so full, so good, so much, until something gives deep inside of her and the tendrils all retreat again. Then the tentacle slides out, scraping those achingly good spines against her, and pauses, hovering just below her cunt.
She looks down, and can see the uneven, oval-ish lumps inside the tentacle move. One works its way up the shaft, closer and closer to the head, before stopping several inches below it. The thing must be nearly double the diameter of the rest of the tentacle, but Yaz can't feel anything but pleasured anticipation at the thought of having it inside her.
And, when the tentacle finally thrusts back into her, hard, the slight stretch of the very top of the oval pressing against the lips of her cunt is just as good as she had hoped. The tentacle pulls out again, and she can see the oval move further up before it thrusts again. This time, she really feels it, stretching almost painfully as she's forced to take it.
Over and over, the process repeats; the oval moves further up the tentacle with each blindingly good thrust, and Yaz feels herself stretch to accomodate it every time. Eventually, the tentacle shoves the whole thing inside of her in one smooth motion, and she comes again, tightening around the sheer fullness of it all.
With the oval fully inside, the tentacle stays still inside of Yaz as it inches up the shaft. When it's nearly at the tip, the tentacles around her arms and legs suddenly shove her down, further onto the one stuffing her full, and she yelps when the head of the tentacle breaches her cervix.
A moment later, the yelp turns into a moan, somewhere between agony and bliss, as the oval presses up, up, into her womb. It hurts, it burns, but Yaz can't help the way she wants it to never end.
There's a popping sound that she feels more than hears, the pressure abruptly lessens, and then something heavy settles deep inside of her. The tentacle slides out of her cunt, deflated from its previous girth, but another one rises to take its place, slimmer and emerald green.
It slips easily inside of her, up to her cervix, and then something warm and thick fills her up. Then, like the other one, the tentacle leaves. Yaz half-expects to see a thick, sticky substance drip out of her at that, but nothing does. She can't even see a swelling in her stomach, despite how full she feels.
Gently, the tentacles lower her to the ground. A tiny tendril, barely half the width of Yaz's pinky, rises almost timidly from the main mass, and brushes aside her hair. She doesn't even feel it slip inside of her ear before everything goes dark.
Yaz wakes up in a dark, empty room, with nothing but her clothing. She can't see any light, or any sign of a door, or-
A panel in the wall in front of her slides open, and a familiar figure is silhouetted against the bright white light that floods the room.
"Yaz!"
"Doctor!" Yaz cries, scrambling to her — strangly unsteady — feet. "Oh, thank goodness. I just woke up, but-"
"Really?" The Doctor frowns. "You've been gone for four hours, Yaz. I had to check half the city before someone told me about this abandoned warehouse — apparently it used to be part of a scientific research facility into inter-species cross-genetic experimentation, but then it lost funding, and some unsavory types took it over."
"Must have been out cold," she offers. "I'm just glad you found me before anything could happen."
The Doctor nods fervently. "Yeah. Let's get you back to the TARDIS, alright? I'll find somewhere better for our next trip, promise."
Yaz smiles, and takes the Doctor's hand. The Time Lord startles slightly, but laces her fingers through Yaz's without hesitation. Something about that makes a shameful little pulse of heat run through Yaz's core. Maybe she should see how the Doctor feels about kissing and… more than kissing, soon.