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fiber-optic-alligator · 7 months ago

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Desperation vs. Domestication (Pt. 2)

Pairing: IDW Drift x Human Reader

WARNING: This story contains soft vore. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this story.

Word Count: 4431

Summary: Though you have been lulled into a deep sense of security by Drift's kindness and comfort, you still haven't completely lost the need to be free. A terrible nightmare refuels your desire for escape...but Drift isn't someone who wants to let you go.

HEEHEEHEEHEE I REALLY WANTED TO WRITE A PART 2 OF THIS...so I did. It's because Drift is my all-time favorite Transformer and I absolutely LOVE putting my favorite characters through angst. If you enjoyed reading part 1, then I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Likes, comments, feedback, and reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated! Enjoy! :D

Here is the link to pt. 1 if you haven’t read it!

Also available to read on AO3!

Two months later…

You dream of Earth tonight.

There are fields; you are standing in one. Long Bermuda grass tickles your ankles with the gentle presence of the planet recognizing its own. The endless green is splattered with occasional droplets of color: pink poppies, yellow sunflowers, marigolds, dandelions. It is warm. There is a slight wind blowing, playing with your hair. You turn your face towards the sunlight and bask in the relief of knowing you are home.

All of a sudden, you hear a sound. Thumping. Steady, rhythmic. Loud. You feel the wind die down and suddenly the sun is gone, and there is only darkness. A massive shadow blots out all of the light. You see a figure looming over you, red-and-white with bright blue eyes that stare into your soul and make you feel terror.

You try to run, but find you cannot move your legs. There is nothing you can do when you watch a giant hand reach down in slow motion and pluck you up, holding you between titanic fingers. The monster’s mouth opens, and then you are tumbling down, right into an abyss of metal and isolation. The Earth melts away forever. You are trapped. You are alone.

Shooting forward out of your nightmare, you hear yourself scream. The squishy floor underneath you makes you lose your footing when you scramble upward in a blind panic and fall into Drift’s stomach wall. Everything moves, the organ grumbling unhappily at you being awake. Your hands scramble at the mesh cables. Little pink bubbles of cybernetic blood pop anxiously beneath their semi-transparent surfaces. The walls close in to squeeze, holding you in a secure hug, attempting to keep you still. But you cannot think. You are scared, and you feel trapped, so you desperately begin to thrash and fight against the stomach.

Drift’s voice booms above you, panicked. “Little one? Little one?!”

“Let me go!” you shriek. “Please, letmegoletmegoletmego!”

The walls loosen up, freeing you. You collapse into the fetal position, gasping while sweat beads your brow and your heart goes crazy.

Drift presses his hands over his middle. “Little one, little one, shhhh, shh, shh, shh,” he hushes frantically. “Safe, safe…safe, all is safe...no need for fear…”

Gradually, you calm down. Only when you are no longer trembling does Drift tentatively begin to squeeze you again. In and out, slow kneading, like he’s silently coaxing you to continue breathing at a healthier pace. “Little one…okay?” he asks.

Your voice quivers. “I-I’m fine. I’m okay. It-It was a bad dream. A nightmare.” You sit upright and lean into the stomach wall. Drift holds you close, the undulating muscle relaxing you with its constant massage. His biolights pulse and flicker, a clear sign of his stress. You woke him up with your screams. It makes you feel bad, so you snuggle his cables further. The robot’s stomach is not a big place, but Drift likes to be conscious of you. The support you provide him in completing this task is obviously appreciated, because he hums softly and pats his hand over where you are.

There is peace again. Peace and warmth. But you don’t feel the usual safety. There is a lingering pit of dread growing deep within your gut, foul roots clawing their way through your body, leaving you jittery, uneased. Your nightmare is the first one in months, and it’s a sure sign things are not right.

It has been such a long time since you thought of your possible escape plan. You don’t know how long, but you do know that you can’t be comfortable here anymore. Your mind is sending the signals loud and clear.

No more stalling, you think to yourself. No more being complacent.

You are not domesticated yet.

When Drift lets you out of here…you will go through with the plan to take an escape pod home. For real this time.

It takes you weeks to perfect your plan. And when you do finally have it all figured out, you come to the conclusion that things may end up being more complicated than you thought. Escaping a spaceship filled with giant alien robots is hard enough, yes. But then there’s the issue of what will happen when you return to Earth. You don’t know how long you’ve been abducted. It could be months. It could be years. What if all of your family and friends are long gone by the time you get home? What if things are so different that you’ve been completely left behind?

No. You can’t think like that. A sharp patting to your cheeks snaps you out of it. Keep it together. This is the moment you have been waiting for. Regardless of what awaits you on Earth, you will be there to face it.

You’ve packed everything you own into a small fabric knapsack your mech gifted you during your first days here (Who knew robots are such good knitters?). It’s not much, not much at all: snacks Drift gives you, strange pellets that clean your teeth, three cans of filtered water…but that’s all you really require for the trip you are going to embark on. You don’t believe it will be particularly long. The escape pods need to have some sort of device that allows them to leap through lightyears to their destinations. You believe this because you’ve watched the mothership do it from the observation windows Drift likes to bring you to sometimes. Hyperspace will occasionally be activated, with stars and planets blurring together into dazzling white paint streaks before coming to an abrupt halt in a totally new galaxy.

Now, do you know how lightjumping works? Absolutely not. Last time you were on Earth, no such human technology had been invented yet. So you don’t exactly know how you’ll get the escape pod to lightjump like the ship does. But you’ll find a way. You have no choice.

Now for the hard part: getting away from Drift long enough to activate the escape pod and blast away. He’s not going to make it easy for you. Drift doesn’t like letting you out of his sight if you aren’t in his room, and hardly lets you roam free. You’ve spent hours, both within his stomach and out, pondering how to go about this. It’s left you with the agonizing decision that you’ll just have to wing it somehow.

The door to his room slides open. You’ve been sitting on his berth with your hands beneath your head and one leg crossed over the other, thinking, thinking, thinking, that at first you nearly didn’t hear him come in. You sit up to greet him with more eagerness than you’d like to show. The nightmare didn’t stop your affection for Drift from rearing its persistent head.

There’s no waiting for him to give you his time today. When he enters the room, his focus is immediately on you with no prior distractions. Drift walks with a spring in his step, his finials perking up like an enthusiastic dog. You notice a small white box he holds in one hand, and think nothing of it. Drift’s room is decorated with countless knickknacks from other planets. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s brought some strange little souvenir home.

“Hey, big guy,” you murmur happily when he kneels down before you. He settles the box to the side and cups both hands behind you, humming his typical car engine-purr greeting. You hug him when he draws you forth so he can nuzzle his nose into your middle. “I’m guessing you missed me?”

Drift beep-boops excitedly. He gives you an affectionate tickle to your side, causing you to giggle. Your reaction delights him. He keeps it up, and pretty soon you are laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “D-Drift, s-stop! I-I can’t breathe!”

He gives you one last light prod, then ends the bout of torture with more cuddles. You recover from the laughter, feeling airy and light like nothing else matters except for the giant robot holding you.

“Little one,” he coos. “My little one.”

“Mhm,” you mumble goodnaturedly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m yours.”

He suddenly looks like he’s remembered something very important, and he straightens, chirping rapidly. You watch as he grabs the white box and, to your surprise, presents it to you. You glance at it, then turn to him. “For me?” you ask, pointing at yourself.

He chirps again and nods.

You take it from him and open it with a slight air of confusion, because he’s never given you something like this before. You think it might be a piece of jewelry, or some sort of charm. But what you see inside is neither of those things. You suck in a sharp breath of pure disbelief and go numb.

It’s a collar. A damn collar. Sleek and narrow, its solid red with a single white stripe circumnavigating it. On one side is a strange symbol of a boxy red robot’s face-the same symbol he has on his chest. These are his colors, you realize. He’s making us match. He wants the other mechs to know that he owns you.

Drift rumbles expectantly. When you remain frozen, unable to pry your eyes away from the collar, he gently pries it out of your now slightly shaking hands. With extreme carefulness, he clasps it around your neck. It fits comfortably and locks with a quiet click.

“My little one,” he repeats. “Mine.”

He’s not trying to scare you. You know he isn’t. Yet your throat is dry, and the snug weight of the collar makes you feel sick.

You need to get the hell off of this ship.

You spend the night feverishly trying to break the collar off, working yourself up like a caged animal driven mad by captivity. But no matter how hard you yank at it, it remains stubbornly fast around your neck. You refuse to eat the food given to you and cry yourself to sleep within a very concerned Drift’s belly, who can’t seem to console you no matter how hard he tries.

Drift doesn’t know what to do with you.

You’ve been moping ever since he gave you the collar. Over the next few days, any sort of drive to escape has left you. You're depressed and disappointed in him for what he’s done. You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t want to accept any of his gifts. Blanket after pillow after plushie-all made by him, with the crude markings of homemade love-are ignored. You shy away from his touch and reject his attention. When he swallows you at night, you give him no inclination you care. You sit like a stone within him and just…stare off vacantly, unable to ignore the collar around your neck.

He’s brought you to the ship’s doctor multiple times. On the first trip, the old red medic bot looked you over and finished his checkup with a shrug and dismissive chuff. The second time, he growled at Drift and waved him away. And on the third time, he didn’t even let him through the door. There’s nothing physically wrong with you. But mentally, how could they know? How could he know he’s hurt you? You trusted him to treat you with some level of respect despite your situation, and he had, until now. The collar was your breaking point. There truly is no way for him to ever see you as anything more than a pet, and it hurts you, because by god, you love him.

“…Little one?”

Drift calls out to you with a soft, sad tone. You huddle up tighter beneath one of your blankets and give no answer.

You hear him shift at his desk. There’s silence between the two of you that is not wanted. He heaves a low sigh and tries again. “Little one…please?”

Damn your heart, you can’t keep giving him the silent treatment when he sounds like he’s about to cry.

You push the blanket off of your head. Drift slouches in his chair, back bent like an old man’s. His finials are drooping, and the glow from his biolights is dimmer than usual. He’s obviously been letting his personal hygiene go for the sake of finding a way to help you, and it hurts to know he’s in this state because of your shitty attitude towards what he simply sees as a gift. The collar is a curse, but you can’t exactly tell him that, can you? This entire situation is all your fault.

It's the treacherous part of your mind which attempts to convince you of this. It partially works. Giving in, you sit up slowly, drawing the blanket tightly around your shoulders and tilting your head while giving him a questioning look.

He’s surprised by your action, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting you to respond to this extent. But he takes advantage of it. Drift offers you a hopeful smile and picks something up from his desk. He stands and walks to you, going slow. You don’t flinch when he crouches down to your level. The warm light of his eyes leaves a kind feeling on your skin.

Tentatively, Drift extends his hand. In his palm is a piece of chocolate, one of the many treats he has at his disposal to provide you with when he feels you are being especially good. It’s an olive branch. A reach in the right direction.

You hesitate…and then you think, Oh, what the hell. Staying mad at Drift when he has no clue he’s done something wrong in the first place won’t get you anywhere. So you accept the candy and take a small bite.

He sags with relief, exhaust whooshing from his nose as he watches you eat. When you're finished, he moves his hand closer, twining the palm around you and resting the tips of his digits against your head and sides. You hold his index finger, resting your forehead against it and closing your eyes as a sign of trust. But you feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing he won’t understand. But you say it anyway. “I love you. I love you so, so much. But you're destroying me. I can’t stay here anymore.”

A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t notice it until Drift gently brushes it away.

“I have to go.” Your voice breaks. “I need to leave. I hope you’ll learn why. And I hope you won’t hate me for it. I-I don’t think I could handle it if you did. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t think I hated you.”

Drift coos. His reply is indecipherable. You think he’s trying to comfort you…but you’ll never know for sure.

He doesn’t swallow you tonight. You don’t know why; maybe he thinks you need a break. Maybe he just wants to hold you in a different fashion this time. You stay awake hours after he falls asleep, your little form nestled in the crook of his neck while he snoozes on his stomach with his arms crossed beneath his massive pillow. You peer off into the darkness, listening to his quiet breaths.

For the longest time, you’ve thought of this room as yours and his. A space the two of you share together. Ours. It's fed into your delusional ideations of a future in which the two of you learn each other’s languages, where you stand on equal ground, you belonging to him and him belonging to you. A future where mechs and humans join hands and say “I see you. I know you. I understand you and you understand me. Neither of us is higher than the other.”

But it will never happen. The collar around your neck is physical proof. There is no future between the two of you anymore. If you want to be you again…you need to let Drift go.

You shuffle away from the bot’s neck and stand. The only parts of him that are lit up right now are the red symbol on his chest and the soft blue of his mouth. He’s so peaceful. This giant alien, who you know has fought in many battles from the scars you can see, is soothed by your presence. You, an insignificant little human being. The dynamic is honestly quite hilarious. You're like his very own version of a chihuahua.

You want to hug his nose, knowing you will never have another chance again. But Drift is a light sleeper, and you're testing the waters enough already. You can’t risk it. It pains you, but you drop your arms and turn away.

Using the metal ladder he made for you so you’d have easy access to his berth, you climb down and grab your knapsack. Quietly padding across the long expanse of the room, you make it to the door. It senses your presence and slides open. You force yourself not to look back when you walk out.

You wonder if he will cry for you when he wakes up and finds you gone.

The spaceship is ominous at night. The only thing you can hear as you traverse the hallways is your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. You're trying to be quiet; passing by multiple rooms with slumbering bots inside has you holding your breath and then letting it out in a forcefully slow, reedy wheeze. You are, after all, a mouse in a prison filled with cats; slow and steady and silent wins the race.

You survey the elevator when you get to it, at a loss of how you’ll possibly find a way to operate it due to how small you are. A miracle finds its way to you, however, in the form of a mech. This one you don’t recognize. He has a similar color scheme to Drift, but is noticeably bulkier, with a strange cannon sitting on his right shoulder and a blue eyepiece over the adjacent optic. All of his focus is on the datapad in his hands as he summons the elevator. You wait for the doors to open and for him to step inside before darting after him. Luckily he doesn’t look up once on the short journey. Your cover remains unblown when the doors part again and he heads off. You go in the opposite direction, because like hell are you going to follow the strange robot to someplace where there are probably more strange robots.

You slip in and out of sight, staying far away from any mechs who are awake. They do not see you, which means you are doing this right-though there are some alarming instances where you think you’ll be caught. One such occurrence happens when a tall, thin blue mech with a chest like the front of a helicopter nearly sees you duck into an open storage room for quick cover. Its single orb ominously scans the darkened room. You watch from beneath a large shelving unit, terrified out of your mind. You don’t move, nor do you make a sound, keeping a shaking hand over your mouth.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the mech stomps away. You let your head fall forward respitefully.

You know you're nearing your one-way ticket to Earth when you see bright yellow signs plastered on the walls with loud black alien words telling you to hurry left with the help of large arrows. Escape pod symbols, accompanied by a funny little robot mascot, are the giveaway. You feel a sort of giddy euphoria swell up within you. You're almost there. You're going to escape. You're going to go home. It all seems far too good to be true; sure, you’ve imagined this scenario happening over and over again, but you never really did believe it would happen.

You pinch your arm multiple times just to make sure you aren’t dreaming. This is not in your head. This is happening. You really are going back to Earth.

Your collar suddenly vibrates. And then it starts to screech.

You nearly jump out of your own skin. The alarm is loud, piercing, and undeniably going to alert someone to your presence. You slam your fists against it multiple times, but it doesn’t let up. Your heart sinks when the realization of what's going on hits.

Shit. He put a tracker in it.

You need to run. You shove yourself forward into a full-on sprint, dashing down the last remainder of this hallway, then turning the corner and seeing the numerous escape pods all lined up in the wall. You choose the first one, grabbing the edge of the circular door and pulling with all of your might. The tendons in your neck strain as you grunt and slowly bring the door back with you. Clamoring in, you give it one last heave before it shuts on its own and seals you inside. You hear the lock click into place. The entire cabin flickers to life, with the lights on and the control panel booting up. As you expected, everything is far too big for you to reach. But it seems you won’t need to. A loud robotic voice emanates from the central console, speaking to you in the native mech language.

Your collar is still going off. You don’t have a lot of time.

“I-I can’t understand you!” you yell over the din. “I’m a human, from Earth! I speak English!”

The voice pauses. Seconds later, to your amazement, it talks, and you can understand. “Language notifications made. Destination updated. Scanning…” A panel on the ceiling pops open, and a blue light filters out, washing over you. “Scanning complete. Species: Homo Sapien. Homeworld: Earth. Milky Way Galaxy. Status: Critically endangered. Suggesting immediate travel to Earth.”

You clap your hands. “Yes! Yes, that’s it! Earth, set the destination to Earth!”

�� “Destination set. Awaiting command to launch LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01.”

You are about to give the order when something slams against the door. You whirl around, your heart stuttering when you see who’s there. It’s Drift. He’s made it. And he looks horrified. With trembling fingers, he yanks on the handle. When the pod remains fastly shut, he pounds on the circular window with so much force the entire thing shudders and you think he’s going to rip it right off of its hinges. “Little one!” he screams, voice muffled beyond the barrier of glass. “Little one! Open…!” The rest of the sentence comes out as sharp metal shrieks.

You stand there helplessly. The pod once again inquires for your command, yet you can’t find it within yourself to speak.

Drift is doing everything he can to get to you. He’s like a rabid beast, clawing at the window, teeth bared in visible frustration. His biolights are going mad when he roars and sends his whole body into the door. This time, it does give a little. You can see some dents in the gray metal.

This…is a side of Drift you have never seen. It is desperate, vicious. And it terrifies you. You stumble back to the opposite end of the pod and curl up, hugging your knapsack to your chest like a child squeezing their favorite stuffed animal. Drift continues his futile attack on the door, but pauses when he makes eye contact with you. His face falls. His fists relax and slide downward to press palm against the glass.

He’s quiet as he seems to reflect on how he just presented himself front of you, then whispers heartbrokenly. “...Sorry.” Tears stream down his cheeks. His hot vexation melts away and exposes his remorseful center. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Little one. Y/N.”

Oh my god.

All noise ceases when you register what he just said. Your name. He said your name. He’s never done that before. You didn’t think he knew your name.

He learned to say it. For you.

Drift whimpers like a kicked dog, moving to crouch lower. “Y/N. Y/N, please. Stay. Stay with me. Please don’t go. I love you.”

You’ve changed his life. You don’t need to be told this. You know you’ve brought him a sense of joy he hasn’t felt in years. You didn’t come here of your own free will. But you freely chose to love him. You gave yourself up and became his everything while he became yours. Isn’t he your home? Isn’t he the one who saved you? Can you really leave someone who cares about you so much?

Your legs move on their own accord. Your heart beats with his and you take tentative steps towards the door. Drift twitters and gives you an encouraging nod, gesturing for you to keep walking.

Why do you want to leave him so badly? Why would you want to throw away this perfect life?

Your little human hands come to rest right over his massive robotic ones. You two are separated, but you think you can feel the warmth coming from him. Drift bonks his forehead against the window anticipatingly. “Come on,” he whispers. “Come on. It’s…okay. You're okay. Please.”

Your hands are human. You will never see another pair again if you return to him.

Your life is not supposed to be perfect. A human’s life is messy, and disastrous, and chaotic, and beautiful. His life is too, but not in the same way as yours.

“Goodbye, Drift,” you murmur, voice breaking. “LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01…take me to Earth.”

The escape pods hums and rumbles. “Command accepted,” it announces. “Preparing ejection in three…two…one.”

The last thing you see and hear before the pod lurches forward and rockets out of its dock is Drift’s agonized expression and his wrenching wail.

Your vessel speeds away. You get a fantastic view of the ship in all of its stunning glory. It felt so gigantic when you were inside, but from out here, you can fully comprehend its overwhelming proportions. You watch it rapidly shrink as you gain distance from it, until it's just another speck of light in the universe. And when you can’t even see that anymore, you allow yourself to collapse against the floor eagles-spread. You gaze up at the ceiling, feeling surprisingly hollow. There is no victorious sense of triumph, no excitement to return home. You don’t even know where home is anymore. Somehow, after everything you’ve gone through, you’ve come out even more lost than you already were.

The waterworks start shortly after the escape pod jumps into hyperspace. Heaving sobs, messy tears, you lie there and weep to the stars, not noticing when your collar finally stops beeping.

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voraciousvore · 3 months ago

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Giganterra (Chapter 46)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (45) | Next (47)

Content Warning: Soft vore, full tour (not explicit at the end), sexual themes, some graphic descriptions of digestion (prey does not actually get digested)

Word Count: 3.1k

------ Chapter 46: Living Labyrinth ------

Candy sat in Hardon’s stomach, watching the living meat walls shift and churn in a rhythmic pattern. The growls from his stomach as it attempted to digest her rumbled like an earthquake and thundered in her ears. The acid swirled and fizzed around her, breaking down unrecognizable chunks of dissolving food into grotesque mush.

She had been in this stinking sack of meat many, many times by now. However, this particular instance was different. Her fear was fresh, the tension as harsh and palpable as the noxious fumes. Candy was terrified the king would uphold his threat to not let her out. The last place she wanted to die was inside him, to be absorbed into his body, to become one with the giant she found so repulsive.

The king went about his day as usual, walking and moving and sitting. Candy sloshed around in his belly with every movement, lapped by waves of acid. Even when he was at rest, his colossal body was alive around her, throbbing and beating and squelching. When he spoke, the deep, rich tones reverberated through his viscera, filling the hollow spaces in his body and Candy’s like the omniscient voice of a grand deity. Most of the time, Candy could hear him droning on in conversations to other people, but she had to strain to hear anyone else.

She snapped to attention when she realized he was addressing her directly. “Time is sliding through your fingers, darling,” he cooed, rubbing his belly maliciously. Candy could see the compression from the inside, squishing into the stomach lining. “You don’t have much of it left.”

“L-let me out of here!” she shouted. She channeled all her frustration and fear into her fist and punched the pressed-in stomach wall with all her might. The deep rumble of a chuckle rolled through the hollow belly, knocking her off her feet. Candy quaked with dread at the terrible sound, tears springing into her eyes.

“Not this time,” the giant boomed. Candy shuddered as the sonic vibrations reverberated within the fleshy cavity.

“P-p-please!” Candy wailed. “Why would you do this to me? I’m not ready to die!” All she got in response was another uproarious chuckle that made her skin crawl.

“Darling... it’s up to you whether you live or die now. If you have the tenacity and mettle to pull through, you might have a chance to survive.” Candy opened her mouth to yell back, only to be tossed backwards as the giant stood up and started walking. She flailed helplessly as the choppy waves of gastric juices slapped her and threatened to subsume her.

She ruminated on his words with confusion as she rocked in the churning digestive organ, the muscular walls kneading in a regular pattern. The stomach groaned and grumbled as it labored to break her down, just like any other bite of meat. What was she supposed to do? She was trapped. There was no way out. She couldn’t exactly crawl up his throat and free herself. The entrance to the stomach, a ring of tight muscle, pulsed high above her head, out of reach.

She went limp with wretched anguish, unable to stop the flow of tears again. She didn’t know what to do. Nobody was here to help or comfort her, not even Millie. She was going to die a slow and excruciating death, alone, with only mushy slop for company. The acid splashed around her, dragging her with the current from one end of the stomach to the other. Candy didn’t want to imagine what would happen when the magic serum wore off, and she’d be digested alive. It was too horrific to contemplate; her conscious mind shirked away from it.

She observed, with foreboding, that the digested pulp was gradually draining out of the stomach. She’d noted the phenomenon before, of course, without much thought of what came next. The food contained in the stomach, once broken down into a slurry, would move on into the next stage of digestion, to the intestines. The nutrients would be further processed and absorbed, and the remainder disposed of. A natural, consistent function, of course, one that comprised the inner world of the giant king. His gastrointestinal system was like an efficient industrial machine, excising the nutrients from the food that he ingested, transforming it into an unrecognizable state as it journeyed entirely through his colossal body, from entrance to exit. Orifice to orifice. Mouth to anus.

There was a way out. The realization, rather than bringing relief, filled her with horror. She wasn’t ready to explore the unknown depths of his bowels. Candy was so repulsed by the very notion, that she could scarcely even bring herself to consider the idea. However, being reduced to chyme herself didn’t sound any better. She swam around in the pocket of flesh, searching. Her bare foot bumped into a bulbous protrusion at the base of the stomach, partially submerged in gastric fluid. Candy looked down to behold another restricted orifice, similar to the one from which she entered the stomach from the esophagus.

She froze up, a sickening dread cascading over her. She didn’t want to do this. She wanted to cry again, but she knew it would do her no good. A baleful grumble emanated the boiling sea, making her shudder at the implications. She envisioned her skin peeling of, layer by layer, to expose the raw muscles underneath. The flesh melting away to reveal the shocking white of her bones. Suffocation as the acidic effluvium scorched her lungs. Abysmal agony, relief only coming with the bittersweet embrace of death. The vessel for her soul, diminished to nothing more than an inanimate carcass: calories to pad the fat of the giant’s thighs.

Intense fear of a harrowing death supplied the impetus to push her onward. She dove down, forcing her hands and arms into the pyloric sphincter. With a deep breath, she plunged her head and torso inside, squirming to force herself through the tight muscular opening. She managed to squeeze down into the duodenum with a repulsive squelch, flopping into the folds of the fleshy tube with revulsion. She didn’t allow herself to contemplate the abysmal fate that awaited her, or think about the consequences of her terrible, but unavoidable, choice. She crawled forward instead, sliding down a trail of bile through the C-shaped bend into the unknown darkness beyond.

Hardon was sitting on his throne, with his royal advisor standing on one side and his personal guard on the other, when he felt Candy slip into his intestines. He let out a low moan of pleasure as he doubled over and rubbed his abdomen, smiling maniacally to himself. The squirms of her tiny limbs as she clambered through his intestines were like an internal massage in an erogenous zone. The experience was intense enough to arouse him. “Mmmm... Goodness, Candy, that feels sublime... ohhhhhhh...” he moaned near his abdomen, where he knew Candy would be able to hear him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, Your Majesty. Are you feeling ill?” Leon inquired. He couldn’t help but notice the king mumbling incoherently and moaning, bent over at the waist as he massaged his middle.

“Shut up, Leon. I’m not talking to you,” King Richard growled. He caressed his paunch and whispered something else, a hideous grin marring his face.

Leon gulped. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He lapsed into silence with growing concern as he watched the odd display, the king murmuring to his midsection like a senile old man.

“I need to rest,” the king announced, springing out of his chair with a lively enthusiasm that belied his statement. “I will retire to my quarters. Have the kitchen send me something sweet to snack on.” He left, Ajax following close behind. He wanted to release his lust and rub one out in privacy.

Meanwhile, inside him, Candy navigated the long, winding tunnel of his small intestines. Her progress was sluggish as she waded through the soggy chyme, saturated by gastric fluid and gelatinous mucus. The tapestry of villi coating the inner folds of flesh rippled in a steady current, gradually dragging the mushy contents forward along with her small form. While the fumes weren’t as potent as in the stomach, the smell was still foul, enough to make her retch.

Nevertheless, despite her horror and abhorrence, she climbed through the hellish maze with a steely determination to survive at all costs. She felt she’d be letting Millie down, her former protector, if she gave up and died in this living sewer pipe. She was terrified. Various sounds echoed through the Stygian corridor in a grotesque and disturbing ambience: the unrelenting pounding of the giant’s heart, gurgles and squelches and deep growls, primordial moans from the unfathomable depths beyond. She felt vulnerable, diminished, and insignificant, lost and alone in what felt like meaty underground catacombs.

“Mmm, Candy, keep wriggling around like that. It feels so good,” Hardon’s voice blared all around her. Deeper down in his innards, she could mostly only hear the rich bass tones reverberating through the empty cavities. She tried her best to ignore the giant as he teased her and prodded at his gut, compressing the tunnels around her with an uncomfortable squish, like the sound of a wet sponge being wrung out. She wanted to scream when the fleshy folds squeezed around her; she thrashed to escape their tight embrace, sliding out and scrabbling ahead. The king moaned in a deafening rumble that shook her to her marrow, both physically and psychologically.

She kept moving, even as the banging in her ears intensified with his heightened heartbeat and elevated breathing. She hated to think what he was doing, but the noticeable swishing of the blood through the blood vessels embedded in his organs, his insufferable erotic moans, his rising internal body temperature, and his rocking, jerking motions were impossible to misinterpret. The lecherous, sadistic giant was pleasuring himself to her suffering, reveling in every small squirm that he could feel inside. Candy was mortified, yet unsurprised. She tried not to let his gross perversions phase her and kept going.

She struggled to maintain her footing as she crawled through the muck, cradled by the undulating intestinal lining. Every subtle movement from the giant’s larger body made her hands slide and swish over the slick, uneven wrinkles, knocking her down in a humiliating sprawl. The tubes twisted and winded in random directions, sometimes dumping her blindly down a chute or reversing course. The unpredictable directions made her dizzy. Occasionally the passageway would slope upward, impossible to climb with how slick and pliable the creases were. Candy could only wait as the muscular contractions slowly shuttled her along, the villi tickling her skin in a way that made her shiver with disgust.

The conduit of gurgling meat was endless. Candy felt like she had been creeping through miles of sludge. Globs of rancid juices dripped on her head and down her back as she strained to continue forward. An escalating panic grew in her chest, threatening to explode in a tempestuous burst. She recalled Hardon’s cryptic conversation before he swallowed her with fresh understanding, about how it would take days for food to make the full journey through his viscera. He claimed the anti-digestion potion only lasted two days, while the trip through his body could take as long as three. Her limbs weakened at the thought. She couldn’t last that long, within this confined hell. She might not survive; she might exert all this effort, only to die regardless.

Her world turned sideways, and she rolled along the inner wall of the tube and fell into one of the creases with a nasty plop. The giant’s heartbeat declined, and his breathing deepened, the steady swell and ebb of his body slowing. He was falling asleep. Candy wondered what time it was, whether it was night or if he was just taking a nap after blowing his load. She couldn’t tell. Deep in his bowels, the flow of time was only measured by the steady rippling of the intestines sluggishly shuffling the chyme along a fixed course. She felt as if she had spent an eternity down here, as if she had always been here, wandering in this subterranean labyrinth. Her life on the outside felt like a false dream, a delusional fantasy, a bitter lie.

Even so, she chased that dream with desperation. She wanted to live. She wanted to be free. In a painful yearning that she had long since buried in sorrows, she even thought about the handsome giant knight she had believed herself to be fated to. That was the worst lie of all. She finally succumbed to her misery and fatigue and collapsed, allowing the pulsing walls to carry her along. She couldn’t propel herself any longer. She cried until she lost consciousness.

A drop of fluid from the wriggling ceiling splattered her face and stung her eyes, waking her up. She didn’t know how long she had been asleep, but nothing had changed. It was almost as if she had made no progress at all, in the infinite loops of intestines. She didn’t have the strength to pull herself up. She stared numbly at the dripping wrinkles, squiggling with those innumerable sausage-like protrusions. She was thirsty, but of course there was no unpolluted water in sight. She’d probably be hungry too, if her repulsive surroundings didn’t nauseate her so much. She understood now why the king had given her a final breakfast. He knew the torture he was going to put her through, and desired to make her last as long as possible, even if ultimately she didn’t make it out in one piece.

As if her thoughts had summoned the vile monster, his sonorous voice blasted through his organs. “Candy? Are you still alive in there?” Candy watched helplessly as the tube around her flattened from the pressure of his hand over his gut, while he searched for her. She squeaked when he found her, squashing her in the mass of flesh. She writhed to get free, eliciting a hearty, booming laugh from the giant.

“Ah, there you are!” his voice bellowed. “You’d better keep moving! You might not finish the course alive at this rate!” Though Candy couldn’t see his face, she could imagine the gross leer on his visage, showing off his big teeth. She shuddered, and he moaned with satisfaction from the sensation.

“Oh, breakfast time!” the king announced with glee. Candy’s heart sank. She’d been inside him for an entire day. Her time was running out. She felt weak and defeated, drained by the intolerable heat, the odors, the exertion, the grotesque scenery—all of it. She couldn’t bring herself to move a single muscle.

“Chester! I’m sure you’ve reclaimed my darling Millie by now?” As she laid on her back, squelching through the grooves along with the transformed remains of yesterday’s breakfast, she relinquished all her remaining hope. She couldn’t hear Chester’s response, but she knew there was no way that Millie could escape Chester’s nose.

There was a long pause. The king’s pulse quickened. “YOU DIDN’T FIND HER?!” he exploded in a deafening roar. Candy was thrown about by the giant’s violent upheaval, slapping into the wall. “THAT’S NO EXCUSE! GET YOUR ASS OUT THERE AND BRING HER TO ME!!!” Candy’s ears rang from the volume, as if cannons had been fired right next to her head.

Even so, she was elated at the fantastic news. Her sacrifice hadn’t been in vain! Millie had eluded capture! Revitalized, she sprang into action, flipping over to resume her journey. Candy realized she couldn’t let the king win. She couldn’t give up, even when her situation was hopeless. The gigantic body around her shifted and made obnoxious noises, but she pressed on. She could hear the king muttering savage invectives like the drone of thunder, bringing her spiteful satisfaction.

Her positive mood didn’t last, but her resolve did. She utilized all her remaining willpower to haul one arm in front of the other, clambering over the furrows and through the contorting tangle of twists and bends. The agonizing minutes conglomerated into hours. The going became more difficult as the slurry thickened, and the acidic bile made everything even slimier. Her palms and knees kept slipping, especially as fatigue gnawed at her sore muscles.

Her senses and thoughts dulled. She couldn’t focus on her surroundings, so much so that she ended up careening down a dark chasm and landing in a shallow cleft made by two ridges of meat. She couldn’t get up, couldn’t even keep her eyes open, so she rested limply in the channel, nudged along by the steady flow. She flickered in and out of awareness, only brought back by the substantial bass of the king’s voice, or when her face was submerged in liquid.

She became dimly aware of being squeezed through a valve of some sort, and the passage widening around her. The little sausage-shaped protrusions vanished, and the irregular folds gave way to larger ridges in a more standard pattern. Candy felt herself gradually rising, but was too incoherent and unresponsive to do anything. She wasn’t sure if the tunnel was becoming darker or if her eyes weren’t working as well, but she was straining to see any details. The glow from her skin was fading. The flesh encompassing her and pushing her upwards felt hotter, unbearably so. Her skin began to sting in an unpleasant manner, and the malodorous air thinned, making it harder to breathe. Despite these alarming developments, Candy was unable to snap out of her daze. She fainted again.

Pitch blackness swallowed her mind. She only regained awareness when she was unexpectedly hit by a deluge of icy cold water. She tried to resist, weakly, as powerful giant fingers buffeted her on all sides, washing her off with stinging soap and water. She groaned as she was dried off with a fluffy towel, then dropped onto a soft, dry surface. Her eyes fluttered open.

She experienced a cold shock as she was met with a frigid gaze from a pair of all-too-familiar gigantic pale irises that struck her to her innermost roots. Staring into those eyes was like diving into an Arctic sea, ringed by glaciers and snowfall. She quivered with abject terror as her rational mind grasped where she was.

“Welcome back, my sweet little morsel,” King Richard gloated with an obscene grin.

Chapter 47

Tag List: @tinycoded360 @yummynomms @maybeiamdownbad

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ohthesearemyprey · 2 months ago

Text

As this blog seems to be a bit dead, I have decided to host a mini character lottery to revive it :)

(THIS IS THE ORIGINAL POST)

Lottery Game Info:

Ends Oct 12th 2024

ENDED!!

Rules:

The idea of this is fairly simple, comment the next number and you will be automatically entered into the lottery

For example, if the most recent comment has the number 5, you comment 6.

If you are the first to comment, comment number 1.

You may not comment more than once.

Only comments on the original post (that does include reblogs of this post since it does show up on the original post as well) will be counted.

YOU WILL HAVE YOUR COMMENT DELETED IF:

You are NSFW or KINK blog. I understand that I have a higher tolerance for interaction than most, but since the prize does mean interacting with me directly, I am not comfortable with that.

You are a hate centered blog, harassment blog, or any blog which has anything to do with either of these.

I will choose the winners through a random number generator. I will choose the order based on what number was rolled first, second, and third.

For example, if the generator chose 5, 3, and 8, whoever commented 5 would get first pick, whoever commented 3 would get second pick, and whoever commented 8 would get third pick.

There will be 3 winners, and depending on who wins first, they will get the following prize:

Will get first pick

Will get second pick

Will get third pick

Fairly straight forward, ya?

"So, what will I be choosing?" you may be asking.

The winners will get to choose, in their given order, which of these pred concepts they would like to become the proud owner of!

(I know they aint fullbody concepts, but, to be honest, I dont have that much time right now. If you are moot, and politely ask, I may do a quick fullbody sketch for you, its not gonna be anything detailed lol, but, again that's only IF you win)

I cant force anything, but I honestly would like it if these designs went to someone who draws them, and keeps their design in the SFW Vore community. I do love these designs, and its kind of hard for me to part with them. But I am hording characters lol, so I need to let them be free.

So ya! That's about it!

Comment your number folks!! ->

#e a/t #extreme cuddling #sfw vore

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sailorsenshishitposter · 5 months ago

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The anti Gojo fan club

"Are you sure you belong here?" Asked the oversized bouncer. Standing before him was a young teenage boy with pink locks and a school uniform.

"I think you'd be more comfortable at that place." He then pointed over to the club down the road (Weenie Hut Jr.'s).

"I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm pretty sure I'm on the list."

The bouncer then looked down and noticed four glowing, red eyes. He gulped and tried his best not to shit himself on the spot before moving aside and letting the boy in. Sighing in relief, the man let himself regain composure. It was then that he heard the most terrifying words in his life.

"Kenjaku, I told you that you were in charge of snacks! Honestly, I can't count on you for anything. It seems that I'M the one who has to do everything around here! Hey, you! How would you like to be apart of our dinner service instead of guarding that door?"

Sukuna said apart of as in literally. Everyone dragged the man in as the king of curses got his tools ready.

"Domain expansion, Malevolent Kitchen!"

______

Uraume was now busy cooking. They had a number of dishes in mind such as skewered intestines, "finger" sandwiches and some roasted thigh to name a few. As they were preparing the feast, the meeting began.

"Welcome, lowly peasants! Today marks our third annual villains assembly (totally not the bad guy version of AA that Gojo had forced on them). I see we have some new faces here. Care to introduce yourselves?"

A scrawny man stood up.

"M-my name is Ijichi and I joined because I can't tolerate Gojo's abuse any longer! He keeps spouting something about how "he's the 'honoured' one", and that's the reason why he's allowed to put kick me signs on my back and keep ding dong ditching my doorbell all night!"

The man then started to have a nervous breakdown and began to sob.

"There, there. You are among friends now. You see, everyone here has a reason for hating the six eyed bastard."

"Not me. I'm just here for the free coupon tickets!"

Sukuna sighed.

"Who is the guy again?"

"My name's Reggie Star! I've been on TLC's extreme couponing! Why does everyone forget I exist!?"

"Reggie, we've been over this. This is solely for those that hate Satoru Gojo. If you can't abide by our clubs rules then feel free to leave."

Suddenly Kenjaku began to choke himself. Sukuna gave him a curious glance.

"Sorry, you know how my vessel likes to act up."

Sukuna nodded in agreement.

"We need to end this meeting in two hours or else the brat will wake up and spoil the fun. Now, is there anything else worth mentioning? Speak now."

"When do we get to play board games?"

"Damn it Mahito, you know well enough that those festivities don't take place until after everyone has eaten!"

"Hey, what is that!?"

Everyone started to notice a figure that was clearly trying to hide behind the throne but it was useless.

"I can hear your mosquito like voice already, Yorozu! You know the rules, no girls allowed."

The girl then popped out and began to pout.

"Then why do Mahito and Kashimo get to be here!?"

"For the last time, Mahito is a curse who has no gender and the consensus was that while Kashimo "looks female enough", he is indeed still male."

Mahito then decided to taunt her.

"Yeah! What's so cool about girls anyway!?"

"Didn't you wear a school girl uniform while fondling breasts you created?"

"That was one time Jogo, and it wasn't even canon!"

"I've had enough of this. Someone escort her out!"

Yorozu screamed and thrashed so Kenjaku released Kurourushi outside. She immediately ran after the cockroach so she could study it.

"Dinner is ready."

______

After everyone had finished, Mahito asked the question he had been dying to know the answer to.

"Which tastes better? Humans or curses?"

Kenjaku then appeared."Let me help answer that."

Kenny then began to drag a screaming Mahito towards his palm and then proceed to vore him down.

"Thank you! He was getting on my nerves."

Kenjaku began to savor the taste of Maximum Uzumaki and then proceeded to vomit the curse back up.

"I'd have to say humans. How did my vessel put it? You taste like a rag used to clean up shit and vomit."

Sukuna then joined in.

"So it matches his personality?"

"Correct."

Mahito was now trembling on the floor when the king of curses looked down upon him.

"Kenjaku, won't you be a dear friend and put on some karaoke for the entertainment? I want to sing skyfall."

Jogo lit his pipe up and started getting blazed. He had been waiting for the curse to get his ass beat.

"This weed is so good Hanami. Where did you find it?"

".ti werg I"

"Nevermind..."

______

"Wherever you go, I go. What you see, I see."

Mahito was now running for his life as Sukuna walked towards him. He thought about hiding in the bathroom but then remembered a word of advice he read on Yoshihiro Togashi's twitter account. "Never shit alone, for if you do, the horny clown will come to decapitate you!"

"Why did Gege have to put me in Shonen Jump!?"

Something then grabbed him by his collar.

"Found You!"

"Look, if this is about all those times I cheated when I was the banker in Monopoly, I'm sorry! Please don't kill me!"

"Oh, we're not killing you."

______

Mahito was now placed inside a pet crate.

"What's going on!?"

Just then there was a knock at the door.

"Nanami?"

"I didn't expect to see you here Ijichi. I'm here because I was told that there was a curse that needs to be euthanized. Fortunately, I'm kind hearted and believe that even the worst animals have a chance at being reformed. It just takes proper discipline..."

The cage began to rattle.

"NOOOO! ANYONE BUT HIM! PLEASE, HAVE MERCY!"

Kento then picked up the handle of the carrier.

"Expect to be eating out of a dog bowl and being kept on a leash once we get home."

Everyone failed to realize that the two hour window had passed and Itadori began to wake up.

"Huh? What's going on? Am I dreaming?"

The crowd wasn't sure what to do until Kenjaku stepped up.

"Hello, son. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I am your mother."

"Okay, I really am dreaming then. Something that crazy could only happen in my imagination."

"You're my special. You were the only one I didn't abort."

"Huh? No offense mister but you're really creeping me out. I think I'm just gonna head out."

After the boy left, Kashimo spoke up."

So how big was he?"

"Gross!"

Everyone knew that the god of thunder had a thing for the king of curses.

"All I'm saying is that they were identical twins right?"

"I've had enough of this filth! Youngsters these days!"

Out came a disgusted Gakuganji. He was clearly the biggest Gojo hater but it seems that he couldn't tolerate the crudness of today's youth. The club would never hear his guitar covers of Jimi Hendrix again.

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nightmarevore · 1 year ago

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Craving — Good Morning, My Beloved

Rowan belongs to @wonderful-bellies , Luke belongs to me.

Rowan and Luke cuddle after waking up in the morning.

AO3 VERSION

Contains: G/T, G/T cuddling, g/t vore, extreme cuddling, endosoma, vore, soft vore, safe vore

Word Count: 2,756

Rowan’s face rests against his pillow. Luke, his love, his everything, lies shrunken next to his face. In fact, he’s leaning up against Rowan’s face. The predator smiles at this, lifting his hand and pressing it against the other’s tiny body, holding him against his face. He nuzzles Luke, purring and closing his eyes. Luke can’t help but chuckle as he’s pressed further against his boyfriend’s face, relaxing his head. He nuzzles it, soon placing the tiniest kiss up against his cheekbone.

Rowan’s chest bubbles with love. He loves Luke, he knows this. He lifts his chin and removes his hand slightly from Luke’s tiny body to press his mouth up against the tiny man’s frame. His lips press into his chest, and Rowan’s purrs envelope the shifter’s core. Luke is so tiny when he’s like this, and Rowan can hardly contain himself at how adorable and cute he is. He has to keep him close to himself at all times.

Besides, how else would he stay warm?

Luke chuckles and leans up against Rowan’s lips, holding his arms out and sinking into his skin. In response, Rowan’s tongue slips through and brushes against the tiny. The shifter’s face flushes, and he looks up to Rowan’s eyes, still closed.

“Hm…. I just needed a lick.” He mumbles against Luke’s body.

“It never stops with a lick.” His love responds, in a joyful tone.

He’s right, it always continues further than a lick. Rowan gets excited easily when it comes to the man that he loves so much. His stomach growls lightly, and he feels the pang of empty, loving hunger from his stomach.

“I think....” Rowan mumbles, pressing Luke back into his face with his hand. The little man’s body enters just enough into Rowan’s mouth that he can speak directly against his body. His lips embrace the tiny Luke as he speaks against him. “I think it should go past a lick.”

His words vibrate against Luke’s entire core. His tiny body surrounded by lips and words, his love that would always be his home. His words vibrate against his very soul. Rowan is his everything. His boyfriend who swallows him and keeps him safe. His boyfriend who he leans against for comfort and protection. Rowan, whose stomach he’s been in more times than Luke could count.

Rowan purses his lips against his beloved’s tiny body and kisses it. The little man is so fragile like this, with each movement the predator has to be gentle. He doesn’t dare hurt him. He lifts his head and gently guides Luke’s face to his lips, and soon he places a rather large kiss against it. He does this again, and soon Luke leans his face against the plump lips that cradle him.

“Your teeth are sharp.” The shifter speaks into the giant pair of lips.

“I was hoping you’d be my breakfast this morning.” Rowan’s voice is soft, like a whisper. Luke ends up with a decent look into the giant’s mouth.

“I was hoping to be your breakfast.” Luke replies.

Rowan chuckles, and soon Luke laughs. Of course, the two of them were always in sync when it came to this.

“Well….” Rowan shifts, lifting his head up and supporting it on his free hand so he can look down to his tiny boyfriend. “My little cherry, I can still smell your shampoo from last night. It enhances your sweet scent.”

“Maybe that was intentional.” Luke laughs as he looks up to Rowan, soon standing up. Rowan’s hand still leaned against the shrunken man, and soon it swiftly scoops him up, swiping Luke off of his feet. He raises Luke to his face again, holding his body against his visage and places his lips against his middle, giving him one more body kiss.

“I love you.” He mumbles against his form, his words surrounding Luke’s entire being.

“I love you, too, big guy.” Luke responds, nuzzling into Rowan’s face.

That’s all they need to say. It’s time for Rowan to eat his beloved and to swallow him down. To keep him deep within his body, underneath his skin. Between organs and flesh. The very thought sent butterflies into Rowan’s stomach. He’s giddy, desperate to sate his hunger and keep his beloved inside him.

Pulling Luke away from his face, Rowan’s lips part, giving Luke a good look into his maw. A strand of saliva parts, and the darkness of Rowan’s throat almost takes over his mouth. His teeth are sharp, yet they always avoid scraping Luke. Rowan’s tongue; a soft bed that the shifter has found himself simply sleeping against many, many times. His mouth is always warm, and the heat of his breath brings them closer.

Rowan’s hand guides Luke into his mouth, and Luke enthusiastically pushes himself forward, plopping his smaller frame onto his beloved’s tongue. When he lays against the surface, his legs still poking out of Rowan’s mouth, Luke allows himself to relax against the muscle. Here, he had a good view of the back of Rowan’s throat, and it just went down and down.

Rowan purrs as Luke touches his tongue, his flavor filling his senses and he closes his eyes. Fuck, he just wants to eat him constantly. The best part of all of this is getting to swallow Luke over and over and over again. Every time, it’s so perfect. It’s so loving, and it’s… security. He can’t wait any longer, and as soon as he feels Luke begin to crawl towards the back of his throat, the predator swallows eagerly.

Luke’s head is forced through the opening of his throat, and Rowan lifts his chin towards the air. It’s a tight force that enters his gullet, and he can feel every small movement and shift of Luke as he begins to slip through the muscle. He purrs in response to this, closing his eyes and allowing himself to sit up. His face flushes red, and he tilts his head back further to swallow again. They’re so close. Rowan holds Luke’s smaller body within his own, and he’ll only continue further downward. How intimate this moment is.

Anticipation. Luke slips inside Rowan’s throat as a loud swallow surrounds him, and his boyfriend’s lips embrace his waist as he’s pushed backwards by his tongue and pulled in by the contraction of his larger boyfriend’s throat muscles. Luke closes his eyes as he’s pulled inside his love. His head is held in a gentle but tight hug by Rowan’s gullet. He’s held in place, and the man can’t help but smile. Rowan purrs around him as he swallows again, the vibration and pull overtaking Luke’s senses.

Rowan pulls his chin up to the air, lifting Luke’s tiny legs with him. He swallows again, sending the rest of Luke into his mouth and past his lips. He just wants Luke inside his stomach so, so terribly badly. He can feel Luke slip further down his gullet, and he halts his swallows for just a moment. Rowan lifts one of his hands, pressing a finger against the tight lump he felt from inside. The warmth and form he can just barely make out from inside, he could also feel as he presses the tip of his finger against. Luke holds still, and Rowan makes a small, gentle swallow to send the rest of his boyfriend into his throat. The lump covers his neck’s length, and the predator holds his breath to focus on the stillness.

Luke’s descent comes to a complete stop, and he’s held in place by Rowan’s esophagus. Rowan’s purrs continue around him, vibrating the tiny’s body from all around. His flesh isn’t massaging him downwards, more holding him in place in an embrace. Rowan’s own version of a hug when Luke is this size. He feels the giant’s finger press against him, rubbing up and down in an attempt to make out his form. Luke laughs, almost as if it were a tickle.

Any attempt to move is cut short as he’s held in place by Rowan’s throat, and he allows himself to lean into the flesh that pushes against him. He nuzzles his cheek into the organ, purring gently. Rowan shifts and gently places his head back against his pillow, keeping his neck straightened as Luke sits still within his throat. Rowan’s eyes slowly shut as he smiles, focusing on the tiny man.

Luke and Rowan have done this before. The first time Rowan kept his Beloved still inside his throat, it surprised the shifter. Now, when Rowan does it, Luke believes it’s almost as… intimate, as when Rowan eats him when he’s just a bit bigger. When Luke is half Rowan’s size, and Rowan just can’t stop talking about the size he makes his stomach. When he calls him perfect, the perfect meal. The perfect bump.

Special.

Luke didn’t care about the lack of movement. He believes that they couldn’t be more close than this. He believes that this is the ultimate show of affection. He may have to ask Rowan if he can stay inside his stomach for a few days…

Rowan’s finger finishes exploring the lump, and Luke speaks up.

“Rowan… I love you.” He speaks into the wall of the esophagus. Luke’s own way of speaking into Rowan’s being, much like the predator has done to him.

Though subtle, Rowan’s heartbeat lightly picks up as his chest flutters. It’s loud enough for Luke to hear from his throat, and the predator’s face flushes red. He’s relieved Luke isn’t able to see his face at this point, and through a quiet laugh, he finally allows himself to swallow once again. His prey, his Cherry, pushes down, the lump of Luke beginning to disappear past Rowan’s collarbone. He finally takes a breath, audibly exhaling, pressing a hand up against his chest as he feels Luke slip further inside him. With one more swallow, the rest of Luke finally disappears past his collarbone entirely.

Luke hears nothing but Rowan’s heartbeat and his breathing. It surrounds him, exactly like the organ that surrounds him and pushes him further down, down, down… He presses his hands into the saliva-covered wall of the organ, attempting to feel the texture of it. It’s smooth, wet, and makes a perfect shape around Luke’s entirety.

Rowan’s fast heart makes Luke giddy, and he laughs as it reaches its peak volume, then quickly disappears as more of the tight organ squishes him from all sides and massages him downwards. Rowan traces where he feels Luke’s tight form slip further down with his hand, and his cheeks grow warm with every second of it. His breath picks up, and it hitches in his throat. It’s almost slow as he feels Luke slip past his heart and lungs.

“I love you, too, Luke. My love.” He spits out, digging his face into his pillow. His legs curl up as it happens—as he feels Luke slowly push through and fill his stomach. He holds his breath, the empty hunger he felt quickly replaced with loving fullness that only HIS Luke can give him.

Luke is finally pushed inside a roomier chamber, though its space is quickly overtaken as more of Luke’s tiny frame is deposited inside. The ripples and folds of the stomach push against Luke’s frame, and his stomach grumbles lightly at his arrival. Luke takes a deep breath, his legs and feet finally joining him inside, and he sits inside the organ quite nicely. It takes a moment, but Luke rubs a hand against the flesh underneath him, pushing his tiny fingers into it and using it as a pillow.

He’s home, right where he belongs.

Rowan’s hand finishes tracing down his body and settles over his middle, feeling his skin expand underneath it as he becomes overwhelmed with his prey filling him up. He can feel the curve Luke makes on his center as he fills it up, and once he’s inside, Rowan can feel him get comfortable. Rowan exhales, running his fingers over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the bump that Luke makes. His chest bubbles with excitement, his stomach rumbling around his beloved.

“You’re so…” Rowan lifts his shirt, pressing his fingers against his skin. Luke is inside there, and though it looks like he just ate a very filling meal, Rowan very much knows who it is inside him. He wants to kiss Luke again, but that can wait for when he spits him up. Rowan rubs circles against his middle, shifting his head to look down at himself. He smiles, his face turning warm at his somewhat bloated middle. “... Filling. I love you, you’re delicious, and… Fuck, Luke. You need to stay in there for a few days.”

Rowan is full and happy. He purrs, curling himself around his stomach, yet keeping his hand glued to his stomach. Luke is right where he belongs, tucked away where nothing can get to him.

“I’m glad I don’t have to ask.” Luke’s muffled voice speaks up, and he feels the tiny man shift inside him. He’s seemingly rolling over on his side, and Rowan can feel his arms push against the flesh of his stomach and the tiny bumps he makes against his hand. Rowan chuckles at this, rubbing his fingers gently over where he felt Luke poke out. Soon, he feels Luke settle back down, sinking into the organ.

“I love you.” Rowan says, rubbing circles around his middle, following the curve his boyfriend makes. He’s obsessed, staring at his stomach and begins to press his fingers against it. Against Luke. He hears a muffled laugh, and Luke even steadies himself, pressing both of his legs out against the wall above. He presses back against the wall underneath him, pushing as far out as he can. This causes Rowan to jump a bit, a small bump where his feet stick out forcing its way through his skin. “Hey, that feels weird as hell!”

“Good.” Luke playfully retorts. Rowan presses his fingers against the bump, forcing it back down and feeling his stomach squish Luke back into place.

Playfully and with a smirk, Rowan rolls over, laying on his stomach and squishing it into the cushion of the bed. He scoffs to himself, feeling the tiny squirm underneath his weight.

“No, no, NOT fair!!” Luke’s voice speaks out, even more muffled than before. He kicks, sending a quick jolt of pain through the predator’s body.

“Hey!” Rowan pushes himself on his hands and knees, looking down at his belly, now somewhat sagging from Luke’s weight. He feels Luke shift inside him, following gravity. “Okay, okay. You win. Settle down.”

Rowan rubs his stomach again, moving to sit down and stretch his arms in the air. He rolls his shoulders, then lets out a yawn. Luke’s weight shifts with him, and he squirms and shifts around a few times, sending a chill down the predator’s spine.

Rowan rubs his skin as he sees his belly squirm.

“I think… I’m going to go back to sleep.” Luke’s voice speaks up as he finally sits still. He leans back against one of the folds in Rowan’s stomach. He knows these all too well. Rowan’s stomach has been a bed for… months, really.

“Go ahead, I may do the same.” Rowan’s hand finds its way back to his stomach, rubbing his belly. He lightly squeezes it and yawns. He pulls his blanket back over him with his free hand, and the hand glued to his stomach continues to rub over the form of Luke inside him. He lays on his side.

“I love you, Rowan.” Luke speaks, muffled and tired.

“Mh… I love you, too.” Rowan replies, rubbing the side of his belly.

He can feel Luke settle once more, sinking into the organ and burrowing into the folds of his stomach. He has Luke inside his very being, and they’re as close as they ever will be. Luke sits inside him and sleeps, and Rowan will enjoy the comfort of his weight. The fact he can feel every breath that Luke takes. Every time he moves, Rowan will be able to feel. He hides Luke from the world, right underneath his skin. Under his belly.

Luke has helped Rowan get over his fear of being a monster. Luke has made Rowan feel loved. In turn, Rowan makes Luke feel loved.

The predator massages his fingers over his middle, over the center of himself.

“I want you to stay with me.” He whispers, closing his eyes.

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brick-a-doodle-do · 1 year ago

Note

Story idea! Which will contain tiny!tubbo tiny!baby michael and giant!ranboo

Tubbo lives alone in the tundra lands of snowchester with his son Michael, tubbo is known for studying and hunting mythical creatures, but after a harsh snowstorm and lack of food he ventures out one night and ends up meeting one of the mythical creatures he has been desperately searching for.

Noms are up to you, btw

yay no more creative slump! thanks anon :D

i kinda switched this around s little bit but i think it's still alright? i mean i didn't read it but eh

(bonus points if you know what the title's from! :3)

agony drips from me, poisonous remedy

wc: 2519

cw: sfw vore (unwilling prey + miscommunication/no communication), panic

—–—

Call him an idiot, call him insane, call his work useless, but he prefers ‘over it’. Because in the depths of all of his pinned up papers, half-finished sketches littering the floors and a thousand theories blurring his head, he has a son, who’s obvious struggles haven't gone unnoticed from Tubbo, and he is over his weird hobby.

He does try, he keeps up with Micheal’s schedule, making sure he’s clean and well-fed and gets to sleep on time, (Although he can't be positive on that because unless his frenzy has kicked up hallucinations, he’s fairly positive he’s heard Micheal’s muffled snorts from just outside his office.)

Tubbo knew about that. He knew his son was distressed and isolated and tired and curious, yet he still persisted with the thing he couldn't even call work, it was just a hobby he clung onto desperately like it was pumping air into his lungs.

So, the recent storm was rather eye-opening. At the first crack of thunder and blast of lighting, Tubbo found it mildly distracting, while Micheal’s panicked squeals had traveled through the mansion and right to Tubbo's office, where the boy then threw himself at his father, burying his face into Tubbo’s chest with panicked breath. Tubbo had jumped at the contact and shuffled his papers around before scooting back to tend to his son.

“Hey, hey, it’s just a storm, the thunder can’t hurt us,” Tubbo reassures, rubbing circles into the kid’s back. Micheal squeals as another clap of thunder echoes from the sky and rattles the windows of the office. Micheal’s grip on Tubbo’s vest tightens and he has to suppress the urge to wince under the pressure of his forming claws. “It's just passing over us,” Tubbo says, although he can't be sure about that, the weather has been showing signs of storms all week.

Another flash of lightning leaves Tubbo jumping at the way the windows light up at the streak, just a mile too close for his word to stay true. Presumably having felt Tubbo’s jolt of fear, Micheal sobs a little, still huddling close to his father for comfort. Tubbo sighs, tearing his wary attention away from the window and turning to focus on his papers, bullet points about a deity blurring together even more than usual at his worry. He moves his attention from his work and focuses on his son, still shaking with sobs. A wet spot has formed on his jumper from the kid’s tears, meanwhile Tubbo is stunned at what to say. He’s never been the most emotionally available, or if he was he wasted it all on useless attempts at humor to try and calm down Tommy.

This was his son, and this was not a laughing matter. He stands, his chair sliding back along the wooden floor with a wince-inducing scrape, to which he ignores and focuses on supporting his son. “We haven't had thunder for a while, so, you know what that means?” Tubbo asks, using old techniques Schlatt had used when Tubbo wouldn't be quiet.

“What?” Micheal asks, smally, voice broken from his tears.

Another clap of thunder. Micheal gasps softly at the sound.

“When there's a clap of thunder, you count the seconds between it, and that's how many miles away it is,” Tubbo informs him, still rubbing along his back as he navigates through the mansion.

The hybrid pulls away from his chest, still secure in Tubbo’s grasp but now facing him eye-to-eye, looking a little suspicious of Tubbo's claim. “Not true?” Micheal inquires. Tubbo cracks a smile and shakes his head.

“It's true! Listen, let's wait for the next one,” he says, heading down the grand staircase to find their way to the family room.

Micheal’s eyes avert his gaze and instead move beyond him to watch the windows, spirit enlightened. Tubbo finds the lift in demeanor satisfying, though without a problem to worry about he finds his mind traveling back to the creature studies sat in his office. Supposedly considered deity amongst the End and the Nether, and the very last creature he has in an old book of monsters he found as a kid.

He’s never been so riled up over finding something, but Ranboo proved so important that Tubbo would forget his own son in their time of panic.

Tubbo plops on the couch, Micheal falling with him, just in time for another clap of thunder. “Alright! One, two, three—” Tubbo is cut off as Micheal takes over.

“Four, five—” Boom! The windows rattle and a few pieces of lopsided furniture shudder. That’s odd. It hadn't been so close before…boom!

Micheal squeals. That was loud.

“Hey, hey, bossman, you're alright! It's just thunder,” Tubbo says, holding his boy tight while keeping his eyes glued to the pitch-black windows.

“Too close!” Micheal squeals out, his hybrid coming out in a fit of snorts and whines that make Tubbo’s heart ache. Why did he tell him about the distance method?

He considers calling Phil, but he doubts his communicator will work in this storm. The loud rush of rain hitting the window becomes apparent to him the more it picks up, rapidly thumping on the glass panes. Micheal’s crying again, his body quivering with every hiccup.

“Hey, baby, you're okay,” Tubbo whispers. He can't handle this. Boom! “Bud, how about a special trip to old man Phil? I bet he and Technoblade can help, huh?” He asks, bouncing the hybrid on his knee. All that Michael responds with is a childish sob.

His heart twists. Tubbo pulls him close, picking the kid up. He can make it to Phil and Technoblade's cabin, and then he can just…pick up where he left off with his work. You know, unless he dies.

Tubbo’s footsteps softly echo around the high ceilings, just barely audible against Micheal’s crying. “We’re going to go out to uncle Technoblade and old man Phil’s cabin, alright Micheal? They’ll know what to do,” Tubbo informs, sliding into his shoes and setting the kid down by the door. “Which coat do you want, bossman?”

Micheal hiccups, staring up at Tubbo with confusion in his eyes. For the most part, it goes unnoticed while he opens up the chest of their jackets and shoes.

“I don't want to be in storm,” Micheal says, frowning. Tubbo pulls a coat from the chest and pulls it around himself, grabbing another one for extra good measure. He zips the two up then crouches down to eye level with the piglin.

“I know, I know. We just need to get somewhere a little safer, okay? Their houses are more prepared for this,” he lies, knowing full well that while he knows the storm is coming closer, he really was orchestrating this so he could just get some quiet work time, no matter how bad he felt about it.

Micheal, at the very least, seems to buy it. “Okay…I want red, Techno color!” the piglin says, squealing in delight at his own mention of Technoblade.

“Ah, what did I expect,” he chuckles, pulling out a red raincoat from the chest and carefully pulling Micheal’s arms through each sleeve, then buttoning it up gently. Micheal flaps his hand as Tubbo pats his chest to let him know he’s ready to go. Tubbo pulls out his wellies, a blue pair to take after Tommy, (Who he’s quite sure took after Ghostbur), then hands them to micheal to fit on. In the end, Tubbo is fighting down his overwhelming guilt of letting Micheal go for the storm.

He's adorable, already abandoning fear because he looks like his uncles, (And his flaunting his excitement of the fact). Techno’s old raincoat almost pools at Micheal’s feet, the faded thing barely fitting yet somehow keeping Micheal in complete bliss.

“You look dapper,” Tubbo compliments, one last time reaching into the chest and grabbing out an umbrella before closing it. “Ready to go visit Philza, bossman?”

Ultimately, Micheal looks a little uncomfortable at the thought of going out into the storm, although the thunder has been distant recently and Tubbo can tell Micheal has registered that.

“I think!” he responds, voice wavering before gaining confidence near the end. He smiles shallowly.

With one arm, Tubbo lifts Micheal up into his hold again, the piglin snorting at the quick movement. He switches the umbrella to the hand holding Micheal and opens the front door, pulling at it until it finally opens with a pop!, leaving him stumbling at the sudden jerk. He keeps it open with his foot and steps out, shielded from the pouring rain under the thin awning. The door slams shut behind him, nearly causing him to drop the umbrella as Micheal jumps at the sound and digs his fingers into Tubbo’s already-sore sides.

He huffs out his pain and slides open the umbrella, which clicks as it locks. Tubbo raises it above their heads and steps out into the storm. Immediately, the constant stream of rain against the material above their heads pounds in Tubbo’s ears, even as damaged as they are.

Boom!

Immediately, Tubbo hears Micheal whisper under his breath: “One, two, three four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—” Boom!

“Ten miles is pretty far,” Tubbo comments, trudging through the thin layer of snow that he’d just shoveled earlier today. It mixes into a sludge with the rain, crunching under his boots in a pleasing manner, something to distract him from his desire to study and his worry of making it through the path to Techno’s cabin. It also distracts him from the impending feeling like he’s being watched.

He tries to convince himself that isn't true, for the most part, even though he does give in with a quick look around his surroundings. The only thing he’s ever met with is the comfort of being alone with just him and his boy.

Wind laps around them, the thunder and lightning seemingly having passed already, the only applicable features of the storm remaining being the strong rain and the surprisingly aggressive winds. He can barely see anything, let alone hear anything outside of the wind in his ears, Micheal’s hushed shivers and whimpers, and the rain on the umbrella. All the mobs have taken a rest for the night, thankfully, but it only leaves him in suspense.

Who had eyes on him if not a zombie or a creeper?

Who was watching him from above, threatening the security of him and his son?

About halfway through the forest to Techno’s cabin, he pauses at the sound of something shuffling. Micheal hums at the motion, his attention also caught on the noise. Perhaps he would've passed it off as a victim of the storm, but it seemed too orchestrated, like something running into a bush. He tries putting it behind him, whispering a reassurance to both himself and the boy.

Tubbo makes it two steps before there's another rustle. Now, he stops. Full-fledged freezes, subconsciously holding Micheal a little closer. His grip on the umbrella handle tightens until his knuckles run pale while he spins around against the wind to look around.

The hue of something red and green catches his eye. Too large to be anyone's communicator or any of the server’s eyes. Too vibrant for a coat or anything of the sorts, too colorful for an animal, no, this was the watchful gaze of Ranboo.

It fit the description of their eyes, the giant creature often hunched low to the forest floor, said to be a nod to their connection with the Nether.

Tubbo can’t help the excitement that flares up against the fear. Ranboo was feet from him. He has been searching for so long—he finally can care about his son the way he needed to.

“Papa?” Micheal inquires, presumably noticing the way Tubbo has stopped in his tracks again.

Tubbo shushes the piglin. “Hold on for a second, bud,” he says, hiking up the kid before he slips out of his hold. Micheal seems to relax, resting his head on Tubbo’s shoulder while he waits.

Meanwhile, Tubbo stands, staring at the vibrant eyes in the foliage ahead.

“Ranboo,” he whispers. The eyes lift up a bit, like the mention of their name intrigued them. Tubbo’s spirit lightens immensely.

A crack of lightning charges through the sky, lighting it up enough for him to make out a rough outline of the crouching monster. “Woah..yeah, that's you, Ranboo!” He says slowly, more of a reassurance to himself than anything.

“You're Ranboo, right?” Tubbo calls out to the forest. The eyes disappear for a moment before reappearing as the creature blinks.

There's a small vwoop! that echoes through the forest. Micheal perks up at that, turning his head in the direction of Ranboo. Against his fingertips, even through the raincoat, Tubbo's feels as Micheal tenses up.

“What's that?!” the kid demands, fear inflicted in his voice. His pink fur has risen at the fear he emits.

“It's nothing to be afraid of, just an important thing I've been looking for,” he informs the kid. Micheal doesn't seem to relax.

Ranvoo releases another vwoop! which is shadowed with a glk! that echoes from their throat.

Suddenly, a thick tail with a furry, split-colored tuft is extending from the forest and into the clearing, rising high above them before, strangely prehensile as it curls around Micheal’s small form, somehow breaking the boy's contact with Tubbo. Micheal squeals at it, crying out for his dad. Before he has the time to react, Micheal is plucked from his grasp and swept up in Ranboo's tail, becoming a speck of pink amongst a sea of black and white.

“Hey! What the fuck?!” Tubbo yells, immediately dropping the umbrella to run after the retracting tail. The rain pours into him immediately, wind rushing in his ears and pushing him as he trails after Micheal quickly. He stumbles over his feet, ankles rolling at his attempts to stay sturdy in snow.

Tubbo can just barely hear Micheal’s panicked squeals and snorts while re-entering the forest, quickly behind the tail as he runs uselessly towards his son. “Ran-Ranboo! Sir–um, oh my god, surely you doing need to do that!” Tubbo calls up, watching from the shadows as Micheal is lifted effortlessly into Ranboo's two-finger hold, dangling him in open air, infuriatingly oblivious to his panic and sobs.

Tubbo’s heart sinks when he watches through another streak of lightning illumates the forest around them, as his son is drawn to Ranboo’s open maw, a fit of sobs and garbled calls for his dad and screams to stop.

Immediately, he runs closer to the giant, who’s still crouched over the clearing.

“Oh god, oh my god, what the—RANBOO!” Tubbo yells, hands cupped over his mouth desperately. Rain pours down into him as he runs, causing him to stumble in the mud. As he approaches, he realizes quickly he can barely reach the edge of Ranboo's leg despite his immediate attempts to jump at it, and at another clap of thunder and bolt of lightning, he’s craning his neck in horror as he watches a lump in the deity’s throat travel down.

—–—

taglist: @i-am-beckyu, @skullsnbruises, @nobodywritingao3, @krazycat49, @da3dm, @a-xyz-s // taglist request

#brickquiries #anon brickling #mw #brickfic #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #dsmp g/t #dsmp gt #dream smp g/t #dream smp gt #t!micheal #t!tubbo #g!ranboo #tw vore #safe vore

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stomach-rental · 1 year ago

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this is a very silly question, but what is endosoma? i've seen it tossed around here and there but i haven't seen an explanation

also, why do some character names have slashes (the /) in them?

Hi! It's okay, it gets a little confusing around here sometimes.

Endosoma is a concept similar to vore, but not quite as specific. It's about being inside of another person's body, but includes all Kinds of parts of the body, not just the digestive system-- heart, lungs, nerves, muscles, you name it! All vore is endosoma, but not all endosoma is vore, sort of like the rectangle/square type deal. It's very popular in "vore-type" media, especially from the late 1990s and 2000s, to use endosoma instead of vore since endosoma can be more exploratory, alien, and strange. It's also definitely less close to sexual-- after all, usually people are much smaller in endosoma and are inside of ships or similar things, so it's not as easy to push into the whole person on person dynamic. Think Innerspace, Magic School Bus, Fantastic Voyage, etc.! But there are types of endosoma where it Is just someone in the body instead of utilizing some ship, more popular with non-human anthropomorphized settings where parts of the body are actually little people running things, and those parts can be really cool too.

Endosoma is hard to come by due to the mass popularization of using endosoma as a catch-all term for safe vore, despite safe vore having its own terms already. This means that actually finding real endosoma content that isn't Just Vore is super hard to come by, and that's part of why I've been advocating so hard for people to separate the tags and only tag endosoma if it's beyond just the stomach/mouth situation (even though vore Does count as endo). It just makes it so hopefully we'll not be trying to find a needle in a hay stack anytime anyone wants to talk about endosoma specifically, AND ensures that people that might be triggered by this more body-horror-accommodating concept don't accidentally come across it while trying to go through their usual interests.

Some people use slashes or other things to break up names of characters directly from outside media that is not vore related, because Tumblr will automatically group those in with the *normal tags for that show/game/etc.*, leading to people finding the vore who were NOT wanting to see it. By putting the dashes and other separations in the way, Tumblr doesn't screw up the search system, and it's safer! Of course, I don't typically do that with my stuff because Getting In Deep is a vore centered story, and anyone looking for it is obviously going to be comfortable with vore to some extent that they will Expect it to show up. Same with OCs-- not that my OCs are usually vore centric, but. You know. Nobody's gonna be searching for them so they won't get surprised by it, which means there's no need to break up the names.

I hope that answers your questions!!

#asks #endosoma #safe vore

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

Text

*pulls up a chair, turns it backwards, and straddles it with my arms casually resting on the back*

Hi guys. We're gonna talk about vore. In a serious and non-judgmental manner. For five minutes we'll treat it like it's not a joke kink. Thanks.

So something not all of you know about me is I'm asexual; and something probably even less of you know about me is that I'm the kind of asexual who's fascinated by sexuality and kink, like an anthropologist studying a culture with norms and beliefs that are foreign to me. I'm intrigued by what makes people's sexualities tick and what it is that appeals to them about kinks that outsiders see as bizarre or completely incomprehensible.

I maintain a strict "we don't kinkshame here" policy; I'm personally disinterested in but comfortable discussing niche kinks ranging from inflatable pool toys to the earlier-mentioned oculolinctus; and I know that when I have a writing question like "what does poop taste like" oftentimes the most detailed and helpful information will come from people with fetishes that make most of the Internet gasp in horror, and I deeply appreciate their invaluable contributions.

So when I express surprise that I got someone into vore, it's because I have a specific idea about what vore entails that comes from—you guessed it—seeing lots of vore art.

From what I've witnessed, in most cases, it takes more than just "eroticized cannibalism" to make a work "vore." Like if two cannibals are having a sexually-charged dinner over a delicious homecooked meal that we know was once human, there is something kinky going on here, and the cannibalism—the knowledge of a life ended, the taboo, the horror—is part of that kinkiness; but if you ask how many people are engaged in this sexual encounter, the automatic answer is "two," the couple eating. Not "three." The meal isn't humanized. It's an edible sex toy, a prop. It's meat.

To my mind, "erotic cannibalism" isn't "vore" until the meal is a person. That doesn't just mean giving them dialogue; but treating them as a participant in the sexual encounter. Either the subject from whose perspective we are to view the encounter, or the object of desire on whom our erotic gaze is meant to linger.

Think of it this way: if you replace the human meat with beef, is it now just a story about eating steak? Then it's not vore. On the other hand, does it now inherently become a story about eating an anthro cow, because the "beef" had enough personhood that you can't consider it "just" a cow? That's vore.

Consuming a human(oid) body doesn't constitute vore, but rather consuming a human(oid) life. A consciousness—an identity—must be swallowed. If that's missing from the encounter (say, if someone is devoured but their personhood is ignored by the creator as irrelevant; or if parts of a person are consumed, but their seat of identity—their mind, their soul—remains undevoured), then to me it's not yet vore. It's "just" cannibalism.

And so—by my own understanding of vore—I've never written vore.

But like on the other hand I have written about a cannibal who gets off to biting off chunks of his lover's flesh because he fantasizes about consuming his still-beating heart to make his beloved a part of himself; so like, okay, sure, let's be real here, I've gotten close enough to count.

The fact that it doesn't "feel" like vore to me until a life (as opposed to mere flesh) has been swallowed doesn't mean that to other people what I've written won't hit the same buttons that vore hits for them—because the edges of any one person's sexuality are nothing if not nuanced and blobby and blurry and no two people's ideas of what gets them off (and thus no two people's ideas of what makes for a specific kink) will ever be exactly the same.

All of which is to say:

Yeah I was genuinely surprised when somebody said I got them into vore lmao, legitimately my first reaction was "how tf did I get somebody into a kink I myself don't have?" BUT the fact that I can "feel" a hard dividing line between "vore" and "horny cannibalism that isn't vore" doesn't mean that other people feel it's there. It's interesting and enlightening to hear that for somebody, there is no difference in what I wrote, and I did actually, genuinely introduce them to a kink I don't see myself as sharing. I think it's kinda neat.

(So, anon who wrote in, if you're still around: I hope my surprise didn't come across as derision! I was genuinely fascinated to hear that. And I do appreciate getting this random opportunity to talk about unusual kinks on main.)

Okay, lecture over, class dismissed. Y'all can go about your day.

#about my writing

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mousegirlvorecast · 4 months ago

Text

Hi there! Welcome to my vore side blog! I interact from @mousegirlpodcast !

If you are not 18+ GET THE FUCK OFF MY BLOG OR ELSE!!!

Otherwise welcome to the show! More details about who you’re talking to under the cut!

We are mostly into fatal and unwilling vore so expect a lot of that! Also expect oral, anal, unbirth, and cock vore; along with digestion and hard vore!

My writings can be found under #my writing

Our DMs are always open and so is our ask box! Please interact! Some of us don’t bite!

Speaking of which; we are a system! We will try to tag our posts with who is talking so here is everyone that will generally be interacting with this blog (note that this isn’t all of us, just those who run this blog

Dari: the mouse this blog is named for! She is a small pathetic bratty prey who will always fight back, and will try to trick you with either her words or inventions.

Hazel: the body! Another mouse but not as pathetic. If you’re talking to a mouse it’s more often Dari but hazel appears here too. Also a prey usually but can be willing at times.

Francis: a strong demon pred who will hunt you down. Is known to be quite cruel and gets off on the suffering of her prey. Has on very very rare occasions been known to sub or be prey but don’t count on it

Azalea: the opposite of Francis, a kind angel who may be a pred for softer willing scenes; but is also down to be destroyed and consumed.

Kai: a kitty switch who is arrogant and thinks she’s stronger than she is. She can sometimes be crueler than Francis but rarely gets the chance to be before she gets pinned down.

Lily- our puppy switch, she is very excitable and will most likely agree to whatever you say; she does have a sadistic streak if she thinks you’re weaker than her though

Phoenix: a human girl with fire wings who tends to overestimate her ability to fight back. An unwilling prey most of the time

Aria: an owl affini hybrid who finds more pleasure in hunting down and consuming sophonts than bringing them comfort. A pred all the way.

Trixie: a slime girl switch who is more go with the flow no pun included

#all of us

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soft-n-sweet-snuggles · 1 year ago

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Hello! Great to see you!

Peachy | 20 | they/them | Bi ace-spec ♡

Welcome to my feedism, weight gain, and belly blog! I am both an appreciator of fat bodies and aspiring to gain weight myself. The posts curated here are a mixture of aesthetic/sensual admiration and very soft asexual. The blog manifesto along with my list of likes/dislikes in kink are below the cut.

This space is open to anyone who is kind, respectful, and genuine- preferably 18+. I may not always be active here, but my ask box is open to friendly inquiries from those who would like to say hi! Thank you for visiting. Take care. 💟

Frequent tags:

#tum and then some - generic or fits multiple categories

#softness - related to fatness sensually

#fullness - related to intentional stuffing/overeating

#act of creation - related to intentional weight gain, solo or feedism.

#friendship and feeding - soft feedism, or a more general pair dynamic. does not necessarily need to be romantic.

#peachy's posts

#peachy's favorites

Blog manifesto

This manifesto seeks to explain how I see fat bodies and feedism, and how that impacts the purpose of this blog for the sake of clarity and openness. It may be expanded in the future.

1. All fat and chubby people are valid.

Some people are naturally fat due to genetics or other factors, while others choose to be fat as an act of creation, sexual or otherwise. Nobody's value decreases because they are fat. Unfortunately, fatness has been stigmatized by the healthcare system as "unhealthy" but it is, in truth, a neutral state of being that should not preclude guilt or shame.

2. Fat people should not be reduced to sex objects without their consent.

Lust is a complicated topic that I, as an asexual, struggle to understand and cannot relate to. However, as my current knowledge stands, lust is natural for many people. It's okay for somebody to see a fat person as hot and have fantasies about them, but that should not extend to blatant objectification. Fat people have dignity and worth beyond just their bodies.

3. Arousal can be non-lustful.

Many asexuals have a libido. An allosexual's (opposite of asexual) libido is like an arrow, pointing outward towards somebody else, while an asexual's libido is like a bubble, self-contained with no discernible purpose.

This is not to say asexuality is simply "no sexuality"; it is a spectrum, as complex and varied as any other sexuality. An asexual person may not experience traditional sexual attraction, but they can get turned on and aroused by other things, such as non-sexual touch, fictional characters, and, of course, kink.

For an asexual, kink is like that self-contained bubble of libido, with the tiniest point, the tip of an arrow. It's up to them to decide whether to push that arrow inward, allowing the arousal to be pleasurable without being attached to lust and desire, or outward, allowing themself to engage sexually in their kink with others. Or, they may decide that outwardly engaging in kink means something non-sexual, yet that arousal remains stimulating and fulfilling to them. I fall in the third category.

~♤~

Affinity / kink list

Bellies

Weight gain

Soft feedism

Stuffing

Big bellies burping (Probably the most conventionally[?] arousing for me out of all of these. To watch or to do, excluding slob.)

Non-fatal gentle vore (Not a kink at all, more of a comfort device. Could be used in conjunction with my belly affinities but isn't always.)

Affection and praise (Not a kink but y'know, everyone likes being appreciated, so I thought I'd add it on. ^^)

Absolute nopes

(You can still follow me if you have these kinks, I respect you; just know they make me feel really weird and uncomfy. I don't engage with them at all.)

Nicknames like "piggy" or "cow"

Degradation and mean teasing

Religiously calorie-counting

Hard feedism

Death feedism

Force-feeding

Lust without love being clearly defined or described (This pairs with my asexuality. I do not feel nor understand lust.)

#pinned post #peachy's posts #belly kink #soft feedism #weight gain #fat positivity

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vore-scientist · 2 years ago

Note

What are some of your thoughts on these darker/crueler subcategories of vore:

- Punishment vore

- Revenge vore

- Torture (both physical & psychological) vore

- Long-term belly imprisonment

- Fatal vore

Obviously you’re not expected to talk about any of these that make you uncomfortable

I've written and RP'd all of these anon XD i really like all kinds of vore (as longs as its GT and oral).

Let me first rank these (A-F like a grade?) and then I'll site specific moments from stories i've written and RP'd.

- Punishment vore. Good shit. B+ i say, its cathartic.

- Revenge vore. This can pair with punishment. A+, revenge is a dish best served tasty.

- Torture (both physical & psychological) vore. Yonah literally does this??? A+. Traumatize the prey thanks.

- Long-term belly imprisonment. Im saying B. Its not my favorite but damn its fucking crazy i do love just extreme nature of it.

- Fatal vore. Yeah??? I used to be averse to fatal, it squicked me out. now im like "KILL THE BITCH" though I'm still gonna rank it A an not A+ because sometimes it still bothers me depending on the situation.

Now for Story/RP highlights!!!

Punishment Vore: to be fair this can range from safe to fatal. Yonah used to punish Sophia by eating her but over time this uhhhh no longer worked unless there was an intense reason sophia didnt want to be stuck inside Yonah's stomach. Usually bc there was something she wanted to do or see but nope, time out.

Revenge Vore: I see this as fatal, i dont really see how revenge vore could be dark/cruel without it. Otherwise it's just friendly getting back at someone. Anyways See Return of the Dragon King Part 1: Prison Break. Yonah chows down on the guards that tortured him. good revenge that. If I eventually get to it, yonah will get to eat Tobi's dad (who was the second in command of the facility).

Torture: In my RP sessions Yonah is often the body guard to a powerful politician and will torture prisoners/assassins/spies with her. Eating spies whole and not giving them safety charms but spitting them up partially digested but not dead. rinse and repeat. Biting off limbs, stuff like that.

Long Term Belly Imprisonment. Now that's an interesting one. Haven't played around with it much because I havent designed preds which that's really... possible. Though you could argue Yonah keeping someone overnight is "long term" ish. but i suspect you mean longer. I have done this in RP.

In one RP we had the characters kinda stuck in a limbo on a ship in the ocean and Sophia and the King of the Giants had to hunt down an assassin as everyone on the ship slept due to Yonah activating a sleeping beauty curse. Except the King of Giants was in a pocket of subspace (put there to avoid the curse). Sophia found the assassin and shoves them into the pocket dimension and The King ate them. The curse lasted THIRTY DAYS (i suggested 30 years LOL). Even after the curse was broken the assassin stayed in the King's belly as they sailed back to shore and was released a few days after arriving back in the Giant Kingdom. (this also counts as revenge/punishment to if you didnt notice)

I absolutely loved this entire little shenanigan and I want to write it really badly.

Fatal: So ive not posted many fatal stories, but oh boy, have I RP'd a lot of it. It's made me more comfortable with it in fact. pre-2020 me was still not super comfy with it but now im like fuck yeah!!! My RPs often revolve around fatal revenge/punishment set ups. taking down character's parents who want to train them as super soldiers, eating a circus ringmaster who used yonah as a side show monster (who was fed audience members. yup. fatally). These stories often have a healthy dose of Safe as well, fatal for revenge and punishment, safe for comfort and cuddling. Or protection! Even in the stories where the fatal was central to plot moreso than the safe. Example with the circus one is that after freeing all the other side-show monsters they all travel to a safe haven. but one of the monsters is a Naga who cannot handle the cold nights and has to be eaten by Yonah to stay warm :D

Thanks for this amazing Ask Anon!! <3

#fatal vore #soft vore #GT vore #vore talk

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cuddle-2-electric-boogaloo · 2 years ago

Note

8, 10, 13?

8. This one is... definitely interesting. Works well with eldritch preds. I have an OC that... kinda has a stomach mouth, but it's more a stomach hatch really so don't know if that counts or not. Don't think it does.

10. Safe all the way. The only time I like fatal under any circumstances is when it's used as a storytelling feature, otherwise no, don't like. Vore is very much a comfort and having that comfort have fatal stuff kinda makes it lose the point.

13. Ooo yeah, like a good possessive pred, making sure no one gets to eat their prey but them. Possessive prey is pretty interesting too, not entirely sure how it would work, maybe prey getting huffy about pred eating someone other than them?

#vore asks #extreme cuddling #vore talk #sfw vore #vore thoughts

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nightmarevore · 2 years ago

Text

I Get A Craving and I Wake Up For You

Part 3/?

Ao3 Link

First Part | Previous Part | Next Part

Luke belongs to me, Rowan to @wonderful-bellies

Tension rises between Luke and Rowan. Luke does some research about predators, and he can’t stop thinking about his crush and newly developed feelings towards Rowan.

Word Count: 3,078

Contains: Mentions of vore, daydreaming about vore, soft vore, mentions of same size vore, swearing, and once again, pining.

Luke laid in bed, eyes wide open. He was back to his regular size, but things didn’t change. He thought that maybe, after getting eaten again, his problems would have been solved and they wouldn’t need to do that again. Yet, here Luke was, thinking about how intimidating Rowan was, how he wasn’t all there when he ate him for the second time. His eyes were cloudy, he wasn’t speaking like himself. His voice was quiet and low, and… Luke loved it. He had to admit, he loved it. Remembering the encounter made his face flush, and the shifter had to slap himself in the face several times.

Maybe he should look up what predators were. It’d help understand Rowan a bit, right? He was a predator, surely there was something online about him. Luke sat up, rubbing his eyes and groaning. This was so dumb. Why was he so obsessed with this? His mind fixated on the sensations of being inside another person. Inside Rowan.

Slipping down his throat. Swallows that pulled him down, deeper and deeper inside him…

How intimate, Luke thought, to be surrounded by someone like that. To slip inside someone, to hear their heartbeat. Rowan’s breathing. It honestly was like… Rowan became his entire world, and it was… Well, god, he loved it.

Jesus Christ, Luke!

He slapped his face again, jumping out of bed and groaning to try and get the thought out of his head. His computer was out in the living room, hopefully he’d be able to figure something out. Maybe learning more about it would get his mind off of… that, and also help him figure out more about Rowan himself. Rowan expressed it being uncomfortable before, and if they were going to live together, Luke was determined to make sure it would be as comfortable as possible. They were roommates, and this crush on Rowan wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Throwing a shirt on from his dresser, Luke grabbed a hair tie from the container of multiple types of ties on the top of it. He tied his hair back into a bun, sighing and nodding with determination. He slapped his cheeks, nodding to himself, then began to walk out of his room and down the hall. Hopefully, with a bit of research, Luke would know a lot more about predators.

Arriving at the living room where his desk sat, the size shifter pulls his chair out and sits down. He turns the monitor on and begins to search.

“What is a predator?” Luke mumbles to himself as he enters the question into the search bar. It’s what Rowan described himself when he ate him during the hike, and he knew vaguely about it through other people while he grew up.

There are plenty of results to go through, numerous pages describing animal predators, sexual predators, and then finally, a human biological predator.

He clicks the page, giving a huge, almost essay-like rundown of what it means for a human to be a predator. It looks almost like a study from a medical journalist. Hopefully, Luke can get answers that he desperately needs.

` A predator is a human whose biology is different than that of a normal human. This trait is genetic, most definitely recessive. Predators have a physical need and dependency on eating other humans whole. While it is possible for a Predator to eat regular food, their hunger often can't be sated until they’ve eaten another human. In my studies, I’ve noticed predators go for size shifters and regular humans, depending on their needs. Biologically, there are many differences that allow for the consumption of another person. `

Luke recalls Rowan telling him about his stomach being able to stretch out and handling larger “prey.” During the hike, the predator didn’t hesitate to grab him and swallow him down. He didn’t wait for Luke to shrink down for easier swallowing, he just… ate him full size. At the time, he wanted to know what he looked like under Rowan’s skin. His stomach was obviously much larger and it stretched out the more that he was pushed down the man’s gullet.

“I think it’s just a predator thing,” Rowan’s words echo through his mind. “Something about stretchy insides. I dunno, I’ve never really had much trouble getting bigger things down.That’s—That’s pretty fuckin’ weird to say, isn’t it?”

` Predators’ esophaguses are able to compensate for anything. It can stretch out and force down anything that enters, and the same goes for the predator’s stomach. Both the inside and the outside of the stomach can stretch to accommodate whoever has been swallowed. Their organs are reinforced, leaving their insides unable to be easily cut, scratched, or torn. They are capable of swallowing sharp or hard objects, and it appears that if an individual has been swallowed and fights back against the predator’s organs, there is little to no pain or injury to the inside of the predator. Predators appear to have a lack of a gag reflex, and at times, depending on how far back something is in their mouth, they will automatically swallow whatever is in their mouth. They appear to have no control over this action. `

` The predator needs to eat regularly. Depending on the person, one can go a month without the need to eat another, to a week without needing to eat another, to even just a few days. An important indicator for predators growing hungry is their teeth. Predators have retractable fangs that can be used for intimidation, but they commonly and uncontrollably appear when the predator finds themself craving. `

Luke stops for a moment. Didn’t Rowan’s teeth grow dangerously sharp teeth? It’s what scared him when he turned to look behind at his roommate. When his hands were on his stomach, his mouth drooling, and his eyes looking at him with such desperate hunger. His teeth were so sharp, and yet he made sure to keep them from scraping his skin as he swallowed him down.

` The teeth are sometimes capable of sharpening at will, and can also be used as a defense mechanism. `

Luke wonders and tries to imagine Rowan using his teeth to bite into someone. Is it possible? Shaking the thought from his head, the shifter leans back and stretches, feeling and hearing an aggressive pop before he yawns. Pulling away from the desk, Luke rolls his neck and makes his way to the kitchen, deciding he needs coffee. It doesn’t take long to make, especially with the coffee machine he’d bought when he moved in with Rowan.

Pouring the coffee ground into a paper cup, then the water into the machine. He turns the machine on, turns his back against the counter, then waits.

Already, he’s learning so much about Rowan. At the thought of automatically swallowing things, he had to wonder, can Rowan eat anything? It might be fun to try, if Rowan ever opens up to him. God, it’s practically impossible. The ONLY time they even got to open up to each other was when Luke was inside him. At this point, it’s going to be impossible to get that to happen again… Which is a shame. Luke, at this point, is convinced he’s obsessed with being eaten again. He didn’t expect it to be so calming, so relaxing to be inside another person like that.

Luke slaps his cheeks lightly again, feeling the warmth emanating off of them. He’s blushing?! Oh, god. Why can’t he be normal for two seconds?

It’s at that point that he hears footsteps then sees Rowan making his way through the living room and to the kitchen. He clears his throat, panicking and turning around in an attempt to hide his face. Oh, man. Oh, man. Is Rowan going to say something about what happened? About him eating him again.

“Coffee? I can smell it from my room.” Rowan mumbles, his voice getting closer. Luke takes a deep breath through his nose as he clears his throat, turning his head. He turns to look at Rowan, nodding his head.

“I couldn’t sleep and I’m on the computer, so I’m making some to stay awake.” The shifter replies.

“Can I have some?” Rowan mumbles back, rubbing his eye.

“Yeah, sure.” Luke turns back around to the cupboard. This is… so awkward. He’s awkward. Rowan is awkward. He feels as if they’re both avoiding the obvious.

He grabs two mugs, one with a simple 2D image of a smiley face, and the other with a bluebird mother in a nest with a couple eggs.

The machine continues to buzz and boil, the dark liquid pouring itself into the glass kettle. The freckled man stares at the liquid filling up as he places the mugs down. He can’t bring himself to look at Rowan, and he wants to. He doesn’t know what Rowan is going to say. He keeps pushing him away, and it’s not… fair.

Luke finally turns his head, turning to look at his roommate. He’s wearing a baggy shirt, baggy pajama pants, and his face is very clearly tired. He really does look like he just woke up. It’s cute. He smiles at him, and soon it overtakes his face as he turns completely to Rowan.

“You look so tired. Your hair looks like it, too. Fun bedhead.” He points to Rowan’s black locks of hair, it being all over the place. It looks almost knotted, sticking up in places. If Luke could, he’d grab a comb and start straightening his hair.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine.” Rowan raises his hand, waving it back and forth, scratching his back with the other hand. “I just woke the hell up.”

Luke chuckles, nodding and covering his mouth with a few fingers as he laughs.

“It definitely looks like it.” He replies with a laughing smile.

“You’re annoying.” Rowan groans. He lets out a yawn, his mouth wide.

Luke’s eyes widen at this, and he gets a view at his mouth. If he looks close enough, he’s able to see the back of his throat. The view Luke’s been so fixated on. If only he could slip himself inside. If he puts his hand far enough into Rowan’s mouth, will he swallow him down without a choice? His face flushes again, and he nods his head as he turns around, clearing his throat.

“If I’m so annoying, go sit down and wait for your coffee, bedhead.” He retorts, covering his mouth as he looks away. He hopes Rowan doesn’t see how flustered and worked up he is. So when he hears a grunt and a few shuffling steps away, he lets out a sigh of relief.

These stupid thoughts are going to get him in trouble some day.

Finally, the glass kettle is done filling. He waits a few seconds to see if anything else will drip down, and it doesn’t. He picks up both mugs and brings them closer to the pot before pouring some in the smiley mug, then to the bluebird mug.

“Hey, how do you like your coffee?” Luke calls out to Rowan.

“Just… Just a spoonful of sugar or something.” He mumbles out, clearly leaning back against the couch.

Nodding to himself, Luke reaches over for the sugar and a tablespoon. He pours some into the spoon above Rowan’s mug, then pours it in and stirs gently. Luke puts the sugar down, then turns to the refrigerator to open it, reaching for the milk. He unscrews the cap before pouring a bit of milk into his own mug, using the same spoon to stir.

“A little sweet, huh?” The freckle-faced man asks.

“…Hm.”

Luke puts the cap back onto the milk jug before shoving it back into the refrigerator. He picks up both mugs, makes his way back into the living room, places the bluebird mug onto his computer desk, then walks over to the couch to hand Rowan his own.

“‘T’s hot. If you want more, there’s still some in the pot.” Luke smiles.

“… Thank you.” The predator tiredly responds, lifting his head up and taking the mug. He looks it over, feeling the heat from the porcelain on his hands. He sniffs the aroma of the coffee gently. Before he knows it, Luke is back at his desk chair, coffee in hand.

He begins to take a sip from his coffee, drinking and taking tired swallows. Luke’s mug rests in his hands as he stares at Rowan, particularly his throat. He sees the man’s adam’s apple bounce as he swallows his drink, forcing red to Luke’s cheeks. His eyes are wide as he watches. If he listens close enough, he can hear Rowan’s gentle swallows. Of course, it’s not as loud when he’s not the one being swallowed, but now that he’s heard it, he can figure out what to listen for.

( What I wouldn’t give to be in his coffee right now. )

Luke imagines what it must look like from the inside of Rowan’s belly; the brown liquid filling his stomach. His eyes trail down from the predator’s throat to his stomach, green hues unable to pull themselves away.

“What?” Rowan speaks up, glaring at Luke. He noticed him staring.

Luke jumps, shaking his head and turning back around to his computer.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it!” He hastily replies, wishing he could slam his face down on his desk.

Why does he have to be so weird about this?

Luke takes a drink of his coffee before turning back to where he left off on the article he was reading.

` On the subject of craving and hunger, if a predator goes too long without eating another individual, they will begin to grow weak and unhealthy. The predator can experience intense fatigue, stomach pain, migraines, and even illness. It is possible this can be fatal. `

Luke freezes. Rowan was clutching his stomach in pain before he ate Luke during the hike. Is that what happened to him? Does Rowan feed himself properly? Or maybe he just didn’t eat then?

` Predators can find themselves in a state of unawareness should their hunger overtake them. I’ve named these “hunger fugues,” for lack of a better term. The predator is not themself, and it appears that nothing but pure instinct and hunger takes over the predator’s mind. If they have their mind set on a particular individual to eat, they will not stop until that person is consumed and within them. If it’s out of pure hunger, some predators will grab the first person they see, or more. It can take minutes to hours for a predator to snap out of it after consuming their prey. It’s unclear to me what exactly can cause these states, as it appears to be unique to the predator. Some cases can be chalked up to starvation, others simple cravings. `

` Luckily for those a predator eats, regular digestion does not affect humans. Through personal studies and experiences, normal food can break down around the “prey” and be worked around. The predator must choose to digest a person. `

` We are constantly learning more about predators. Because of this, there are some predators or people who have taken it upon themselves to study them and to care for them, myself included. `

It seems like Luke will have to do more digging, but this is already an amazing start. He takes another sip of coffee, leaning back in his chair. Predators are so unique, aren’t they? He did wonder why he never met a predator before Rowan, but since they’re so rare, it makes sense. He only hopes that Rowan doesn’t see his screen. It’d be embarrassing to try and explain himself right now, especially with how much he’s still thinking about being eaten. He thought it would’ve stopped with the second time, but instead it sat in his mind like a cinder block.

Like closes his tab, turning his chair back around to look towards the living room. Rowan’s mug is empty, and he’s leaning back against the couch, arms stretched out along the back of the couch itself.

“If you’re so tired, you should go lay down in your bed, sleepyhead.” Luke speaks up, chuckling lightly.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Rowan mumbles, keeping his eyes shut. “Not even worth trying.”

“Looks like you and I are both terrible insomniacs, then.” Luke jokes, leaning back and holding his mug on his leg.

Luke’s eyes look down to the ground, avoiding looking at his roommate. He’s nervous, anxious, and he wishes Rowan would try and acknowledge what’s going on between them. What he’s doing to him.

He’s half convinced Rowan hates him and wants nothing to do with him.

“… Hey, Rowan?” He finally speaks up.

“Hm?”

“… Can… “ His breath hitches in his throat, and it’s almost like his body refuses to spit out the words. “Do you… uh… I think… We should... talk.”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” Rowan replies, his voice stern, yet still tired.

“Why not?” Luke’s eyebrows furrow, and he places his mug down on his desk. There’s a hint of offense in his tone.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Rowan lifts his head and sits up, looking at his roommate. “Can we not? We don’t need to talk about anything.”

“But I want to!” Luke demands, standing up. His chair rolls away slightly.

Rowan can’t believe what he’s hearing. WHY does Luke want to talk about ANYTHING? His eyes widen with rage, and his eyebrows arch in anger as he stands up. If he wasn’t awake before, he is now.

“Can’t you listen to me? I said there’s NOTHING to talk about!” Rowan barks, showing teeth. They’re sharp, and he glares at his roommate with pure rage. “I said to forget that anything happened. Nothing fucking happened, so you can fuck off and leave me the hell ALONE!”

The predator is growling, his teeth on full display. When the article said they can be used as intimidation, it wasn’t lying. Luke takes a step back, fear in his expression. His face is white with dread, and Luke swallows the lump in his throat.

“… Okay.” He chokes out, looking and feeling like he’s about to cry.

Rowan turns to walk around the couch, then back to his room, mumbling to himself about how he needs to get ready for work.

Luke stands in silence, watching Rowan walk away. He needs to get out of the apartment for a while.

#I Get a Craving and I Wake Up For You #size on the side #sots #soft vore #v0re #vore writing #forage writes #mentions of vore #pred biologyyyy #they have a lot to learn about each other #i fucking love these boys so much #luke and rowan #luke #rowan

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