Name A Food You Like To Eat/stuff Yourself With And I’ll See If You Pass The Vibe Test👁️👁️

Taking care of a feedee involves:

- Unbuttoning their jeans for them when they are to stuffed to do it themselves

- Rubbing their full belly until they drift to sleep

- Kissing their stretch marks, fat rolls and specially their overfed tummy to show how much you appreciate their effort (forehead kissies too)

- Bringing them their favorite snacks just to see that happy look on their face

- Hugging/cuddling them from behind and playing with their tummy

- Pulling them into your lap (if possible) and hand feeding them their favorite dessert to show them that they'll never be too big for you

(i redid that last panel just now & idk why i put such a disproportionate amount of effort into it) ANYWAY

I HAVE! i thoroughly enjoy progression sequences, i just usually don’t  have the time and/or energy to draw them. here’s a short stuffing/ovi one from last year i cleaned up for ya!

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Pred: if only there were a quick, fun and easy way to defeat this opponent..

The conveniently timed stomach growl:

I’m not sure if anyone did this before but still

The first time I brought him a meal, it was an accident. I didnt know what he was, I didnt know what would happen.

He had no name that I could speak, no true shape that he would show me, but he had hunger.

I brought him more. People who wouldn't be missed. People who might have deserved it. People I barely thought about once they were gone.

I watched him take them, jaws parting to accommodate them whole. The silence after was always the most satisfying part. Quiet. The confirmation that the world had swallowed them up, and no one would ever know where they'd gone.

Except me

Then, after, I took care of him. I brought cool water. I pressed my hands to the swell of his stomach when he was too full to move. He shifted and groaned, his voice like claws scraping against old stone. This was my ritual.

I should have died in that explosion—in the bloom of heat when the car burst into flames. But I walked out of it, my skin untouched, my clothes barely singed. The air smelled of ash and burned meat-- none of it was mine.

I told myself I was lucky. That it was chance. And the confusing nature of the event, it must have been survivors guilt.

But then the shadows started following me. And I knew things I shouldn't.

I told him about it the next time I brought an offering.

He was sated, draped in the darkness, in the basement, same as when Id first found him.

The grisly echoes of his last meal settling in the deep of his belly. I pressed my hand against it, felt the heat of his digestion like a furnace beneath his skin.

and said, "Something's wrong with me."

I told him everything that had happened. He listened, uninterrupting until I had told him everything.

He made a sound that might have been a chuckle. "Ah."

"Ah? That's all you have to say?" I demanded. "I walked out of a burning car. I see things. I hear things. And I know it's connected to you."

"it is."

There was an apology in his voice. He adjusted himself, his stomach gurgling over its latest burden.

"You've been offering me sacrifices for months. You're bound to me now. These are... side effects."

I stared at him. "Side effects."

He stretched, his form shifting, a rippling shadow in the dark. "Devotion has power. And you've been quite devoted, haven't you?"

That horrified me. I didnt want to be his devotee. "I just like watching you eat."

"That," he said, "is close enough."

Had he tricked me?

"So, what, I'm your priest now?"

"If you want to be." He tilted his head, regarding me not in the way a human or animal would. "Or you can just keep bringing me meals. Either way, the benefits remain."

I let my hands press into him, kneading the firm swell of his gut, feeling the way his stomach gurgled beneath the pressure.

A god’s belly, full with an offering I had given.

"You're very proud of your work," he said, amused.

Again, I smoothed a hand over his belly flesh. Like being allowed to run your fingers through a lion’s mane

A strong rolling gurgle answered my touch, a sound deep, growling, proof of the work being done inside.

His belly was stretched tight, but not quite like mortal flesh. It shifted strangely under my hands, half-solid, half-shadow, as though his body couldn't quite decide if it needed to follow the rules of the world it inhabited.

The weight of him was immense, his form languid with satisfaction. I pressed deeper, kneading slow circles against his full belly, feeling the dense pressure of his meal, the warmth of it rolling back at me. He groaned, long and low, and his stomach clenched beneath my hand.

“Hhhroourrp—” The belch tore from his throat, vibrating through his chest and against my palms.

I petted his stomach, gentle, praising. No part of me wanted to stop doing this.

petplay / g/t / vore

keeping your half sized pred as a pet. Making a luscious bed for them, a plush nest of ornate silks, thick furs, and pillows stuffed with downing feathers

Each night, completing a ritual of Feeding. Preparing tinies on a gold guilded dish, only thr most luxurious for your rare pet. Tiny after tiny, hand delivered to their waiting mouth until their stomach grows visibly round and plump.

Giving your pet a belly rub, pressing your comparatively massive hand onto their belly, feeling the restless little meals under your pets skin. Pressing down enough to make the pred jolt, their cheeks turning red as a small belch escapes them

saying "good pet," as the pred curls up around their full belly, their small palms kneading into the heavy, taut mass in their stomach.

Watching over them as they fall into a deep, digestive sleep. Their tummy continuing to squirm long after they fall into slumber. Watching as your pets belly eventually ceases all movement, and begins to grow smooth and round, softer, as their dinner of tinies gurgle away.

Your pet lounging much later, their paunch noticeably plumper after their most recent feeding. Pressing your hand into that squishy pouch, which annoys the pred slightly.

flesh-manipulator prey sitting on your lap, caressing your body, and verbally guiding you through the discomfort as he uses his innate magic to contort your body into the perfect form to consume him

his hands push against the middle of your chest, as your esophagus stretching and your ribs become more flexible

he kisses you on the mouth as the tendons of your jaw contort just enough that he's be able to slide past them

his thighs squeeze your belly as the skin becomes stretchier

all the while he's gently cooing to you "good boy," "just breath for me," "you're gonna be such a good pred~"

minors dni

In honor of tumblr banning feedism let's take a moment to remember Sherlock Holmes being like "hello Watson every time I see you your waistcoat's a little bit tighter, and I'm noticing that a normal amount" in like 1890. Lighting a candle. Pouring one out for the noticing it a normal amount community

Pred stuffing themselves with many many willing tinies. All gently worked into prey sludge.

A full pred free of guilt and a bunch of little friends enjoying melting toghether into a nutritious soup

Come morning they're all asleep on the preds stomach, listening to themselves digest. Bubbley sounds of the strange way they show love and affection.

The preds belly is still warm and loud, and truth be told some of their prey friends could go for a second round.