Latest Posts by zz26thletter - Page 3

I need to do another weigh-in bc I pulled my seat back in my car too fast and the whole car shook 😵‍💫

he hid them in his belly

Sharkgirl and goatgirl girlfriends. They're both dumpsters and can't stop eating random junk. The difference is one is a sea dumpster and the other is a mountain garbage compactor. The shark will sometimes come home and see her goat munching on their furniture. She can't really be too angry though. Heck, the round misshapeness of her belly was indicative that she had a little too much fun eating license plates, tires, and whatever else she found at the bottom of the ocean on her beach day. Oh well, another night of cozying up on the couch to Netflix and belly rubs with their clunky, noisy tummies.

after party

"There ya go.. Just a little more..." He tilts the legs back, lifting them so it's easier for the Pred to swallow. There's not much left outside, just leg below the knees.

Another strained swallow, followed by a whiney groan. He's getting somewhat impatient with the Pred, tempted to try pushing the Prey down, but he reminds himself this is the Pred's first time doing this... and he wanted it to be enjoyable.

Gently, he strokes down the Pred's neck, massaging into it to encourage another swallow.

"You're doing so well~ I bet you're so full already..."

The Pred manages another swallow, pulling the legs in up to the ankles. He decides now is fine to let go of the Prey, there's no way they're struggling can interfere now. Running his hand over the Pred's rounded stomach, he presses down on it, attempting to create room for the meal. They've been at this for some time now- nearly an hour? The Pred's really struggling...

Another swallow brings the feet into the Pred's mouth, followed by a quick gulp that finally- finally- sends the last of the Prey sliding down towards their gut. The Pred pants heavily, huffing and moaning with difficulty as their stomach expands far beyond its full capacity.

"Ohh,... iit's too much.." The Pred whines.

"That's a good Pred.... You'll be just fine..." He reassures, rubbing thorough circles into the trapped Prey.

They'll see- being a Pred is great! They just need to get used to it...

Disabled trans woman needs help affording wheelchair

Remaking my donation post as the information is outdated.

I need help affording an electric wheelchair, as I am unable to leave the house and walk for long without one. I've been trapped in the house for months, only leaving for absolute essentials and doctor's appointments. I'm currently halfway towards affording the model I've selected. Absolutely anything helps. Thank you very much if you're able to help.

[PAYPAL]

[KO-FI]

mousegirl 257 metres away

mousegirl 257 metres away

mousegirl 257 metres away

mousegirl 257 metres away

mousegirl 257 metres away

mousegirl 257 metres away

mousegirl 257 metres away

mousegirl 256 metres away

she's only got little legs please be patient

pest control

The call comes in just past noon. A woman, frantic, says she’s spotted a colony of tinies scurrying around her attic. Probably have been living up there for months, stealing crumbs, making little tunnels in the insulation. She wants them gone—immediately.

“Fast, effective removal,” you assure her over the phone, slipping on your jacket.

“No mess, no chemicals or poison.”

It’s a warm day, and you feel good, stomach still light from the morning. Your last job had been a modest infestation—three tinies in a crawlspace. They’d gone down easy, barely noticeable in your stomach. You could go for something bigger.

it was lunch time after all

The house is tidy, suburban, white shutters, flower beds neatly trimmed. The woman meets you at the door,

“I heard them moving all last night,” she says, ushering you in. “It’s disgusting.”

You nod, but you don’t share her disgust. Tinies aren’t much of a problem—not for you, anyway. You dont think they're gross.

In fact, you find them delicious.

You climb up to the attic, flashlight sweeping over boxes and dust-covered trunks.

you hear—the light, skittering sounds of tiny feet, racing around, trying to stay hidden. You don’t bother setting traps or luring them out. You’ve done this enough to know how to catch a tiny with your own hands.

“I know you’re in here,” you murmur. “Let’s not make this difficult.”

A rustle. One of them bolts—you see it, definitely a tiny- not a rat or anything else, maybe six inches tall. Its darting for a gap in the wood.

You lunge, faster, and scoop them up. They squirm in your palm. You don’t waste time. A quick toss, a parting scream, and then the tight, familiar sensation of something sliding down your throat.

You swallow, and feel the tiny land heavily in your stomach.

More movement in the attic.

there’s no escape.

Another darts for a box, and you catch them just as easily. One by one, they disappear down your gullet, bulging your throat for a moment before joining the others.

You pat your stomach as it begins to stretch, filled with wriggling, panicked tinies.

By the time you finish, you’re full—pleasantly so.

The attic is silent again, no more scurrying. Just you now, satisfied, stuffed, as you climb down.

The woman looks at your middle. She swallows. “You—uh. You got them all?”

You smile, wiping the corner of your mouth. “All taken care of.” you pat your full belly.

She pays you in cash. You head back to your truck, rubbing your belly as it gurgles over its new contents. Another job well done.

You pull out of the driveway, and head back towards the city, one hand on the wheel, one resting on your stuffed stomach.

You'd give yourself a break, you needed time to dispose of the pests properly. You never wanted to show up to a job already full.

You had another client scheduled in the evening. For now, you pulled into a roadside cafe

It's a favourite of yours, whenever you're in this area. A perfect place to hang around and digest.

You take a seat in the corner, shifting slightly to accommodate the fullness in your stomach. The tinies are settling now, movement staggering as digestion takes its course. You rest a hand over your gut, feeling the occasional twitch beneath your palm.

A waitress comes by, chewing gum, pen poised over her notepad. "What can I get ya?"

"Just coffee," you say. You don't need food.

In a few minutes, your drink arrives.

You sip your coffee, eyes half-lidded, and let yourself sink into the feeling. You do kinda like your job.

they should make weight loss ads illegal and I’m not kidding

you fucking with fat bitches?

Since day 1 you stupid son of a bitch

ppl have gotta find a better visual shorthand for cops being useless than fatness

Unicorn prince ✨

treat

The apartment was quiet.

hunger gnawed at their ribs.

They hadn't eaten much lately. Grocery shopping was a skill they hadn't fully mastered yet, and takeout was too expensive to justify.

They’d made do with snacks, skipped meals when the hunger didn’t feel unbearable. But tonight, it was unbearable. A dull, aching hollowness in their gut, a raw craving that felt urgent. They needed food, now.

And then they saw it.

At first, they thought it was a doll—some forgotten thing left behind by the last tenant. It sat on the counter, in the corner, tucked away behind the kettle, quiet and inanimate.

But then it moved.

Its head lifted, small arms pushing against the surface as it stood, watching them with wide, uncertain eyes.

The breath caught in their throat. It wasn’t a doll. It was a person. A small, living person.

“…What are you?” They hadn’t meant to speak, but the words stumbled out, hushed and uneasy.

The little person hesitated. Then, in a voice so small it barely carried, they answered: “I live here.”

That didn’t make sense. Nothing about this made sense. But what struck them more than the impossibility of it was the aching hunger curling in their stomach.

Strange.

The raw, irrational thought that pushed its way into their mind, urgent and undeniable.

I could eat that.

They swallowed hard, hands tightening into fists.

“You can’t—” Their voice came out strained, but they couldn’t finish the thought. Hungry, that was all that mattered.

They were staring, now.

The little person must have noticed.

“You’re staring at me weird,” they said slowly. “Like you’re thinking about—”

They took a step back.

The new tenant took a step forward. The hunger twisted, pulling at something deep inside. Their stomach growled—loud, loud, loud

and they flinched at the sound of it.

The tiny person flinched too.

“You’re hungry,” they murmured.

Their throat felt dry. Their stomach clenched, aching, the hunger overriding every rational thought.

“I—”

They didn’t know how to explain it. Didn’t know how to explain why their mouth had started watering, why their hands itched to grab.

They didn’t have to. Because the little person understood.

And they bolted.

Their limbs were too short to carry them far. They barely made it past the edge of the counter before a couple of hands closed around them, lifting them effortlessly off the ground.

“Wait—” The little person squirmed, small fingers pushing uselessly against the grip.

"I can get you food--" they promised

“You don’t have to—” they pleaded

But they did. They had to.

They opened their mouth, hesitated for a single, breathy second—then shoved the tiny, wriggling body inside.

The taste was—nothing interesting.

But the way they fit against the tongue, the warmth of them sliding toward the back of the throat—that was real. And it was good.

Delicious.

Swallowing was too easy. Weirdly easy, for something so large... One push of the tongue, one reflexive gulp, and they were gone.

And then—fullness.

Their stomach swelled. The tight, aching emptiness was replaced with a heavy, solid weight, pressing outward in a way that stole their breath.

They staggered, hands finding their middle, pressing against the round, stuffed curve of their belly.

They groaned. It was too much. Too big. Like they had swallowed an entire thanksgiving turkey whole.

A weak movement pressed from inside. The little person was still there. They were inside.

Their stomach lurched, gurgling loudly around its unwilling meal, and they clapped a hand over their mouth as a deep, uncomfortable belch forced its way up.

Their face burned.

This wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t normal.

People didn’t just do this.

People dont... eat borrowers.

They sat there, too full to move, still stunned by what they had done, another thought crept in.

That was good.

they licked their lips. Maybe, this was what they needed.

They groaned as they pushed themselves up, feeling the sheer weight of their belly pull them down.

It was so heavy, distended in front of them, stretching the fabric of their shirt too tight over the full curve. With a sigh, they tugged it off and went to the bedroom

swapped it for something looser— sweatpants and a baggy hoodie that still didn’t quite hide the roundness of their gut.

God, they felt good.

Warm.

Satisfied.

Full

Not hungry anymore. Not hungry at all, not even a little.

The heavy fullness in their stomach left them sluggish, but in a good way—like they were floating.

Their body knew what to do.

They patted their middle absently, then started on some chores. It was easier than expected, even with their overstuffed gut swaying with each step.

They washed dishes, folded some laundry, wiped down the counters—all with the steady, comforting weight in their stomach keeping them company.

Every so often, they’d pause to rub slow circles over the firm curve, soothing the occasional gurgle or hiccup that bubbled up.

They belched once or twice

Honestly? This was the best they’d felt in a long time.

Then came the knock at the door.

shut they forgot their friend was coming over

They barely had time to adjust their hoodie before their friend stepped in, dropping their bag by the door and stretching with a groan.

“Man, I’m so tired—”

Then they paused, eyes flicking down.

“Whoa. What’s with that?”

Heat flooded their face. “What?”

“The belly.” Their friend smirked, gesturing. “You look stuffed.”

Their stomach churned, loud enough to be heard, and they winced.

“Uh. Yeah.” they gulped

“…Yeah?” Their friend raised a brow.

“Dude. What did you eat?”

They hesitated, saying it out loud? That was risky. Still, their stomach gurgled insistently, and their friend was waiting. Why bother lying. Their friend would probably figure it out somehow - what if they spat up a bone or something? Whatever.

“…A borrower,” they muttered.

Their friend blinked. Then their eyes widened.

“No way.”

They shrugged, rubbing at their belly sheepishly. “I was hungry.”

Their friend grinned. “Damn. Lucky.”

They stared. “Lucky?”

“Yeah, dude.” Their friend laughed, plopping onto the couch. “Those little guys are so satisfying. You’ve never had one before?”

“…No?”

“Man.” Their friend shook their head, amused. “You’re in for a treat”

Another belch bubbled up before they could stop it, making them flush. Their friend just laughed harder.

They weren’t sure if they should feel weird about this. But as their friend went on about how good borrowers were, how filling, how their stomach was gonna love digesting that one down, they couldn’t help but feel… relieved.

Their friend seemed... weirdly supportive. And they knew about this, was this normal...? After all...?

Their friend leaned forward, eyes glinting with interest.

“C’mon, lemme see.”

Heat crept up their neck. “What?”

“Your stomach, dude.” Their friend grinned. “I wanna see it.”

They hesitated, fingers tightening around the hem of their hoodie. It was already obvious—there was no hiding the way their gut pushed out, round and heavy, the fabric stretched awkwardly over it. But showing it off? And why?

Their stomach let out a deep, sluggish glorp, and their friend’s grin widened.

With a sigh, they lifted their hoodie.

Their friend let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

They shuffled awkwardly, one hand resting over the tight swell of their bare belly.

It was huge. Round, firm, stretched full with the weight of their meal. And active, quiet gurgles and occasional shifts making it clear there was still something inside. Their friend reached out, pressing a palm against the curve. Rubbing just underneath their belly button.

“That’s a big one,” they mused. “How’d you even get it down?”

They flushed. “I don’t know. I just—did. Swallowed... uh.”

Their friend let out a short laugh, giving their belly a light pat. “Well, that’s gonna take forever to digest.”

They leaned back, shaking their head. “You’re not gonna need to eat for days... your digestive system will be too busy with this. Itll last you a good long while.”

you flushed.

Their friend shook their head, smirking.

“Man, you are gonna sleep so good tonight.” They huffed, rubbing slow circles over their packed belly.

“You think?”

“Duh.” Their friend pushed at the heavy curve of their gut, taut and round with its struggling occupant.

“That? That’s gonna knock you right out in a minute. Best sleep of your life.”

A low groan rumbled from their stomach, and they grimaced as something shifted inside. Their friend grinned.

“Damn. You look so stuffed.”

“I am,” they muttered.

“Bet you can barely move.”

“i can move…A little.”

Their friend clapped their hands together. “Alright. We gotta get you comfortable.”

Before they could argue, their friend was already helping them, guiding them to the big recliner by the couch.

They sank into it with a sigh, their swollen stomach settling heavily in their lap.

Immediately, their friend propped their feet up on the ottoman, taking the pressure off their middle. Then they grabbed a throw pillow and tucked it behind their back, followed by another one under their belly for extra support.

“Hold up,” their friend muttered, disappearing into the bedroom.

When they returned, they had a warm, fresh heat pad.

“Here. This’ll help.”

They blinked as their friend pressed it gently against the curve of their gut. The warmth seeped into them immediately, soothing the ache of the stretch and digestion.

“Oh…” They let out a slow breath. “That’s—nice.”

“uhuh.” Their friend flopped onto the couch and grabbed the remote.

“Alright. Let’s get a movie going.”

It was something they'd both seen before many times.

As the opening credits rolled, their friend shot them a glance.

“You still feel ‘em moving?”

They hesitated, pressing a hand against their belly. The weight inside wriggled, weak but definitely still moving.

A faint push pressed back against their palm.

“…Yeah.”

Their friend tsked. “Damn. Might keep struggling for a while. Its a big one, maybe that means it'll last longer. Less surface area or whatever I dont know.”

Their stomach let out another thick, wet glorp, working hard on its oversized meal. They sighed, shifting a little in the chair, one hand absently rubbing over the firm swell of their belly. The warmth, the fullness, the steady background noise of the movie—all of it was so nice. Their body was busy, still processing, and they already felt the creeping haze of sleepiness settling in.

Yeah. Their friend may be right. They yawned.

Their friend suddenly paused the movie, tilting their head.

A long, wet gllllrrk rumbled from their stomach, followed by a deeper, heavier

ggllurk.

“Ah,” their friend mused, glancing down at their belly. “That’s where all the noise is coming from.”

Heat rushed to their face.

“I—yeah, sorry.”

Another belch bubbled up before they could stop it, they hurried to clap a hand over their mouth.

Their friend chuckled.

“Dude, you don’t have to apologize. That’s normal.”

They swallowed thickly, cheeks still burning. “It’s just—uuorp--ugh—keeps happening.”

“Of course it does.” Their friend waved a hand. “You’ve got a lot in there..”

They pressed a hand to their belly, feeling the way it gurgled and churned beneath their palm.

Another low belch worked its way up, and they groaned, letting it out.

“urp…I feel bad for them,” they admitted quietly.

Their friend looked over, raising a brow.

“The borrower,” they muttered. “I mean, I just ate them.”

Their friend hummed, watching their stomach shift slightly with the last weak movements inside.

“Yeah. But, hey—you were hungry.”

Their gut let out another thick glorp, as if to confirm that.

They sighed, rubbing slow circles over the firm swell. The weight inside was settling more and more, the struggle fading into twitches.

The guilt was still there, pressing at the back of their mind, but then there was the warmth, the deep, heavy satisfaction of a real meal.

Their friend gave their belly an approving pat.

“Listen, borrowers make great meals.”

They swallowed, rubbing slow, absent circles over the taut swell of their gut. “I don’t know… it just feels weird.”

Their friend rolled their eyes. “You’re overthinking it. It’s way more ethical than buying meat.” They gestured vaguely. “No farming, no factories, no shipping—just straight from the source.”

They sighed, feeling another gurgling groan roll through their stomach.

“I mean, I guess…”

“And it’s free,” their friend added with a smirk. “You just saved yourself, what, a week’s worth of groceries?”

Their gut let out a slow, bubbling churn... all that food...

It really had been a long time since they’d felt this full.

Their friend stretched out on the couch

“you should enjoy this. It’s a treat. Quite rare. To catch one, let alone one so big.”

A quiet squirm made their belly wobble slightly, and they sighed, pressing a hand against it. It was so packed, so full, every inch stretched and rounded with the weight inside.

Their friend smirked. “And I mean look at that thing—that’s a big meal. A big treat.”

They licked their lips. Yes. Just a treat.

Damn ya gut fat. What ya pronouns?

Reblog if this would work on you

Working non-stop with no time to exercise got a tanuk looking like this…

Marcus returning to (mostly) human form after gorging himself on some poor soul. His stomach acid is extremely strong so while his skin/body can stretch to accomodate prey it doesnt have to for long before this is all thats left of them.

feedism is hilarious because it sounds so wildly wholesome in some regards. like oh you like making sure your partner eats well? or you like it when your partner does the same for you? you like eating together? what a fucking deviant. what a perv. i bet you probably like hand-making little cards that say "i love you" too, don't you, you absolute sex freak. wait no post cancelled i just thought about a feeder slipping romantic notes into generous packed lunches for their feedee every day and now i'm getting hard

no, seriously, you would not believe how many fish this guy can eat!

@Geoastrocat

cooking for a pred in hopes to keep them fed, so that they dont feel compelled to eat you

I don't think I ever posted this here! Funny little vore tropes~ if ya'll have any other tropes you'd like illustrated like this these'd be fun to make

it's ok to find a fat person attractive. it's ok to find them hot. it's ok to complement them without saying how "huggable/friendshaped" they are

You made probably the biggest mistake an intern could make.

The CEO was still yelling. Muffled, furious, definitely still yelling.

<"You’re fired,"> they bark, their voice vibrating through your stomach walls. <"You hear me? Fired! The second I get out of here, I swear to god—">

You press both hands into the firm swell of your belly, trying to calm it, trying to calm yourself.

"Please," you say, voice tight, "can you—can you stop yelling?"

<"Stop yelling?"> they snap. <"You ate me, you little freak!">

you wince.

<"I am the leader of this company, I should not be sitting in some intern’s gut!">

You groan, curling further into yourself, shifting your weight on the supply closet floor.

It’s not comfortable—the CEO is heavy, far heavier than anything you’ve ever swallowed before. Your stomach is stretched to its absolute limit, packed full, groaning under the pressure.

"I panicked," you mutter, rubbing small circles over your middle, trying to ease the ache.

trying to will your stomach into speeding things up.

<"You panicked?"> The walls of your gut ripple as the CEO shoves against them, hard.

<"Spilling coffee on me is panicking. Forgetting your instructions is panicking. Eating me whole is--!">

Your stomach clenches down, cutting them off. You gasp.

The CEO swears, voice slipping-- nervous now, and you can feel their breathing- fast, shallow.

<"You need to let me out. Now.">

You swallow thickly. "I—I don’t think I can."

The CEO stills.

<"What?>

"I don’t—I don’t know how to... i dont know how to stop it."

You stomach gurgles.

There’s a moment of silence. Then the CEO kicks, hard enough that you yelp.

<"You little shit,"> they growl.

<"You’re going to regret this.">

"I already do," you groan, kneading into the firm swell of your belly.

The pressure inside won’t ease up, your gut is clenching. Relentlessly. Processing.

The CEO tries to push again, but it’s weaker this time. Your stomach is winning.

It always wins

<"Please,"> they say suddenly, softer now, less rage, more desperation. <"You don’t want to do this. I can fix this—I’ll—I won’t fire you, okay? I’ll promote you, even. You don’t have to—">

Your stomach groans, hot and heavy.

You shut your eyes, breathe in deep, and keep rubbing at your belly, feeling it settle.

---

You wake up to darkness.

For a disorienting moment, you don’t know where you are—only that the air is stale, your back is sore, and you must have had an extraordinary meal recently.

Then it clicks. The supply closet. The CEO.

The weight still pressing against your middle, no longer struggling, no longer yelling—only a warm, thick mass, settled deep in your gut.

You bolt upright, gasping, your belly sloshing with the movement.

Shit.

You went into a food coma.

You passed out in the middle of digesting your boss.

Panic shoots through you, and you scramble to your feet, wincing at the dull ache of your overworked stomach.

Your dress shirt is wrinkled, sticking to your skin, and when you press a hand against the swell of your gut, it’s still soft.

You push open the door, slipping into the dim hallway, blinking, bleary and disoriented. Still waking up.

Freezing as a voice calls out—

"Hey. Where’ve you been?"

Your head snaps up, eyes wide.

A coworker—one of the assistants, leans against the front desk, looking at you with mild curiosity.

You fumble for words. "I—I was just—”

"You look awful." They frown, eyes flicking over your disheveled form—mussed hair, flushed face... where your stomach pushes forward, heavy with its stolen meal.

Your gut shifts, contents pressing lower, and you have to bite back a groan.

"You should go home. It’s late." They say.

Your heart hammers. You nod quickly, very quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I—I should go."

You turn on your heel and walk—fast, stiff, legs fuzzy with pins and needles.

Forcing yourself not to clutch at your stomach, even as it groans with each step.

The office is empty, the halls quiet. No one else is here. Except for a few security guards who ignore you.

Your belly sways heavily with each movement, the remnants of the CEO being churned down into something useful.

you step out of the lobby doors, into the cool nighttime air. You breathe it in, deeply. You look up and you can't see any stars.

You don't know what tomorrow will look like for you. But at least you won't be needing breakfast.

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.

where my stoner preds who ate their buddies and tapped out only to wake up to someone beating the shit out of their insides the next morning at

The proposition

Summary: you accidentally eat someone for the first time at your friends party. This may have been part of their plan all along

Content: vore, implied drugging, digestion, pred pov

The evening had started lavishly, as all of their gatherings did—crystal glasses clinking, laughter. Bubbling champagne, exclusivity, luxury.

You had known the guest list would be curated, each person had a reason why they were chosen. You didn't know what yours was.

You had expected fine dining. You had not expected what would happen.

You knew you had enjoyed a few glasses of that champagne. But. You could feel something was wrong.

With you.

At first, it had been a creeping sensation. The way your skin felt sensitive, your pulse a half-step too fast.

You felt like you had been drugged. But everyone else seemed fine.

The scent of human bodies became the only thing you could think about. Working on auto pilot, you had already cornered someone in the quiet, dim-lit hall beyond the party. Their voice had barely risen above a whisper—your name, a confused plea—before you had silenced them with your body

Mouth.

Throat.

Stomach.

By the time your mind caught up to the horror of it, the damage had been done. You staggered, hands pressing against the wide curve of your belly, the weight of another person inside you making you sway.

Panic roiled in your chest. You weren’t alone for long.

The host found you like this, your breath quick, struggling with the wrongness of what you had done.

But they weren’t horrified. They were’t even surprised. Instead, his eyes lit up, his expression softening into a glowing pride.

"Oh, love," he purred, stepping close, his hands ghosting over your trembling shoulders.

"I knew you had it in you."

Your stomach gurgled, and you let out a shallow, shuddering breath.

"I—I didn’t mean to—" He shushed you, stroking down your back, a handler might calm a restless predator.

"Of course you did. And look at you—you wear it well."

His hands skimmed the curve of your belly, pressing to make you aware of how impossibly full you were, how you may already be working through what you’d taken.

Your body clenched at the reminder. You shook your head, swallowing down the shame, the dread.

"I should—should let them out, I can’t just—"

They laughed, indulgent.

"Let them out? Oh, sweetheart." They crouched slightly, tilting your head, forcing you to meet their gaze. "Would that feel good? Would that make you happy?"

You faltered. You didn’t know. Everything in you was twisted in knots—fear, pleasure, satisfaction, disgust, all tied together so tightly you couldn’t--

you couldn’t--

The host hummed, tracing small circles against your back, steady, insistent.

"I think you’re just overwhelmed," rhey mused. "And that’s okay. It’s a lot, isn’t it? But I promise you, digestion is the right choice."

Their voice was honey, thick and cloying. "You want to be comfortable, don’t you? This will be very, very comfortable. And look at you—you’re already so good at this."

Your gut groaned. Eager. You could feel it. You bit your lip.

"But—"

They cupped your face, tilting your chin up slightly. Their smile was slow, warm, coaxing. "No pressure, love. It’s your choice. But… doesn’t it feel right?"

It did.

God help you, it did.

"Come,"

Their grip on your wrist is gentle, but firm. There’s an unspoken expectation in the way they guide you through the halls of their estate, past the long mirrors and velvet curtains, away the murmur of guests, who were getting more and more drunk.

There’s something in their eyes—bright, feverish—when they glance back at you, gaze flickering to the heavy swell of your stomach.

You’ve never seen them look at you quite like this before.

The private room they leads you to is predictably lavish, all dark wood and plush, forest green upholstery, a fire flickering low in the hearth.

They lower you onto a velvet chaise. Their hands are warm against your shoulders, then your belly. pressing lightly, feeling what you’ve eaten.

You shift uncomfortably, too full. You feel their eyes tracing every inch of your belly, but when you meet their gaze, they look away.

"You’re doing so well," they murmur smoothing a hand down your arm. "Just relax. Let your body do what it needs to do."

You let out a slow, shaking breath.

"I—"

They hush you, smiling. "I have to return to the party. My guests will notice if I’m gone too long."

They stand, smoothing their cuffs, their fingers twitch slightly.

Their gaze lingers, gaze dipping back down to you, to your middle, like they can’t help themself.

Then, finally, they step back.

"Be a good predator," they say voice low, warm. "Wait for me. Start digesting. I’ll be back once the party is over."

And then theyre gone, leaving you alone in the flickering firelight, stomach heavy, body thrumming.

Your hands go to your stomach. This was new. Your whole life, you never knew your stomach could stretch this far. You never had seen your body like this. There was a human, inside your stomach.

And you liked how it felt.

They did request it, didnt they?

You wriggled into the plush cushions. Savouring the thought of digesting this person.

It's a big decision. You werent thinking straight, your head was still fuzzy.

But the host, they gave you permission.

You felt a little trickle of warmth. You rubbed that area on your stomach where you felt it. And then it began to spread. Before you knew it, it was happening.

Digestion. It made you purr.

You kneaded your stomach, egging it on.

Time moved differently after that.

You got lost, all focus on what was happening inside you.

The fire in your private room had burned low, embers pulsing like a heartbeat.

You were still there, where they left you, feeling heavier now—your body staunchly in digestion mode.

They step inside quietly, shutting the door behind them with a soft click.

For a moment, they just look at you.

Their sharp suit is immaculate, their posture as poised as ever.

You are the opposite, disheveled and utterly relaxed. Your outfit skewed, you didnt expect to have to calculate this belly you acquired into your wardrobe.

They exhale, almost as if theyre relieved, and step toward you.

"You’re beautiful like this," they murmur, crouching beside the chaise, their hand ghosting over your belly.

"Softening. Good."

Your breath hitches at their touch—gentle, precise.

They feel along the curve, confirming your stomach’s progress, their fingers press in. They hum, pleased with what they feel.

"You’ve done so well," they murmur.

Then they reveal a small glass bottle from their pocket, turning it between their fingers. The firelight catches on the deep amber liquid inside.

You furrow your brows. "What is that?"

"A special oil," they say, pouring a few drops into their palm. "Good for the skin. Helps after a stretch like this."

They say it like you've done an extensive workout. Not that you've swallowed someone whole.

You swallow.

"I’ve never done this before," you admit.

"I know," the host says. They rub their hands together, warming the oil, then presses them to your stomach.

Their touch is slow, methodical, tracing circles over stretched, dry skin.

You shiver at the sensation, the firm, soothing pressure, the way their fingers glide over you with such focused care. The way the oil quickly warms up. And it makes the tautness feel easier.

"Predators should be well cared for." They whisper.

For a second, you think you imagined it. They continue working the oil into your skin.

"You’ll sleep well tonight," they murmur.

The oil sinks into your skin, rich and fragrant, sandal wood?

Its good, easing the stretch, soothing the strain.

Their youch is reverent, practiced—like they had done this before. Had they handled others like you before?

"You’re doing so well, predator" they murmur, they watch for your reaction. You stare up at them with trusting, trepid eyes.

They continue, "It’s my job to take care of you."

You swallow hard. Their job?

Their fingers knead gently against your middle, as if coaxing your body to relax further.

"In the past," they explain, their voice smooth, steady, "predators would always have patrons. Someone to provide for them, house them, ensure they had what they needed."

You had never heard that before. You dont say anything, you would rather listen.

"How is your prey settling?" They ask, focus back to your stomach, pressing down, eliciting a growl, feeling the way your body is working through the weight inside you.

You adjust slightly, feeling the fullness, the warmth, the slow, inexorable process happening inside you.

"They’re… settling fine, I think-" they pressed down on you stomach, "I uh--oouurp!" Your face heats, "haha, sorry."

They smile, pleased. Their hand lingers, fingers splaying wide.

"Good."

Their hands slide slowly down your sides, smoothing the oil into your skin with practiced care.

You feel the tension in your body begin to loosen as their touch works its way down, deeper into your middle, coaxing the stretched flesh to relax, the prey meal being tamed under their hands.

"I have a proposition," the host tells you. "When your belly is flat," they say, their voice a quiet promise, "you can live your own life. You can be your own person. But when there’s prey inside you—"

They pause and their hand rests firmly on your stomach, "When there’s prey in you, you belong to me."

The words hang in the air, pressing into you like the weight of your own full gut. You feel them sink deep.

"I take care of my belongings," the host continues, their hand holding the curve of your stomach, smooth from the oil treatment.

"It’s my responsibility to see to you, to make sure you’re comfortable. I’ll care for your every need." The host is heavy and serious in their tone, that should unsettle you but instead feels oddly appealing.

"Predators," the host muses, voice low, measured, "have certain needs."

The host watches you closely, fingers brushing lightly over your stomach again, enough to feel the pulse of your digestion beneath the surface.

"Needs that have to be met. And I will tend to those needs."

You inhale slowly, feeling your prey pressing on your diaphragm.

"I’ll provide you with good hunting. entertainment, to satisfy you, to keep your belly full." Their smile is sharp.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and though part of you wonders just what you’ve gotten yourself into, these promises sound very appealing.

"And in return," the host continues, their voice darkening, "you will give yourself to me."

Their hand settles against your side, firm, guiding. "When there’s prey inside you, when your hunger is satiated, you’ll stay at my estate. You will not contact the outside world unless completely necessary. You will remain here until you have finished with your prey."

"Additionally, you will not eat prey outside of these walls. I will give you all you need, you will never go hungry. But you must only receive prey from me"

Their smile widens, a trace of satisfaction curling on their lips. They have you. You want this.

The host pulls back a little, standing slowly, eyes never leaving you.

"But you can think this over more later, sweetheart. When you’re rested."

"For now, all you need to do is be a good pred and finish digesting for me." They give your stomach a neat couple of pats, and then leave, giving you privacy for the rest of the evening.

train was delayed for so long he got the urge to eat everyone in the car 😔 he regrets it

guy who has really bad pred cravings. and also t hunger. and the munchies.

everyones gonna know what you are, idiot.

"mmmm whesh dosh dat come frommmm"

Vampire a little drunk and full of blood