true believer.

Hungry? Hunger pains. Starved growls. The whole shebang.

Ate something good? Digestion noises. Contented gurgles from a happy tummy.

Ate something bad? All the good sickly gurgles from your belly sloshing and churning, trying to settle. (But it can’t <3)

A tiny feeling the heartbeat of their giant must be so overwhelmingly sweet and intimate, their constant bumping rocking the tiny's whole world as the breathing adds onto the heavy feeling.

But I wanna imagine how it must be the other way around, a tiny is very small and delicate. The giant's touch will always be too rough to feel all the little movements of their tiny other.

The giant puts their thumb on top of their tiny's heart, although it covers their whole torso. They press very gently onto the tiny's chest, as they try to focus on the very light bumping against the surface of their finger.

Bluoorb. Gluuorp. Schloorp.

Rose cracked an eye open and stifled a yawn. She drowsily registered the blue-white moonlight filtering through the blinds, the gentle rhythm of her boyfriend Arran's breathing, the warmth of his skin against hers, the glow of the clock that read 2:03 AM. And beyond that, a strange bubbling and fluttering against her cheek that seemed to move in time with the noises that woke her.

kkkkllltthhhouuuuguuulllllllluuuoooorrggllllllll

Rose felt herself shift into a higher state of consciousness as she began to understand what she was experiencing. Arran had polished off an entire pint of sugar-free ice cream before bed, and some Oreos with it. When they had drifted off together, her head nestled against his chest, nothing had been wrong. But now that a few hours had gone by...

Ever so slowly, she pushed herself onto her elbows and assessed the state of her beloved's belly.

Bloated would be one word. Ballooned another. Not super badly, but enough that his slighly-plush stomach was slightly hard beneath its initial comforting softness. It was as if it tried to become the moon by absorbing its light and decided to stop about a third of the way there. "The sexiest waxing crescent I ever saw," Rose thought to herself, gently biting her lip. The shadow of the branches played over the dome of Arran's stomach as the dessert upsetting his system played beneath it. Rose could hear it from where she lay, propped on her arms--a litany of thick, crackling gurgles paired with angrier, airy moans. It made sense, she supposed. Sugar-free stuff normally sent people's systems off the deep end as it was, and even with his normally iron gut Arran wouldn't be immune.

She snuggled up closer to his struggling system, resting her ear at the apex of his belly's curve. His digestion was quite literally kicking and screaming--she could once again feel how his body pushed and moved in protest of processing the ice cream and Oreos. Rushes of bubbles surged, combined, and shifted against her cheek. The louder groans brought on by the continued bloating tickled as they vibrated angrily on her skin.

qqqqllluuuooorrkkkkllllllggggllglgglgllglglglglglgl

Arran moaned in his sleep, one hand bumping against Rose's head as he dragged it over his belly. This was enough to wake him.

"Mmmph...my tummy..." he mumbled groggily, grabbing one of Rose's hands and pressing it into his middle.

"I know baby, it woke me up. I listened to it for a bit just now. It sounds pretty upset."

Between the stomachache and sleepiness, Arran was beyond words. He simply whimpered and more firmly pressed Rose's hand against his abdomen, which was beginning to harden more. Rose sat up.

"You want me to rub your tummy?"

Eyes still closed, Arran nodded, fairly shoving his belly against her hands. Rose chuckled, sighing.

"I don't mean to laugh, my love. Of course I'll take care of you. You really shouldn'tve had that whole pint of sugar free ice cream. It's no wonder your belly is so bloated and mad."

She began to rub in large, firm circles. Everything shifted under her palms, angrily squelching. Arran tensed at first, then his muscles melted as the warmth and friction of her palms began to ease the digestive process. There was a rush of gurgles, a thick gloosh, and a rush of bubbles all started winding to the surface. Rose felt Arran's stomach soften as he let out several burps, whimpered again, and then let out one more gigantic belch.

"Feel a little better?"

Now that the act was done with, the predator could sprawl. They sprawled out on the couch, panting faintly, lazy and full. One arm draped over the distended dome of their gut.

It gurgled softy still adjusting to the strain of a full prey meal. The pred was looking forward to a long night of digesting and nothing else.

They had expected their prey to wriggle. And it wasnt wriggling at all.

They spoke to soon. There was a sensation. Right on cue. But it made the pred furl their brow. No, it wasnt a struggle, not a kick.

A stroke

A soft drag of fingers...

Along the inside of the predators stomach lining.

Their breath caught right in their throat. Their skin prickled, unsettled, uneasy, taken aback, goose bumps cascaded down their arms, up their neck.

The pred bristled, suddenly hyperaware. Then got ahold of themselves.

Well that was weird. But no matter.

-

The sensation happened again. A second stroke.

fingertips gliding across the taut, sensitive stomach interior in a slow and exceedingly deliberate circle.

They had to grip the side of the couch to stop themselves from arching their back.

"W-what are you doing-?!" They hissed.

They dared not speak too loud to acknowledge their prey - they didnt want to prove that something unusual was indeed happening. And besides they never talked to prey once it was in their belly.

Another stroke. Slightly...firmer. perhaps since the preys hand must have become slick with stomach mucus at this stage. Yet they continued and that ongoing touch left trails of warmth on the ultrasensitive tissue

The stomach quivered. Muscles stuttering, spasming. The predator moaned in surprise.

"Stop fondling my stomach!" They said, exacerbated, flushed. Their hands went to their stomach in an effort to stop this nonsense - but all that did was create a sandwiching effect:

Outside touching

Inside touching

They removed their hand as if theyd touched a hot stove. But the hands inside kept exploring. There was nothing that could be done

A slow caress down the greater curvature. Then... two fingers, they could feel.... two fingers trace a lazy circle just below the esophagus.

They.shuddered.

A stomach that was only meant to know the dull churn of digestion. ..... was now being handled in a delicate manner.. unprecedented. Inconceivable.

Nerve endings.. lit up, that of which had previoisly laid dormant.

"God....stop" the pred said though their voice lack cconviction.

They were embarrassed to have been caught off guard by their prey.

This had never happened before

They didnt know this could happen. How could they..... how could they have known this was possible

But.

They were morbidly interesting in seeing where it would go

Their stomach let out a wet gurgle, for some forsaken reason, still trying to do its job.

More rubs. , following gently the shape of the stomach. The pred bit their lip, hard

The person inside was calm, persistant. Surely this wasnt the first time they had done this. They were to assured. Too confident

It was all so meticulous.

Their entire abdomen felt flushed from the inside out. The sensations from inside were maddening. Delicate and subtle. Their muscles trembled. The pred felt themselves unwind, unravel. They leaned back further, eyes vacant as tactile pleasure emanated from their core. They felt raw, responsive, hanging on the preys every move.

Their breath was shallow as not to disturb what miracles were happening inside them.

It certainly didnt feel like an attempt at escape. Who was it for then? The whisper of fingernails against the tender stomach walls? Brushing over muscle folds which had never known such a soft touch?

Was it... really. Was it for the pred...?

The lining tensed and twitched after every touch, leaving heat in its wake.

Then, a touch near the sphincter.

They gasped in shock. The muscles at the base of their stomach fluttered.

The lower esophageal sphincter. Right at the top of the stomach. A humble mechanism,. It was only meant to bring food into the stomach, not to be fondled by the food it had swallowed.

But the prey was tracing it -- soft circular motions around the firm ring of muscle. Barely skimming it, the seam that had so recently welcomed the prey to the stomach.

But that didnt happen did it

The prey moved to stroke the lesser curve of their stomach, and the pred had sensations all up their spine and down their legs. At the base of their skull, on the top of the head.

The faint drag of fingernails. Gentle circular rubs.

The preds toes curled. Eyes closed. Lost in the ecstasy of being rubbed from the inside.

The predators world narrowed to the confines of their belly. That sphere was the entire world. Everything else was static, white noise, unimportant. Irrelevant.

The only thing that mattered was the rich tactile realm beneath the thick skin of their gut.

Inside the prey could feel the trickling of acid. It kissed their arms in a gentle burn. The stomach they occupied was eager to digest them. So it went. It was a warning, of things to come. The prey was largely unbothered. Still they had no more time to waste. Their fingers slipped lower.

They heard the predator gasp. The second sphincter. The entrance to the intestines.

The prey was unbothered by the acids pooling around their body

They traced, teased, bothered, feeling the predators body react as they pushed on the seam that was the pyloric valve, as if coaxing it to open.

-

The predator felt in disarray. Exposed and changed.

"Please-" they dont know why they said it. They couldnt believe they said it. And what were they even asking for?

Only... they wanted something didnt they.... they wanted for it to continue

A sheen of sweat formed on their brow.

they could feel digestion beginning in earnest. They were overheated. Glands of their stomach secreted digestive fluids. Muscles moved in digestive rhythm.

It didnt matter

-

the prey was busy. Each time their prey fingers found that firm strong ring of muscle, the stomach spasmed. Pressure, it caused a twitch, as the organ became more confused as to what to do

Light pressure, a patient pause. A beat. A soft rub, then release.

-

The pred's heart stuttered, fluttering, a trapped butterfly. They were done for. They could hear the pumping of blood in their ears.

The valve pulsed. Reacting to careful minstrations of the prey. It felt wrong. . But.......

-

The prey kneaded the ring of muscle, helping it relax

-

The pred panted, trembled, thighs weak, toes curled.

They suddenly had a thought. That this was the best meal theyd ever had.

*Best prey ive eaten*

-

The stomach groaned. Acids lapping at the preys body, higher, rising with every minute.

The prey didnt care, digestion hardly mattered at this stage. This was about the predator now, the prey had places in the body that needed their attending. And they could too feel the predators heartrate rising.

-

The predator moaned, head tilted back, mouth parted to expose sharp teeth

Their gut roiled hungerily as digestion steamed on ahead. They were already so full, an evening of digestion would have done them just fine.

But now they were so tender all over. Stomach juices more than flowing.

-

A final rub on the pyloric valve. Gentle and patient and caring. Muscles there tightened first instictively. And then, finally, at last, reluctantly opened.

So it gave -- open, much too soon for this stage of digestion. The stomach clenched on the preys body as the valve slipped ajar.

Fingers, then, sliding through.

-

The pred made a noise. It was raw and it was cracked. Shock and confusion and curiosity informed it, and pleasure shot through their spine.

"Oh god"

A hand flew to the underside of their gut, as if to better feel the transition.

The prey.

The prey that they ate

Momenta ago, with no discussion beforehand

Had now

The pred huffed.

Had now just put their hand through and into the preds intestine. They could feel it.

The prey started to stroke it, their thin delicate intestinal wall lined with vili. Was being stroked.

The organ was meant to absorb, not be handled. And yet figers glided carefully across the duodendum.

The predator bit back a yell or a squeal they didnt know what it was. Their body locked tense.

Their stomach growled, low and hungry

-

The prey could feel the tight ring of muscle flex and squeeze at their arm, likely attempting to suck them into the intestine, as was its duty.

After all why else would the poor thing be open? If not for the next stage of digestion? The prey smirked. How cute. But no.

The prey could hear the pred swear and curse as they rubbed the intestine.

Fingers of theirs danced, tickled. Teased.

"F-fuck"

"oh my god-" the lrey could hear whining, strangled and strained in disbelief. Horrified, scared, in awe.

"Shit, shit, shit, dont--"

"Please-- i--"

"Ill let you out--"

"Ill let you out-- please--"

The prey noticed an apologetic rub from the outside of the belly.

They felt the pyloric valve thrumming over their arm, stretched, digestive reflex still trying to gulp them down into it. Trying in earnest to do its job.

The prey drahhed fingernails along the grain of the intestine. Peristalsis was all around them. The last touches were barely there, feather light, along the soft walls, gliding over trembling vili, tracing a pattern much like their signature, before retracting. They gave the predator a moment to recover.

---

they lay strewn across the sofa like a used t-shirt. A forgotten piece of laundry. A hand rested on their now empty belly.

Across from them - their former prey. Recently showwered, ever so slightly acid tinged. Otherwise doing well, acting collected and calm.

The preds muscles ached from over use.

"Are you okay?" The prey asks

"I..

....i dont know"

The prey smiles, apologetic, "too much?"

The pred shook their head, in disbelief of it all.

"..

....you."

They tried again

".......▪︎you were inside my intestine"

They covered their face with their hands, "that shouldnt be possible"

The prey was humble, no bragging, no teasing now.

"Youre not even phased, " the pred says

" you did most of the work"

The pred groaned, "this cannot happen again"

The prey said nothing

my stomach has a lot to say, all day long

7:00 AM

Before we even open our eyes, the silence of the bedroom would get broken by a deep, hollow vibration coming from under the duvet

Grrrroooooorggwwll...

long groan from the depths of my empty insides, celebrating that the fasting period is officially over

8:30 AM

While I’m brushing my teeth and rushing to get dressed, the noises get impatient

Krrr-gurgle... mrrrp

like a little creature complaining that I’m taking too long to find my socks

9:15 AM

Sitting on the bus or waiting for the train

It’s quiet, which is unfortunate for me

Suddenly, a wet, heavy sound echoes through my hoodie

GLLLLORP.

It’s loud enough that the person sitting next to us might glance over

I’d just pretend to look at my phone, while my partner tries not to laugh

11:00 AM

The professor is pausing for dramatic effect. The room is dead silent

Hnnnnnngg-grrrrrrr...

A high-pitched, needy whine that fades into a growl. It’s the sound of genuine distress

My stomach is starting to digest itself

12:30 PM

Standing in line, smelling the food

This is when the beast wakes up

BBBRRRRRAAAAP!

Violent rumbles that actually shake my body. It sounds like thunder

1:00 PM

Finally eating!!!

But the noise doesn’t stop

As the warm food hits my empty stomach, there’s a symphony of relief

Glug... swissssh...

Liquid sounds

Squelchy noises of things making room

2:30 PM

Lying down for a nap, totally stuffed

My belly is round and tight

goorgrgr...bbrrsiuuurrsh...

It’s working hard

4:00 PM

Sitting up to do some work

The waistband is digging in, compressing the gas and food

Squeeeeeeak-pop

7:00 PM

Dinner time is approaching

The food from lunch is gone

The hollow space returns

Wwrrggghhhh-

A weird, mechanical sound of my stomach contracting, getting ready for round two

11:00 PM

Back in bed, the day is done

But as we drift off, there’s one last, soft conversation happening in the dark

Gurgle... blop... grrr

Just a gentle reminder that even when I’m sleeping, my tummy is always awake, always waiting for the next meal

Cw: unwilling prey, semi unwilling pred, digestion implied

At first, it's funny, just a silly accident.

You hadn't meant to swallow them—really, it was just a stupid accident. One second they were...  well it doesnt matter

and the next… well. Reflexes took over.

Now they’re curled up inside you, shifting awkwardly, a littler grossed out, pressing at the walls of your stomach with hesitant hands.

"Wow," they laugh, a little breathless. "This is weird. But, uh, let's figure out how to—"

Then it happens. A ripple, deep in your core. A slow, deliberate knead of muscle, drawing tight around the warm body inside you. The first trickle of heat. the unmistakable prickle of acid leaking out as your stomach prepared to digest. Your breath hitches.

Oh. That feels—

"Shit," you exhale, clutching your middle as your gut tightens again, this time with more purpose. A thick, rolling churn stirs in your belly, massaging the weight inside you.

Your stomach has realised something: there’s prey in it. And it’s considering its options.

There is one most favourable option.

"Uh, hey." Their voice is still light, but there’s an edge to it now. "I felt that. That was—is that digestion?"

You don't answer. You’re too caught up in the sensation. Warmth unfurls in you, something deep and curious and good.

Your gut clutches down, squeezing, squeezing, coaxing the meal inside into something softer, more compliant, something absorbable. You can feel the delicate details of their body against your stomach lining, how the heat and slick pressure intends on shaping them. Deleting the details. Breaking them down into something simplier.

It sends a shiver down your spine. Your hands drift to your belly, pressing, rubbing slow circles against the rounded swell.

The more you knead, the more intricate sensations you discover.

"Dude." There’s real unease in their voice now. A frantic shove from inside you.

"Snap out of it. This is funny and all, but get me out before—"

Your stomach cuts them off, rippling with a hungry, greedy glorp. It clenches down hard, pressing them tighter into its sticky embrace.

You barely stifle a moan at the feeling. Your breath is shaky.

"God, this is—this is really weird, but it feels—"

"Don't say it feels good."

Your hands push deeper into your belly, fingertips kneading, chasing the sensation of their squirming body as your gut gurgles over them.

Each movement makes it better—your stomach is reacting to their struggles, squeezing tighter, rewarding you with a fresh flood of heat.

They’re wriggling more, pushing at your stomach walls, but every motion just stirs up more of that sticky pleasure.

"Okay, no, you have to fight this!" They sound breathless now, the pressure growing heavier on them. "You don’t want to digest me, right?"

You shouldn't. But the weight of them inside you—their body squishing and shifting under your stomach's steady kneading—has you shuddering.

You can't help it; you sink lower, pressing your middle into the bed, letting the pressure sink them deeper into the hot, clenching hold of your gut.

"Ohh…"

The sound slips out before you can stop it. A shaky, drawn-out exhale.

"…Hey," their voice is smaller now, and you can hear the realization creeping into it. "Hey, no, you have to stop this, okay? You can fight it. Just stop—stop kneading your stomach, stop pressing down on me, please—"

Your stomach gurgles in reply, tight and content. You know, with an awful, sinking certainty, that you should be resisting. That you should be fighting against this feeling. This isnt something you can stop. Youve never felt this way before, and its too much for you to handle.

Your breath is coming in shallow, shaky gasps now, your entire body trembling with the sensation blooming deep in your gut. Each clench, each slow ripple of muscle working over the prey inside you, sends another wave of pleasure up your spine, warm and drugging. You have to try, you have to do something, or at least you have to buy some time, to clear your head, before its too late.

But every time you feel your prey - your friend, wriggle inside of you, each flutter against your skin, against your tender insides, it makes it harder to focus on your values.

"D-don't struggle," you whisper, voice thin and wrecked. Your hands tighten over the taut curve of your stomach, rubbing, kneading. "It—it feels too good. You’re just—hah—stimulating me more."

A choked sound from inside you. "Are you kidding me?!"

They kick. Hard.

And it’s ruinous.

The jolt of movement sends your stomach into a frenzy, rippling around them, clutching down with greedy, squeezing pressure. The heat inside you surges, thickening, your gut working faster, kneading them deeper into its clinging folds. Your body reacts, your instincts set off like a tripwire.

You bite back a moan, barely stifling the shaky pleasure that bubbles up in your throat.

"Oh, fuck—" They panic. You can feel it. Their instincts take over, and suddenly they’re thrashing, pressing, pushing against your stomach walls with all their strength.

Your brain flickers a brief realisation of the irony. Yours and your preys instincts acting in perfect discord.

And the overstimulation is delicious. A shudder wracks your frame as you press both hands to your gut, desperate to keep up with the overwhelming sensation.

Your fingers sink into your belly, rubbing deep, coaxing, encouraging—

"Ohhh, that’s—" You bite your lip, barely keeping yourself together. "You're making it worse, you’re just making it—hahh—faster…"

Your stomach glorps, rolling tight waves of muscle over the struggling meal inside. It’s learning about them, molding to them, working them down into something soft and pliant.

And eventually, something liquid, to be pumped further into your digestive tract. Something you deeply look forward to.

"STOP RUBBING YOUR STOMACH!"

You can’t.

Your hips shift as you curl around your gut, pressing down, needing more.

"I—I can’t help it," you gasp, barely able to speak through the sheer, heady sensation.

"I—I'm sorry, I just—it feels so… so good…"

They don't stop squirming, never giving you even a second to try and recover.

Their overwhelming fear, and your overwhelming pleasure means neither of you can stop Your instincts are louder than logic. And unfortunately, your stomach is the only one who knows exactly what to do in this situation.

Your hands circle in quick, desperate motions over your gut, trying to help it digest your friend.

despite yourself—despite your friendship, and the consequences you can barely make out through the fog of euphoria--despite everything—you murmur a quiet, breathless, "I'm sorry."

The bottom portion of the esophagus passes directly by the heart. But the stomach itself is separated from the heart by the diaphragm, which separates the digestive organs and the respiratory organs into different body cavities.

But even with the diaphragm in between, endoscopy footage shows that our heartbeats are clearly visible through the stomach wall in the “cardia” area.

"Did you have a nightmare? I could feel you... burrowing, kinda."

"I'm a... restless sleeper, sometimes."

---