Intramural Containment
TWs: None.
Characters: V.E.X (OC) & Reader-Insert
Other Tags: Hologram pred, human prey, alien technology, shrinking, size-difference. Pred is aloof but not mean/cruel, sci-fi
A/N: This was a result of me brain-rotting really hard about hologram preds last night, alas, take this hot garbage I started writing at like...5:00 in the morning.
â ď¸ Please do NOT reblog my content to kink/fetish/feederism focused blogs, tag my content as safe/soft vore. sexualize my characters/art, or feed my writing/art to AI.
The device sits heavy in your hands as you study it. Itâs alien, but you canât place it.
The runes carved into the disc are in a language youânor anybody aboard the Mercy, recognizes. Not Vuurid, not Kheve. Youâre at a loss. Even your captain, the self proclaimed âalien linguistâ canât put a name to the language.
You groan, setting it down on the research desk haphazardly. You feel like youâre running in circles trying to get an answer.
Thenâ
It hums, runes glowing a soft teal-white in the dimness of the cruiserâs laboratory. Itâs no longer sitting against the table, levitating just a few millimetres off the ground.
You back away.
A great arc of light stretches from the disk and straight towards you. Panic floods your system and you make to book for it.
The light crashes into your chest anyways.
You expect white-hot pain. A giant, gaping hole in the cavity of your chest.
Instead, your world tilts. The ground rushes up to meet you.
Everything feels larger now.
You realize, with razor-sharp clarity, that you have been shrunk.
You hiss under your breath.
Great. Wonderful.
You are now tiny on a spaceship where everythingâincluding your own crew, can kill you.
You also know that you canât stay here.
Your legs wobble when you walk, as if made of jello. Adjusting to the new size.
The observation deck, you realize, is a lot farther when youâre shrunk.
You narrowly avoid getting stepped on twice on your journey, thankfully, you are far nimbler than your crew-mates feet.
It finally comes into view. Large and daunting in all the ways that matter, the distant galaxies and stars glitter against the pitch-black dark of space just beyond the reinforced windows. The only one ever in here is you, when you feel particularly homesick, or your sleeping quarters feel too empty. Too unsafe.
You settle in the centre of the room. Exhaling.
Your solitude lasts about three solid minutes before a silhouette of prismatic light is standing before you.
Judging you.
Your gaze tilts upwardâupward, upwardâand are met with the white, blank eyes of the hologram of the shipâs AI, V.E.X.
Itâhe, is frowning. As if your presence offends him.
ââIdentity confirmed.â
A soft chime follows, familiar rather than formal.
âGreetings, Field Scientist.â
A beat.
Then, to your horror, he bends down. And then youâre plucked off a ground with surprising gentleness. Your brain screeches to a sudden halt. Holograms are not supposed to do that.
âStatus: Miniaturized. Heartbeat: Nominal. Brain: Functioning. Stress Level: 80%.â He rattles off, with a cold, distant aloofness that unsettles you.
âWow. Love that for me.â You reply, swallowing hard. âGood to know my brain made the cut. Was really worried that wouldnât make the list.â
âStress level eighty percent, huh? That seems low. Are you factoring in the whole âI am currently fun-sized and one misplaced step away from becoming a cautionary taleâ thing, or is that extra?â
The hologram stares at you, unblinking. âYou are spiralling. Suggested action: Breathing exercisesâ
You glare at him. Letting out a sharp, incredulous laugh âOh, am I? Thatâs fascinating, V.E.X., I hadnât noticed.â
You gesture vaguely to your dramatically size-reduced self. Then point at him with a shaky hand âMaybe itâs the whole âI am currently the size of a paperclip on a spaceship that was not designed for paperclipsâ thing. Just a theoryâ
You take one deliberate, exaggerated breath. Hold it. Let it out just as theatrically.
ââŚThere. Did it. Fixed everything. Iâm cured. The existential dread is gone. Stunning work.â
You squint up at him. âNow can we please get to the part where you fix it. Before I become a field-scientist pancake?â
âNegative. Stress levels have increased significantly. New suggested action: Panic room.â
ââOh, thatâs funny. Thatâs really funny.â
You stare at him. Mouth slightly agape, like your brain is refusing to process what he just said.
âI am already in a situation that would qualify as a full-body, all-access, premium panic experience, V.E.X. I donât need a room for it.â
The hologram tilts his head. Infuriatingly so.
âCorrection: Intramural containment.â
You blink.
Once.
Twice.
â...Intramural containment.â
âPrecisely.â
Youâre lifted closer to the hologram-manâs face.
His mouth parts, and you are greeted by rounded dentition, and a flickering, nacreous tongue.
A hologram should not have the slightest suggestion of a digestive system. Yet V.E.X, for some reason, does.
Your face flushes hot with anxiety. Your hands grasp for the tip of his fingers, desperate for anything to hold on to.
This is not happening.
âV.E.XâV.E.X. Hey, come on. This isnât fair. Me being small doesnât mean Iâm snack-sized. Please put me do-!â
He doesnât listen, just simply lowers you into his mouth. The one he should very much not have.
His fingers, and any hope at escape, leave you as youâre settled on his tongue. Mouth closing around you, surroundings becoming muted.
The hologram doesn't swallow, not really. Just sort of tilts his head back, and youâre sent down his throat, though it feels more like a wind-tunnel with the gravity reversed. Fingers trace your shape past his collarbone until you settle into his stomach.
Itâs solidâweirdly squishy, and yields beneath your shape. Comfortable.
Then, steady, liquid-smooth dread bubbles inside of your chest. You are inside a hologram. That has just eaten you. That sentence should not exist, yet it does. And you certainly shouldnât find this comfortable, this should be horrifying.
You aim a kick at the nearest wall, and your leg simply bounces off the wall, iridescent walls flicker with the impact, then your thoughts veer sharply, wondering if your molecules are about to be arranged on a substantial level, or if you're going to get vaporized to atoms.
That scares you enough that you kick and claw at the surface of hard-light. Itâs ineffective, but it doesnât stop you from trying.
A hand, steady and firm settles over you. "Settle down. Your structural integrity will remain unaltered, however, I am unsure about your dignity."
You go rigid, leg hovering in mid-air, hands braced against the stomach walls. Outside, the hologram rolls his eyes."I am jesting with you. Privacy protocols have been engaged, nobody can see you in there unless I allow it.â
âHilarious.â You reply, thoroughly displeased. âSpit me out.â
âThat would be ill-advised.â
You curse, running a hand down your face. âSo what, youâre just going to hold me hostage until this can be reversed?â
âHostage: incorrect term. Proper term: Containedâ
You roll your eyes. Stuck as you are, you settle in. Letting the walls hold you, folding your arms. âThis is the worst day of my life.â
âI will add that to my field notes.â
You donât even bother to kick him, just glower upwards where you can see the blurred outline of his face.
âOne more thing, the device that miniaturized you is of Hraxil origin. Easily reversible technology. You will be back to your original size approximately 5 hours.â
âMarvelous.â
















