#tw fatal vore implication/mention | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smolcinnamonchipmunk · 3 years ago

Note

Prey who lose a very substantial bet in a Pred run casino and can only pay it back via noms (fatal or non fatal will work for this)

(I’ve been wanting to write something like this for a hot minute, but I never really knew where to go with this. I’m a huge sucker for bar/gambling stuff, but the way I like it is so specific that half the time *I’m* not even sure how to go about it. I was kind of tempted to do something with a Zootopia/Beastars kind of thing but decided to just go with G/t. There are so many kinds of branching ideas/different variations that I might eventually come back to something similar in the future.

I also have ZERO experience with casinos, so, uh, I kind of made some bullshit up with what little I know. Hence the absolute dumbassery of the main character in this, lol. The questions they ask?... Yeah, I was asking them to a friend that’s actually been to casinos and gambled.

That being said, hope you enjoy this! Sorry for, just, how *long* it takes to get to the vore. I speedran 80% of this last night too, so sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes!)

The Unlucky Clover

TW: Drinking; Unwilling, nonsexual, nonfatal, safe, soft oral vore; mention of drugs; implication/fear of digestion

Words: 7663

The lights and sounds as I opened the door and stepped into the casino were disorienting. Overwhelming for people like me who were more of the shut-in type and probably downright dangerous for anyone with phobias or sensitivities to this kind of thing. But, the whole stretch of street was lined with buildings flashing neon lights and music meant to catch passerby’s attention long enough for curiosity to set in so they’ll walk inside. I don’t think anyone came to visit with the thought of peace and quiet in mind.

Logically and cynically I knew that everything was meant to appeal to natural human faults to get people inside and keep them in, but I was also aware that I wasn’t immune to it. And, for tonight, that was fine. I was visiting, I’d never been to a casino, and I only had a set amount of money so that I wouldn’t go bankrupt.

The place I’d happened to walk into was called the Clover, probably meant to try and give people a ‘lucky’ feeling because of the whole four-leafed clover good luck thing. That was my best guess, at least.

Though, there wasn’t much green on the inside that I could see, mostly more attention-grabbing colors like reds and yellows. There also wasn’t a front desk, just a large entry landing that led down to the rest of the casino with a couple steps. There were a few ATMs against the wall beside a few palm plants, but other than that there weren't any, uh, normal entry procedures?

I don’t know, the closest thing I could think of to a casino that I’d been to were places like Dave & Busters where there was a front desk and people to greet you at it where you buy a game card or something and then you go inside after paying. This was so open and direct to the wall of slot machines between the entrance and the rest of the casino, it almost felt like trespassing.

But, what was more awkward? Standing around by the entrance to try and figure out where to go and what to do? Or wandering around doing the same thing, but you’re moving, so people are less likely to bother you?

I opted for the wandering around option.

I tried to not look as lost as I felt as I forced myself down the steps from the entry landing and walked past the first line of slot machines through a decently large gap between some. But, it wasn’t just one wall of machines. There were several rows in a weird staggering kind of pattern that I had to weave through to continue forward. Coupled with pillars, seats, and so many people, I almost immediately felt drained.

At the very least, I could see that people were just feeding the machines with cash bills. I knew gambling involved chips a lot, but I had no idea how those worked.

Past the initial, practically defensive wall of slot machines, there were more further inside, but they were scattered around the place instead of clumped up in such a hassling way. Probably to tempt drunk, desperate or tired people to think ‘Oh, just one more game’ and potentially milk whatever winnings someone earns back before they leave.

There were all kinds of game tables around and I could even see two mini bars on the floor. Poker, that weird game where you drop a ball and it lands in a wheel, someone was even playing some kind of VR gambling thing, and several other games that I probably knew the name of but wouldn’t be able to correlate to the unfamiliar tables and movements. And that was only what I could see, there seemed to be even more past pillars and machines that were all around the room.

Finding the main room a bit much for now, I decided to try one of the slot machines, sitting down at an empty machine and pulling out a dollar. Start off small, right?

I watched someone out of the corner of my eye so that I did the machine right, mimicking their motion and watched the little images flick by. Was it triple 7’s that were good? Was it different for each machine? There was probably some way to do this and I probably already fucked up, somehow, but I just told myself that I had a hundred dollar limit. Even if I lost it all just messing around with things, it wasn’t a huge loss.

The machine made its three noises as the images stopped on… a triple cherry? I wasn’t sure what that meant, but the little screen beneath the three pictures flashed “5$! 5$! CASH OUT OR KEEP PLAYING?”. So, I guess I earned four dollars? Curious, I selected “Keep Playing”. It asked me if I wanted to bet the five dollars or give it more physical money to use. I decided to give it another dollar and spun it again. This time, the slots were all mixed up and it gave nothing back other than the words on the screen, “OOPS! BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME!”.

Letting out a small hum, I nodded to myself as I filed away the new information. Scrambled icons meant a lost bet, got it.

So, I spent the next little while at the slot machines, alternating between giving the machine physical cash and using the winnings I slowly began to accrue. I got really excited when a ten dollar bet returned fifty dollars with another triple cherry and a few more dollars amounted to smaller winnings that also added, but my energy quickly began to fade as several more tries at the machine led to jumbled icons that meant another dollar wasted. Any remaining interest and excitement that wasn’t dwindled away turned into dismay when another play on the slots gave me three bomb icons that ‘destroyed’ whatever winnings were in the machine.

Whatever questioning I had about why people couldn’t just keep playing all night instead of cashing out low numbers was now answered.

“Goddamnit,” I hissed to myself under my breath, not even able to hear my voice over the drone of the casino. I mentally tallied how much money I’d lost to the machine and was relieved that I had seventy-eight dollars still, only having lost twenty-two to the slots. And I probably would have lost a lot more to my hubris and ignorance if the triple bomb hadn’t popped up.

Letting out a long exhale, I pushed aside the instinctive craving to continue and stood up. Weaving through people walking around and the gaming tables in the way, I walked to one of the bars in the massive room. I was thinking that, at the very least, I could have a drink or two to make coming here feel somewhat worth it before leaving even if I lost the rest of my hundred dollar allotment.

There were a couple people at the bar counter on the available stools, but most people seemed to just be walking up and grabbing their drinks to take back to whatever game table they were playing at.

I decided to sit at one of the stools near the end of the small bar, thankfully devoid of immediate bar neighbors on either side. I barely even settled and had the thought of what I potentially wanted to drink before the bartender quickly came over. Given the amount of activity and noise, I had been expecting at least a second to gather my thoughts before I was noticed.

“‘Ey, what can for you,” the bartender greeted, a woman in a black and green uniform. It looked nice, black button-up shirt and pants with a green swirly designed vest. There was a nametag, but I was too caught off guard to read it.

“Oh, uh, you guys do Amaretto Sours,” I asked, reaching for my wallet.

“Got everything for practically any named drink you could think of,” she replied, immediately pulling out a glass and shaker from behind the counter. “ID?”

I showed her my card showing that I was over twenty-one, and she nodded, quickly moving around the bar as she added the ingredients to the shaker and scooped ice into the glass from something behind the counter.

“Orange or lemon wedge,” she poured the drink into the glass over the ice and spun around to open the fridge.

“Uh, lemon wedge, I guess.” I’d never gotten Amaretto Sours with lemon wedges before.

“Alright, here you go,” the bartender turned back around with the finished drink, complete with the familiar single maraschino cherry and a lemon slice placed on the lip of the glass. She placed the glass down in front of me and turned to tend someone else at the counter, but I tried to catch her attention.

“Uh, wait,” I said, feeling a bit awkward when she turned back towards me. Sheepishly, I asked, “Don’t I, uh, need to pay?”

She blinked at me in surprise and confusion, replying, “Well, you’re not leaving the counter yet, are you?”

“I, well, no, but I’d rather pay for each upfront if that’s alright,” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling like that was a very laissez faire way to go about alcohol payments. Then again, my experience was limited to only a few bars and this place had security, so maybe they were just really confident that would dissuade people from stealing or leaving without paying.

Besides, I couldn’t exactly start a proper tab without my card.

“Suit yourself,” the bartender shrugged after a couple moments, reaching for a card reader attached to the belt on her hip and pulling it off. She punched in a few buttons as I pulled out a ten - I decided she could keep the change if they couldn’t break a ten at the bar - and read out, “Alright, your total for one Amaretto Sour is-.”

“Taken care of.”

I jolted at the sudden voice from my right side, almost knocking over my glass as I looked over to see who was there. A tall dude who felt way too well-dressed compared to half the casino in vacation wear approached the counter on my right, basically taking the space and making a part of me grumble internally at the proximity. Giving him a glance over he had dark brown hair that was styled short and looked like he probably used some kind of gel or pomade, and his shirt was almost black compared to the far lighter tan of his pants.

“Uuuuh,” I frowned in confusion and surprise, trying to process his sudden appearance.

“Put it on my tab,” the man told the bartender, tapping the bar with a finger and I found my attention momentarily drawn to the glint of the rings on his hand in the casino light. There were three, one on every proper finger other than his middle.

Whoever this guy was, he must have been here earlier and given them his card already because the bartender nodded and printed a receipt to probably add to whatever other drinks the guy’s card had to charge him at the end of the night.

“I- you-you didn’t have to buy my drink,” I said automatically, the bartender already turned to take care of other customers. Unless I wanted to draw attention to myself trying to push for her to charge me instead, I was just going to have to live with the fact that this guy bought my drink. At least I already watched this one get poured, so I knew nothing was in it. That still didn’t stop the suspicion that came from some random person buying my drink.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I occasionally like to buy a couple people’s drinks when I'm here,” the man leaned on the counter with his forearms. I could see a couple people giving me some envious looks out of the corner of my eye that made me feel more self-conscious. Not like I *asked* him to buy my drink. “Name’s Arnoldo.”

“Right… well, thanks, I guess,” I took a sip from my drink, hoping that the man - pardon me, *Arnoldo* - would take the hint and just kind of… leave me alone.

Of course, he didn’t.

“You ever been here before,” he asked, dangerously close to the cheesy kind of pickup line that everyone knew about and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Nope,” I replied, wondering how rude chugging my drink and just walking away would be. I settled for just taking another, larger swig of the Amaretto Sour, internally sighing and hoping that he would eventually become bored and walk away if I forced myself to only give small responses.

“Hmm,” Arnoldo seemed to struggle with my short reply, eventually saying, “Well, how are you liking it so far?”

“Uh, it’s alright, I guess,” I shrugged, glancing back towards the rather overwhelming room. “Bit loud for my tastes, but I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“Well, it is a casino. They’re not exactly known for being the quietest places on Earth,” the man chuckled, making my face heat up a bit in embarrassment.

“Well, I know that, but you asked how I liked it,” I took an embarrassed gulp of my drink, focusing on the burn it caused down my throat to try and distract me from it. “I was just being honest…”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean it any type of way,” Arnoldo quickly responded, seeing him raise his hands a bit in the universal gesture of meaning no harm. The motion caught my attention and I looked over to see him look mildly apologetic. Giving him a bit more of a look, he seemed friendly, at least. I still wanted to keep up my guard, of course, but he sounded sincere. “I just think it’s kind of funny that someone would comment on something so expected. I take it that you don’t get out much then.”

“Not really, no,” I said, swirling my glass. “Coming here was kind of just a bucket list, giving it a try sort of deal. ”

“Well, what have you tried so far?”

“Uh… slots?”

“That… That’s it,” Arnoldo asked, raising an eyebrow. He shifted to look at me a bit more fuller, leaning entirely on his right arm as he turned to face me. “I hope you were at least going to try one of the other games. Just playing slots isn’t a very good experience.”

“I don’t know, maybe. I don’t know how any of the other games work,” I downed the rest of my glass anxiously, not really wanting to divulge that I had been planning to immediately leave. Placing the glass on the counter, it was quickly swept away by the bartender, who was quick to place it out of sight where used cups were probably stacked to be cleaned.

“You wanting another one,” she asked, and before I could respond to her, Arnoldo did.

“Put it on my tab if they’re getting another,” he said, giving the counter a tap. “And I’ll actually have an Irish Coffee for myself.”

I frowned, not really wanting all of my drinks to be on him, but sighed. “I guess I’ll have another Amaretto Sour… I should probably head out soon, I have to go meet a friend back at the hotel later.”

A lie, but maybe the thought of someone expecting me somewhere would prevent the guy from trying anything. Especially with another drink on the way.

The bartender nodded and started making both of our drinks, something I tried to keep an eye on still.

“I won’t stop you from leaving, but surely I can try and help you try some other type of game,” Arnoldo suggested, gesturing to the rest of the casino floor. “I’m sure you can get a hang of Blackjack, at least.”

“Uhh, which one’s Blackjack,” I asked, grabbing my glass as the bartender slid it to me and watching her walk over to the tiny coffee pot that had started boiling. Having seen nothing be poured or placed in my drink other than the normal ingredients, I took a sip as I mulled over the potential danger of accepting his offer to help me play a game.

“Card game,” he said, looking towards where I assumed the Blackjack tables were. “Basically, everyone gets handed a card at a time and can ask for another card or to stay and hold their number. You’ve got the Ace’s through ten which amount to the number they are with the Jacks being eleven, Queens being twelve, and the Kings being thirteen. The aim of the game is to try and get as close to the number twenty-one without going over against the dealer. Whoever gets the closest to twenty-one, or whoever gets twenty-one gets the amount they bet from the dealer. During home games, whoever gets closest gets the pot.”

“... Pot?” I asked, frowning a bit in confusion. The surprised look on his face told me that I’d questioned something rather basic.

“The pot is the collective of chips people bet on the game,” Arnoldo explained, smiling in amusement.

“Oh,” I sighed in exasperation at myself, planting my face in my palm with a groan. “I- sorry. You were explaining the mechanics of the game, so I thought it was a game thing…”

“Well, it is a game thing, but that’s just what the bets are called across the board.”

“Cool, cool. Well, learn something new everyday,” I dropped my hand from my face and took a swig of my drink. Even if I felt embarrassed to all hell, at least I still had the alcoholic tang of my Amaretto Sour.

“If you’re willing, I can help you out with one round,” he said, grabbing his Irish Coffee as the bartender finished it up and placed it on the bar counter.

I hummed a bit in thought. Part of me wanted to just go to the hotel I was staying at and just chill for the rest of the night. But, another part of me was curious about the other games, and if someone was willing to kind of show me the ropes, then my curiosity was peaked a bit further. And damn if I wasn’t a sucker for my curiosity.

“Eh, fine,” I swiveled in my barstool and hopped off with my drink in hand. “One game, then I’ll probably head out.”

“Sounds good to me,” Arnoldo straightened from his leaning position. I didn’t realize how tall he was while he was leaning beside me, but when he stood up I had to crane my neck to look up at him. I don’t even think I was shoulder height for him. He took a sip of his Irish Coffee and started walking towards one of the tables, saying, “Blackjack’s this way.”

“Uh, right,” I trailed behind him as he walked towards the tables. Whether he was mindful of his stride for me or he was slowed by the amount of people walking around, I was just glad I wouldn’t have to awkwardly trot behind him or speedwalk with the risk of spilling my drink. Eventually he slowed beside a semi-circle table with a person in green and black uniform on the flat side and an empty curved side with markings on the green surface. The table could hold five people along the edge, so with Arnoldo and I it left three spaces for others.

“Hey there,” the man behind the table greeted, pausing in his shuffling of cards.”Welcome to Blackjack! You waiting on anyone else?”

“No, no, just my friend and I here for now,” Arnoldo stated, placing his Irish Coffee in the cupholder at his spot.

I did the same for my drink at my spot after taking another long swig of it. I could already feel the slight fuzziness that came with becoming tipsy, so I decided that two was good enough for me.

“Alright, how much are each of you betting,” the dealer asked, shuffling the cards one last time before placing the deck face-down in front of himself.

“Uh, ten dollars,” I said, pulling out a ten and handing it to the dealer. He put the cash in a pack on his hip and placed a single chip with the number ten on its side in the little circle icon in front of my spot.

“I’ll be betting fifty,” Arnoldo drank from his Irish Coffee for a moment. The dealer didn’t ask for any cash and Arnoldo didn’t offer any cash or card. Yet, despite that, the dealer nodded and pulled out a chip with ‘50’ on its side and placed it in his circle.

I didn’t make a comment, shrugging internally. The guy did say that he was here often, so he was probably recognized. That, and if he had a tab already going, then the staff might have a way of knowing whose card was at the bar.

The dealer took a card off the top of the deck three times and placed one in front of himself, Arnoldo, and I. Respectively, the numbers ended up as ‘10’, ‘5’, and ‘8’. He looked between us and asked us if we wanted to stay or continued, and we obviously both decided to continue. All of us ended up less than ‘21’ still, with the closest being Arnoldo at ‘17’ with a Queen added to his cards. One more round went around and I ended up with ‘20’ while both the dealer and Arnoldo went over twenty-one.

“Congratulations on your first win,” Arnoldo said as the dealer reached into the chip holder and grabbed a ten chip to slide towards me. “You’ve doubled your chips with it.”

“What about your chip,” I asked, gesturing to his fifty chip before grabbing my Amaretto Sour and drinking some more for a moment.

“Since the dealer and I both went bust in the same turn, it’s considered a tie here,” he explained, drinking the last of his Irish Coffee. He flagged down one of the staff walking around with drinks and empty glasses on trays, placing his glass on the tray with a ‘Thank you’ and ordering another Irish Coffee. I suppose they floated around in case people didn’t want to leave their tables to go to one of the bars. “Neither I or the dealer pays the bet.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” I glanced down towards my two ten dollar chips. It wasn’t a substantial leap, but it also hadn’t been a substantial bet. And yet, I felt a bit of serotonin at the win that mixed with the warm buzz pleasantly.

“Are you playing another round,” the dealer asked, reshuffling the card deck.

Arnoldo didn’t answer first this time like he had with the bartender, instead looking at me expectantly to let me answer. I hummed a bit, checking my phone to check the time for a second before shrugging and going, “Sure, why not? All in.”

I slid my second ten dollar chip into my betting pool and Arnoldo nodded, adding, “I’ll also play another round.”

The dealer nodded and we proceeded to play again. And again. And again.

More people even came and joined the table to play between rounds, and I wasn’t as anxious with my one and a half glasses of alcohol in my system. I would even hazard to say that I was enjoying myself, even as I lost a round that I had bet twenty dollars on. It wasn’t that disheartening when I’d managed to double my bets a couple times with more money than I came in with in the amount of chips.

At some point I decided to try some other games at Arnoldo’s suggestion, taking my glass with me and the chips I’d gathered. The glass felt heavier, but attributed it to my buzz since it still just tasted like Amaretto Sour to me.

I tried Poker, but only played a few rounds since I found it difficult to bluff, though I did win the last game surprisingly. Taking sips between games, we played Baccarat, Craps, Roulette, and I eventually found that we’d made our way back to another Blackjack table. My head swam at this point, but I was having a good time, taking another swig of my drink as I won another Blackjack game with a full ‘21’.

“Yes,” I exclaimed, the rush of serotonin more prominent in my drunken state. The dealer handed me a hundred dollar chip that I added to my collection that had slowly grown over the night. I think I had about five hundred dollars worth of chips on me.

“You’re having much more luck than I,” Arnoldo sighed, crossing his arms after sliding his bet of fifty dollars to the dealer that accepted with a smile and placed it in the box. The man tapped a finger against the table, rings glinting, and suggested, “How about a round of Ultimate Texas Hold’em?”

“What’s that,” I asked, sipping my Amaretto Sour and leaning on the edge of the Blackjack table.

“It’s like Poker,” he started to explain, laughing when I made a face. “Now, hold up, hear me out. It’s only against the dealer, not the dealer and everyone at the table, so you should have an easier time of it. There’s a few other rules that I think would make it easier for you as well.”

“Mmmm, yeah, why not,” I straightened, making sure I had my chips and everything else. Thankfully, I hadn’t lost my wallet or phone despite my brain feeling so light from alcohol.

I followed Arnoldo to a different corner of the casino floor, checking my phone on the way. I probably should go soon, it was already after midnight. Though the casino was open 24/7, I could tell that I was properly drunk and questioned if I was going to have gaps in my memory tomorrow, wondering just how much Amaretto liquor was in my drinks.

Reaching the Ultimate Texas Hold’em table, which was just another Poker table, Arnoldo tried to explain the game to me. I tried to listen and retain the information, but it slipped through my memory immediately. Oh well, I’d just have this be my last game of the night.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna head out after this,” I told Arnoldo, seeing him flick his wrist to look at his watch and check the time, nodding his head.

“Better make this one count then, huh?” he asked, settling in one of the chairs.

“Yup,” I sat down and chugged the rest of my drink, finally finishing it after a couple hours of games. I felt like I should have finished it a long time ago, but better late than never. I placed the glass down and heard the dealer ask about our bets, hearing Arnoldo say ‘five’ something, immediately thinking he said ‘five hundred’ and telling the dealer, “I’ll match.”

I saw them blink in surprise before shrugging and the game started. I could barely focus, the numbers and symbols on the cards practically swimming in front of my eyes, so I wasn’t surprised when I ended up losing to the dealer. I groaned and sighed as I tossed down my hand in defeat, pulling out my chips and sliding them towards the dealer.

“And, the other forty-five hundred,” the dealer asked, the question catching me off guard in my tired and drunk stupor.

“I- forty-five hundred?” I repeated in confusion, looking at the dealer with a frown.

“Mr. Lason bet five thousand and you said you’d match,” the dealer said, nodding towards Arnoldo who was sipping on another drink.

“I..” I blinked a bit in slack-jawed surprise, jolting in my seat. “Sh-Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t have anything more than my chips other than, like fifty dollars! I left my card to try and not have this happen. Is there, uh, is there a way I can pay in increments?”

The dealer frowned and opened their mouth to say something, but Arnoldo interrupted, pulling his glass from his lips and offering, “How about you play another round? Double or nothing. If you win, you get ten thousand.”

“But if I lose again, that just means I owe ten thousand,” I protested, any pleasantness from drinking gone. Now it was only the fuzzy swimming of my scrambled thoughts and panic as I realized that I’d unintentionally fucked up.

“True, true,” Arnoldo placed his glass down and seemed to think something over, though it seemed fake to me. Maybe that was the alcohol. After a second or two, he suggested, “How about this? Since I suggested it, if you lose, you just have to let me get you one last drink and you won’t have to worry about the payment.”

“I- What,” I asked, shaking my head in confusion. I couldn’t have heard him right. “You want me to play one more round, and if I lose I don’t have to worry about the payment and you’ll just get me one last drink?”

“That’s correct,” he replied, waiting for my response.

A bad feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, but I didn’t know whether it was the alcohol or the panic of potential debt to a casino. Arnoldo was giving me an out, even willing to take responsibility of my loss. I just hoped he wouldn’t go back on his word.

“I-I guess I don’t have many options,” I sighed, trying to shake off my drunken daze. I needed to be as clear-headed as possible for this next round, but I doubted I’d be able to win. At the very least, I only had to have one last drink. “Thanks, Arnoldo.”

Looking at the dealer, I begrudgingly said, “Double or nothing.”

The dealer nodded, dealt the hands, and I found myself beat within minutes despite trying my hardest to focus and win. I could feel a stress headache coming on, but at least the ordeal was over. I looked towards Arnoldo, half-expecting the man to not even be there to leave me with a ten thousand dollar mistake. But, he was still sat there in his seat and flagged over one of the walking staff's attention to order me another drink.

“Well, you tried your best,” Arnoldo placed his glass on the waiter's tray, glancing at them and adding, “Amaretto Sour, please.”

“Didn’t make much of a difference,” I groaned, scrubbing my face with both hands for a second as the waiter walked away. Looking towards him, I apologized, “I’m so sorry I fucked up like that, but thank you *so* much. I really owe you, dude.”

Even though I had zero idea of how to repay the favor.

“Well, good news is that I’m pretty sure that’ll be easy to do.”

“Really,” I asked, surprised. And a bit suspicious.

Arnoldo let out a confirmative hum as the waiter came back with my drink rather quickly thanks to our close proximity to one of the bars, grabbing the glass while I groaned and buried my face in my hands tiredly with the feeling of shame and embarrassment. I looked up after a moment, taking the glass as he held it out to me with a quiet thanks.

I drank a swig of the drink, grimacing with the knowledge that I was going to wake up with a lot of regret tomorrow and asked, “Do I have to drink all of the glass?”

“No,” Arnoldo shook his head. “A sip was fine. I’m not gonna stop you if you want to finish it.”

“That- Okay,” I said in confusion, shaking my head to try and clear it before taking another sip. I stood up with the intent to return the cup and added, “Well, thank you again. I really need to head to my hotel though.”

“I don’t think you’re in much shape to be left on your own,” the man replied, though he didn’t stand up from his seat.

“It’s not too far, I think I can handle the walk,” I turned to walk to the closest bar, barely making a few steps before a wave of dizziness washed over me. I gasped in surprise, quickly reaching out to catch myself as my knees buckled beneath me. An arm around my abdomen stopped me from falling all the way to the ground and a hand caught my drink, though it did end up spilling.

“Oh dear,” Arnoldo’s voice was right beside me and I was helped to my feet. “Perhaps that last drink was a bit much with the ones you’d already had.”

“I-I don’t know why they’re affecting me so much,” I frowned, head swimming more. It took a considerable amount of effort to not slur in my nauseousness. “I only had two.”

“You had a bit more than two,” the man replied, confusing me further. He walked to the bar and handed the bartender the glass. I think they asked if I was alright, but another wave of dizziness had me mostly just focusing on not hurling. I just heard Arnoldo’s answer. “Don’t worry, they’ll be taken care of.”

My vision swam as he walked me from the bar, closing my eyes against the feeling and opening them blearily. In what felt like less than a second, the surroundings were a normal hallway. It took me a bit of effort just to ask, “Where are you taking me?”

“My office,” Arnoldo said, just as we reached a door at the end with a plaque on the front. He opened the door and stepped into a fancy-looking office. There were cushy-looking chairs in front of the desk and he maneuvered me into one, commenting, “If I knew you were going to be such a lightweight, I wouldn’t have replaced your drinks as much as I did.”

“You replaced my drinks,” I asked in alarm, almost doubling over as a fresh wave of nausea hit me.

“I did, yes,” the friendly demeanor from the man was still kind of there, but it felt fake now. Now he spoke politely but sounded very business-like. “I didn’t put anything in them if that’s what you’re worried about. Well, not until the last one. You were a lot luckier than I was expecting, so it took longer than I thought.”

“Wh-What did?”

“You becoming indebted to the casino,” Arnoldo nonchalantly walked to a glass cabinet against the office wall, taking out a container of what I assumed was alcohol and poured himself a glass. “We run a clean establishment here, so no one can be indebted by betting more than they have.”

“Wha- Why indebt *me* then,” I exclaimed, not even sure if that was grammatically correct but not caring with my mind swirling from the alcohol and my thoughts. I watched him walk back to the desk and lean backwards against its front edge while sipping his drink. With my hunched over and nauseous position in the chair, he seemed even taller than before.

“Luck of the draw,” he replied. “Sometimes, I feel a bit peckish so I walk around the casino to look for unsavory folks. Sadly, there weren’t any around tonight and you seemed like a rather easy mark.”

I blinked a bit in confusion, struggling to wrap my head around his statement. He felt kind of hungry and decided to purposefully try to have me lose to the casino and go into debt? That literally made no sense to me. Was I in some kind of drunken fever dream? I supposed my confusion was very apparent on my face because he sighed as though this was incredibly inconvenient to him.

“You’ll see when it kicks in fully,” Arnoldo said, taking another swig from his glass.

Eyes widening with the fear of being roofied, I opened my mouth to try and demand what he meant, but yelped when another wave of nausea interrupted me. Not just nausea, but dizziness and sudden soreness over my entire body. I must have blacked out or passed out because the next thing I registered was opening my eyes against light that felt too bright and pushed myself up from a laying down position. Blinking away colored spots in my vision, I thought that I had to be dreaming.

There was no fucking way that I was actually suddenly tiny on the chair I’d been sitting on.

“There we go,” Arnoldo’s voice caught my attention, making me yelp in panicked surprise when I looked towards it and saw him. He was still leaned against the desk, but now he was absolutely *towering*. He straightened, placed his glass down on the desk and reached towards me on the chair seat, easily scooping me up in his hand despite me quickly trying to scramble away.

“A-Ah, what the fuck, p-put me down,” I shouted, struggling in panic against his hold as I was lifted. I could feel his fingers shift to get a better grip on me, his other hand cupping beneath me, probably in case I managed to wriggle from his grasp.

“Hey, hey, keep squirming like this and I might end up dropping you,” he said. Not threateningly, just as a fact.

That didn’t dissuade me from it whatsoever, not until I realized how high I was in comparison as I saw the floor far down below. My body was torn between continuing to struggle and holding onto one of the fingers to try and increase my chances of not falling to the ground. It eventually decided that falling would be worse for now, instinctively clutching onto one of the fingers around my waist and legs, while I repeated to myself, “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.”

“Sadly, for you, it is,” Arnoldo walked around the desk and settled in the chair behind it while holding me in front of his face. Eyes that seemed friendly before now had a glint that sent a shiver down my spine. “And you’re about to repay the little favor of looking past your debt. At least a portion of it. Ten thousand is an awful lot, you know.”

“I- Wha- What favor requires me to be-be… f-fucking tiny,” I exclaimed, struggling against the surrealism of the situation and my residual drunkenness. If this was a nightmare, it felt very real and terrifying.

“Like I mentioned before, I tend to do this when feeling peckish. It’s a particular kind of hunger,” he replied, reaching across the desk to the glass of alcohol he’d set down before, taking a brief sip before placing it down. “Let’s say… hmmm, I believe a thousand dollars per session seems fair, no? No more than a day for each. Of course, I’ll need to take into account your availability, unfortunately. I can’t exactly have you missing for more than a week straight. Cou-.”

“W-Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupted him, mind swirling as I tried to comprehend what he was saying. “What are you talking about?! What the fuck do you mean by ‘session’, and I’d rather not go fucking missing at *all*!”

“Dear, if you haven’t figured it out by now, I don’t think spelling it out for you is going to help,” Arnoldo furrowed his brow a bit, looking slightly concerned. Mostly, though, he looked a bit impatient and irritated at being interrupted. Not to mention that he still had a look in his eye that seemed to intensify. “Hmm, you may be too incapacited for any logistics talk… Well, we can discuss arrangements in the morning when you’re sobered up. For now, let’s get your first night out of the way.”

“I- wh-what are you talking about, what do you mean, woAH, WOAH, WOAH,” I cried out in panic as I was shifted closer to his face and a little above. The hold on me shifted so that the backs of my hoodie and shirt were pinched between the first two fingers and thumb of his hand, and his mouth opened to reveal the inside. I saw strings of saliva break, teeth the size of my head, and the tongue that extended slightly to cover the lower incisors. Surely, just surely, none of this was real, right? There was no way that I was this small and there was no way that I was about to be eaten, right?

Regardless of what I thought, I was jolted from my shock as I realized that I was being lowered towards his jaws, protesting and trying to tuck my legs beneath me. I could feel his breath against my ankles, could smell the alcohol and coffee on his breath from drinking earlier, and felt the humidity already start to dampen my shins.

The tongue shifted as I was lowered, extended further and curled beneath my feet to forcibly straighten my legs, something I tried to kick and squirm against. It amounted to nothing, grimacing as my legs were lowered into his mouth and immediately felt saliva soak into my pants on contact with his tongue. It bucked beneath me, licking at my legs for a second before more of me was lowered inside. I tried to brace my feet against the roof of his mouth but found myself unceremoniously forced the rest of the way into jaws, the fingers retreating and teeth clicking shut before I could try to clamber out.

“A-Ah, let me out,” I shouted in panic, knowing my cries would fall on deaf ears given that he didn’t react to any of my other protests. The space barely felt big enough to fit me, able to feel the tongue shifting beneath my back, ridges of his palette against my hands as I tried to press away, and the feeling of his throat against my ankles.

The tongue beneath me jolted and bucked, making me yelp in fear as it started lapping at me, soaking me in drool that clung to my clothes and hair. I squirmed against the movements of the tongue, my arms and legs shaking from fear and exertion as I struggled. Everything rumbled around me for a second and I realized that he was making a pleased hum that rattled me to my bones as though I was a mouthful of delicious food. Which, given the fact that he was fucking EATING ME, I probably was to him. The thought wasn’t pleasant.

After several seconds of intense tasting that left me gasping for breath, I blinked in confusion at some nudging from the tongue. Confusion that turned into more fear and terror as I realized that he was situating me closer to his throat to be swallowed, barely able to register what was happening before my ankles were tugged harshly and a loud swallow overwhelmed my senses.

I was dragged down into his esophagus, pushed and pulled by his throat muscles that constricted around me, making it hard to take in a breath. Blood rushed in my ears, the sound overshadowed by Arnoldo’s breathing and heartbeat as I was forced past. Seconds that felt like forever went by until I slipped into the more open space of his stomach, the air permeated with the scent of alcohol and coffee despite there barely being any at this point.

I tried scrambling to my feet to press as far away from everything, but the constantly moving walls and malleable lining made it difficult, falling back into the nearest wall and flinching.

“Mmm, you’re safe, by the way,” Arnoldo hummed a bit more above me, and I was able to feel him shift. There was a slight increase of pressure on one side of the stomach, making me flinch away. “I doubt you believe me, but I’m not going to say ‘no’ if you want to continue struggling.”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN I’M SAFE,” I shouted, instincts not helping me stop freaking the fuck out. Being eaten wasn’t supposed to be *safe*! I wanted to scoot away from everything, but there was no way to get away from the stomach I was inside of. The moving walls didn’t help with my swirling head.

“I mean that you’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen with you in there,” he replied, shifting again. I was confused for a second when I heard a very faint sound before realizing it was papers rustling. “You’ll be there until morning, where you’ll be let out so we can discuss your other ‘sessions’.”

I struggled to think, trying to recall what he’d said earlier about the sessions past the fear of the situation, eyes widening and exclaiming, “W-Wait, I’ll have to do this n-nine more times?! Y-You can’t be serious!”

“I am. I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice. You’re still technically indebted. I gave a deal where you wouldn’t worry about payment by accepting a last drink, leading to this arrangement. If you’d prefer, you *could* try to scrape up enough money to pay the ten thousand dollars.”

I quieted, not certain how serious he was. My mind was also still doing spins, part of me wondering in panic if he was lying entirely about it being safe or if he’d let me die if I refused this ‘deal’. A large part was still in denial about any of this being real. Was I not able to focus due to being drunk or was I exhausted?... What time was it?...

Arnoldo decided to take my prolonged silence as either acceptance or thought, which was kind of correct. He hummed a bit and said, “How about we talk about it in the morning, hmm? Give you the time to sleep on it and process.”

“I-I guess,” I replied. Grumbling tiredly, I rubbed my hands against my face to try and clear my head, my eyes feeling far more droopy than before. “God, I hope this is just a nightmare and I’m going to wake up…”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

#soft vore #safe vore #g/t vore #g/t #cinnwrites #cinnanswers

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brick-a-doodle-do · 3 years ago

Text

not quite ready (i)

(ao3 link)

sup! wilbur chocolate au is here! fun fact: i wrote this while eating wilbur chocolate :DD (very good btw,,, some of my favorite chocolates even tho i don't rlly like chocolate)

okay just fyi this is a boring chapter—chapter two will definitely have a lot more angst. not to say this one doesn't, it definitely does.

alr, now have the fic >:))

tw !! ⚠️ mention of fatal vore/mouthplay, mention of vore, mention of suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts, mention/implication of dehumanization/mishandling of a humanoid, panic, swearing ⚠️ !!

words: 2180

—-—

There came a time, where the hope Wilbur had simply died down. It shattered to the ground, letting light for the intrusive, negative thoughts. They pushed any positivity firmly in the crevice of his mind, and never allowed them to simply take a look out. And because of this, there was no acceptance. He never would accept this hellhole of a home.

Essentially, a merry-go-round of hell, where every single fucking time a human comes by, they simply give him a hell-ride and walk off, not bothering to even notice the protests that come from his mouth. He still attempts them, despite knowing damn-well the type of store he’s in; if there is a human that steps foot into this building, they are looking for his kind. They’re looking simply for a treat. Wilbur, although he used to deny this, has finally come to terms with his ultimate fate, between two rows of teeth, completely content with shattering the bones and life of an innocent, who’s only flaw is a size not taller than a finger. Somehow, some way, it makes his life have a lesser value. And perhaps Wilbur has seen the truth to that statement.

So, Wilbur continues to sit, counting seconds among minutes in his head despite knowing full-well they were nothing but inaccurate to what the time truly was. But, with little but a pinhole for his source of light, and he woefully admits his breathing, he’s become plenty used to error in his technique of containing his sanity. Some days were more successful than others, where he simply paced along the rocky path the chocolates created, simply thinking and rethinking over his life, wandering down every metaphorical path, as if it could change the outcome of his current life. But, there are others, where he sits against the pinhole, with his knees curled firmly to his chest, and where his hands wrap them. Where he buries his head in his lap and simply sobs. And other, more exhilarating days, where he finds the wrath in him has become tired of sitting still and accompanies his grim thoughts.

Wilbur Soot will not deny that he absolutely despises his very existence. He loathes his size, barely the size of a human finger – making it next to futile for him to defend himself, and he often feels he’d find more peace dead than he will just simply sitting, taking in the void. Wilbur has wished so hard for it to end, but no matter how many thoughts begged the universe for it, he never got results. And he’s attempted to rid of himself, but each attempt ends in failure, where he’s forced to spend another day in an agonizing, miserable hell that is, what looks to be, a simple bag of candy. He wants it to be like that. But, alas, it is not. And he is very much still alive and sulking in the middle of the bag, just gazing at the miniscule hole, like it holds secrets he yearns to be revealed.

The lights were on – the hole was glowing a certain color that told him the store was open. Wilbur did not have a proper way of knowing how much time had passed and when, but he does understand the basics of a store. Lights on means it’s open, lights off means it’s closed. Simple.

A shadow passes the hole, blocking the light just slightly. Wilbur’s interest perks at this, but not enough to spark any kind of hope. He knows better than to assume the best for himself. He shifts his position slightly, leaning against the back of the wall as he continues to watch the small sample of the world he’s been given. Tire nags at his eyes, but he doesn’t dare sleep. Perhaps it’s because some part of him really does wonder, really does hope, that he’ll be getting out.

–

He’d first moved there not only to get away for a bit, but because he realized that his thoughts were starting to get to him. Constantly having intrusive and careful thoughts fighting in his mind, all while skimming the ground to ensure he wouldn’t be misstepping, was a task he did not enjoy. He holds no prejudice against the smaller beings, they are no less human than he, however it can get distressing to worry nearly every moment of the day where he’s doing a thing as simple as walking.

But, he finds that the streets of New York are unfortunately far more crowded than those in London. While trying to avoid hundreds of tourists coming at him eye-level, with the addition of tinies – it becomes overwhelming. Which is why one afternoon when he deemed himself frustrated and over-tired of worrying, he took temporary shelter in a store, located in a particularly odd part of town, yet still busy as normal.

It looked oddly isolated, like it was not meant to be seen by the public. He still managed to find it, though, so he wondered if it was that hidden. Bells chimed softly as he entered, almost startling the cashier in the back of the building. Tommy offered him a quick smile before he allowed himself to get lost in isles among isles, eyes scanning over the contents in the store. Ultimately, after he had circled the small store, he concluded bitterly that everything looked unfortunately unappetizing.

He returned to the middle of the store, grabbing mindlessly at a bag of Wilbur Chocolate. Hopefully he’ll feel up to eating it by the time he returns home. If he even makes it home without starting a crime scene.

Tommy ambled to the back corner, where the cashier sat at a stool, looking unusually alert of everything he did. Like he was noting it in the back of his mind. And he did not miss the small smirk under the man’s lips. Avoiding the odd look, he set the bag down on its side and patted himself for whatever money he had on him. “Ah, good choice,” The man said. Tommy nodded.

“Twenty dollars and twenty-six cents.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Twenty dollars? For that?”

Something in the cashier’s eyes shifted, and his smirk returned, this time far more curious. He raised his brow and said, “They aren’t exactly cheap, sir. I can’t go giving them out for free,”

“The…. chocolates?”

The man huffed in amusement, nodding. “Sure, the chocolates.”

Americans. “Here.” He handed the man the extra bills he’d fished from his pockets and grabbed the bag sourly. He bid a small goodbye out of habit and made his way back to the glass doors. “I hope you enjoy the chocolates, sir!”

Prime, why did he move here?

—

Wilbur no longer has the wish to be free. Deep down inside of him, the feeling of freedom would be refreshing, but the actuality of the situation has finally sat in him. And he cannot be more afraid, more unwelcoming, about what is to come. Wilbur does not want to be handled by a human, to be tossed around like some fucking toy, when he simply is not that. He knows that his fate will be sealed when he finds his frail, emotional body being crushed under the weight of two rows of teeth as he feels the life being sucked out of him completely, just because of a simple height difference. A major one, however still one that makes him human.

Wilbur is nervous as he feels the bag swaying with every step the human takes. He heard their conversation. The human had been hesitant, but only when he initially heard the price – when the god-awful cashier just had to make a little comment, that’s when he was being purchased, fucking bought willingly. Without any damn hesitation. His nails dug into the candy below him, sure to leave deep dents in it. His breathing had gone haywire since his realization, and it hasn’t gone back to normal since. Beads of tears built up in the corner of his eyes and he couldn’t help but just allow himself to sob. One final time, he will sit in this bag and cry.

Minutes after minutes pass by, and his surroundings continue to sway. The only thing he can hear is the crowded chatter of passing humans, where their shadows continue to make his natural light flicker. Wilbur wishes to scream. But, before he can develop that sudden thought, the swaying stops. And there is a gentle, quiet gush of wind as he’s set down. The movement is followed with the closing of a door.

Wilbur shuffles, nearly tearing his hands from the chocolates. He cringes at the feeling under his nails, but he doesn’t stop his quick movements to the ‘window.’

Through the small hole, Wilbur can see the human who’d bought him not…..Wilbur does not know how long ago it was. Minutes blended into each other when he wasn’t in control of his thoughts.

He had blond hair, far different than his, while still holding a similar style. Or, at least, that’s what Wilbur remembers his hair to look like. Truth be told, it’s been an absurd number of months since he’s last seen what he looks like. For all he knows, there could be a drastic change in his appearance.

Shifting his attention back to the human, his heart sinks as he catches onto the youth the boy has. There was absolutely no fucking way he was over twenty, which, in his opinion, could either be extremely good, or extremely bad. On one hand, he could be innocent and inexperienced. Where in his eyes, he was just buying a bag of chocolates from a local store he’d stumbled upon. And, on another, more immoral hand, he could be starting sinister habits at a young age, where he’s only just starting his now-career of finding pleasure in ending the lives of an innocent. Starting, or maybe continuing, with Wilbur.

He exhaled heavily while he kept his eyes on the blond specifically, not bothering to check the surroundings of where he’s going to reside, and most likely die, in.

Wilbur let out a startled noise as he realized the human had lost interest in whatever he had been doing and reminded himself of the bag of candy. Shit. Wilbur didn’t have anywhere to go as the boy’s shadow filled the pinhole and left him in a deep darkness. He felt when the bag collided with the open air. He felt the panic rise back in him when the human began moving elsewhere. Wilbur wondered if the boy knew. There was a low chance he didn’t – after all, the store he was in specifically held illegal products containing the small species. It was a false hope to think he simply wandered in there one evening to buy just a bag of chocolate.

Wilbur was set down once more. One final time. Wilbur tried to enjoy his last final minutes of life, but he found it hard to when he was in the same place he’d been in for months.

He listened intently as the sound of the secure strip above the opening for the bag was ripped, and most likely set aside. Nerve fluttered through every crevice of his body. He wished to bury himself deep within the candy below, so he would not yet have to meet his sudden fate. But the thought died down as he realized he was far too late to make a last-ditch-effort of a plan, for the top of the bag was being effortlessly opened, and content, tired blue eyes that turned curious and frightened shined down onto him. A fresh wave of cool air washed over him, and he hates to admit that it felt refreshing. The void was wiped away instantly. Everything he ever complained about internally was buried away, completely vanishing. However, a new concern grew. The human’s eyes had gone wide, with lips parted as he stared, mouth agape. He didn’t utter words; he just returned the gaze. He glared, though. Brows furrowed in anger as he tightened his jaw. Tears still formed at the edge of his eyes, easily falling over the edge.

—

A lot of things became apparent to him when he caught sight of the small brunet, blending in with similarly colored chocolates. In fact, everything became apparent. The odd conversation, that prime-awful smirk, the reason behind the store being tucked away.

“Shit,” he muttered, not daring to take his eyes away from the small guy. He saw how his small eyes became foggy with tears. Poor fucking thing was scared. And not only because of him, but because some assholes made a grand decision to add living, breathing humans to food items. Suddenly a lot of his complaints and whines seemed childish.

Tommy hadn't a clue over what was happening in a tinies life. When he watched them closely on the streets, they looked just as a human usually would, happy and giddy with each other despite a small hint of caution. He had never taken into consideration what else might be happening.

—-—-—-—-—

(part two)

apologies for typos. the day i proofread before posting is the day i stop writing :')

#brickfic #mw #wilbur chocolate au #not quite ready #g/t #mcyt g/t #dsmp g/t #dream smp g/t #t!wilbur #g!tommy #tw vore mention #me: i'll spend time on my fics! i'm going to write them over the span of a week so i can make the best work possible!! :D #also me speedwriting this at one in the morning : woooo this is going to be my best fic ever!! :D

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