It's kind of weird to explain it... but... i guess you can think of it like... a sleeping bag? A pouch?
My love, you'll be safe. I promise. I just... I don't want to be alone tonight. And it's going to get so cold... you humans aren't well-suited for that, y'know?
Alright, point made, yes?
Come here.
You're nervous as you approach. I let my mouth fall open, I let you look inside and even feel it. My teeth, tongue, lips. Don't worry, I would never use my teeth on you, but yes, I know they're sharp and scary... and yes, I know, peering down my throat is probably really scary, too. Please, don't be afraid.
You take a deep breath. "Okay. I'm ready," You say.
Gently, I take your hands and I hold them up to my lips, delicately kissing your knuckles, before opening my mouth and guiding your hands in. I can't help but to taste your hands, palms, fingers. Salty but kind of sweet, too.
I slowly suck your hands deeper into my mouth, and then, when I feel your fingers brush the back of my throat, I make the first swallow.
You gasp as you're suddenly pulled a lot further in. It gets a lot warmer down my throat, and the pressure is even a little uncomfortable, but it won't last long. You'll be okay.
...Well, maybe I should've warned you to hold your breath, but my point still stands; you'll be fine.
The next couple of swallows happen a lot faster than I mean for them to. I can't help it; you're just so tasty and tender, and it feels good to have you sliding down my throat...
After a few moments, you land in the pouch I was telling you about. It's not quite my stomach; instead, it's an extra organ that holds food until I need it. In this case, though, you'll be going back the way you came. Many others haven't been so lucky... but I could never do anything to harm you. I love you.
I feel you squirm around a little, and then, curl up, letting out a quiet sigh. It's so quiet for a moment that I'm pretty sure I can't hear you, until I feel your hand print, and then, very quietly, I hear you speak.
"I can hear your heartbeat."
I smile, and place a clawed hand over the spot where I can feel your hand at. Don't worry, my love. I'll keep you warm and safe tonight. You have my word.
Thinking about a princess who sneaks out at night and becomes fast friends with a dragon. The dragon is actually a sweetheart, but everyone is frightened of her, with knights even attempting to kill her. Meanwhile, the princess' life is rather terrible, contrary to popular belief. Her time and future ate heavily policed by her parents. They're even planning to find some prince or noble for her to marry.
Unless, of course, she can stop them, and she's got a plan in mind. The princess is going to recruit the dragon for help.
They discuss their plan. The dragon is hesitant, because she doesn't want this to ruin her chances of living in the kingdom. But it won't, the princess will make sure of that.
She sneaks the dragon into the castle under the cover of darkness. Many people envisioned dragons to be as big as mountains, but in this case, that was far from true. To the princess, it felt like she was walking alongside a really large horse. The dragon's eyes darted around nervously, but the princess knew where to go. Under the cover of the night, she guided the dragon to the king and queen's quarters.
They never stood a chance. The princess opens the door to her parent's quarters, allowing the dragon to slip in, and then shuts the door behind her.
It's silent. Really, really silent. The princess wonders if the dragon is actually going to do anything, so she presses her ear to the door just in time to hear movement. Footsteps, talons clicking quietly on the floor... and then...
Chomp.
Glrnk. Glrrrrrrrrk. Glp.
A new, quieter sound starts from somewhere in the room.
"Mmmmf! HMMMP MMMMF!"
One down, the princess realizes.
There's a burst of frenzied shuffling, followed promptly by another chomp. The princess opens the door just in time to see the dragon tipping her head up and furrowing her brows in concentration. A large bulge slides down her throat, disappearing past her chest, and then pooling into her stomach.
There's a flurry of emotions the princess feels as the dragon turns to look at her, but she knows that first and foremost, they need to get out. With that thought, the princess guides the dragon back out of the castle. They make the journey back to the dragon's lair, although this time, it's much more arduous for the dragon.
Once they reach the lair, the dragon flops onto her side, panting. Her stomach is extremely swollen, bulging out and squirming as the king and queen squirm inside of it. To the princess, it almost looks painful, how full the dragon is. She kneels down next to the dragon's belly and places a hand on it, massaging into it gently.
"Thank you," she murmurs. The dragon lays still for a second, panting still. Her tail starts thumping against the ground, wagging like a dog.
"Of course, love," the dragon purrs.
If the princess listens closely, she thinks she can faintly pick up what sounds like shouts of betrayal. Her parents must have heard her voice, recognized her touch. She can't actually tell, though. As time goes on, the dragon's stomach begins to grow louder and louder in its churning. She can't imagine the environment in there is very pleasant, to put it mildly...
On the one hand, she feels guilty for condemning her parents to this fate. This is an undignified way to go.
...But, on the other hand... the dragon looks so good with such a full belly... and the princess honestly can't wait to watch as the dragon's belly begins to shrink and change shape as digestion progresses.
The street was eerily quiet, following the chaotic skirmish, the only sound being the heavy, rhythmic thud of Ratchet's pedes against the asphalt. The medic was venting heavily, his cooling fans whirring loudly as he tried to soothe his frazzled processors. He had been hot on the trail of a particularly clumsy Seeker, but the pursuit had ended in a mess of spilled, glowing blue liquid.
Ratchet stared down at the small organic, you. They were practically submerged in the highly concentrated energon that had spilled from the shattered cube. To a Cybertronian, energon was life, but to a human, this much concentrated fuel was a volatile, sticky, and potentially toxic hazard. He couldn't just leave them here to drown in it, and he certainly couldn't wait to drive them back to base in his ambulance mode with them covered in such a potent substance.
Panic, a rare emotion for the usually stoic medic, flared in his spark. He looked around no other autobot were in the immediate vicinity. He had to act now.
With a grunt of uncharacteristic desperation, Ratchet leaned down. His large, white and orange servos moved with surprising gentleness as he scooped them up. He didn't have time for a delicate extraction. He brought them close to his faceplate, the heat radiating from his chassis palpable. Without a second thought, he tilted his helm back and carefully guided them into his intake.
The sensation of being swallowed was swift. They felt the smooth, metallic walls of his throat guide them down until they landed with a soft thud in the warmth of his fuel tank.
Inside, it wasn't the terrifying, acidic environment one might expect of a stomach. Instead, it was a spacious, rhythmic chamber filled with a warm, pulsing energy. The walls were lined with soft, flexible conduits that humed with the steady beat of his spark. As the internal systems of the medic began to work, a gentle, soothing sensation washed over them; the specialized fluids within the tank began to break down and absorb the excess, highly concentrated energon from their clothes and skin, cleaning them without causing harm.
Outside, Ratchet let out a long, weary vent, his optics flickering with a mix of guilt and relief. He placed a hand over his mid section, feeling the slight weight of the human settling within his chassis.
"Forgive me, little one," he muttered to himself, his voice a low rumble that they could likely feel vibrating through the walls of the tank. "But you were in a state of dire need... and Optimus is going to have a spark attack when he sees what I've done."
He straightened his posture and began the trek back to base, his strides more cautious than usual to ensure his new, tiny passenger wasn't tossed around too much by the movement of his internal pistons. He had a massive explanation to prepare for, especially for Optimus, but for now, his priority was getting them to the safety of the med bay.
Inside the dark, warm chamber, the sensation of being swallowed was quickly replaced by the overwhelming realization of where they were. The walls around them weren't solid metal like a car, but a pulsing, rhythmic membrane that hummed with a deep, bass heavy vibration. Panic, sharp and cold, sliced through their senses.
"please let me out! I don't wanna die!" They screamed, their voice echoing strangely within the enclosed space of the fuel tank. They begun to thrash, their hands and feet striking frantically against the soft, flexible lining of the tank. Each blow felt like hitting a heavy, pressurized cushion, but the sheer force of their terror made them strike with everything they had.
Outside, Ratchet nearly jumped out of his pedes. The sudden, frantic impact against his internal mid section felt like small, rhythmic jackhammering against his sensitive internal components.
"Primus!" He hissed, stumbling slightly as a particularly hard kick from them sent a jolt of sensation through his mid section plating. He quickly placed both large servos over his chassis, pressing down firmly but carefully to try and soothe the frantic movement within. "Quiet, quiet! Small one, please! You're going to rattle my internal sensors loose!"
He looked around the deserted street, his optics darting nervously. He felt incredibly foolish. He was a highly trained medic, a veteran of millions of years of war, and here he was, trying to hush a terrified human as if they were a sparkling.
"You aren't dying! You're being cleaned!" He grumbled, though his voice held a note of genuine concern. He could feel the vibrations of their cries through his very frame. He knew the science of it; the energon they were coated in was so potent that if he just pulled them out now, the residual residue could overwhelm their tiny organic systems. The internal filtration systems of his tank were already working overtime, drawing the blue glow away from their skin and into his own fuel lines to neutralize it.
He sighed, a heavy, metallic sound, and began to walk faster, his pace a steady, rhythmic march intended to lull them into a sense of calm.
"Just...settle down," he muttered, his tone softening slightly despite his grumpiness. "The more you fight, the longer it takes for the filtration to finish. You're safe. By the time we reach the base, you'll be the cleanest organic on this entire planet. Just... hold on for a few cycles."
He knew 'a few cycles' was an understatement. Given the concentration of that energon, they were likely going to be tucked away in his chassis for at least a full day while his systems worked their magic. He could already imagine the look on Optimus's face and the inevitable lecture from Arcee about his 'reckless' methods.
Inside the dark, pulsating warmth of the tank, their world was a rhythmic, heavy drumbeat the sound of Ratchet's spark. Their lungs burned from screaming, and their muscles ached from the frantic, desperate struggle against the walls that felt both like a prison and a living thing. Every time they struck the lining, the vibration traveled through their entire body, a constant reminder of the sheer scale of the giant they were trapped inside.
"Let me... out..." they gasped, though their voice was becoming a mere whisper against the humming walls of the fuel tank. They tried one last, heavy kick, but it felt as though they were striking a mountain of soft velvet.
Slowly, the frantic energy began to drain from their limbs. The sheer exhaustion of their terror started to take its toll. Their movements became sluggish, their strikes turning from sharp, panicked jabs into heavy, uncoordinated leans against the membrane. The rhythmic thudding of Ratchet's footsteps outside, which had previously felt like terrifying earthquakes, began to feel strangely... hypnotic. The warmth of the tank, combined with the heavy, soothing hum of the filtration systems working around them, began to lull their senses. Their eyes grew heavy, and their head slumped against the soft, pulsing wall.
Outside, Ratchet felt the frantic jackhammering in his mid section begin to subside. The sharp, jolting impacts transitioned into slow, rhythmic nudges, and then, finally, a stillness.
He let out a vent of relief so loud it sounded like a steam engine releasing pressure. He slowed his pace, walking with a much more measured, gentle gait to avoid disturbing the tiny passenger.
"Finally," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that they could feel in their very bones. "I thought you were going to dent my internal plating."
He reached the entrance to the autobot base, the massive hangar doors beginning to groan open. He felt a flicker of apprehension. He was a medic, yes, but he was also a bot who valued his dignity. Walking into the main hub with a human currently residing in his fuel tank was... unconventional, even for him.
As he rolled into the base, the bright lights of the commando center hit his optics. He could see the familiar silhouettes of the others. Optimus was standing near the central computer, deep in thought, while Bumblebee was playing a quiet game with Raf near the human platform.
Ratchet cleared his throat a metallic, rasping sound and tried to look as casual as a bot could while carrying a human in his stomach.
"Optimus..." Ratchet began, his voice sounding a bit more strained than usual as he felt then shift slightly in their sleep. "We have... a bit of a situation. And before you ask, yes, it is quite... complicated."
Inside the tank, the silence was heavy, broken only by the deep, oceanic thrum of Ratchet's internal systems. They had finally succumbed to the overwhelming fatigue of their ordeal. Their breathing was shallow and rhythmic, synchronized almost unconsciously with the pulsing of the tank's walls. The warmth was no longer terrifying; it was a thick, heavy cocoon that seemed to hold them in a state of suspended animation.
Outside, the atmosphere in the autobot base shifted instantly. Optimus prime turned, his helm tilting slightly as his keen sensors picked up the unusual cadence of Ratchet's spark and the subtle, irregular weight in the medic's midsection.
"A situation, old friend?" Optimus asked, his deep, resonant voice echoing through the hangar. He stepped away from the console, his blue optics narrowing with a hint of curiosity and concern. "You sound... unsettled. Did the decepticons intercept you?"
Bumblebee, sensing the tension, chirped a series of inquisitive whirrs and clicks, looking up from his game with Raf. Even Raf, sensing the change in the air, looked up from his laptop, hid eyes darting between the towering autobots.
Ratchet let out a huff, his cooling fans kicking into a higher gear as he felt the heat of a dozen staring optics. He crossed his arms over his chassis, a defensive gesture that only served to empathize the slight bulge in his midsection where they lay.
"It's not a decepticon ambush, Optimus," Ratchet grumbled, his faceplate flushing a slight darker shade of silver. "It's... an organic. A very small, very drenched, and very uncooperative organic."
Arcee, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar, straightened up, her optics widening. "An organic? What are you talking about, Ratchet? Did you pick up a stray human?"
"I didn't pick them up' like a piece of scrap metal!" Ratchet snapped, his crankiness returning as a shield for his embarrassment. He looked down at his own midsection, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. "They were covered in highly concentrated energon. It was a volatile mess. If I had tried to carry them out in the open, they're could have been burned or contaminated. So... the most logical, most efficient course of action was to..."
He trailed off, looking at Optimus as if waiting for the prime to finish the sentence for him.
"To what, Ratchet?" Optimus prompted gently, though a flicker of realization was beginning to dawn in his optics.
Ratchet sighted, a long, defeated vent. "I swallowed them. They're currently in my fuel tank. And judging by the amount of energon they were soaked in, they'll be staying there at least for a full cycle to ensure the filtration process is complete."
A stunned silence fell over the base. Bumblebee let out a high pitched, confused squeak. Miko, who had just wandered in with bulkhead, let out a loud, "what?!"
"You ate a human?!" Arcee exclaimed, her sassy tone replaced by pure disbelief.
"It was a medical necessity!" Ratchet yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. "And they're fine! They're actually... sleeping. Quite peacefully, in fact."
While the rest of the team was busy debating the biological and mechanical implications of Ratchet's 'medical necessity', Optimus Prime stood perfectly still, his helm slightly bowed. To anyone else, he looked like his usual, stoic self a pillar of wisdom and calm leadership. But internally, his processors were running a frantic simulation of the upcoming debriefing.
How in the name of Primus am I supposed to explain this to Agent Fowler? Optimus thought, a rare moment of genuine mental fatigue washing over his spark.
He could already envision the scene. He could see Fowler's face turning a bright red, indignant shade of red, his jaw dropping so low it might hit the floor of his command center. The agent was a man of military discipline and logic; he dealt in sightings, tactical data, and government secrets. He did not deal in 'the autobots medic has repurposed his fuel tank as a temporary organic containment unit'.
"Prime!" he could hear Fowler's booming voice already. "Are you telling me that instead of a transport vehicle, your medic is currently using a human as a fuel additive?! Is it a war or a buffet?!"
Optimus let out a long, slow vent, the sound deep and heavy. He glanced at Ratchet, who was currently defending his honor by waving a wrench around and shouting about 'chemical absorption rates' and 'volatility'.
"It is.. an unconventional method of transport," Optimus finally spoke, his voice calm, though there was a subtle, almost imperceptible heaviness to it. He looked towards the human platform, where Raf, Jack and Miko were staring at Ratchet's midsection with a mixture of awe and sheer terror.
"But Optimus!" Miko shouted, pointing a finger at the medic. "That's like... the craziest thing ever! Are they okay in there? Does it feel weird?"
"It's a highly controlled environment, Miko," Ratchet barked back, though he instinctively placed a hand over his chassis, as if to protect the sleeping human from loud noises. "And they're perfectly safe. The energon is being neutralized as we speak."
Optimus turned his gaze back to the floor, his optics dimming slightly in thought. He would have to coordinate with Fowler carefully. Perhaps he could frame it as a 'specialized emergency containment protocol.' yes, that sounded professional. "Agent Fowler, due to unforseen energon contamination, the medic initiated an emergency internal storage sequence."
He sighed internally. Even for a prime, some battles were harder than others. This wasn't a battle of blasters and energon swords, but a battle of explaining the absurd to a very stressed human government agent.
"Ratchet," Optimus said, his voice regaining its authoritative tone to steer the conservation back to stability. "Ensure you monitor their vitals through your internal sensors. We must be certain the filtration process does not stress their organic heart."
"Of course, Optimus! I'm a medic, not a sparkling sitter!" Ratchet grumbled, though he immediately began checking his readouts with intense focus.
The transition from sleep to wakefulness was not a gentle one. For them, it didn't start with the light of sun or the sound of birds; it started with a deep, rhythmic thrum thrum, thrum thrum that vibrated through their very marrow.
As their consciousness slowly returned, they felt a heavy, warm pressure pressing in on them from all sides. The air was thick, humid, and smelled faintly of something metallic and sweet the scent of the energon, but filtered and softened. For a few seconds, they were disouriented, their mind grasping for the familiar walls of their bedroom or the hard floor of a street.
Then, the realization hit them like a physical blow.
The 'walls' around them weren't walls. They were pulsing. They were moving. They were alive.
Their eyes snapped open in the dim, blue tinted darkness of the tank. They looked up and saw the translucent, glowing ceiling of the chamber, through which they could see the faint, shifting shadows of massive mechanical structures. They realized with a jolt of pure, unadulterated adrenaline that they weren't in a room. They weren't in a vehicle.
They were inside a living or rather, a sentient machine.
"He... he ate me..." they whispered, the thought blooming in their mind with terrifying clarity. "The giant robot...he swallowed me whole!"
The sheer panic, which had briefly subsided during their sleep, surged back with a vengeance. The terror of being trapped in the belly of a beast, of being digested, of being lost in the vast, dark interior of a mechanical titan, sent them into a fresh frenzy.
"HELP! LET ME OUT!" They shrieked, their voice cracking. "SOMEBODY! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
They began to trash wildly. Their limbs flailing against the soft, yielding walls of the fuel tank. They kicked and punched at the membrane, their heart hammering again their ribs like a trapped bird. To them, every movement of the robot felt like a tectonic shift, every sound like a thunderclap.
Outside, the effect was instantaneous.
Ratchet, who had been mid sentence while explaining the 'stabilization of organic vitals' to a skeptical Arcee, suddenly let out a choked sound. His entire chassis jolted as a particularly violent kick from the human hit a sensitive sensor array near his primary fuel line.
"They're awake!" Ratchet yelled, his hands flying to his midsection to steady himself. "They're awake and they're losing it!"
The sudden movement and the loud, muffled screams echoing from within his chassis caused the entire autobot team to freeze.
"Are they okay?!" Jack called out from the platform, leaning over the railing with wide, worried eyes.
"They sound like they're fighting for their life!" Miko added, looking half impressed and half terrified.
"Ratchet, calm them down!" Optimus commanded, his voice firm but laced with a hint of urgency. "The sudden movement could be distressing to their organic equilibrium!"
"I'm trying!" Ratchet barked, his optics darting around as he tried to find a way to soothe them without accidentally jolting them even more. He began to hum a low, resonant Cybertronian frequency designed to soothe restless sparks while simultaneously trying to use his servos to apply gentle, stabilizing pressure to his midsection. "Quiet, little one! Please! You're safe! You're in the med bay! Well... technically you're in me, but you're safe!"
Inside the tank, their frantic movement slowly began to taper off. Their lungs were heaving, their chest aching from the sheer exertion of their screaming, and their limbs felt like lead. The voice they heard that deep, vibrating rumble was so immense that it felt less like a person talking and more like earth itself was speaking to them.
He's... he's talking to me? They thought, their mind racing to catch up with their racing heart. He says he's a medic. He days he's in a 'med bay'.
They stayed still, their back pressed against the warm, pulsing wall of the tank. They were still terrified the concept of being inside a giant metal being was too much for their brain to fully process but the violent, bone shaking thrashing stopped. They were no longer to punch their way out; instead, they curled into a tight ball, their eyes wide and darting in the dimm, blue tinted light, waiting for the next 'earthquake'.
They didn't quite believe him yet. How could they? They were a tiny human, and he was a mountain of living steel. But the warmth of the chamber was undeniably soothing, and the rhythmic thrum thrum of his spark was starting to act like a heavy, mechanic lullaby.
Outside, Ratchet felt the sudden change. The violent, jarring impacts transitioned into a heavy, trembling stillness. He let out a vent so long and relieved it sounded like a gust of wind through a canyon.
"They...They're settling," Ratchet whispered, his servos still pressed firmly but gently against his midsection. He looked up at Optimus, his optics wide with a mix of exhaustion and triumph. "The thrashing has stopped. They're still... well, they're still clearly distressed, but they're not trying to break my internal conduits anymore."
"Good," Optimus said, a hint of a smile the smallest, most subtle one flickering across his faceplate. "It seems your 'medical necessity' has reached a temporary truce with your chassis."
"Don't start, Optimus," Ratchet grumbled, though the edge was gone from his voice. He turned his attention back to his internal sensors, watching the data stream carefully. "They're still highly agitated. Their heart rate is still elevated, and their temperature is a bit high from the panic. But the energon absorption is proceeding perfectly. The blue glow is receding from their skin..."
Bumblebee leaned in closer to Ratchet's side, making a soft, sympathetic series of whirrs and clicks, as if trying to coo to the human inside.
"Even Bee thinks you're being a good host, Ratchet," Arcee teased, though she kept her voice lower than usual, respecting the fragile state of their tiny guest.
Ratchet ignored them, focusing entirely on the tiny life force he was currently cradling. "Just stay calm, little one," he murmured, his voice a low, steady vibration meant to reach them through the walls. "The process is working. You're doing fine. Just... try to breathe."
On a writers note: holy shit this took me almost four hours to type down. So... this is a tf prime ratchet vore story... Kinda unwilling but how do you know the giant robot means no harm when he didn't tell you that before and you never met a Cybertronian before... I hope y'all like it...
Helynsia huffed, approaching the docs not with any fish, but herself. As she ran, she contemplated her own situation; she never imagined that she’d be feeding herself to a mermaid. Though again, was it really ‘feeding herself’ if she trusted the person?
Any aficionado of women eating each other (like her coworker) would tell her the obvious; it was. It absolutely was. This creature-
Helynsia paused; she didn’t want to keep referring to Ingrid as just ‘some creature’. If she wanted to go out with her, then Ingrid should be referred to by her very own name.
Urgh, but was she really about to go out with a sea creature that could kill her at any moment?! Someone that she’d have to repeatedly pray towards so she wouldn’t become prey?! Helynsia dropped an ice dagger onto the docks and kicked it with the side of her shoe. She watched it skip across the water, bouncing a couple of times before finally sinking. Helynsia kept huffing, mind as muddled as the waves crashing against the shore.
And amongst the muddle lay some deep blue scales. Familiar scales, ones that came with a familiar face that rose from the water. The salted substance clung to the mermaid’s violet box-braids, wrapped around her neck rather than flowing freely. Rather than say anything, Ingrid weakly waved hi; Pausing, Helynsia naturally waved back, noticing the deep webbing between Ingrid’s fingers.
Helynsia coughed into her mouth: “Did those pirates from yesterday bother you?”
Ingrid merely shook her head, starting to approach the dock slowly. Like a shark testing the waters and avoid scaring its prey before they could run away.
Yet, Helynsia didn’t want to run away yet. She couldn’t. Her mind and body screamed for her to stay, with her heart panicking as it pumped the deadly concoction of fear and love through her veins. She took a step forward, approaching the edge of the pier as Ingrid did the same.
As they reached the edge, Helynsia sat down as Ingrid rose to meet her; not quite coming out of the water, but everything above her waist had to count for something. Helynsia caught herself staring at Ingrid’s stomach, wondering just how she felt inside; was it warm? Soft?
Did Ingrid feel the same way about her?
Though before that, Ingrid jumped up to the dock, again curling her tail around Helynsia’s legs. The two, tangled against one another, rested for a few minutes on the dock before saying anything. They just let the seagulls soar past, cawing as loudly as they usually did.
“Sorry,” Ingrid apologizes, nuzzling Helynsia’s neck like the first time they had met.
“...It was nice,” Helynsia admitted. She wasn’t quite sure what prompted her to say that; Ingrid had the same reaction from the way she froze up. Trying to ignore the tension Helynsia stroked her… friend’s stomach? Were they just friends now???
Did Helynsia want to take a chance at love again?
She looked down at Ingrid’s warm and inviting lips, stationary as the salt in the air lingered in between them. Neither of them spoke a word as Helynsia pulled Ingrid up, their faces and button-noses now touching. All Helynsia did was twist her head and start to kiss the open-mouthed beauty.
Ingrid did the same, pushing Helynsia back as the two fell onto the docks and Ingrid held Helynsia tight as she could; Ingrid, however, was starving.
… Oh, how much Ingrid hated that word, starving; she had already eaten hours ago, and she was certain hunger was not what she was feeling. But how else could one describe swallowing the person they love so much?
Ingrid hesitated, her tongue pausing. Noticing this, Helynsia pulled back (or pushed back, in this case) from the kiss. She took in Ingrid’s guilt, her face of fear. Mind, body, and heart took over the fear Helynsia was facing.
Without speaking a word, Helynsia eased Ingrid to the water. Ingrid relented, making the face of a sea-puppy and was about to swim off before Helynsia raised a hand. She kicked her feet against the dock, Ingrid salivating at just how easy it would be to grab her. How easy it would be to take her off the shore and never return her back home. That would be cruel, wouldn’t it? Surely Helynsia wasn’t asking that from her?
The pause lingered like the gulls as the sea-struck lovers continued to stare at one another.
Curious but cautiously, Ingrid took the woman’s feet, wrapped in practical boots. Staring up, Ingrid started to wrap her mouth around Helynsia, trying to observe what she could in the woman’s face. There was the expression of fear. Of course, that wasn’t really a surprise; the sense of curiosity, however, was curious.
Helynsia said nothing – aside from meaningless huffs – as she let the mermaid wrap herself around the barmaid’s body, Ingrid kept engulfing the barmaid intoxicated by loneliness. The barmaid so drunk that she’d do anything to discard the bottle she kept running towards.
Helynsia slipped downwards, everything waist-down now in Ingrid’s mouth. She continued to swallow as Helynsia tucked her hands in, absentmindedly wriggling as a warm and tender stomach pressed against the barmaid’s clothes. Ingrid could still feel the salt on the sea lingering on Helynsia’s everything, but it could never override the savory scent of butter that clinged to her body. (and her hair, considering that Helynsia had to fix her hair yesterday night for… obvious reasons.)
On Helynsia’s part, she still was struggling to process what exactly was happening. She could say no at any time, no to being eaten and taken away from land. So why wasn’t she saying anything?
Maybe she wanted someone else to take the bottle away from her. Or in this case, prevent her from drinking its contents.
So she relented, suppressing the primal fear of being consumed as she let herself be tucked beneath the waves of Ingrid’s rolling tongue. It lapped against Helynsia’s face not out of some lustful desire, but because it was warm and soft; Ingrid will do anything to make sure Helynsia remains safe.
Right before Helynsia was contained, she looked up to the blinding sun. It wouldn’t be blinding anymore; not when Ingrid finally clamped her teeth as Helynsia’s hair was tucked away. All that was left was to swallow.
Helynsia could feel the mermaid’s throat pulling her down into the deep deep cavern, squeezing at every bit of her. She could hear herself squelch against her lover’s walls, pushing and prodding as she continued to sink. It stopped, followed by an intense heaving.
On the outside, Ingrid took deep and slow breaths, cuddling her tail with the barmaid inside. Diving into the water, Ingrid kept swimming as Helynsia remained submerged both beneath the sea and inside her. Ingrid didn’t want to let go of Helynsia, she just wanted to keep her here.
Forever.
Helynsia was finally in her grasp, finally close to her. She kept massaging her tail, feeling it continue to squeeze against her, *ahem*, crush. Bubbles spurted out of Ingrid’s mouth, which was… oddly cute. She could actually feel Helynsia’s breath through her own, as if they were breathing together. Listening closely, a faint sound started to beat. Beat. Beat.
It was the sound of a heart.
Be-beat. Be-beat. Be-beat.
It was now the sound of two hearts beating together, nearly in sync. Ingrid continued to drift downwards and swim, still wrapped around the lovely barmaid… no. Barmaid was no longer sufficient.
Helynsia was an Aquamaid, someone who’d tend to a creature of the sea.
At this, she realized a terrible thing: “Oh wait, um, did you want this, or?” she asked, the internal pulsing from within pausing.
Helynsia was dumbfounded: “...yes?” she replies, going back to her self-assigned task of massaging the insides of Ingrid. Though, looking back on it, Helynsia was rather thankful Ingrid had chosen to ask – they’d both been so caught up in the moment that they’d hardly said anything about any sort of practice. Was this act of swallowing not an extreme form of BSDM? No, it just wouldn’t do without safe words. “So, uh, say I want to be let out.”
“Like, right now?” Ingrid asks, ready to swim up to the surface.
“Just saying! Hypothetically! I’ll just say, uh… Shea!”
“She-ah?” the mermaid said, the words slippery on her tongue.
“Ok never mind, how about… Carajillo?”
“Cha-ra-hee-jo. Alright!” And so Ingrid kept swimming, occasionally checking to make sure Helynsia was alright. Though in the aquamaid’s case, she often found herself resting against the mermaid’s cozy warmth, shifting around to stretch her limbs. Perhaps rather surprisingly, it was fairly effective in getting rid of cramps. Next time she was swallowed, she’d have to keep this in mind.
… Next time?
Would there be a next time?
“Ingrid?” Helynsia asks, starting to curl up and letting the pressure of both the mermaid and the deep sea compress and caress her.
The mermaid pauses: “Mhm?” she continues, looking on at her love.
“Why… me?” Crushes could come and go, and yet, for someone to be infatuated with her – especially when Ingrid seemed to know not much about her past beyond the months of stalking –, there had to be an answer.
Ingrid continues to swim, pondering how to answer the query. “You’re beautiful, right?” She starts to transform her tail into a translucent shade, allowing her passenger to see all beneath the sea. The long strands of seaweed forest scraped against Ingrid and against her tail, other fish seeming to steer past the duo to give them some otherwise much needed privacy.
“Not as beautiful as the other sights here,” Helynsia adds, pressing her face as if she was against a window. It came with a soft squelch sound, an equally soft reminder on where she was. However, it was a welcome one.
Ingrid continued, “I know. It’s not the only reason, and… I don’t think I know.”
Helynsia bit her lip, holding back an ill-timed chuckle; it was the exact reason she had followed Ingrid onto a ship without any sort of plan, was it not?
“I wanted someone. Someone I longed for, to touch and feel… more like this, if that makes sense?”
Helynsia nodded, the time passing before she realized Ingrid probably wasn’t looking back to see her face; “Oh, yes. I understand… I think.”
“Do I scare you?”
“... Yes,” the aquamaid honestly answers.
“So why did you come?”
“I don’t know either. It just felt… right. I don’t think I wanted to leave you.”
“Mm.” The two swim in peace, though quickly disrupted by a gaggle of other mermaids that approached the duo.
“Hey Ingy!” One of them calls out, Ingrid freezing in place at the familiar voice. She didn’t want them to meet Helynsia like this, especially considering that, well… humans did have a legitimate reason for fearing these creatures of the deep. As loath as Ingrid was to admit it. “Congrats on finding your mate!” The asker – a pearl-skinned flat-nosed Mary – went to put her hands on Ingrid’s stomach, Helynsia skittering as far as she could. Mary cooed, “Ooh, and she’s squeamish!”
Helynsia’s hands went under her skirt, feeling the knives still tucked away inside; though remembering where she was, she started to take her hands off of the useless implements. Not like they’d do anything in the deep blue.
Instead, Helynsia prepared her hands, ready to manifest shards of exploding ice at a whim. All it would take was one snap.
“Haha, yeah!” Ingrid laughed weakly, starting to slowly swim away. “Anyways, I plan to, *ehem* consume her later, so-”
“You have to let me play around with her first,” Mary continued, again starting to move her hands towards the human envisioned as prey. Ingrid did the work though, shoving Mary away; “Aww,” Mary pouts.
“Hey, some other day!” Ingrid hoped to whatever god was out there (if one existed) that Helynsia wasn’t being offput by all of this. This wasn’t how she wanted her first (or second?) date to go, meeting the people who convinced her to go up. Sure, they wouldn’t digest her, but Ingrid knew all too well how mischievous her kind was.
“Oh come now, don’t be like that!” As Mary kept pursuing the chance to grope Ingrid’s stomach, she leaned in close, about to kiss the unwilling mermaid. And, she made the biggest mistake of her life;
Touching Ingrid’s hands.
Helynsia snapped; maybe it was out of secondhand embarrassment. Maybe it was out of anger for refusing to speak up. Maybe it was out of some selfish obsession with hands she hadn’t even earned at this point.
Regardless, Helynsia chose to do the right thing; manifest spiky shards of ice between the palms of the two mermaids, ensuring Ingrid only got a flat side. Mary hissed as she recoiled, pushing Ingrid away out of a survival instinct. Ingrid lay shocked, frozen in the liquid air as Helynsia kept her cool, taking slow breaths.
“Oh,” Mary snarls, the rest of the mermaids now baring their teeth. “She’s a feisty one. I love feisty.”
Mary lunged at Ingrid who raised her hands up; in response, Helynsia merely pressed her hands together, as one would with a detonator. (Despite the device not existing in this era.) The effects were wondrous; explosions burst from Mary’s hands, resulting in a high-pitched shriek as Helynsia raised more icicles in the deep blue. Just as she was Ingrid’s, Ingrid’s was hers, and hers alone. To enforce the message, she made them paint out the pattern of some letters; “L E A V E.” To nail it in, she pointed them all at the mermaids, mini-torpedos able to fired on a whim.
Mary again snarled as her particularly unpleasant company swam away, leaving the duo again alone.
“Sorry,” Helynsia started apologizing, only to be halted by Ingrid rushing to hug her tail, right where Helynsia was.
She began kissing and slowly caressing her, the adrenaline clouding all thoughts but that of love. As Ingrid kept kissing, Helynsia could smell it; the stench of loneliness. The crippling, addicting loneliness as mysterious as the blue around them. The one that makes you feel as if you can’t ever escape or be free from its grasp.
But they had each other now.
“Ingrid?”
“Yeah?” the mermaid asks, still infatuated as she rubs her passenger / partner / lover / whatever you’d call her.
“Let’s do this again, tomorrow ok? In the meantime, just show me the sights.”
Ingrid beamed as she began to swim excitedly, Helynsia likewise giggling as her own heart skipped a couple of beats. Seems like it was worth it to take a risk.
