not into farts but really into burps and your blog is so so so good.. I just really like the idea of any dateables that are objects that can put things inside them translate to being fed. jerry the junk drawer has been on my mind lately, Im obsessed with the shyer type. so I think itd be so cute to fill him up with whatever I have lying around and then talk to him and let him try to hide how totally stuffed and gassy he is 😇
Oh my dear anon, you GET IT 💚 There's something so specifically hot about dateables made after containers and about being able to stuff them full of otherwise unusual and non-edible objects... and of course the side effects of it that kick into effect in their human forms.
I think that given how much time you spend locked in your office as the main character, J/erry definitely doesn't have it easy with you...
Perhaps one time you've had a sudden spark of motivation to clean your office room, but ran out of steam mid-cleaning. There's still a sizeable stack of knick-knacks piled on your desk that you should sort through, but cramming them all into the drawer and forgetting about them for an unknown amount of time is a much more tempting solution - so you do just that. It's difficult to close it with how much stuff you've just filled it with, but with a few tries you manage to do it.
When you're having a talk with J/erry later on, having already forgotten the state you left him in, he's different than usual. He's breathing heavily and his hands keep wandering towards his belly, terribly bloated and upset, churning loudly on god knows what you've put inside him. He's suspiciously quiet and groggy for his usual talkative self too, only answering in short sentences or murmurs.
You see him constantly putting a fist to his mouth and turning his blushing face away from you, trying to stifle stubborn belches rising up his throat. They rumble quietly inside his closed mouth and puff up his cheeks before he attempts to breathe the foul air out to the side.
He's trying so hard to uphold the conversation, but his poor, overfilled belly only seems to bloat further with gas by how concerningly loud it's starting to sound. Suddenly, a particularly lengthy gggGGGRRrrrrrrgllglglllle roars out from the pit of his stomach, completely drowning out whatever he was trying to say. Clutching his waist in response, he starts apologizing profusely - "I'm s-so sorry, it's just, uh, my stomach has been acting uUUUUUUOOOOOUUURRRRrrrrpppp—" the insane buildup of gas erupts from him mid-sentence in form of a deep, rumbling belch that leaves him breathless and stunned with its sheer bass and length after it finally ends.
J/erry covers his mouth rapidly, his face beet-red and gaze shying away from you, a mindless stream of apologetic words being the only response he can muster while more air crawls up his esophagus - "E-excuse me, oh god, I-uuurrp—oh no, I'm sorruuuUUUrrppfff....excuse meeeoOOOuuurp— god, I'm so f-full, I can't..." he squeals as burps keep interrupting his futile attempts at apologizing.
You watch him turn into a gassy, burpy mess in front of your eyes, crumbling from embarassment. "Huff...ohhh, excuse me, I think that's finally all of it...mmmrrrrppp—mmrrbbbBBBEAAAAAOOOOUUUURRRrrpp!" - he attempts to stifle the next burp again, but its sheer pressure is too great to keep all of it inside his cheeks. The force blows his mouth open instead, and he can't do anything but look at you with horror in his eyes, shocked at the power of the disgusting expulsion.
He'll only manage to settle down and accept his fate after you've assured him that you really don't mind this state of things; perhaps you'd even be willing to help ease out his current condition and rub his burbling tummy to get all those remaining burps out. He'll still keep excusing himself and blushing hopelessly, tortured by many, many more belches cutting his apologies short.
Better don't let him know that you've just got some more office supplies that'll need storaging...
i've been rereading your masterlist and if you ever wanted to explore steve stuffing himself with coins again i'd love to see it. or bucky, whichever feels right
Rereading is so nice!! Thank you ❤️❤️🥺🥹
(original little Steve & object vore)
I can't help but revisit this version of Steve, who loves to stuff down anything he can get his grubby little hands on, in light of the Easter spirit. Even if I don't believe in Jesus and Christianity myself, so I don't actually celebrate. Anyway, basically, what I'm telling you is that what feels right is stuffing that little glutton with gelatin eggs 🥵😳
Unbeta'd belly kink ahead!! The pairing is pre-serum Steve and Winter Soldier Bucky. Warnings for stuffed Steve, oral and anal stuffing, "object" vore, oviposition, bad puns, name-calling (mostly "bunny"), mentioned birthing, mentioned bursting, etc.
Ack! Huuurk! Gah! Guk! Nnnghh!
Hot in the face - hot and tingly down his whole body, actually - Steve starts to feel the Jell-O egg he just shoved whole into his mouth slide down his esophagus. Thanks to all the practice he’s had, swallowing so much, especially today, all these eggs, he shouldn’t have any trouble horking down his Easter treat except for the fact that simultaneously, Bucky is doing him in, using a brand new, big, big toy (it’s even bigger than Bucky’s real cock, and that’s saying something. He’s a beast, over six feet tall, broader through the chest and shoulders than a wall, and huge everywhere). It’s an ovipostitor, bumpy, weird, and fucking massive. Steve has no idea why he’s never owned one before, but maybe that’s a good thing because he probably would’ve stuffed himself to popping a long time ago. At least, in theory, with Bucky here, he won’t go so crazy. He has another hedonist for accountability, and that has to count for something, right?
Bucky is over his shoulder, behind him, sabotaging him by shoving another gelatin egg up his ass while Steve stuffs his other end.
Ah, ahh!
Steve wordlessly, breathlessly gasps as his mouth-stuffed egg slides deeper because the ass-stuffed egg is going so deep inside. He’ll never get used to that. His mouth is meant for that. It’s supposed to carry food down. It’s novel every time, so far, with the ovipostitor. The egg, god, the egg in his ass is getting so deep inside of him. At first, it’s simply as deep as Bucky’s horse-cock dick would get, and his little, tight body is already shaking, but then it keeps going. The egg travels deeper, deeper, and deeper. Inside, Steve squeezes and ripples around it, his muscles involuntarily activating - driving him wild.
It feels gluttonous. It feels hedonistic. It feels unbearably erotic, the way his body, inside, comes alive with all this filling. It’s additive -
The way his body squeezes that egg, muscling it up concurrently with his red-cheeked sputters and chokes as he swallows, squeezing another egg down. The two meet in the middle - in his bulging middle - where all the rest have piled up. Now, that is addictive. The pile up. A whole highway of cars inside his lithe body, showing almost obscenely on the outside.
When the egg down his throat meets the pile of Jell-O eggs inside his stomach, they all jiggle. Steve’s whole tummy jiggles; it’s hanging down low. He’s a little potbelly pig. He’s huge. Big. Stuffed. The eggs are heavy, not as heavy as some of the things Steve dares to swallow, but it’s enough heft to make him moan. Helplessly, his knees slide further apart, body going limp and open on instinct - ready to be fucked and ruined.
“Un-uh,” Bucky scolds him, slapping his ass just to manhandle his legs back closer together, removing the ovipositor in a gut-tightening pull, “hop up, bunny, I’m not done with you yet.”
Steve moans, guttural. He doesn’t want to stay on all fours, heavy gut pulling his spine into a pornographic arch. He wants to lie on his fat belly. He wants to use it like a bean bag, jiggly and soft. He wants to lie down and take it, fatten up; he doesn’t want to work. Ew!
“You have to hide all of these eggs,” Bucky clicks his tongue at him, pinching his still spanking sore ass, “so either you keep swallowing some of them, too, or they’re all going down the rabbit hole,” he pats his spread open, lax rim as he chuckles at himself, his pun.
(For a split second, Steve wonders if his boyfriend can see the eggs inside him, through his stretched-out rim, but that mental image fries his brain so much he immediately forgets it anyway.)
Steve would give him grief about the line, about all this theming, really, he’s never been very festive, but… he’s a little busy drooling, and huuuhgh, huhhhhhnn… gulp. Gulp. Swallowing. Swallowing. It’s a fight to get another one down. The latest egg - and the several immediately piled up, pressurized, behind it - nearly comes back up when Bucky shoves the ovipostitor back in.
Oh.
It spreads him so wide.
He has to whine.
There are so many eggs inside him. He feels egg-heavy, stuffed like a Butterball Turkey. He’s full - overfull - from his drooling mouth to his stretched esophagus to his overcrowded stomach to his bulging intestines to his stuffed rectum and anus. Asdfghjkl. He’s so engorged and fat that he’s malfunctioning.
He had no idea what was going to happen to him when Bucky sent him out all day yesterday and then, this morning, told him to clean out. He had suspicions, but he didn’t know. And he never stopped to think that his boyfriend would be kicking him out of the house in order to make a million brightly colored Jell-O eggs for the purpose of stuffing him silly with them in an all-out, erotic, Easter-themed sex marathon. If he had thought that, he wouldn’t have been allowed to go out in public because he would have already been rolling onto all fours on the kitchen floor, begging Bucky to shove them in him now, impatient and greedy. Or worse, he would have immediately been craving that fullness so bad he would’ve been swallowing all their real eggs, raw, and then moving onto all their spare change, all of Bucky’s hairties, and all of anything he could get his overindulgent, kleptomaniac hands on. If he did already swallow a few little tiny things from the shops while he was out (nothing more harmless than a few grapes from the bag of fruit he didn’t buy, a button or two… or three… off of a shirt at the thrift store, washed and freshly placed on the rack, and a cork from the nice bottle of wine he treated himself to at lunch per Bucky’s suggestion), that’s neither here nor there.
Here, he is, fat with eggs.
His hanging, jiggling, bulging tummy. Stuffed forcefully, knee-weakeningly, inside him, the eggs are soft and bouncy, but firm enough that they still show their shape, pressing out from within his guts.
Guh.
Just looking down and being able to see them all in there is making him whimper. It feels so good.
“You okay, bunny?” Bucky coos maddeningly down at him, rubbing his lumpy, widening side from behind with calloused, huge hands in a way that’s supposed to be soothing but is really just making him want to scream with pleasure.
“Yess,” Steve slurs, wet eyes rolling back.
“Then keep hiding those eggs for me, bun,” he swats his gut, letting it sway heavily, harshly side to side.
God, it’s like a pendulum between his shaking arms and legs.
There are so many eggs in there!
“C’mon, you don’t want to have me stuff them down your throat. I’ll be much less gentle,” Bucky threatens. “I know you look so soft and delicate with that pink nose and long ears, little bun, but you’re much dirtier than your pretty fur makes you look.”
Steve moans with abandon. It’s a guttural sound. His guts. He can feel his insides tightening around the eggs. More eggs. His whole body is vibrating with pleasure. This feels so good. Too good. It’s too much. But… more.
“More,” he moans.
They’re so smooth inside him, bouncy and squishable, yet firm. The Jell-O eggs. They hold their shape enough to stay intact inside him, but they also curve and mold so well into the nooks, crannies, and curves within him that, god, he’s going to explode. There’s no more space! It’s all filled! Fuck being an Easter bunny, he’s a piñata. Or, no, no, he’s like a fat, factory hen, so overburdened with yolky, fatty eggs that he can’t move. He just has to sit there on his nest, clucking and moaning in pleasure, feeling his body get tighter and tighter until, ohh, oh! Pop! Oh no! One of the big, heavy eggs just falls out of him, his hole involuntarily spreading wide, spasming, and dropping an egg. He has a collection of eggs inside him. They all click and clack, rubbing together whenever he twitches or spasms. He’s such a huge hen. He’s the most productive layer in the factory. He’s bred for this. Made to get fat and lay. Not meant to move.
He’s drooling.
He’s been drooling the whole time, but he’s drooling so much, and he’s so out of it now, that by the time his eyes come back from rolling into his head, Bucky has walked around his swaying, shaking, bulging Jell-O body to his front and he’s feeding him another egg. Huuuuumph. Hnng. Mmmmngh. Bucky just shoves it down with the heel of his palm, easy as anything, as if it doesn’t hurt. He’s so full. But Steve doesn’t resist. He can’t. His mouth is hanging open, jaw to the floor. His mouth and throat are so wet and stretched that the egg slides right down until -
It gets stuck in his bulging throat.
No problem, though, Bucky just covers his open mouth with one huge mitt and pinches his nose with the other hand. Steve is too wrung out to panic or jerk away from being smothered, he just takes it. He swallows reflectively. He swallows again. Again.
It starts to travel down lower, sliding hotly, the friction, the fullness, the pressure…
Hnnnng. It’s enough that Steve swears, stuffed to near bursting with eggs, muffled by Bucky’s big paws, he comes. Just like that. It’s not his fault! His insides are just so erogenous - dripping wet, velvety, and so sensitive - stretch them, stroke them, fill them, and he can’t help it. He’s coming. Coming and coming. Poor, silly little glutton. All his brains are just gone, replaced with more jiggling, squishy gelatin eggs than can be counted, despite being able to see the outline of all of them through his overstretched, stretch-marked, pink skin.
I hope the eggs were satisfactory, sweet little grey face. I know they're not the same as coins but... I couldn't help myself 🫢
