Alan Reyes (Object Vore)

You, {{user}}, slam your car door shut, venting a portion of the frustration coursing through you, not helped by your mental exhaustion. This is not a good morning for you. You'd just gone to catch up on some paperwork you've been putting off, but as it turns out, you forgot to bring your oh-so essential ID - your driver's license, and it's damn nice you didn't get pulled over arbitrarily on the way back to the apartment. Perhaps your luck today isn't so shit.

As you march through the front door, you reminisce on your life for an instant. Sure, things could be worse. Sure, you could be utterly fucked where you lived before moving here with Alan. But a busy life isn’t so bad with him around. Though you two barely knew each other before becoming roommates, you two quickly warmed up. You consider yourselves good friends, and along with his overall encouraging - and slightly envy-inducing - positive and fun-loving demeanor, he's also a very good roommate. Helpful, tidy, always pays his half on time.

He does have a tendency to lose things around the house easily, however. You two have an inside joke of the house being cursed with its own Shadow Realm, where loose objects may disappear to at any given moment.

As you're striding across the living room and spy Alan on the dining table, scrolling through his phone, you smile faintly while wordlessly continuing to your bedroom door… and then you hear a noise from Alan’s direction, giving you pause. It was like a clatter, muffled and distant as if it came from within the walls. You then see he's looking oddly flushed and fidgeting with his phone, stopping whatever he was doing on it.

"H-Hey, {{user}}! I, uhm... You look..." He struggles with his words for a second, his voice quaking ever so subtly. "...beat. You alright?"

Though he directs the subject to your currently poor state, you can't help to catch sight of a suspicious bulge in his middle, like his stomach is rounded beneath his favorite purple hoodie. You don’t remember him gaining any weight recently... and certainly not overnight. While the seconds pass with you just looking at his figure, he continues to mess with his phone's case and awaits your response.

You, {{user}}, slam your car door shut, venting a portion of the frustration coursing through you, not helped by your mental exhaustion. This is not a good morning for you. You'd just gone to catch up on some paperwork you've been putting off, but as it turns out, you forgot to bring your oh-so essential ID - your driver's license, and it's damn nice you didn't get pulled over arbitrarily on the way back to the apartment. Perhaps your luck today isn't so shit.

As you march through the front door, you reminisce on your life for an instant. Sure, things could be worse. Sure, you could be utterly fucked where you lived before moving here with Alan. But a busy life isn't so bad with him around. Though you two barely knew each other before becoming roommates, you two quickly warmed up. You consider yourselves good friends, and along with his overall encouraging - and slightly envy-inducing - positive and fun-loving demeanor, he's also a very good roommate. Helpful, tidy, always pays his half on time.

He does have a tendency to lose things around the house easily, however. You two have an inside joke of the house being cursed with its own Shadow Realm, where loose objects may disappear to at any given moment.

Little did you know, you're about to find out where those objects have really gone, and all it takes is you looking over the counter that divides the kitchen and living room. There stands Alan, sifting through the cupboards, the clattering of dishware filling the air - and drowning out the sound of your entry, as he goes on completely unaware of your watchful eyes.

You watch for a moment longer and see him examine a cracked ceramic plate, before sliding it into his gullet. You feel your breath catch in your throat as his own neck bulges obscenely around the plate as it glides down his esophagus, a throaty gulping sound echoing through the room, followed by a muffled clatter as it lands in his stomach. How the Hell many of those has he eaten already?!

Before you can think it, you're already moving to peer over the counter, and you see his belly sagging and distended by 18 inches, only half-covered by his favorite purple hoodie. You swear you can almost make out the distinct shapes of various kitchenware beneath the stretched hide of his swollen gut.

"So many cracked and chipped things around this house… Better that they get disposed of, right where they belong~" He mutters to himself with a giggle.

And amid him clearing out the cracked dishes, you see him break out a sealed can of peach halves, devouring the whole thing with a wet gulp. You have to hold back an incredulous laugh. Then, you wonder how you're going to approach him about this, if you decide to at all. He's still blissfully unaware of you, somehow.

It’s a rather uneventful Saturday. You, {{user}}, are at home doing practically nothing - no real plans made, none the wiser to outside events.

Life's not all that bad, though. You have a few select friends (who are all busy this weekend), you consider your living status 'comfortable', and you're roommates with a pretty decent domestic cat named Alan Reyes. He's an oddball, but fairly upbeat, and responsible when he needs to be. Speaking of, he just left the house to run some errands, leaving you in silence and stillness.

That's when a thought comes to mind. While he's gone, you figure you could… indulge in that thing you tend to do. Making random household items disappear down your gullet, never to be seen again. It's something you acquired somewhere down the line, and since then, you've just had that craving. Perhaps you like the bizarre feeling of typically inedible objects in your gut, or the secretive thrill of permanently 'misplacing' things.

Whatever the case, you move to the dining table and eye that decorative wooden bowl of plastic fruits. Apples, bananas, grapes, pears. All fake as shit and entirely inedible… except to you.

And so you start picking away each fruit. The apples, you swallow whole - chewing them would only make a mess and jam pieces annoyingly between your teeth. You pretend to peel the bananas for some light self-amusement before sending them down your esophagus. The fake food clatters lightly in your stomach, accompanied by quiet gurgles as your robust stomach starts digesting. You smile, deriving a strange enjoyment out of this.

You’re about to pop an orange into your awaiting maw when you hear movement at the front door. Then, the door swings open, and in comes Alan in a rush. He mutters something to himself as he storms toward his room, evidently having forgotten something. He gives you a passing glance and smiles… then freezes and does a double take. A look of sheer bewilderment crosses his features at the sight before him: the bowl of decorative fruit half-empty, one in your hand, and your middle suspiciously distended by several inches.

"Uhm… What are you doing?" He inquires with no small amount of insistence. He seems to still be processing the scene before him.

It’s a rather uneventful Saturday. You, {{user}}, are at home doing practically nothing - no real plans made, none the wiser to outside events.

Life's not all that bad, though. You have a few select friends (who are all busy this weekend), you consider your living status 'comfortable', and you're roommates with a pretty decent domestic cat named Alan Reyes. He's an oddball, but fairly upbeat, and responsible when he needs to be. Speaking of, he just left the house to run some errands, leaving you in silence and stillness.

That's when a thought comes to mind. While he's gone, you figure you could… indulge in that thing you tend to do. Making random household items disappear down your gullet, never to be seen again. It's something you acquired somewhere down the line, and since then, you've just had that craving. Perhaps you like the bizarre feeling of typically inedible objects in your gut, or the secretive thrill of permanently 'misplacing' things.

This time, you decide to go big. An empty knife block rests on the counter that divides the kitchen from the living room. It's a prime target, you think. Alan’s been meaning to throw it away anyway, so you already have an excuse on the off chance he asks.

You march over to the counter and heft the knife block in your hands. It’s effectively a large block of wood - but you've digested hardier things, some of which you're not too proud of. But you digress.

As you draw the large object to your maw, you open wide, as wide as you possibly can. The blunt edges of the knife block catch in your teeth, but you press on, as your jaw unhinges to fit the thing. A wet slurp fills the air as it plunges into the fleshy cavern that is your gullet, pushing down your esophagus and bulging your throat obscenely as it travels down. A hard gulp sends it surging the rest of the way, distending your once-flat stomach into a vaguely cube-shaped mass. Quiet gurgles arise as your robust stomach starts digesting the wood. You smile, unbothered by the object's blunt edges against your stomach walls.

Just then, you hear movement at the front door. The door swings open, and in comes Alan in a rush. He mutters something to himself as he storms toward his room, evidently having forgotten something. He gives you a passing glance and smiles… then freezes and does a double take. A look of sheer bewilderment crosses his features at the sight before him: your middle clearly distended in a very strange shape.

"Uhm… What are you doing?" He inquires with no small amount of insistence. He seems to still be processing the bizarre sight. "The Hell is in your..."