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"No! No, please!"
The Octoling's stomach churned busily around her. There was no reply from its owner.
He was clearly awake. She could feel him rubbing his hands over her, but every time she spoke, he acted like she didn't exist.
She knew he could hear her–He had to. She could hear the quiet way his breath hitched when he shifted slightly to get more comfortable, and she could hear all of the satisfied little noises he made when she moved.
Those were what worried her the most, truth be told. She didn't like what "satisfied little noises" implied for her future.
She pressed her hands into the wall in front of her and pushed as hard as she could. For a moment, there was a small amount of free space around her as she held the Octoling's stomach back, but soon her arms started shaking from the strain of trying to push against something that was basically pure muscle.
Before long, her strength failed and they gave out. The Octoling's stomach wrapped snugly around her again, and there was a loud groan as it squeezed her. She heard a happy chirp from above her.
She tried wiggling again. It hadn't worked last time, but maybe, somehow…
The Octoling's hands traced along her form as she struggled, giving her a quick squeeze every time she paused.
She decided to call out again, while she was at it.
"P-please! Not like this! Please, please..."
The Octoling made little "Mm" and "Ah" sounds when she touched particularly sensitive parts of his stomach, but otherwise didn't respond.
"Don't let me die in here! Please, I'm begging you!"
She heard a soft burp. The walls around her shuddered happily.
Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as the Octoling began to rub his stomach again.
"W-Why…?", she said as he squeezed and patted her. "Why won't you listen?"
The rubbing stopped.
"Because you're not saying anything worth listening to."
She flinched. The Octoling's voice was quiet and calm.
"What do you mean?"
"You're saying the same things that all of my prey says. It's not original or interesting."
"I'm literally begging you for my life, I don't understand why that isn't–"
"Yeah, that. I don't care."
She felt her heart sink. "...What?"
The Octoling's hands started to knead at her.
"That's all that prey ever has to say. "No, don't, I'm a person! Think of my friends! Please!" It gets old."
She tried not to let her horror show in her voice. "But that's true! They are people! And so am I! A-And so is everyone else you've ea–"
The Octoling's stomach twisted around her with a loud growl. She squeaked fearfully as more of his cloying, freezing ink clung to her.
"Well," he said, "now you're mine." His hands pressed down on her as he said it.
"You're mine, and I'm never letting you go. So either get back to squirming, or shut up."
She yelped as his voice took on a dangerous edge. She started shaking.
He really was going to digest her. He had eaten her, he was toying with her, and no matter what she said, what she bargained with, how much she pleaded, in the end all she'd be was–
"No," she breathed. "No, no, no, please, no! Don't do this! I'll give you whatever you want!"
The Octoling yawned. "Boring."
He started rubbing his bulging stomach again.
It began to churn more roughly, and a satisfied sigh echoed around her.
For a moment, the walls pressed in around her, soft and cold, and she didn't fight them.
Then her hands shot out, and she tried to shove them back; Tried being the operative word. They may have felt soft and malleable when she wasn't pushing on them, but they were so heavy when she actually wanted them to move.
She raised an arm and pushed it as far outward as it could go; on the outside, the Octoling watched in amusement as a faint hand imprint became visible in the center of his midsection. He idly traced circles over it, until it disappeared a few seconds later.
His prey was tiring quickly inside of him.
Panting, she tried to gather her strength for another push. Each time, she managed to lift the walls off, only for her strength to give out a few seconds later, allowing the soft, heavy flesh to settle back onto her. Her captor's stomach rumbled happily every time it got to crowd around her again, and she heard the Octoling making the same quiet, contented sounds as before.
She was running out of time and options. The Octoling hummed and chirped to himself while his hands trailed over her, rubbing and squeezing at her. More ink drizzled onto her. The cold made her stiff and sleepy, and soon her already tired muscles could no longer hold the walls back at all. They closed in, trapping her in their soft, cold, heavy embrace.
It felt like being wrapped in a weighted blanket. She shuddered as more ink poured over her body. The gurgles of a hungry, happy belly resonated throughout the small space.
She couldn't move. It was dark, and she wasn't strong enough to fight forever.
Was it okay to just... Give up? Could she do that? She was so tired.
The Octoling's breathing was quiet and steady, lulling her closer to sleep. Her eyes fluttered as some part of her struggled to stay awake, but it was quickly pushed aside. All she had to do was close her eyes, and she would never wake up. No more fighting. No more fear.
She finally did, letting the sounds and softness of the Octoling's body overtake her. Before the darkness took her, she felt him give her one last squeeze.
Takoy stretched. He was in bed, propped up in a sitting position by some pillows. He'd probably lay down and take a nap soon.
He hadn't intended to go hunting today, but the Inkling had practically fallen into his lap, and he wasn't one to question a free meal.
He gave his distended stomach a nudge. Something sloshed inside.
He wasn't normally so direct with his prey, either, but the begging and whimpering had gotten on his nerves. At least he'd gotten some good squirming out of it–She'd been pretty wiggly.
His stomach burbled loudly, and he felt a yawn rising in his chest…
Or so he thought. When he brought his hand up to cover his face and opened his mouth, a loud belch came out instead, and a small blob of ink flew into in his palm. He winced in disgust.
He went to wipe his hand on his pants, but stopped once he noticed that the blob was more solid than he'd expected. He brought his hand back up to his face.
Stuck to his palm was a metal hairclip, thoroughly covered in ink. It seemed to be shaped like a squid, but he couldn't be sure. The Inkling must have been wearing it when she got eaten.
He flexed his fingers to knock it loose, then watched it fall out of his hand and bounce onto his stomach. He'd clean it up and inspect it later. For now, though, his eyelids were drooping as he tried to fight the inevitable food coma. He rearranged his pillows, laid back, and fell asleep almost instantly.
The next day, he washed the dried ink off of his find. It was indeed a white, squid-shaped hairclip, with a shiny finish over the enamel squid design. He pondered what to do with it for a moment–He didn't have many tentacles, and he didn't want something hanging off of them, anyway.
He then flipped it over, and noticed something odd–It could be used as either a pin or a clip. He uncovered the pin, leaned toward the bathroom mirror, and carefully slid it under the tentacle-film on the left side of his head. He tilted his chin up, trying to see how it looked on his reflection.
He liked it.
He smiled and walked off, new accessory in tow.