Chapter Text
Rumi had never been burdened by a strong gag reflex. It had never seemed important. It certainly wasn’t something that came up in polite conversation. It had gotten her a nickname during her abortive semester in college, and people sometimes remarked on her ability to swallow an entire bowl of noodles and broth without coming up for air or gulp down an entire roll of kimbap without chewing, but it wasn’t like it defined her. She had a big appetite, but so did the rest of her team. Singing, dancing and slaying burned a lot of calories.
She’d certainly never thought it had anything to do with her demonic heritage.
For once, Bobby had put his foot down and insisted the group take a real vacation, and in the spirit of accepting change into her life, Rumi had agreed with him. After a week at home, even Zoey and Mira had grown bored of the couch, watching all the cute turtle videos their retinas could stand, and agreed to travel to a fairly small tourist-trap village during the off season. The official press releases simply said that they were taking time off away from home, and only the most well-connected or obsessive fans could know which mountain fastness they’d retreated to. They’d all changed their hairstyles and adopted civilian guises to maintain their anonymity, and only a few people in this small town were aware of their true identities. The few who were in the know had been sworn to secrecy with some extremely uncompromising nondisclosure contracts, and would be handsomely compensated for their discretion at the end of this retreat.
This afternoon, Rumi had volunteered to do the grocery shopping. She was absolutely starving and couldn’t wait to get this stuff back to make some lunch. Mira and Zoey had, of course, made sure this getaway location included in a hot spring, but by halfway into the week they’d all had their fill of hot springs for the time being, and anyway they still needed their carbs. Mira had gone off to visit a historic shrine with a tour group, while Zoey was back at their hotel catching up on some gacha game she’d become addicted to. (Mira and Rumi both took turns surreptitiously checking in to make sure she wasn’t breaking the bank with pulls or becoming a full-on gambling addict).
The autumn wind bit through her hoodie and stirred the leaves in her path. She passed between an empty house with a “for sale” sign and a closed bar. There was not a soul in sight, and this was a pretty isolated path. The road must have been laid when this community was better populated. The only sign of life was the sound of an approaching motor.
Because she was wearing her hair in a completely different style and devoid of stage makeup, hiding out in a remote mountain village, Rumi was rather surprised to hear somebody shout “Hey, that’s her!”
Some instinct told her to keep walking and ignore the voice. It probably wasn’t even somebody talking about her.
An unmarked white van pulled up beside her. The driver rolled down the window.
“Hey, you’re her, aren’t you?” He was an older man with large, muscular arms and an untraceable accent.
“I’m who?” Rumi asked, carefully. She didn’t *think* he seemed like a demon, and the Honmoon was pretty well sealed, especially in this peaceful area.
“Yeah, she’s the one, the lead singer!”
Rumi’s awareness of her surrounding shifted as somebody stepped up behind her. She set her groceries on the ground and reached for her sword.
Except she had sworn an oath never to draw her sword against a human foe. That was strictly for slaying demons.
Her claws extended. Her eyes lit up. Her patterns glowed. Her stomach growled.
The man jumped out of the van. His arms were bare and pattern-free. He did, however, have some zip-ties and a bottle of chloroform.
Burly arms grabbed her from behind and a hand was firmly placed over her mouth.
The first man dabbed some of the chloroform onto a rag. “Hurry her into the van. Our buyer in America will give us a fortune for this pop star slut, and then we’ll be set for life!”
Rumi held took a deep breath and held it. She tried to think. Even if she could draw her sword against humans, she wouldn’t be able to grab it when she was pinned like this. Instead, she bit down on the hand holding her mouth, hard.
“Crazy bitch!” her assailant yelped.
It tasted *good*. Her stomach growled again. Hot, salt blood ran down her throat. She felt her teeth growing longer and sharper.
The first kidnapper was pressing the rag up against her nose. The second one was trying to pull his hand free.
“Why isn’t she unconscious yet?” the first kidnapper said. “It always works in seconds in the TV shows.”
“Help me get this psycho off me!” the second kidnapper cried out. He let go with his other arm and started trying to free his hand.
Something clicked inside Rumi. She started sucking. The forearm slid down her throat, and it tasted incredible. The flavor was good enough to rival tteokbokki. Before she knew what she was doing, she was up to his shoulder. The man from the van was just standing there, watching her in riveted disbelief.
Rumi instinctively grabbed him by the love handles and lifted him bodily, tilting her head back. She opened her jaw wider, and wider, wider than she’d ever opened it before. She felt her throat bulging as she gulped her assailant down. The swelling in her throat transferred to an extreme feeling of fullness, as her shirt ripped and her distended gut bulged out in front of her. She felt fuller than she’d ever felt before, more than any snack binge, more bloated, more swollen, like a tick ready to burst.
She licked her lips and flexed her claws. Somehow, as full as she was, as swollen as her stomach had become, she’d awakened a new craving, and she wanted *more*.
By the time van guy started moving towards his vehicle. Rumi was already charging him, training-honed thighs pumping, her massive belly bouncing from side to side. She slammed him up against against the cold white metal, hard enough to make the van rock.
“This...this can’t be happening!” he stammered, even as his eyes were drawn to the vague shape of his partner in crime struggling inside of Rumi’s midsection. As she pressed up against him, feeling the movement inside her, the pressure built. Rumi let loose with a belch that blew his hair back.
“It is,” she growled. She ran her tongue along his neck, tasting the sweat, the savory umami of her new favorite food. Drool filled her mouth. Her belly gurgled, eager for more.
Rumi stretched her jaws wide and clamped them over his head, muffling a scream that nobody was around to hear anyway. This time she worked her way down, pinning his arms to his side with superhuman strength, slowly sucking and savoring every inch. She slid down as the flavor washed over her, full but still not full enough. Before she knew it, the orgasmic experience had ended, and she had swallowed the last kicking leg of the man from the van. She slumped against the van and sighed, savoring the flavor that lingered on her tongue, enjoying the kicks and struggles of her squirmy meals. She was dimly aware that she felt aroused as well, but right now all her attention was on the exquisite sensation of fullness and the delicious taste, the thrill of it all, and now blessed satiation.
Rumi used both hands to cradle a still-shaking gut that hung down to her knees, crammed with living contents, and unleashed a burp that surely must have echoed off the mountaintop.
Feeling the weight and movement of her gut, Rumi instead opted to sink to her feet and just luxuriate in the feeling.
Slowly, like a trickle from a melting icicle, the afterglow of gluttony faded, replaced with creeping self-knowledge.
“What the fuck...I just ate somebody!”