Terry's Big Boba Mistake Tiny Terry chapter 7 by KoroKoroAi

"Nope," he said, pushing the pile away from him. "Go ahead and have it! What's the worst that could happen?"

 

He meant it as a joke. A throwaway line. Something to fill the silence while he tried to figure out how to get down from the table without Hazel noticing.

 

But Hazel's eyes went wide. Then they narrowed. Then they got that look. The look that meant she was about to be very Hazel about something. She leaned in close, her face filling his entire field of vision. Her breath washed over him, warm and sweet from all the boba, smelling like honey and milk tea and custard. Her lips were parted slightly, and he could see her tongue behind her teeth, and her eyes were sparkling with that dangerous kind of glee that always preceded something awful.

 

"The worst that could happen?" She tilted her head, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, like she was telling him a secret. "Well, Terry-Berry..."

 

She paused for dramatic effect. He could feel her breath on his skin.

 

"The worst that could happen is I eat you by mistake."

 

Terry blinked, then he laughed.

 

Not because it was funny, exactly, but because it was so ridiculous. She was holding him like an inch from her face, talking about eating him, and her expression was so serious like she'd just said something profound instead of something completely unhinged.

 

"Hazel," he said, "you're not going to eat me."

 

"Am I not?" She tilted her head the other way. Her hair brushed against the table. "How do you know, Terry-Berry? How do you really know?"

 

"Because you're my sister and you wouldn't eat me. Not on purpose, anyway."

 

"Mmm." She hummed, low in her throat. "But you're so small, Terry. And you smell like honey now from the boba. And I'm still kind of hungry." She patted her stomach with her free hand. "See? Still room. I could fit you in there easy."

 

"You're not going to eat me."

 

"How would you stop me?"

 

Terry crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd escape."

 

Hazel's eyebrows shot up. "Escape?"

 

"Yeah. Escape." He poked her finger with his own tiny finger, trying to look as confident as possible. "You think I'd just let you eat me? I'd climb out."

 

Hazel stared at him for a long moment.

 

Then she scooped him up.

 

Not gently, like she usually did, with her palm flat and her fingers curled around him for safety. No, this time she just grabbed him, her thumb and forefinger closing around his torso and lifting him off the table. He yelped as his feet left the surface, dangling in the air like a doll. She dropped him onto the pile of food scraps.

 

He landed on a half-eaten piece of mochi, which squished under his weight and stuck to his back. She pushed him in, and pushed some custard over him.

 

"There," Hazel said, peering down at him. Her face loomed overhead, her eyes huge and bright. "Now you're in the food. I can't even see you at all. Just like you would be if I ate you. So go on, Terry-Berry. Escape."

 

He was buried in crumbs. The pile was taller than him. The mochi was sticky. The custard was slippery. A boba pearl was blocking his path like a boulder. After Hazel had pushed him down, he had become disoriented.

 

"Oh no!" Hazel sang. Her voice echoed down from above. "Where did you go, little brother?"

 

"I'm right here! I'm in the pile!"

 

"Where? I don't see you!" She was definitely lying. He could see her eyes tracking him through the crumbs. "You're so tiny, Terry. How are you going to escape if I can't even see you?"

 

He grabbed onto a piece of macaron and pulled himself up. The shell was hard and smooth, and he had to dig his fingernails into the filling to get any purchase. He hauled himself onto the curved surface, pushing through the custard, his legs scrambling for footing.

 

"I'd climb," he said. "See? I'd climb out."

 

"What if I'd already gobbled up the food? You'd climb out of my mouth?" Hazel's voice was getting that sing-song quality again, the one that meant she was having way too much fun. "With my teeth? With my tongue?"

 

"I'd find a way."

 

She giggled. The sound vibrated through the table, through the pile of food, through his bones.

 

"Okay, Terry-Berry. Okay." She propped her chin on her hand and watched him struggle. "Let's say you're in my mouth. Let's say I'm chewing. What do you do then?"

 

"I'd dodge."

 

"Dodge?" She laughed, a real laugh this time, bright and loud. "You'd dodge? Terry, my teeth are bigger than you. My tongue is bigger than you. Everything in my mouth is bigger than you. You can't dodge anything."

 

"Then I'd run."

 

"Run where?" She was grinning now, her teeth showing. "There's nowhere to run, Terry-Berry. It's just my mouth. Just my teeth and my tongue and my throat and then my tummy." She patted her stomach again. "It's very cozy in there, I bet. Warm. Dark. Squishy. I just ate a lot, so maybe it would take a while to digest you, but I would digest you."

 

"You're being weird."

 

"I'm being honest." She reached down and poked him with her finger, nearly knocking him off the macaron. "You're the one who said 'what's the worst that could happen.' I'm just answering the question."

 

He scrambled back onto the macaron atop the pile, his heart pounding. Her finger was huge, the nail painted a soft pink, the pad of it warm and soft and completely capable of squashing him flat if she wanted.

 

"Well," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "what if I just shouted? What if I shouted for help? It's not like you're eating me on purpose."

 

Hazel's eyes went wide. Then she tilted her head back and laughed, her throat exposed, her whole body shaking with the force of it.

 

"Shouted for help?" She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Terry, who's going to help you? We're in a boba shop. Everyone here is a girl. And all the girls here are bigger than you. Way bigger. And they're all looking at me right now because I'm laughing like a maniac." She gestured around them. "See? They're looking. But do you think any of them are going to help a tiny guy who's about to get eaten by his sister?"

 

"I mean... I thought maybe you'd help me... Since you don't want to eat me."

 

"Awww?" Hazel smiled down at him. "But you sure look like one right now. You're covered in custard, my little snack."

 

Terry's pride was hurt at that. "I'm not a snack."

 

"You're in a pile of snacks right now, Terry-Berry. You're literally surrounded by snacks. You look like a snack. You smell like a snack." She leaned in closer, her nose almost touching the pile. "You taste like a snack too, probably. I bet you taste like honey now from the boba."

 

He pushed against her nose with both hands. It was like pushing against a wall. Warm, soft, breathing wall.

 

"Hazel, come on. Stop."

 

But she didn't stop. Instead, she grabbed the pile of food scraps with both hands, scooping them up in one smooth motion. Terry tried to jump off the macaron, tried to run, tried to do anything at all, but her hands were everywhere, closing around him like walls, pressing him into the mass of sticky, sweet crumbs.

 

Then her mouth was open, and he felt himself propelled forward. Then everything was dark. And wet. And hot. And chewing.

 

The first thing Terry registered was the sound. A wet, squelching, grinding sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was the sound of Hazel's teeth meeting, the sound of her tongue moving, the sound of the food being crushed and broken and mixed with saliva. He was tumbling, rolling, sliding across something soft and wet and muscular. He couldn't tell which way was up. He couldn't tell which way was down. Every time he tried to brace himself, something pushed him in a new direction.

 

"HAZEL!!!!" He shouted. Aware of the irony.

 

"HMMM!"

 

The sound vibrated through him, through the food, through the wet heat of her mouth. It was Hazel's voice, but muffled, distorted, filtered through a mouthful of food and one tiny brother.

 

"THISH ISH SO GOOD, TERRY!"

 

She was talking with her mouth full. Of course she was.

 

"YOU MAKE IT TASHTHE EVEN BETTER!"

 

He tried to respond, tried to shout, tried to do anything except tumble around in the wet darkness of her mouth. But his voice came out small and muffled, barely audible even to his own ears.

 

"Let me out!"

 

Hazel paused. He could feel her tongue still, could feel the shift of her jaw as she processed his words.

 

Then she laughed. The sound was enormous. It shook her whole mouth, shook him, rattled his bones and made his teeth chatter. Her tongue moved again, pushing him toward the back of her mouth, toward her throat, toward the dark opening he could feel pulsing with each swallow.

 

"MMM," she hummed. "NGNO."

 

Her teeth came down, crushing something next to him. A piece of taiyaki, maybe, or a chunk of mochi. The food was all mixed up before she even shoved it all in her mouth. The crunch was deafening. The vibration ran through the food, through the saliva, through his entire body.

 

He grabbed onto her tongue. It was the only thing he could hold. The only thing that wasn't moving, wasn't shifting, wasn't trying to push him somewhere he didn't want to go. He dug his fingers into the soft, wet surface, clinging for dear life as her mouth continued to work around him. She didn't seem to notice.

 

Or maybe she did notice, and she just didn't care. Because her tongue kept moving, kept pushing, kept pressing him against the roof of her mouth and then against the floor of her mouth and then toward her teeth and then away from her teeth and then toward her throat again. He was a piece of food that happened to be alive, struggling, and absolutely terrified.

 

Hazel was having the time of her life. She hummed again, a tune he didn't recognize, something bouncy and happy. She was humming while he was in her mouth. While he was fighting for his life against her tongue. While her teeth were coming down centimeters from his body, crushing everything around him into paste.

 

He heard her swallow. The sound was enormous. A deep, wet gulp that seemed to come from everywhere at once. He felt the food around him shift, felt a chunk of something slide past him toward the back of her mouth, felt the pull of her throat as it opened and closed. The chunk was gone. Heading down toward her stomach. Toward the place where he would go if she swallowed again.

 

"Hazel!" He screamed it, as loud as he could, his voice cracking with fear. "Hazel, stop! This isn't funny anymore!"

 

Her tongue pressed him against the roof of her mouth, silencing him. He could feel the ridges, the texture, the wet heat. Her jaw shifted, and he heard her teeth click together somewhere to his left.

 

Then she spoke again.

 

"ITSH A LITTLE FUNNY, THOUGH."

 

"It's not!"

 

"YESH IT ITHH."

 

Another swallow. Another bolus of food slid past him, pulled toward her throat by muscles far more powerful than him, even if he were to strength-train for a lifetime. The remaining food was dwindling , chewed into smaller and smaller pieces, mixed with more and more saliva until it was almost a liquid.

 

Terry, for his part, was still whole. But for how long?

 

He tried to push against her tongue, tried to wedge his hands between it and the roof of her mouth, tried to create enough space to move, to escape. But her tongue was stronger than him. So much stronger. Every time he pushed, it pushed back. Every time he tried to move, it moved with him. He was a toy. A plaything. Something for her to roll around in her mouth and taste and almost swallow and then not swallow and then almost swallow again.

 

Another swallow. Another bolus of food, gone. He was alone now. Just him and her tongue and her teeth and the wet heat and the darkness and the sound of her breathing through her nose, loud and steady and completely unconcerned.

 

"HAZEL!!" He pounded on her teeth.

 

Her tongue pushed him toward her cheek. He felt the wetness there, soft and smooth, and then her teeth, hard and sharp, and then her cheek again. He was being rolled around by her tongue.

 

She was literally playing with him, like a piece of gum or candy. Like something to be tasted and rolled around and enjoyed and then maybe swallowed - if she felt like it.

 

Another swallow. This one was different. This one pulled at him, tugged at his feet, tried to drag him toward her throat. He felt the muscles of her mouth contract, felt the pressure build behind him, felt himself start to slide.

 

He screamed. He grabbed onto her tongue with both hands, dug his fingernails into the soft surface, pulled with every ounce of strength he had. His arms burned. His legs kicked. His whole body strained against the pull of her swallow.

 

And then it stopped. Hazel giggled.

 

"That was close, Terry-Berry!" Her mouth (mostly) empty, she could speak clearly again.

 

He couldn't answer. He was too busy shaking, too busy trying to breathe, too busy processing the fact that he had almost just been swallowed by his own sister.

 

She swallowed again. He held onto her tongue with both hands, pressed his body against the roof of her mouth, made himself as flat and wide as possible. Somehow, he held on.

 

"Hazel," he said, his voice small and shaky. "Please. Let me out."

 

Her tongue pressed against him. Soft. Warm. Almost gentle.

 

"HHMMMM...."

 

"Please."

 

Another press. Another shift. And then she violently spat him out, and he collided with a warm surface.

 

She had spat him out into her palm. He blinked, blinded. Cold air rushed over his wet skin, making him shiver. He could hear sounds again, normal sounds. He was soaked in saliva and covered in crumbs, his clothes plastered to his body, his hair matted to his forehead. 

 

Hazel was looking down at him. Her face was flushed, her lips were pink and wet, and she was smiling. That same soft, warm smile she always had, the one that made her look like an angel, like she had never done anything wrong in her entire life.

 

"Hi, Terry-Berry," she said. Her voice was normal again. Sweet. Chirpy. "Did you have fun?"

 

He stared at her.

 

"Did I have fun?"

 

"You were in my mouth for, like, five minutes!" She beamed. "That's a long time! Most food doesn't last that long. You're very chewy, you know that?"

 

"I almost got swallowed!"

 

"But you didn't!" She bounced him gently in her palm. "See? In fact, I think you won the bet, little - I mean, big brother. You really didn't get eaten, even though I was trying really hard."

 

"W - what bet!?"

 

"Our BET! Silly." She pulled a napkin from the dispenser and started dabbing at him, wiping the worst of the saliva off his face and arms. "You were so brave, Terry-Berry. Really. You held onto my tongue and everything! I could feel your little fingers. It tickled."

 

"I was trying not to get swallowed."

 

"And you succeeded!" She finished wiping him down and set the napkin aside. "I guess I owe you something. Oh! I know." she grinned. "You could use a little salt."

 

He stared at her.

 

She stared back, her eyes wide and innocent, like she hadn't just spent the last five minutes playing with him like a piece of candy.

 

"You're not going to tell Mom, are you?" she asked, her lower lip trembling just a little bit. "Because she might get mad. And I don't want her to be mad. I just wanted to play with my favorite brother."

 

"I'm your only brother."

 

"Exactly! So you're extra special." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, her lips soft and warm against his wet hair. "My special little Terry-Berry. My one-of-a-kind snack."

 

"I'm not a snack."

 

"You're my snack." She smiled. "Now come on. We have a whole mall to explore!"

 

She stood up, leaving the empty cups and crumpled napkins and sticky table behind. The boba shop employees would clean it up. That was their job. Hazel's job was to have fun, spend mom's money, and play with her tiny brother.