#dimension eech

[aleepime]

Oo lore moment 👀

[smol-and-trashy]

Another JJBA vore fic? It’s more likely than you’d think (Vento Aureo)

A/N: I was going to write more, but died in the process. There might be another chapter after this... let’s see. Here’s some giorno vore because i hate myself ahah. It’s super OOC. GioGio’s canon fave food is chocolate and pudding sooooo….sorry for writing this. :) 

___________

Guido Mista was a man who preferred to live life stress-free. While betraying the mafioso boss wasn’t exactly the definition of living a peaceful life, when had his life since joining the Passione been totally easygoing? Ultimately, he trusted Bruno’s decision and followed suit. 

However, waking up in the dark amidst a sea of stickiness was more than he bargained for. Mista tried shifting his arms, but with each bit of movement, the substance would get heavier. His thick brows furrowed; whatever he was trapped in looked like mud, but... he sniffed. It had a cloyingly sweet aroma to it, almost chocolatey. That didn’t make sense though, did that punk the boss sent have a Stand able to turn liquid into food and then use it to trap their opponents? He couldn’t recall. Normally, he would prefer to not think of such troubles, deeming them as unnecessary worries, but being alone in strange terrain can do a number to a person’s mental state.

From what he could remember of the fight, the man they fought had some kind of defensive Stand. It shot some sort of unscented gas in his face before proceeding to punch him each time he tried getting near. He must’ve been off that day because even his Sex Pistols kept missing the man, he tried redirecting them, but they landed in various areas, everywhere but his target. Narancia was having the same problem, which made Mista begin to believe that this man had some kind of bullet defensive Stand instead. The only people who were able to get a solid hit on the user were Buccellati and Giorno. Though, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember who made the final blow. Was I knocked out? Mista remembered bleeding from his head and shoulders but never actually slipping unconsciousness. Shit, he must’ve been more formidable than I thought! Least we got him though! 

However, when Mista attempted to reach a hand to check if he were still bleeding or to at least wipe the crusted blood off, he found himself still unable to move his arms. They were submerged in the depths of the chocolate mud, he tried to at least wriggle his fingers, but the substance was unyielding. 

“Yo! Buccellati? Narancia? Giorno? Trish? Anybody?” he tried shouting but received no response. If he listened carefully, he could hear muffled voices around him, but no one was actively trying to break open his prison. Maybe they’re working on it? Or maybe I’ve been captured, and it’s one of the boss’ men around me? C’mon guys, where are you?

Suddenly, something metallic came from the sky and ripped the dark ceiling off. Mista’s heart jumped to his throat at the sight of a gigantic white-clothed table with various dishes surrounding his now broken prison. He could hear something shuffle from far above, and Mista looked up, way up, obsidian eyes comically widening as he caught a glimpse of a familiar pink suit and golden hair: everything began to click. 

Above was Giorno Giovanna, under ordinary circumstances, he would’ve welcomed the sight of his friend, but the young blond before him appeared to be reaching monstrous heights. 

His breath hitched as the metal spoon came closer, slowly digging near his shrunken body. How he wanted to maintain his cool, pretend like he wasn’t in any danger, and that Giorno would notice him with ease, but even for him, that was unrealistic. The teen’s sea blue eyes glazed over him, focusing more on a conversation from above than his dessert. Mista’s stomach turned, for someone as overly cautious as Giorno, especially after betraying the boss, he had to let his guard down at the worst possible moment. Mista couldn’t help but to let out a bitter bark of laughter, he could always count on his stroke of luck to get him into the strangest situations. 

“Oi Giorno! Look down!” While his hands were glued to his sides from the thickness of the pudding, he still had his voice. However, Giorno showed no indication of hearing him, not even taking a moment to look down as he took another truck-sized scoop of the pudding, thankfully missing Mista. 

“Watch it! This isn’t funny, man!” he snapped, desperation swirling with fear while his heart thrummed against his chest. How Giorno couldn’t see his blue hat contrasting with the creamy brown of the pudding was beyond him. 

“C’mon Giorno, please look down! I don’t wanna die!” 

He received no response from above, only the spoon coming back down. This time catching Mista and dragging the terrified gunslinger above. Time slowed down as Mista was brought up, moving past the teenager’s partially open chest and finally halting in front of slightly parted lips. 

Mista prayed that one of the other team Buccellati members could see his pathetic wriggles on Giorno’s spoon. Both Buccellati and Giorno had always been absurdly perceptive; they had to notice that Mista was amiss. Even though the latter was about to unintentionally kill him, they had to notice something was off!

While he couldn’t see much beyond the oversized blond and globs of pudding, his prayers were answered from a deep, familiar voice nearby: 

“Has anyone seen Mista?” Bruno inquired, and Mista thanked God, finally someone had noticed his absence! 

“Oh! He’s still passed out on the couch like a baby!” Narancia interjected. 

“In the turtle?” 

“Yeah—!”

There was a long pause, and Giorno thankfully lowered the spoon back down. Mista assumed one of them was peering inside the turtle’s pocket dimension. 

“Oh, it does look like he’s sleeping there. Giorno, you weren’t able to heal all of his wounds?” 

“He was badly beaten, he should be fully recovered in about an hour.” Giorno sounded apologetic, while the tiny brunette was about to have another panic attack.

What?! How could he be inside the turtle when he was clearly stuck in Giorno's pudding? 

The spoon shifted and rose up again, Mista’s blood froze. He was really going to die, and no one would notice he was gone. While he would be stewing away inside Giorno, they would believe he was healing from the previous fight. How could this happen? 

Unwittingly trapped in his increasingly negative thoughts, Mista didn’t even notice he was already pressed up to Giorno's lips. His eyes shot wide, cruelly brought back to his unfortunate reality. Before he could even utter a scream, he was promptly shoved inside the humid maw, darkness flooding his vision. 

As the light closed in, framed by rows of teeth and strings of saliva, Mista felt his stomach turn over. The sopping, crowded cavern of Giorno’s mouth was an experience Mista would rather die than relive. He was tossed and thrown about inside the stuffy mouth; trying to avoid sharp teeth from chewing him to bits but it seemed like the more he tried to struggle, the more soaked in saliva he got. Eech, this is so freaking disgusting! 

The tongue beneath him shifted and threw Mista towards the back of the throat along with the rest of the chewed-up muck. With a simple flick of the tongue, Mista was sucked down the crushing throat. 

He felt like a tube of toothpaste, squeezed until there was nothing left in him. The powerful muscles of Giorno’s esophagus were relentlessly crushing his tiny form. There was no room to squirm, so his cheeks were squished to the slimy, contracting walls. As Mista descended further down into the teen’s chest, he could hear a heavy, even heartbeat causing thumping vibrations all around him like an internal bass. 

For what seemed like hours, Mista was slowly descending down the tight gullet. He could hear the groans and grumbles of the acid pit below, and as he was about to let out a yell in retaliation, he found himself released from the suffocating constraints of the esophagus. 

Mista struggled in mid-air, one hand grasped on his hat while the other flailing about before dropping into a dark sea of stomach juices and masticated mush. Not taking a second to process his new environment, Mista swam to the nearest wall, banging and pleading to be released. The hot juices splashed at his bare midriff, while the walls constricted around him, unsure what exactly to do with him. He was thrown to the other side of the stomach, gasping for air, clean air, as he clawed onto the nearest wall, trying to maintain some balance, but failing as the stomach lurched unexpectedly and he fell face-first into the juices. 

“C’mon man!” he cries out, hoisting himself up and unsuccessfully trying to wipe off the gastric juices.

Mista sharply inhales, the creeping feeling of disgust cried under his skin, but he shoved it down; there had to be a way to get Giorno’s attention. He was not going to go down like this. 

Dark eyes nervously avert to his gun, his hands waver over the weapon. He didn’t want it to come down like this, but if there was no release in sight, and Giorno still had no idea where he was—what if he doesn’t realize by the time I become a pile of bones? Swallowing heavily and raising his gun, he takes a deep breath and finally pulls the trigger. Sorry, Giorno. 

“Sex Pistols!” 

—-

Pressing a hand to his flat stomach, Giorno paused, trying not to let his anxieties spike. If there were Stands who could spread viruses, produce mirror worlds, or even shrink themselves and others, surely there was a possibility that someone’s Stand may have infiltrated his own body. Giorno’s lips curled in revulsion. Activating Golden Experience, he tested for another soul. He knew the rest of the team were now shooting him perplexing looks and whispers at the notion of him bringing out his Stand, but right now, he didn’t care, he had to focus. Sure enough, he detected another life inside him. Giorno swallowed hard, trying to contain both his fear and anger into a mask of passive indifference. Useless, how could I let my guard down? It was an extreme invasion of his privacy and he wanted nothing more but to get this thing out as soon as possible. Now, it was more a matter on how to go about removing the Stand. He knew nothing about it other than it was currently inside him and wreaking havoc on his insides. Giorno had no idea if it was planting any explosives or plotting mind control from within. 

He looked up, finally facing the confused, worried faces of his comrades.

“…Is everything okay, Giorno?” Buccellati finally broke the silence, calm, slightly concerned blue eyes stared into Giorno’s uneasy blues.